#the first chapter will be the intro with all the plot and then a little bit of risky stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diettwistup · 4 months

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HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 5.1K

NOTES: hiiii!!! hope y’all enjoy this next chapter cuz it’s not my fave thing ever LOL. was also too lazy to proofread so sorry if there's errors. i’m also gonna be going on vacation with no internet for a little over a week so next update will be after that! thanks for reading luv u 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO and ONE

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE TROUBLE

CHALLENGERS TOURNAMENT, NEW ROCHELLE - 2019, 1:00 PM

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I gripped my dress as Tashi got up and cursed before walking off, disappointed with Art’s performance.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going.” I shot and grabbed her wrist, eyeing her up as I took my sunglasses off.

Shaking my grasp off of her, she bent down and spoke dangerously close to my face.

“If he’s not gonna play tennis, then I don’t wanna see shit.” She seethed and walked off, brushing off her dress with each stride.

As I watched her go, I could feel a pair of eyes on me. Darting my attention back to the match, Art was already looking my way.

Shooting him a sad expression, I put my sunglasses back on, huffed, and sat back in my seat.

All he did was shake his head and rub the sweat off his face while Patrick smirked proudly.

He sure seems to love this.

Sighing, I raised one hand to my mouth to bite my nails, the nerves of the match taking over my entire being.

At the next serve, I carefully watched the strategic movements behind the boy’s every motion. They have always been outstanding players, and I furrowed my brows as I thought back to the first time I saw them play against each other.

The stupidity of Tashi and I, dumb enough to pin two best friends against each other. We should have never stepped foot in that godforsaken hotel room.

Shaking my head, I closed my eyes. The crowd's roar echoed around me as I thought back to the night that started it all.

The night that ruined it all.

THE BOY’S HOTEL- 2006, 12:00 AM

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” I exclaimed to Tashi as we made our way to the boy's hotel room. “Why the fuck would you let them come down when you knew I was there?” I shot at her as I smacked her arm.

Tashi smacked me right back, making me let out a hiss and shoot a cold glare at her.

“I don’t know why you're acting like you don’t have a game. You’re the best at playing hard to get.” Tashi responded and shrugged as if it was as simple as adding two plus two.

“You’re a bitch.” I muttered and rolled my eyes as the hotel came into view. “What do you even plan on doing with these two.” I raised my brow at her and studied her expression to gauge what was going through her mind.

“What we usually do,” she responded, smiling at me. Hypnotize them with our charm and have a good time, of course,” She said proudly as if this was second nature for us.

I won’t say that Tash and I haven’t had our fair share of fun with boys, but something like this, with two boys who knew their way around the game themselves, was certainly daunting.

“Fine, but you should have heard how they talked about us at your match. It was disgusting.” I pretended to gag and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Perfect, we already have them locked in then.” She nudged my arm before leading the way to the room.

Rolling my eyes, I smacked her again before following behind her.

On the way to the room, I got lost in my thoughts. How did we get ourselves into such a situation? I hope Tashi doesn’t expect us to have a foursome of any sort because I don’t have the patience to deal with a whole ordeal like that.

Approaching the door, Tashi stopped to let me walk ahead of her.

“Perfect, Mila, you can see your ass poking out of your shorts.” She smirked and gently patted it until I swatted at her hand with a laugh.

“Fuck off, let’s go,” I scolded, waiting for her to catch up, as she knew which room to go to.

Once we reached the door, Tashi knocked and softly bit her lip. Scuffling was immediately heard behind the door, signifying that the boys were startled by our appearance.

I moved to press my ear to the door with a slight smirk which Tashi returned as she did the same.

“They’re crazy…” I whispered to Tashi, to which she responded with a nod and a soft hum.

When we removed our ears from the door, it swung open so quickly I couldn’t make out the motion.

The boys stood at the door, looking extremely disheveled. Patrick wore boxers and an unbuttoned linen shirt that looked like it had been shoved in his tennis bag and forgotten. Also wearing boxers, Art wore a beater t-shirt that looked like it had never been in the wash and dryer a day in his life. Both of their hair was ruffled and unkempt, making it look like they had just gotten out of bed.

Raising an eyebrow, I was the first to speak. “What, did you two just get done fucking?” I questioned as I looked between them and placed my hands on my hips.

Patrick just burst out into laughter while Art spoke up.

“No…fuck no…” He muttered with a laugh as he patted Patrick on the back.

Drunk as sailors.

I nodded at this before resting my eyes and glancing at Tashi, who smiled fondly at the two, but I knew she was plotting.

“So, hi,” Tashi spoke calmly with a smile that immediately brought the boys back to Earth as they moved aside to let us in the room.

I had to stop myself from covering my nose as we entered the room.

Reeks of beer and cigarettes…typical boys.

Two beds pushed together were messily made. Beer cans, cigarette buds, and clothes were everywhere, though it looked like someone had tried to tidy up a bit.

That explains all the noise.

Patrick mindlessly spoke to Tashi as I continued to scan the room, not noticing that Art was eyeing me up. Turning my head, I caught his stare, which didn’t make him falter. He only continued to stare before coming up to me and handing me a beer.

“Didn’t know you were gonna come.” He spoke as he looked down at me through lidded eyes. Tipsy eyes. And, of course, he had a smirk, but it spoke I’m glad you came, really.

I continued to study his expression as I let my guard down a pinch. I shrugged nonchalantly as I took a long swig of the beer, knowing I would need it to get through the night.

“Had nothing else to do. Figured why not.” I spoke calmly as I let my eyes rake over his entire figure, drinking up his messy look which he really really pulled off. Never would I ever admit that for him to hear.

Or me.

“Well, glad you’re here.” Art said as he took the beer can from my lips and sipped it while he stared into my eyes, flickering to my lips for a moment.

I kept my eyes trained on his as I refused to back down in this staredown, showing that I couldn’t be swayed that quickly just because he was extremely attractive.

“You two, come sit,” Patrick spoke up from the ground by the bed where he sat with Tashi.

Nodding at this, I waited for Art to take his eyes off mine before I made any movement to sit. After a few seconds, he nodded and placed a hand on my lower back to walk me to where everyone was sitting.

I shivered slightly at this as I softly bit my bottom lip, hiding this motion from him, but I knew Tashi saw it by her smug little smile that said I told you so.

We haven’t even done anything, and I suddenly feel like I’m in the trenches.

The next couple minutes were used to discuss how Patrick and Art met each other and how Patrick, predictable enough, taught Art how to masturbate, all while we all took sips from the beer can that Art had given me when we first got here.

“Y’all are weird as fuck.” I snorted, a bit tipsy, wiping my mouth from my last gulp as I looked between the two boys who had red cheeks from a mix of alcohol and embarrassment, and can’t forget, two big smirks.

“No, Mila. I think it's a cute story.” Tashi nodded with a smile in an attempt to reassure the boys jokingly—a tactic she used to fully reel them in.

I rolled my eyes at this and fake glared at Tashi. “Only if you’re fucked in the head!” I laughed again while the rest of them laughed with me.

“Don’t tell me you two haven’t done anything weird like that,” Patrick said, making me whip my head to him before glancing back at Tashi.

“Yeah, you two have known each other since the womb. There’s no way you haven’t done nothing.” Art added and took a long swig of the beer can before passing it to Patrick, eyes trained on me for longer than I would have liked.

I shook my head with a small laugh before looking back to Tashi, who gave me an eyebrow in return, signaling something.

You ready?

…

I’m ready.

We nodded at each other before standing up and looking down at the boys.

“You guys aren’t leaving-“ Patrick started but stopped when he saw the two of us moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

My eyes locked with both of them briefly as I flashed the most innocent smile I could muster.

Here we go.

“Patrick, come sit by me…” Tashi spoke and patted the space to her left.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He sprung up so fast he spilled the beer can everywhere on the carpet, but he couldn’t give a fuck.

As he sat down next to Tashi, my eyes locked onto Art’s. I did not need any words to tell him to sit by me.

He took the hint immediately, got up almost as fast as his best friend, and sat beside me, thigh already touching mine.

I turned to face him with lidded eyes and a small smile. I could hear his breath hitch as Adam’s apple bobbed, signifying that he took a small gulp. I softened my eyes to let him know it was okay to relax and that he could be comfortable around me.

Even though Tashi wanted to play with these boys like putty, I felt a little different about the situation.

As I tilted my head at Art slowly, I saw his face contort into a grin that radiated his comfort and need.

Leaning in slightly, I placed my hand on Art’s chest, noting how firm it felt through his thin shirt. Art mirrored my leaning in but instead placed a hand on my thigh. As I neared his lips, I teasingly pulled away as I felt Tashi pat my back. I smirked slightly at this and turned around as my lips met hers instead of Art’s.

It was an innocent kiss, a tactic to get these boys right where we wanted them. This action certainly answered their questions about us, and I hope it was worthwhile.

Once again, I could feel Art’s eyes piercing the back of my head, so I moved my hair off my shoulder and tapped the side of my neck so he would know what to do.

Almost immediately, his lips were latched onto my neck. I wondered for a moment if he was a vampire because of the way he was sucking on my neck. I figured he was searching for a blood vessel. Poor baby must have been deprived of any female touch, but the way his lips sucked profusely on my pulse point, I could tell this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Tashi and I pulled away from our innocent kiss and shot each other small smirks when we noticed that Patrick and Art were too lost in our necks to give a damn.

I tapped Art’s thigh so he would know to stop, which he reluctantly did. His lips were a bit swollen, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. Biting my lip, I reached up and brushed a finger across his bottom lip. As I did this, Art grabbed my hand and studied it before gently kissing my finger where my nail had broken. My eyes widened at this as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest.

Keep. your. composure.

Shaking out of my daze at his action, I smiled softly once again and leaned in slowly to connect our lips, hands on the back of his neck, threatening to tangle in his blonde curls.

Pillows. His lips feel like pillows.

The kiss was soft until his hand moved from my thigh to my waist. He pushed forward a bit until my back fully hit Tashi and tried to part my lips by biting my bottom one, but I pulled away before he could get that far.

Too easy.

Licking my lips to taste him, I turned back to Tashi, who placed her hand on my cheek to kiss me lightly again. As her lips melded with mine, I gingerly placed a hand on the base of Art’s jaw and slowly pulled him towards Tashi and me’s kiss. Immediately, I could feel Art’s lips meld with Tashi's, mine, and then Patrick’s, knowing that Tashi had done the same with him.

Now, the four of us were all kissing, making me slightly clench my thighs. Only slightly.

After about five seconds, I felt Tashi tap my back to signal me to pull away slowly.

As we both pulled away, Art and Patrick were full-on making out, not noticing that the two of us had abandoned the kiss. I glanced at Tashi with a smirk as she watched them in satisfaction.

It took everything in me not to giggle as I watched the two continue to eat each other's faces fervently.

Specifically Art.

After a beat, Tashi spoke up.

“Okay.” She said, which made the boys freeze and pull away from each other.

Immediately, they both looked at us in shock.

Got ‘em.

I tilted my head at Art as I gently reached my hand out to trace shapes on his thigh while he looked down at me like I had three heads.

“That was cute…” I mouthed to him with a soft smile as he continued to eye me up in shock mixed with a bit of awe.

“Well, we should get going before our parents freak out and wonder where we are,” Tashi says. I sit up as I follow suit, cutting any tension in the room.

Standing up from the bed, I chuckled to myself as I brushed off my clothes and fixed my hair. “It’s been fun,” I said, aiming my comment at Art. Thank you for having us,” I finished with a small, innocent smile as Tashi and I left.

“Wait!” Patrick said which stopped us in our tracks.

Turning around, Tashi and I shared matching grins that we quickly hid when we faced the boys.

Art spoke up next as he looked right at me. “What about your numbers?” He asked as he stared at me like a puppy deprived of dinner.

I crossed my arms and shrugged. “If you win tomorrow, I’ll give you my number,” I said plainly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“And I’ll give you my number if you win tomorrow,” Tashi said to Patrick just as plainly as I did.

Both boys shot each other smirks before nodding in agreement.

Tashi and I said our goodbyes before leaving the hotel room. When we were out of earshot, we both started laughing.

“We have them wrapped around our pretty little fingers!” Tashi exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

I laughed at this and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I really hope Art wins,” I said in a dreamy tone of voice as I thought back to his face, lips, chest, everything, really.

Tashi shook me back and forth with a smile as she exclaimed, “I’m just ready to watch some good fucking tennis!” She laughed, knowing that the two boys were really going to battle it out with this new prize put into motion.

STANFORD UNIVERSITY - 2007 5:00 PM

As I slowly trudged from the tennis court to the dining hall, I felt my arms giving out.

“Fuck this damn bag,” I whined and went to a nearby bench to take a breather and bask in the California sun.

Today’s practice was by far the worst of the semester. I worked with my coach on my serve to prepare for my upcoming match, where I would face an opponent ranked decently high in the state.

Closing my eyes and throwing my head back to catch the rays of the warm sun, I let out a groan. I probably looked like a corpse to every passerby, but just like Tashi, they knew me, so hopefully, they would just smile and wave.

“Rough practice?” An extremely familiar and captivating voice snapped me back to reality.

Opening my eyes, I was met with my favorite pair of light blue eyes—something he would never know. Of course, a smirk adorned his features, and his blonde curls were tucked into a backward red cap, most certainly saying “Stanford” on the flip side.

“Art…” I spoke almost breathlessly as I sat up, brushed a piece of hair out of my face, and used my other hand to block the sun that Art’s head almost blocked.

“Hey, can I sit?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, and nodded to where my bag was on the bench.

Quickly moving it to sit in front of my feet, I patted the empty seat next to me. “Sure.” I smiled at him and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

Over the summer, I would never allow myself to be so forward with Art Donaldson. I couldn’t speak for my present self, though. Since Patrick won the match, he and Tashi started dating after he scored her number. I, of course, was too upset to act like I didn’t give a damn about not being able to give Art my number. Tashi insisted that to keep their passion and drive for tennis alive, I keep up my end of the deal and don’t give Art my number. Hesitantly, I agreed as I knew how easily a stimulus like that can create great results. Since the match, Art and I have never spoken except for the occasional hello when passing by each other on the tennis court or dining hall. This moment was the first time I could speak with him since everything, and since I may have developed a slight…crush.

“So,” He started and turned his body on the bench to face me fully. “How have you been?” He tilted his head and tapped the back of the bench while studying my face.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I turned my body to face him fully, bringing one leg up and letting the other drape off the side of the bench.

“Do you want an honest answer?” I chuckled softly as I moved my hands to remove my hair from its braids.

In turn, Art laughed gently while smirking at me. His stare narrowed as he studied my face, acting like I was an old friend he had known for years.

“Well, if the honest answer is terrible and cruel, then I’m not so sure.” He responded and immediately matched my energy.

Damn you, Donaldson.

“Hey.” I softly laughed as I moved my dangling leg to kick his gently while I finished taking my hair out.

I wondered for a beat how I wanted to summarize months of memories, feelings, and experiences into one sentence, and this made me sigh.

“It’s been rough. Majoring in biology and the grueling tennis schedule makes me wanna rip my hair out.” I spoke in a low tone as I ironically and subconsciously began to play with a strand of my hair.

“I feel smothered.” I finished and silently cursed myself for acting so vulnerable.

That was three sentences, Milan. Not one.

As I stared at Art almost helplessly, his eyes softened.

“I feel the same way, trust me.” He chuckled softly before removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. “It really sucks, but it’s gonna be worth it,” He ended his thought before putting his hat back on.

“Fuck, and I thought I was the only one. Quite naive of me.” I laughed before looking back up at the sun. “It’s whatever, though. You’re right, and everything will come into place and be worth it.” I continued as I looked anywhere but at Art’s piercing stare.

Silence. He didn’t respond. He didn’t laugh. He did nothing except stare. Stare in a heavy silence that brought me back to the night in that damn hotel room.

After a few beats, I returned to my senses, slowly stood up from the bench, and brushed my skirt off.

“Well, I didn’t mean to stay here for long, so I’m gonna head off.” I went to pick up my bag as I spoke disappointedly.

I couldn’t allow myself to fall into the trenches. I needed to focus on my studies and tennis. Hard work makes everything worthwhile, and a boy isn’t part of that everything right now.

“Wait, Milan,” Art spoke up and grabbed my wrist, his grip as firm as it would be if he held his racket.

This made me freeze in my tracks. What the hell did he think he was doing?

My eyes slowly met Art’s as I parted my lips to speak, but nothing came out, so he spoke for me.

“It’s been months, Milan,” he started, his grip on my wrist still firm, his eyes scanning my face for any hints of discomfort.

“I know we only really talked with each other that one night and had no time to get to know each other, but I would like to get to know you better.” He didn’t falter. Not once. I don’t even think he blinked.

My lips had gone dry, and my voice, for some reason, grew hoarse.

“Art…” I slowly began as I looked down at his hand, gripping my wrists. “The four of us had a deal…” I made sure to tread lightly with a severe tone.

Two feet and ten toes on the ground. Don’t falter. Don’t give in.

“They’re a happy fucking couple, Milan. I doubt they give two shits.” He stated matter-of-factly as I felt his thumb rub up and down on my wrist.

How naive.

Biting my lip in thought, I began an internal battle with myself. I wanted this so bad. And I could tell Art wanted it just as bad as I did—possibly more.

I deserve a win other than tennis.

Sighing, I removed my arm from his grasp and moved to my tennis bag to look for a piece of paper. Instead, I found a piece of muscle tape and a small pencil. Quickly scribbling down my number, I could feel Art trying to see what I was doing.

“Here,” I said with slightly red cheeks as I stood back up and handed him the piece of muscle tape. “Don’t go blowing up my phone now,” I playfully scolded before picking up my bag and walking past him, glancing at the triumphant smile playing on his perfect features.

Perfect? …yeah.

Before I began my trek to the dining hall, I touched Art’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“I didn’t want to admit it, but I really wanna get to know you more, too.”

NEXT DAY, STANFORD DORMS 11:00 AM

MEET ME IN THE DINING HALL FOR LUNCH?

My eyes stared at the text in utter disbelief. Art certainly didn’t take any time once he got what he’d been craving all summer.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Tashi laughed from the foot of my bed as she hit my leg.

Fuck.

My eyes looked to her as I shut my phone, put it next to me, and picked my computer back up to pretend to look at my study guide for an upcoming biology quiz.

“My mom sent me a weird text,” I laughed awkwardly before covering my face with my computer.

“Are you fucking with me?” Tashi laughed as I heard her moving up towards my side of the bed.

She shut my computer to look at my face, which was for sure red as a tomato.

“You’re lying,” she smirked before sitting on her knees and clapping her hands. What is it? A boy? A girl?” She persisted as she grabbed my leg and widely smiled at me.

I rolled my eyes at this before clicking my tongue. “Why are you so dead set on the fact that I was texting someone romantically?” I crossed my arms and bit the inside of my cheek, probably a dead giveaway.

Tashi’s face fell as her brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms, mimicking me.

“You’re joking, right?” She started before studying my stern expression. “We’ve known each other for what, eighteen fucking years?” She used this as a tactic to crack me. “I know your every expression and what it means. I could write a thesaurus on you if I wanted to.” She stated as she sucked on her teeth, brows still furrowed.

I stared at her sternly for a few beats before sighing and turning my head to look anywhere but at her.

“Fine, you got me…” I trailed before uncrossing my arms to fumble with my fingers. “but this is the first time I’ve received a text, so it’s not important.” I put my hands up and looked at her as an explanation as to why she shouldn’t ask questions.

I should know better.

Tashi’s annoyed face instantly turned into a happy one as she bounced on the bed and continuously hit my leg.

“Who is the lucky guy? or girl…” She tilted her head with a goofy smile, which she would only show me.

“It’s a boy…” I sighed before turning my head to look at my closest, as it suddenly looked very interesting.

No matter how long I had known Tashi, I couldn’t gauge how she would react to this. She’s a very pushy person who likes everything to go her way, but I’m hoping that since it’s me, she will react differently.

She shrieked and shook my legs back and forth with a giggle.

She’ll be so disappointed.

“Who is it? Is it that cute boy I caught you practicing with the other week? Or that one boy that you sometimes study with from your Chemistry class? Or maybe it's that random guy from the baseball team I saw you talking within the dining hall last week?” She fired off in a millisecond as I stared at her in utter disbelief.

“Okay, first of all, how did you know about all of those? And second of all, the first guy is gay, the second guy has a girlfriend, and the last one was giving my pencil back to me after using it for a quiz we took in statistics.” I responded as I rolled my eyes so hard I thought the whites of them would turn permanent.

“I’m your best friend. I know everything.” She spoke eerily with wide eyes before breaking into a smirk. “So, come on! Tell me who it is!” She bounced repeatedly on the bed and shook me back and forth until I finally had enough.

“Fine!” I exclaimed and threw my hands up in the air.

Fuck it.

“It was Art, alright.” I threw my hands up as I bit the bullet and came clean.

Tashi’s face dropped almost instantly as his name fell off my lips. She wasn’t happy. Not at all.

“What the fuck do you mean?” She laughed in disbelief as she shook her head and moved her hands from my legs.

I immediately sat up more and moved towards her.

“I saw him after practice yesterday, and we got to talk,” I explained as I bit the inside of my cheek in anticipation. “He asked for my number, and I figured since everything happened months ago, there would be no issue…” I trailed off and looked her straight in the eyes with a pleading expression.

Tashi just stared at me and shook her head slowly.

“We had a deal with them…” She stared at me with an accusatory face.

“Tash, I know,” I exclaimed and grabbed her hands. “But you knew I liked him more than what happened in that hotel room. Plus, you and Patrick are happy, so why should it matter?” I asked and shook my head as I gripped her hands.

She stared at me as if I kicked her puppy and gasped in her throat. “Um, to keep their passion alive? To ensure they both strive for better and strengthen their relationship with tennis?” She spoke as if it was plain as day.

Furrowing my brows, I slowly shook my head and parted my lips, shocked.

“Is tennis all you care about?”

I shouldn’t have said that.

My words echoed in my mind as I retracted my hands from Tashi’s and bit my lip, feeling defeated. Her stare pierced into my soul as she looked away from me and placed her hands on her thighs.

“If this is what you want, go ahead. I can’t and won’t stop you.” She spoke slowly before eyeing me.

Fuck, I messed up.

“But never think for a second that I care about tennis more than you.” She choked out as she looked at the picture of us in fifth grade sitting on my bedside table.

At this, my eyes widened, and I nodded slowly as a single tear slid down my cheek. Moving towards Tashi, I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her.

“Pinky promise?” I whispered into her neck while she returned the hug.

“Pinky promise.” She responded and grabbed my hand to interlock our pinkies.

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silverzoomies · 8 months

Text

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you. You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...” His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight.

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt #im terrified this is like...not as decent as my usual but whatever !!

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writingjourney · 3 months

Text

RHRN spoilery talk

(about grief and mental health and the ending, the way I see the movie and why I love it so much)

I am feeling so many things about the fact that Copia was so unwell and anxious during the movie, trying to push away the reality of the end of his time as Papa as well as the visible signs of illness in Sister, that he dissociated the moment he stepped off stage, that he saw her sitting in a regular chair instead of the wheelchair, blended out the doctors and IV bags to see her how he wanted to see her, this strong powerful woman who has been by his side, pushing him, and who he only recently learned was his actual mother. It is so very easy to get lost in your anxiety about the future, in the anticipatory grief of what you'll lose, struggling to stay mindful and here where you have actual power over your life.

And looking back at the chapters this is what he has been doing, clinging to his little comforts (think of the whipped cream moment in the movie vs. the video games, the tricycle rides, the movie scene re-enactments), pushing away unwanted thoughts (not doing his taxes, the fact that neither his father nor his mother openly admitted to the parentage despite all signs being there, letting him float in uncertainty), playing it off like he's cool about everything while feeling dread and anxiety on the inside the closer he comes to the end of his era and presumed death (think of the coffin scene, the intro to the movie).

This man had no family so he picks role models that are close to him and suddenly when he learns that they were family all along he loses them, learns that he has been lied to most of his life and worked hard for others, to fill their shoes (first his father, now his mother). Despite Nihil treating him awfully he continuous to try and reach for approval for his achievements which he does not even get by the end as he's promoted ("I hope this new guy doesn't disappoint like you did"). He will never get emotional fulfilment from his father despite having small bonding moments, something that is fucking hard to accept and that he brushes off by throwing silly insults at him because it hurts. Because yeah, this is the type of pain that makes you feel like a child searching for breadcrumbs of affection from parents who do not know how to meet your emotional needs.

I feel just incredibly seen by all of this, the grief, dealing with sick relatives, emotional neglect, absent fathers you try to get love from but never will, lack of familial support, depression, trying to hold on to what comforts you in the darker moments, struggling to stay present in the face of anxiety and the world at large. I know this plot means little to some people, that you'd wished for more drama or something different altogether, but I feel like if you paid attention to the chapters then this is only the natural progression, the natural conclusion of his arc. It is very raw if you look past the comedic relief, and it is very well done in a way that keeps the campy, silly vibes of the chapters while still approaching these subjects in a very tangible, relatable way. It just makes me love the band even more.

#rite here rite now spoilers #rite here rite now #ghovie spoilers #i've been thinking thoughts #sometimes it happens haha

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 26 days

Text

the last bit of us (chapter one)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 2441

Playlist Song: Snap by Rosa Linn

A/N: This is a hefty intro to Eleanor but really wanted to establish her before we get angsty!

prologue / one / two / three

______________________________________________________________

The sky was still dark when my alarm clock went off. My hand slides along the mattress, slapping the snooze button. It can’t be time already. There’s no way. I snuggle deeper into the mattress and peel one eye open to squint at the cracked window. The big moon is lower in the horizon but the sun hasn’t made its known yet.

My phone starts to go off, across the room atop my bureau. “Fuck.”

I try to get the kink out of my neck when I get up. The wooden floorboards of the farmhouse creak as I shuffle past the bureau into the bathroom and shut off the alarm. The bulbs above the mirror are too bright and I have to shut my eyes for a minute to adjust. I wash my face, toss my hair into a quick braid and pull up the weather app on my phone before heading downstairs.

The coffeemaker in the kitchen is ancient but after a few taps and fiddling with the cord of the plug, it starts to gurgle. It’s a satisfying sound. While it brews, I check the living room through the archway for Carter. He’s still curled up under a small crocheted blanket on her couch where I left him last night. He’s too tall and most of his calves dangle over the arm of the couch.

“Carter, time to get up,” I call and pull my thermostat off the drying rack to fill with fresh coffee. He doesn’t move. I sigh and look down at my watch. The long spider web of cracks in the glass doesn’t distract from the face. It’s 3:19 AM. We gotta get on the road. The wind chimes are loud out on the porch. The rain should be starting soon.

“Carter,” I say again. I walk through the archway and grab the closest thing I can find and chuck the pillow at his face.

Carter startles immediately, shouting “I’m up,” in the process. He grabs for his glasses, dropped onto the coffee table.

“No you weren’t,” I say, stepping back into the kitchen to fill his thermostat. “We gotta go, the storm should be rolling in any time now and Birdie will murder us if we’re late.” When I turn to look at him, he’s sliding his rain boots back on.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot. I thought you were Birdie’s boss,” he says, hand on his chest to fey surprise.

“It’s too early for your sarcasm. C’mon.” The entryway into the house is cluttered with a few pairs of boots and sneakers, my raincoat and denim jacket along with a variety of hats hanging from the hooks. I stare at the wooden loveseat under the coat hooks while sliding on my boots. I can only see the bottom half of the painted heart on the backing.

“El, anytime you want to get moving,” Carter says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

I blink a little, standing up and grabbing my own backpack. “Fuck you.”

The farmhouse sits out in the middle of an open field in Guthrie, Oklahoma. The barn doors shudder a little from the wind and I can see my dad’s red beat up Dodge Ram on the lawn. I smile a little, pushing the screen door open. It squeals as I unlock the door to my truck and slide in. The engine stutters a little when it comes to life and we whip out onto the road.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks me, taking a sip of his coffee. A bump in the road causes the truck to jump and a little splatters on him. “Ah jeez.” He tries to wipe at it and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Not really,” I shake my head. I reach for the radio, turning the dial so I can hear the morning station. There’s a new Luke Combs song playing and I tap my fingers a little to the beat. “Too much on the brain with this project.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware El but you always have too much on the brain,” he says.

“Well someone has to do work on this team,” I joke, smirking at him.

It’s not a lie. Ever since Charlie and I had gotten our first big contract with FEMA, I had been in nonstop work mode. Throwing myself into each project a little deeper than the last. It was probably worrisome how much time I spent at the warehouse, elbow deep in some new tech but I couldn’t help myself. It was a safe and mindless space, fixing and tinkering.

We drive down the long stretch of dirt through the fields and I peer up at the sky again. There’s a loud ringing in the cab of the truck and I glance over at Carter, peering down at his phone. “It’s Birdie,” he says. “She says we’re late.”

I grin a little, shaking my head as the warehouse comes into view. The freshly painted sign on the building reads TempestEdge Innovations. I push the button on the callbox and the military grade barrier raises to allow me to drive through. I swing around the side of the building to the open garage door. It’s just about 3:46 AM.

I slide out of the truck as the door to the garage closes behind me. “You’re late,” Birdie’s voice echoes across the warehouse.

“Birdie, give me a break, I had to make four repairs last night before we left,” I say, walking toward the tall blonde woman. Her hair is pulled snug up into a ballerina bun, a clipboard held to the fleece of her vest. “Not all of us go for a run a 2 AM to start our day.”

She scoffs and shoves me playfully. “Maybe you should give it a try.”

We grin, making our way deeper into the warehouse where all of our desks are crowded together with a few computers. Tables of spare parts, design blueprints and drawings and our small kitchen are scattered throughout the space. Beyond that, my engineering floor houses large models and mock ups that sit large and wide.

I drop my bag at my desk and smile at the photo frame on the corner. It’s from graduation at OSU. We’re all making funny faces at the camera, hugging each other tightly. I tap on my keyboard to wake the screen, noticing my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignore it and look up, “How’s everyone doing this morning?” I ask.

“Morning E,” Palmer, our Meteorologist says when she looks up over her computer screen. She gnaws on her lip, auburn brows raised. “I don’t think this classifies as morning quite yet.”

“I mean, dawn, maybe?” Sean says, walking up from behind me with a coffee mug in hand. It’s white with rope lettering that spells out This ain’t my first rodeo! Sean walks over to Birdie who is looking over her clipboard, comparing it to the large chalkboard we wheeled over to her corner of the office. She’s talking to herself as he kisses her head on the way to his desk.

“Dawn is defined by a sun rising in the sky,” Carter remarks, tapping away on his computer. “Definitely not dawn yet.”

We’re interrupted by Charlie, stepping into the office space with her phone pressed to her ear. “Alright, yes. I can definitely get out there next week. Thank you so much, have a wonderful day,” Charlie says. She smiles at everyone. “Alright team, let’s get this test going.”

Everyone slides up from their desk chairs, grabs their tablets and walkies and heads to the back of the warehouse. We slide on our swanky mesh neon vests, easily identifiable out in the storm. Sean slides the back door open and we step out onto the ramp. The rain has started and it’s coming down sideways, like a thick curtain across the landscape. A few hundred feet from the warehouse, a row of buildings line up on either side.

“Alright, we all remember safety procedures?” Birdie asks, looking over her clipboard. There’s a chorus of noise and Birdie grumbles. “C’mon people, we’re all about to bunker separately for the tornado. Do we all remember safety procedures?”

“Birdie, we’ve done these bunkering tests a few times now, c’mon,” I say.

With our current contact, we started trying to build new infrastructures on different buildings to withstand a tornado in the hopes to help families and businesses not fall into a pit of financial burden from having to rebuild. It was the biggest project yet and took us nearly six months just to build the fake town with different materials and different methods. The only way to collect data around the structural integrity of the buildings was to bunker into each of the different variations.

Palmer had tracked cells moving toward the area and we were certain an EF2 was heading straight for us. Which was a perfect opportunity to split up again and see how well the buildings held up. It would be our third test trial. It’s not the smartest move but growing up with two crazy famous storm chasers? Kind of breeds crazy.

The winds start to pick up and I look up at the debris and dust kicking up in the air. “Alright guys, let’s head out,” I say, turning on my radio. We take off in different directions, saying goodbyes and waving each other off through the harsh winds. While Charlie stays safe inside the warehouse, Birdie takes to the gas station, Sean the grocery store. Palmer heads to the farm house tucked behind everything and Carter yells “Stay safe” as he turns into the doctor’s office. I head the furthest down the road to the bar & grille.

I look up the doors behind me, moving to the safety corner where all the monitors are. I slide into my space and settle in, logging into our tracking system on the tablet to type in my notes. I can barely hear the wind outside and pull my walkie talkie from my waist. “Alright, I am settled and am clear. See you guys on the other side.”

I wait, anxiously tapping my foot as I watch the footage off the street for the incoming destruction. But ten minutes passed with no noise whatsoever. I glance up and toward the door, confused. I tap the storm tracker, noticing the pattern of movement for the storm diminishing. I click the button of the walkie with my thumb. “P, am I reading right that the storm choked itself out? Over,” I say, watching the monitor again.

“The winds are dying down, I think it missed us,” Palmer calls back.

“Let’s hold for another five minutes to be cautious,” Birdie’s voice crackles. But five minutes pass with no movement. Birdie calls that we’re clear and I head out of the building. The sun is starting to rise, illuminating the fields with a golden glow as if there hadn’t been 40 to 60 mile an hour winds and rain only a little while ago.

“We woke up at the ass crack of dawn for this?” Carter groans.

“Not dawn,” Palmer corrects, walking in step with us back to the warehouse. Birdie wraps her arm around Sean’s waist as they step ahead of us.

“The conditions seemed perfect,” Birdie says, shrugging. “All we can really hope for.”

The door slides open to the warehouse to reveal Charlie. She’s got this fixed look on her face as if she just stepped in dog shit. “We’ll get the next one Charlie, no need to fuss. They know that we can’t control the conditions of the storms,” I point to the sky and pat her on the shoulder.

“That’s not what soured my mood,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion as the team steps passed us, back to our desks. “What is it?”

“Someone’s out at the gate,” she says, nodding to the opposite end of the warehouse. “Someone’s here? No one comes here.”

“Oh, if only,” Charlie says. She turns on her heel, heading to the door on the other side of the building. I rack my brain for people who know the warehouse. We had some rich investors who would stop by trying to buy us out, our clients and FEMA reps that would come our way to see new tech and some family but, Mom and Dad would’ve called me before showing up. Curiosity kills the team and I hear their chairs scrap against the floor. Loud footsteps follow us as Charlie shoves the door open with a knowing look.

I step around her and peer out at the gated entrance to see a suped up red Dodge rumbling idle. The engine turns off after a moment and the driver side door swings open. I see his cowboy boots before I see him. He’s wearing a stupid flannel and his stupid backwards baseball cap. Tyler. He takes off his sunglasses, expression is hard to read. He’s not showing his normally beaming pearl whites that I caught a few times while passing Carter’s viewing of their YouTube videos. His face is stiff, uncomfortable as he rests his hands on his hips. What takes me by surprise is the young woman who steps out of the passenger side.

I don’t notice my feet are moving until I realize how far away Birdie’s “Son of a bitch” is. I don’t even realize how fast I’m moving or how close Tyler is. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask when I’m close enough that I could throw a rock if I wanted to. And I wanted to.

He looks down, trying to collect his thoughts. I can see the gears turning in his brain, trying to figure out what to say to me. He rubs at his jaw, nearly smiling and leaning up against the door of the truck. His eyes sparkled a little. “Hi El.” Bold to go with charm.

“That’s all you have to say? Hi El?” I cross my arms across my chest, staring him down. He’s insane.

Tyler purses his lips, gaze softening as he takes me in. He turns to look at the woman, now having moved in front of the hood of the car. “Kate,” his drawl is still thick with an enthusiasm that can’t be rivaled. “Meet Eleanor. Eleanor Owens.”

“I prefer to go by Harding these days,” I retort.

“Owens…you mean–,” the woman – Kate – stutters a little.

“Wife,” I state, turning to look at her. “He means wife.”

Thank you for reading! Want to be added to the tagged list or share feedback? Click here :)

#twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens imagines #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x oc #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #the last bit of us fic

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causenessus · 3 months

Text

love notes

part 0.2. BACKSTABBING BITCH

“can i see you tonight? can i see you tomorrow? i want to be your friend. i wanna be more than that. will you love me tomorrow?”

from can i see you tonight? by eyedress, left at calmaart, sakai

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . present day. ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

i'm sorry i feel like the pacing of everything is a little convoluted,, there's not really a lot of timeskips. basically everything after this chapter is also in present day but i just wanted to make that clear <3 and hopefully the intros really clarifies how everyone's relationships changed, for example suna and y/n going from never talking to hanging out more <3

calmaart is a place in japan for street art supplies and clothing with a legal graffiti wall <3

IF YOU WERE HERE FOR THAT STUPID POLL I DID OVER "A" OR "MY" WHERE "MY" WON BUT I CHOSE "A" ANYWAY AND HAD AN ENTIRE CRISIS OVER IT THAT WAS FOR THIS CHAPTER (suna's "you're an angel") BUT THEN THIS ALSO LED TO ONE OF MY FIRST INTERACTIONS WITH @froyaoya WHO HELPED ME THRU THAT ENTIRE CRISIS SO IT WAS A GOOD THING IN THE END IG <3

both y/n and suna are typically people that use their priv accounts for the majority of their tweets. yn uses her public account for mostly photography to maintain an image of professionalism and suna mainly uses his public account for pictures of art and volleyball related things

suna is on yn's private because she lets all of her close friends onto it but she isn't on suna's because he told her it's mainly just the volleyball boys cursing each other out (which is true but most of all he was just scared to have her on it in case he tweeted about her)

y/n definitely skips school to have more available openings in her schedule for photography bookings

whenever she's taking pictures of a couple and they're not looking, she'll take a picture of them and send it to a groupchat with akaashi and kenma and ask if they think the couple's gonna make it or not

they'll spend hours analyzing the red and green flags

omi's the captain of the msby vball team BC I SAID SO

suna asked if he could leave practice early "to study for a test"

they have the same major and omi was like "we don't have an upcoming test."

suna played it off as retaking a previous test he hadn't done well on and omi could no longer be bothered and let him go

suna often stays until closing when he visits y/n at work and will walk her home <3

atsumu and oikawa work together well but in the beginning they had a bit of a rivalry, both being well known setters and they've just kind of continued to be slightly passive aggressive towards each other but get along for the most part

atsumu was locked in the bathroom for an hour until bokuto asked oikawa if they could let him out so he could shower

also not sure if i've said this but everyone is in their second year of college (not super important but just to avoid future plot holes)

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

#suna rintarou #suna rintaro #rintarou suna #suna #sunarin #suna x reader #suna smau #suna x reader smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Intro

He says he can make you understand his way of love, that he can help you awaken desires you never knew you had. You give him seven days to prove it.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements (only discussed), mild Angst, mentions of body dismorphia, mentions of past trauma and low self-esteem, fluff, slow burn, they have chemistry but mc has trust issues, mentions of revenge porn, mentions of past domestic abuse (mental), it's not a heavy chapter but people complain I don't tag enough so here you go, SFW

Length: 2k

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

A/N: This is an intro post which contains no smut. You can skip this one if other works have been posted, but much of the plot won't make sense without this.

-> Masterlist

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Jungkook is a pretty talented guy.

Film director, photographer, occasional model by accident whenever he's seen at events. Apart from that, he values his privacy, has it all figured out how to keep his friends and family and everything else behind closed doors, and it's how you met him- a simple friend of Taehyung's, your former roommate and now best friend of almost five years. At first, Jungkook had thought you and Tae were more than friends- but he had quickly figured it out, had explained that he's got simply good senses when it came to reading people.

You didn't think much of it.

Then, a few weeks later after getting to know him, you had all sat in Jungkook's living room, eating takeout and drinking a little, when Taehyung had to leave early after a friend had called him. It was the first time you were left alone with Jungkook, who had kindly offered to drive you home later, once you want to leave. You'd told him about your hobbies- crocheting being one of them, and he had smiled about that. And excited as you were, you had mentioned how the top you'd been wearing was actually made by you- but that you thought the back looked boring, so you never wore it without a little jacket. He had offered to tie some decorative knots in the back, later showing his work off to you- and you had asked how he knew how to do that.

It's how you found out about that.. other side of him.

It took you weeks of dancing around the topic, until you were finally back at his place, as he wipes his hands with a wet wipe, leaning back against his couch. Evenings like these are common between you two, after all, Jungkook is a safe person to you- he won't ever make you uncomfortable, and if he does, you can just say so, and he'll adjust accordingly. It's something you really like about him- one of many things. "You can ask about it, you know?" He chuckles out of nowhere, and you look up at him. "You're curious. Taehyung had told me." He explains, and you can't help but groan dramatically, well aware what Taehyung had told him you were curious about.

"Taehyung can't ever really not spill secrets, can he?" You mumble angrily at yourself, putting down your chopsticks as you lean back, and Jungkook notices immediately how you seem to close off from him at the topic. He knows a lot more about you than you think- but still. He wants you to tell him yourself, too.

"Well, that's who he is." Jungkook shrugs because of that, trying to make you as comfortable as he can by treating the topic as something normal- which is exactly what it is to him, after all. "So?" He asks, and you squirm around a bit.

"So like.. you tie people up?" You ask, and he can't help but laugh. He get's this a lot after all, Taehyung having worried Jungkook might be some sort of sadist who hurts people in a dungeon of some sorts- something that happens, true, but always consensual, down the line. It's a pretty complicated topic, he admits that, and because of that, he can understand both the curiosity and judgement towards it.

It's not everyone's cup of tea, and that's fine, too.

"If they want me to, sure." He shrugs, smiling. "Some people like that. It gives them a feeling of comfort and security, and I like the aesthetic of it." Jungkook explains, picking up his glass of water, to take a sip, watching how you seem to think about it. "Not your thing?" He wonders, and you shake your head.

"Like, what if you want to get out or something?" You ask, and Jungkook across from you seems nonchalant about it. After all, shibari and bondage are the most.. tame things he practices and enjoys.

"Then I'll let them out. Either untie them or cut the ropes, easy." He shrugs again, leaning back. "Saying No makes everything stop, after all." He easily mentions- and you grow silent at that.

You remember when you said no back in your last relationship. Sure, things stop- but the uncomfortable aftermath of it is all your fault, awkward silence and the weight of having ruined a perfectly fine experience hanging heavy on your mind for the rest of the day- sometimes even several days. Saying no is weird, it's awkward, especially when you're just being overly anxious about things that aren't even all that bad.

You've decided that sex just isn't for you, ever since then. You'll just.. do it yourself.

"A no is a no." Jungkook suddenly says, and when you look up, he looks awfully serious. "No matter what." He underlines his statement, and you shrug uncomfortably. He knows from Taehyung that your last relationship wasn't a good one- mental abuse and pressure put on you to fit you into a mold made for you by the guy you'd loved. He'd told you he was 'fixing' you, constantly belittled or ignored you, and even threatened to release intimate videos of you allegedly taken by him if you were to ever say something bad about him.

Jungkook had been worried, but Taehyung insisted that after helping you find a lawyer, it had been revealed that none of those videos even existed, because you rarely ever even had sex to begin with.

"Yeah maybe- but then it's awkward and weird." You shake your head as you explain your standpoint. "Like, I can't imagine doing stuff like that. Taehyung said you do a whole lot of other stuff too- and like, I don't judge, really!" You explain yourself, waving him off. "Sex, like, with another person is just not my thing. I don't like it." You shake your head, closing the empty cardboard food container in front of you.

"Feel free to correct me-" He starts his sentence carefully, not looking at you as to not pressure you with eye contact. After all, he knows how to behave around people, it's one of the most important skills as someone in his position. "-but it sounds more like something has made you dislike sex with someone else." He offers.

"Yeah maybe." You mumble. "Or maybe I just realized that I'm better off.. doing it myself." You say mostly to yourself. "I'm not good at this stuff. Having sex with someone else is awkward, and weird."

"Is that why you never let me close?" He asks, and you freeze.

Caught you.

It's true that you and Jungkook have undeniable.. chemistry. He's nice, kind, a little childish but in a good way- he plays around with you with such ease, makes it clear that he's seriously interested in you by not only flirting, but also actively trying to participate in your life. He offers to drive you to appointments, texts daily, meets up with you whenever he's got the time for it. He initiates physical touch whenever appropriate, praises you, and it's also pretty obvious on your side that all these things affect you. You like him, you really do-

but that side of him intimidates you too much to really involve yourself with him. Once you have.. or more so, try to have sex with him, your friendship will be ruined, and any potential for a romance with him shattered. But considering how he loves intimacy, there's no chance for a relationship anyways, right?

"…maybe." You mumble, not looking at him.

"What exactly scares you about that part?" He wonders. He's genuinely curious if he can do anything to help you be more comfortable with the idea of loving someone physically again. It's fine if you really just don't want this- he won't ever push you into anything, but considering your past experiences and clear interest in him, he wants to at least try. Not just to figure out what's making you this anxious about this aspect of a relationship, but more so, to figure out how he can make you feel comfortable with him.

He likes you, after all, he really does. And he wants to somehow make this work between you both, even if that means that he will have to adjust his sex-life.

"It doesn't scare me.." You try and deny as if to defend yourself, but he just leans back a little, relaxing in his posture.

"Sounds like it, though. And it's not stupid to be scared of sex if you've made bad experiences in the past." He offers. "Natural reaction. Nothing bad about it, really." He says further.

"Okay, yeah, I'm scared of it!" You wave your hands up in defeat. "Because I suck at it, I don't like stuff, it's weird-" You start, and he chuckles.

"What did you do?" He wonders. "Genuinely. I'm curious." He asks. You shrug. But you don't shut him out, and he eagerly takes that chance.

"What you do, you know. Like, normal stuff." You shrug. "But I don't know- it was uncomfortable, and hurt, and so we stopped back then and it got super awkward." You explain in shame. "He said I just can't take anything and that I'm too sensitive. So I guess I'll just do stuff myself and that's it." You reveal, making Jungkook hum in thought.

"Was it your first time?" He wonders, and you shake your head.

"My first time was fine. Not like, great, but it was fine." You say, unsure as you reach for a glass of water on the table.

"So he was just shit in bed, got it." Jungkook nods to himself. "Is that why you seem so uncomfortable with yourself?" He asks, and you look up at him, confused. "You always adjust the way you sit, you cover up even when it's hot, you don't like pictures taken of you and you basically hide yourself whenever you can. Which is confusing, because you're honestly really pretty." He tells you, and you sigh. "No, really." He adds on. "There's nothing wrong with your body or your looks. It's pretty frustrating to me to see you so insecure and anxious about it when there's nothing to hide or be ashamed of." He tells you.

"You say that 'cause you wanna be like, the cool guy who shows the poor shy girl what sex is like." You huff, crossing your legs as you look at your hands.

"Not quite. I don't just want to fuck you." He chuckles. "But I wouldn't say no if you were to let me show you a thing or two." He laughs playfully.

"I'm not letting you tie me up." You threaten.

"Yet." He responds teasingly, and you turn a bit red at that, unable to not think about a scenario like that. Now that you think about it.. would it be that bad? You trust Jungkook, after all. In a way, you'd probably let him do that.

"You act like you could change my mind about your whole… BDSM thing in, like a week." You scoff, and he grins.

"Interesting that you know what the scene is called." He calls you out, and your eyes widen a bit as you realize you've been caught red handed. Because in reality, you have done some research into this whole stuff, just to kind of.. look around, so to say. "And a week seems.. a bit short, but sure." He shrugs, watching you.

"Wait, what?" You wonder, looking at him.

"Sure, let's start Monday, right after this weekend." He proposes. "One week, and if I don't find anything that's your taste, anything you like, I'll admit defeat." He tells you.

"One week?" You ask, and he nods, holding out his hand for you to take.

"One week." He repeats again, as you take his hand-

sealing the deal.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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vforvalensa · 1 year

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I got caught up with the Golden Kamuy's author new hockey manga, Dogsred, and I also took the opportunity to start reading through Noda's old hockey manga that got cancelled early on, Supinamarada.

For those unaware, Dogsred is effectively a do over of Supinomarada now that Noda has enough clout from Golden Kamuy to tell the hockey story he wanted with out fear of cancellation. Dogsred has the same premise, same characters, and same basic events to Supinomarada, but obviously Noda has changed as a story teller and manga artist since doing all of Golden Kamuy, and it's super interesting to see that side by side.

For one Dogsred is way more expedient, it manages to get through the story intro and the first hockey game in 8 chapters whereas the old series took 13. And I think one way in which Dogsred achieves this is by massively compressing the way information is delivered. This is super obvious in the first chapter of each series, in Supinomarada ch 1 there are a ton of flash backs and flash forwards between the lead up to inciting incident of the plot, the aftermath of that incident, and the tragic back story and takes about 15ish pages to set up the initial plot premise; the protagonist, Rou Shirakawa, is a teenage figure skating prodigy, before the series starts his single mother died in a car crash after falling asleep at the wheel due to exhaustion, and now Rou is competing in what might be his last figure skating championship because as a child he will no longer be able to support himself.

Dogsred is significantly more direct and just has some random background characters say all that shit and conveys all that same information and more within about 5 pages.

Dogsred also lets it's art do a lot more heavy lifting in regards to storytelling. The single panel of a car crashed into a pillar is way more dire and evocative than a whole page of a generically sad funeral, and we even get to see the dead mom in this one. I also find the handful of panels where Rou doesn't actually speak are really effective at setting up his character and mental state through expression and body language, and that's gonna be true throughout the series. Dogsred Rou is much more of a weirdo goofball than the Supinomarada version and he's got a ton silly little expressions and mannerisms in the style of the freaks from Golden Kamuy and it's lot of fun.

Overall it feels like a way more confident manga than Supinomarada. Noda isn't trying to over explain things to make sure the reader understands every single detail of the plot or the rules of hockey. He's getting the details on the page really efficiently, usually while also working in a gag, and going harder on the aspects that are the big draws for bombastic sports manga, like the expressiveness of the characters and the dynamic sports action.

It's super cool to see how Noda has evolved as a manga artist and storyteller with Golden Kamuy in the interim and I'm really excited to see him get to tell this story he's been holding on to for a decade.

#dogsred #supinomarada #supinamarada #golden kamuy #satoru noda #manga #sports manga #ice hockey #media analysis #manga analysis #valensa talks

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pascallftv · 9 months

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Girl Next Door— Part 2

Previous Part Series Masterlist

This is part 2 of a series. I highly recommend you read part 1 first!

Summary: Joel takes you to the store to pick out the materials for your new bathroom. At the store, you have an uncomfortable run-in with Joel’s ex wife.

Content: This is a plot based chapter, but it’s very important for the trope <3 Also thank you so much for the love on the last part. Part 3 will be here soon, she’s so cutesie and I can’t wait for you to read it :)

Word count: 4.6k

The drive to the nearest home improvement store was half an hour away. You watched as Joel popped a CD into the CD player in his truck, immediately recognizing the intro to the Rumors album by Fleetwood Mac.

“Rumors?” You said, blocking the sun from your eyes with your hand as you hit the road. Joel glanced over at you, the hint of a smile toying at his lips.

“I didn’t take you as a Fleetwood Mac kind of girl.” Joel said. You watched the veins on his forearm and hand as he gripped the steering wheel to make a turn.

“Dad always played this album when I was growing up. He loved to try and explain all the romance drama in the band to me.” You explained, tapping your thigh with your free hand to the beat of the song.

Your bangs fell softly over your forehead, the golden sun making your skin radiate. Joel kept peeking over at you to admire your beauty. You were so effortlessly beautiful.

“What else do you listen to?” Joel asked you. You looked over at him, admiring the way the sun made the brown in his eyes softer.

“A little bit of everything. I love classic rock because of my dad, but I dabble a lot into pop and alternative. I’d say my favorite artist is probably Aerosmith.” You bit your lip as you thought about your music taste. Most of the artists you listened to were probably after Joel’s time. “What about you?”

“Hmm.” Joel hummed in thought, tapping his forefinger against the steering wheel. “Anythin’ from the sixties and seventies. I love Pink Floyd and Elvis.”

“Interesting.” You said. You noticed a pair of yellow aviators sitting on the dash of his truck, so you reached out to grab them, placing them over your nose. Joel looked over at you, shaking his head.

“Makin’ yourself at home, huh?”

“Do I look like Elvis?” You bit your lip, snapping your finger and pointing at him.

“Somethin’ of the sort.” Joel teased, turning back to watch the road.

“He sure was dreamy wasn’t he.” You said, watching at the fields flashed by you as Joel accelerated down the highway. “I had such a huge crush on him when I was a teenager.”

Joel knit his brows together and glanced over at you with a look of interest, silently asking you to elaborate.

“I had a random Elvis phase. Dad made me sit down and watch a documentary about him one night and after that I was infatuated.”

“Didn’t take you as the type to like Elvis either.” Joel observed, glancing over to look you up and down. “I have his greatest hits CD in the glovebox.”

You grinned and opened the glovebox, sure enough finding the CD. You pressed the eject button and the CD player spit out Rumors, and you carefully replaced it with Elvis 30 #1 Hits. You quietly hummed along as Heartbreak Hotel began playing.

The rest of the drive, you exchanged small talk about music with Elvis playing softly in the background, making it go by in a flash. When you reached the home improvement store, the sun was beginning to set in the horizon. It was golden hour as Joel shifted the truck into park and you both climbed out. Joel caught himself staring at you again. You looked even more beautiful in this lighting and he couldn’t get over it.

You walked beside each other as you entered the store. Something about the smell of a home improvement store felt nostalgic to you. The crisp smell of fresh wood wafted into your nose, mixing with the smell of Joel’s aftershave.

“Let’s look at tiles first.” Joel said, leading the way through the aisles of the store. The store was overwhelming; there were too many aisles to count and you had no idea where anything was, but Joel knew the place like the back of his hand. Going to the hardware store was a common trip for him and he had the store almost memorized.

“Here we are.” He said, entering an aisle with a wide array of both shower and floor tiles. There were so many different colors and textures of tiles, and you immediately began inspecting some that caught your eye. You started with shower tiles.

Your eye landed on a beautiful, dark green backsplash that was coated in a gloss, emphasizing the shifts of color within it. You immediately fell in love with the style of it.

“I think this might be the one.” You said, pointing towards the forest green tile. Joel stepped closer, running his forefinger over the sample of the tile. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. In his chest pocket was a pen, and he jotted down the inventory number of the tile.

“Alright, now what about flooring?” He said, stepping to the left towards the arrangement of flooring samples. There was an overwhelming number of floor tiles.

“Joel?” A voice spoke behind you. Both of your heads snapped up, and standing there was a woman who appeared to be in her forties. She had blonde, blown out hair and a striking red lip. Her makeup was done boldy, and she was wearing a long black dress with sandals.

“Josephine.” Joel cleared his throat. His brows were knit together in irritation. His ex wife was the last person he wanted to see right now.

“And what brings you here?” Josephine questioned, her eyes flickering over to you. She eyed you up and down, taking in your appearance. Suddenly feeling very insecure under her stare, your arms crossed in front of you.

“Buying some things for a remodel.” Joel said monotone. He noticed the way she was eyeing you, and he knew she assumed the worst, but he didn’t care. In that moment he wanted her assumptions to run wild. He didn’t care if she thought you were his girlfriend.

“And who is this?” Josephine said in a catty tone. Her smoked out eyes locked on you, her red manicured fingernails tapping against her purse. You looked down at your own nails. Your nails were barren of any polish, and you felt childish standing next to her.

Joel told her your name and glanced over at you.

“I’m remodeling her bathroom for her.” Joel clarified, his finger toying with the sheet of paper in his hand.

“Hmmm, Lionel’s daughter?” She pursed her lips. “I’d say she’s a bit young for you, huh?”

Your stomach dropped and your eyes quickly landed on Joel. His expression was stoic and almost peeved.

“Where’s Rick?” Joel changed the subject. “Usually when I see you, your tongues are down each other’s throats.”

Josephine scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was then you noticed the massive diamond ring on her finger.

“He’s over in the light section. We’re replacing our chandelier in the foyer.” She said, glancing back over to you. “What’s a spry little thing like you need a new bathroom for?”

“I just moved back from Chicago to live with my father for the time being, and my bathroom needs some updating.” You explained, your voice wavering.

“Living with your daddy, huh?” Josephine’s eyes reverted to Joel’s with a smirk toying at her overdrawn red lips. “I remember those days. Mooching off my parents with no responsibilities.”

You shifted your weight on your feet, now feeling extremely uncomfortable. You weren’t sure who this woman was, but it was evident that she and Joel had a past and she was making it a point to make jabs at you. Joel’s fists clenched at his sides.

“That’s enough, Josephine.” Joel grumbled, shooting daggers with his eyes. She chuckled manically, looking back at you.

“Oh, please. You know I’m just being satirical.” She half smirked, winking at you. You stared back at her blankly.

“Jo?” A man’s voice interjected your attention. A man who looked to be in his thirties was walking towards you all. He appeared to be younger than Josephine, a ring also adjourning his finger. Putting two and two together, you realized this was her husband. His gaze stayed on Joel for a few seconds before landing on you briefly.

“Hi, baby.” She said, pulling him in for a rather long, wet kiss. You tried to hide your face of disgust and turned to distract yourself with the floor tile samples.

“Joel.” You turned your head at her husband’s voice. He was nodding at Joel, and Joel stared back at him with a blank stare.

“Well, we should get going.” Josephine cleared her throat. “It was wonderful to see you.”

Josephine patted her husband’s chest, her fake nails clacking together. Her eyes flickered over to you, but didn’t acknowledge you. The two of them walked away, leaving you with a steaming Joel.

“I fucking hate her.” Joel grunted, stepping closer to you, your shoulders bumping together. “I’m sorry about that. Don’t take anything she said to heart. She’s a miserable bitch.”

“Who is she?” You asked. His brows were taught together in frustration and he shook his head.

“My ex wife. It’s a long story.” He mumbled, lifting the piece of paper with the inventory number. You frowned up at him.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I have all the time in the world if you want to tell me over dinner.” You said caringly, your hand reaching up to touch his arm. Joel looked down at your hand, his eyes then moving to your face. His brows drew together at the gesture, your touch sending heat up his arm. God, you were beautiful.

“I’m sure it would bore you.” He murmured.

“Far from it.” You responded sweetly, removing you hand from his arm and pointing towards a black and white checkered tile. “This one’s perfect.”

He nodded at you and quickly wrote down the inventory number.

“Let’s go pick out your sink and shower so we can get out of here.” Joel said.

You quickly chose your sink, faucets, toilet, shower basin, and shower head. You made sure to choose a detachable shower head, and you hoped to god Joel didn’t pick up on your intentions. Joel, on the other hand, knew exactly why you wanted a detachable shower head. All he could picture was showering with you and using it on your pretty pussy, but he quickly discarded his dirty thoughts, considering you were still in the middle of a home improvement store.

After you’d checked out and left, it was already dusk outside. The materials for your new bathroom would arrive early next week which was perfect. You both climbed up into Joel’s truck, him starting up the engine. Elvis began playing softly through the speakers again. You glanced over at Joel, his mouth turned downward in a frown. The interaction with his ex wife was still bothering him. He was incredibly guilty; it was his fault she degraded you and he should’ve blown up on her right then.

“Where would you like to eat?” You asked, attempting to distract him. He looked at you, his eyes softening when he made eye contact with you.

“Hmm.” He pondered, resting his arm on the door, and scratching his chin in thought. “There’s this diner down the road with really good burgers and shakes. That okay?”

“Sounds amazing.” You replied, reaching to turn the volume dial to turn up the radio as “Return to Sender” began to play.

The drive to the diner was silent, both of you lost in your own thoughts. You were trying your best to seem indifferent, but you truly felt insecure after your interaction with Josephine. After that conversation, you realized you were way too young for Joel and it would never be anything close to what you fantasized about. You felt stupid to even think you’d ever had a chance. Before you knew it, you became teary eyed, but you quickly blinked away the tears. The last thing you needed was to cry in front of Joel.

Joel pulled into the parking lot of the diner, putting the truck in park. You followed behind him inside, keeping your head low. He opened the door for you, noticing your change in mood. He sighed quietly and followed you inside. He followed you to a booth tucked away in the corner. The restaurant was mostly empty aside for a couple elderly couples.

“This place is cute.” You observed, looking around at the various retro decorations. In the corner you noticed a jukebox and bit back a grin.

A waitress approached your table and sat down your menus. You ordered your drinks and food since you already knew what you wanted, and she quickly whisked away with your orders. You cleared your throat and played with your hands in your lap. Joel was looking out the window, his face still laced with irritation.

“So..” you began. “Josephine.”

Joel shifted his eyes to you. He swallowed and rested his arms on the table.

Joel and Josephine’s relationship dated back to high school. They dated on and off for ten years. When they reached their mid twenties, Joel decided he wanted children, but Josephine did not. Albeit, Joel decided it wasn’t a dealbreaker, and decided to stay with her. She was the first woman he truly loved, and he was willing to do whatever it took to please her. Despite her distaste for starting a family, Joel proposed to her on the night of her twenty-eighth birthday. They had a courthouse wedding the next day per her request. Fast forward to their thirties, and Joel noticed that Josephine was acting differently.

Josephine began leaving home for days at a time without an explanation. She stopped being intimate with Joel altogether. He would try, and Josephine would complain that she was tired and not feeling it. One night, Josephine snuck off, and Joel decided to follow her. She drove a few blocks away, and parked at a random house. Joel’s heart dropped when he realized what this meant. Joel parked one house over, and waited several minutes before getting out of the car. He tried the front door, and it was unlocked. The door swung open, and he found Josephine spread out on the couch with Rick between her legs. Nauseous at the sight in front of him, Joel slammed the door behind him and stormed to his car, Josephine yelling his name. Joel ignored her and revved his engine, speeding off.

After he caught her cheating, he soon after learned that Josephine was pregnant, but not with his child. Joel filed for divorce soon after, and it wasn’t a pretty divorce. Joel won the house, but Josephine won most of his money. Years after the divorce as Joel grew older, he realized nothing was tying him down to that deadbeat town. He moved next door to you over four years ago.

Your food came during his story, and you quietly ate as Joel spoke. No wonder he was so agitated at the sight of that woman. You frowned as Joel finished telling you the story.

“I haven’t made an effort to date since then.” He said. “I don’t know why she was at the store. Must not’ve had what they wanted at the store in their area.”

“How long had it been since you’d seen her?” You asked, then took a sip of your chocolate milkshake.

“I’d seen her at our mutual friend’s wedding a couple years ago. She was there with Rick, tonguing each other down the entire time. Then again when my Mom passed away. She had the audacity to show up and kiss on him at the funeral.” Joel said, wiping his fingers with a napkin.

“Oh my god.” You said, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “I’m so sorry. What the fuck is wrong with her?”

Your touch sent shocks up his forearm. He swallowed hard, glancing down at your hands touching.

“I don’t even think god knows.” Joel said as he waved the waitress over to give him the check. You reached for your purse, pulling out your credit card, quickly handing it to the waitress.

“What— no.” Joel said, pulling cash out of his wallet.

“Yes, it’s fine. You drove and you’re doing me a massive favor.” You insisted, Joel putting the cash away in defeat.

“I owe you one.” He said. He cleared his throat looking down at you.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” He spoke, taking a drink of his shake. You laughed and looked down at the table.

“Absolutely not.” You sighed with a smile. “Now that’s a long story.”

“Well, sweetheart. I’ve got time.” Joel responded, tapping his finger against the glass of his milkshake.

“Give me one second.” You said, reaching into your purse and pulling out a five dollar bill.

You stood up from the booth and walked over to the jukebox, inserting the bill into it. You searched through the database of songs, choosing several that stood out to you. You smiled as Sweet Emotion by Aerosmith began playing through the speakers of the diner. When you’d chosen all the songs you could, you found your way back to the booth. Joel gazed up at you with wonder in his eyes. He chuckled softly and shook his head at you. While you were gone the waitress had returned your card, and he slid it across the table to you. You grabbed it and put it away in your purse, then leaned onto your crossed arms on the table.

Joel listened attentively as you gave him the rundown of your last relationship. Similarly to what your dad had told him, you explained that your ex boyfriend cheated on you after dating him for two years. You caught him cheating on you with your best friend at the time. There wasn’t anything crazy about the story, just that you spent many sleepless nights crying yourself to sleep wondering what you could’ve done differently. You wondered if there was something wrong with you; you had given him your all just to be torn down entirely. Among many firsts with him, he was your first love and was the one to take your virginity. Since then, you’d avoided getting close with anyone romantically out of fear of getting hurt again.

“I went on a few dates in Chicago, but none of them really amounted to anything.” You said, your finger tracing the rim of your milkshake glass. “I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time in all honesty. My ex fucked me up pretty bad and I just wasn’t ready to commit to anyone. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“You’re glad you didn’t?” Joel questioned, furrowing his brows.

“Yeah, I don’t think that would’ve been fair to someone, you know? Me not being ready to commit and fighting my own insecurities shouldn’t have been anyone’s problem but my own.” You explained further.

“And how do you feel currently?”

You cleared your throat and averted your gaze around the restaurant as you thought. You bit your bottom lip as “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen began playing.

“I’m not sure if I’m being honest with you. I’m not entirely opposed to trying a relationship again, but I’m not going to actively go out and seek something. If it happens, it happens.” You said. “And you?”

“I think you explained it perfectly.” Joel said as he pulled his truck keys out of his pocket. “As much as I’d like to keep chatting, the night isn’t getting any younger and neither am I.”

The next day, you were working attentively in your makeshift office while Joel began tearing apart your bathroom. After your dinner the night prior, all you could think about was Joel. Your heart ached for him. You felt hopeful that he had enough trust for you to tell you about his past. You also felt more comfortable with him in general. It was comforting seeing a side to him that wasn’t abrasive and stand-off. You’d both had your tribulations with your romantic pasts, and it made you hopeful that just maybe there was a future for the both of you. You felt silly for even thinking there was a part of you that thought there was a possibility of you two being able to be together.

By noon you were finished with your work for the day, so you decided you could help Joel with the demolition. You stood from your desk, closing your laptop for the day after sending off your completed content. Suddenly, you got an idea. You remembered you brought your vintage camcorder, and this would be the perfect opportunity to use it. You could record the progress of your bathroom remodel and make a short video when it was all finished.

You entered your bedroom to the sound of Joel ripping apart the walls of your shower. You reached into one of the boxes you had yet to unpack and pulled out your camcorder. You turned it on, and walked over to the entryway of the bathroom, recording him. You admired the way his muscles flexed as he pried apart the paneling of the shower wall, exposing the bare wall behind it. He was sporting protective glasses and thick gloves. You watched as he leaned over in his jeans, the material pulling tight against his muscular legs. A smile tugged at your lips as Joel turned around, his breathing heavy.

“What are you doing?” He said winded, letting his hand with the crowbar fall slack to his side.

“Making a progress video.” You replied, zooming in on him with your camera. Joel fought back a smile, shaking his head at you.

You looked adorable standing there in your flowy sweatpants and off the shoulder sweater. Joel could tell you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, your nipples poking through the material. You looked so cuddly and he wanted nothing more than to halt working for the day so he could spend his time cuddled up next to you in your bed kissing every inch of your body.

You lowered the camera from your eyes, and turned it off. You tossed it on your bed, then turned back around to watch Joel for a moment. You leaned against the door frame and crossed your arms. Joel continued peeling the shower paneling off the wall, tossing the remnants into the tub behind him.

“Can I help you?” You asked. Joel turned to face you, his chest rising and falling, his breathing heavy.

“No need.” He said, wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

“But I want to. I’m done with work for the day, it’s the least I could do.” You pleaded. Joel stared at you for a moment before finally reaching down to his tool bag, grabbing a spare pair of gloves and goggles.

“Here.” He said, holding out the gear for you to take. You grabbed them from him, carefully putting the goggles over the bridge of your nose, then sliding on the gloves.

“Do you see those tiles behind the paneling? I need you to break those off the wall.” Joel instructed. “Watch me.”

He brushed past you, rearing back his dominant hand with a hammer, striking the tiles with force, watching them crumble down into the shower basin. He stepped back to give you room to take.

“Your turn.” He said, gesturing for you to try.

You stepped forward, taking the hammer from his hand, clearing your throat. You wound your arm backwards, before hitting another tile. You didn’t hit it hard enough, as the tile didn’t budge. Joel approached you from behind, grabbing your hips, then snaking a hand around to lay flat against your belly. Your breath hitched in your throat, the touch planting goosebumps across your skin. Joel leaned down to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Keep your abdominals tight. Twist your torso like this when you swing.” Joel said, using his hand to twist your hips backwards slightly, then twisting them back parallel with his own. Your back brushed against his chest. Your cheeks felt hot, and the air began to feel stuffy in the room.

Joel’s internal monologue was screaming at him to back away from you. Your body heat was radiating onto him, your hips pressed to his. Your sweet vanilla scent enveloped him, his eyes fluttering shut as he made a mental note to cherish this moment with you, for he didn’t know if he’d ever be this close to you again. Snapping out of his trance, Joel backed away from you, giving you room to try again at the tiles. Your cheeks were flushed and your skin was on fire. You knew you were pooling in your panties; you felt pathetic. The most innocent of touches and you completely and utterly in shambles.

You inhaled deeply, and did exactly what Joel told you to. You tightened your core muscles, and wound back to swing at the tiles, shattering two of them on impact. You smiled proudly, turning your head to gauge Joel’s reaction. A smile tugged at his lips, and he brushed his hand across your lower back.

“Amazing, sweetheart.” He said. His touch sent chills up your spine.

For the next hour, the both of you took swings at the tiles, knocking the rest of them off the wall. By the end, you were both sweaty and exhausted. You were starving by then, your stomach grumbling.

“Sounds like someone is hungry.” Joel observed ss he took off his gloves and glasses, tossing them in his tool bag. You mimicked his actions, placing yours adjacent to his.

“I haven’t eaten since this morning.�� You admitted, running a hand through your hair to get it off your forehead. Joel noticed one of your hairs sticking up, so he reached up and gently fixed the hair, blending it in with the rest of your locks. You bit your lip and averted your gaze. The effect Joel had on you was insane. You felt like a swooning teenager again, like a ball of putty anytime he touched you.

“How about this: I planned on grilling tonight. Why don’t you come over and I’ll make you dinner.” Joel offered.

“That sounds amazing.” You smiled. “I’ll shower, then I’ll head over.”

Joel wondered if you’d touch yourself in the shower like you did the day before. The possibility aroused him immediately. He longed to shower with you, washing your hair and massaging your beautiful body for you.

“I guess I’ll see you in a little bit, darlin’.” Joel said, grabbing his phone and sliding it in his back pocket. Joel started to walk away, and you reached out to grab his arm to stop him. He turned to you with a look of confusion.

“Do you like scary movies?” You asked, keeping your hand on Joel’s wrist.

“I don’t mind them, why?” Joel questioned.

“I’ll bring a couple movies over and maybe we can have a movie night. I know I’ll have nothing to do tonight and I’m sure you get lonely over there by yourself.” You said. You wanted to be able to spend more time with him without raising any red flags or seeming desperate. You couldn’t help that all you wanted was to be around him.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” Joel said, glancing down at your hand on his skin, then giving the slightest trace of a smile on his lips. You smiled up at him, releasing his arm from your grip.

“See you there.”

#joel miller #din djarin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #the mandalorian #dbf!joel #joel miller smut

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ahleecollaborations · 2 months

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I have been on this site (this is my second account) since about 2010-11/8th grade for me. Tumblr launched in 2007. So I’ve been around awhile. It was my intro to sites like AO3 and FF.net. And I fell LOVE with this community - the diversity, the creativity, and encouragement of mutuals. 🥰

But… Y’all in the Bridgerton fandom need to learn some fucking kindness and human decency.

Now I know others have gone through this before. This is my first time dealing with the level hate being thrown around over fucking fictional characters.

Bridgerton (Books) and Bridgerton (The Series) are NOT the same thing.

Shondaland has made it quite clear that The Series is essentially a Fanfiction of the the books. It’s going to be different in many ways. There’s going to be changes and different interpretations.

That being said if you don’t like someone else’s Ship - that DOES NOT give you the right to be a fucking bully.

If you don’t like a character - that DOES NOT give you the right to hate on the actor (an ACTUAL HUMAN BEING).

Or to Harass/Sexualize the actor simply because you think the character is/isn’t hot.

Separate Fiction and Reality Please.

There is a LOT fucked up about The Books AND about The Series. I say this loving both.

Books-

ALL of the Men have fucking Red Flag after Red Flag. I could point out so many in Each Book. And need therapy for real. (Except John - but he only got a couple of chapters). I won’t go into details because that would take too long.

Some of the Women are Red Flags. Let’s just be honest here. Still would take too long to go into details.

Series -

The Men still have some fairly messed up Red Flags at this point. Still Needs Therapy and a hug.

The Women have MORE Red Flags. Definitely needs Therapy and a hug.

You could psycho-analyze each character and find something wrong with them to be honest. But you know what it’s a Regency series (where most of those Red Flags weren’t Red Flags in that Time Period. So maybe give it a little slack for not being up to Modern Standards). Outside of the mediocre sex scenes and repeated romance plots, the characters themselves deal with a lot of Real messed up stuff and don’t deal with most of it in a healthy way. So of course all of the characters are messy and/or are red flag coded.

Oh and take it for What It Is! Fiction!!

All in all… no matter what you like or don’t like about the series or the characters/ships. BE KIND to the fellow users of this site or any other site. Because you know what those Users/Mutuals ARE that these Characters/Plots ARE NOT

REAL PEOPLE. Who have feelings and who quite frankly probably enjoy literature/media as a form of mental health/coping.

And a Little Kindness Never Hurt Anyone

#bridgerton #netflix #bridgerton season 3 #polin #creloise #theloise #benedict bridgerton #julia quinn #nicola coughlan #calam lynch #claudia jessie #kanthony #benophie #gregory x lucy #hyacinth x gareth #simon x daphne #philoise #bridgerton books #bridgerton series

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comicaurora · 1 year

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How do you script out chapters? Im thinking about making a similarly scaled comic series myself but im stumped on the first step

I mean, caveat that my process is Aggressively Not Standard because I never figured out how to make the right way work for me, but I usually start with a pretty loose outline of what I need to hit in a specific storyline - character intros, basic conflict structures, plot tidbits.

Then I refine it a little by starting to fill out specific character-driven elements around those key points, which is often defined by their specific headspace, how they're feeling about what's going on and what they'll do next.

At this stage I sometimes get little ideas for cool character moments I'd like to get to, but it's mostly important to keep the story flowing smoothly, so in the process of laying out te storyboards the moments don't always get to get hit, but I keep them in a little toolbox of Cool Bits so when the opportunity arises I can fire them up.

At this point I basically have a bulleted list of events, small character arcs and points to hit in the chapter, and then I sit down to start storyboarding it out, which is when I lay down the dialogue and the pacing. Putting it on the page sometimes results in surprises. Character motivation can be altered or defined by very small-scale moments - specific word choices in dialogue, a snap decision on someone's part - and those aren't defined in the bullet-point stage because they're too small to pin down that early. Boarding it out sometimes means I need to account for a character suddenly being radically altered by a seemingly small decision, which is always fun.

This is basically the scripting and drafting phase rolled into one, because what I get at the end is a whole chapter of dialogue and general scene blocking that just needs refinement and polish before it's done. Storyboarding is by far the most work-heavy part of the process because it takes the general timeline and turns it into an actual story; some days I storyboard a dozen pages, some days I hammer out two panels and then call it, and most days I don't storyboard at all. It's very loose and freeform but it's worked ok for me so far!

#asks #aurora #behind the curtain #writing stuff

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lupineaerosol · 1 year

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traveler | thomas shelby x f!reader

Not my image!

pairing : thomas shelby x time traveled!reader

word count : 3,831 :P

summary : a trip to scotland for a belated birthday celebration turns into a blast from the past when you find yourself in 1919 with no chance of getting home, until you meet someone on a train to London that tells you he can help your situation and get you a visa....

warnings : angsty at times, near death experience (hypothermia), inspector campbell being creepy for the plot, bad writing, i have no concept of how much money a british pound is so ??, warnings will change with each chapter so please read them carefully!

notes : reader is 23-27 but no specified age, this is kind of an Outlander A.U. where the reader travels through a stone circle (or cairn for this one lolz) and goes back in time

a.n. : this chapter is technically an intro to the rest of the plot that ties in with the canon + vvv descriptive bc thats my writing style :P + also i suck at summaries + just recently got back into writing as a hobby, so this might be absolute trash but I'm very proud. if anyone has any issues with the content or what i write about because it goes against anything online please let me know so i can fix it!!

Not my image!

The black hoodie clings to your skin, sopping wet and forcing a chill through your skin. In the split second it took to regain consciousness, you realize your clothes are soaked, and judging at how badly you're shivering and that you're face-down in the grass, you've been asleep in the rain for god knows how long. Rolling over the damp grass to sit up, you catch a glimpse at the location you find yourself, the cairn outside the small town you had been staying at in Scotland on vacation.

The sky was dim, sunrise slowly encroaching over the heavy raindrops on the hills. Sitting against one of the boulders of the cairn, a shaky breath leaves your chest, fanning out in front of your face. Through the near hypothermia that's started to quickly make you sweat, a deep uneasiness started to take root, but you were far too panicked to acknowledge it in the moment.

You jumped to your feet, realizing how little time you have alive could be without action, rubbing your hands together for as much friction they could create, dancing your legs in place to wake your body back up. Attempting a warm breath into your hands barely helped your frigid and close-to-death state. The cold was numbing, the fog in your brain was all around you, mentally and physically, keeping the hilltop the cairn sat upon as an island amidst a sea of grey. And suddenly there was a faint light approaching.

The candlelight within the squeaking lamp softened the mist, making it far more inviting than the haze the man emerged from. Your shivers halted abruptly, the uneasiness bubbled up from your stomach to your throat, a foul taste in the back of your mouth spread over your tongue.

"'ello!! 'ello is anyone out 'ere?!" The man's shoulders shook with a powerful Scottish accent, and a strong sense of safety accompanied it. Alas, the shivers returned in full force.

"Here!" Your voice broke sharply. "I-I'm over here!" Attempting to speak up through the shakes and ambiance of early dawn proved difficult, your breathing overtaken by the cold and feverish urge to survive.

And luck was on your side today, for the first time.

"Hello?" The gentleman turned to the sound of your voice, not expecting to find you curled in a ball and soaked to the bone. And in strange clothes that were quite unseemly for a woman of your age. The outer layer that draped over you and the denim that clad your legs were downright outlandish to the man in front of you. 'Damn Americans and their strange styles of dress' He thought to himself quickly, before stepping lightly over to you, helping you up, and taking his overcoat off to throw across your shoulders.

The warmth was welcomed greatly. You nearly stopped shivering for a moment as the smell of worn and slightly wet leather, cologne and fire overtook you. It was the most definitive thing you could grasp on to in the few minutes, or hours, you had been conscious of.

"Ma'am, what are you doing out here at the time of morn'? You'll catch yourself a death of a cold out in this weather for much longer." The older man took your hand and led you to his carriage and horse. What am I doing out here? The reasoning escaped you through the fog, but you caught a glimpse.

A stone in your hands, turning in your palm as you walk the grounds of a historic castle. Your phone died in your hands mid photo, with the cairn in the fading pixels.

Where are you?

Your slowly warming hand finds its way into the soaked pocket of your hoodie, and alas, no such stone was to be found. Your cell phone and wallet remained, but judging by the man assisting you, there didn't seem to be much hope in asking if he had a charger you could borrow.

He paused to let you lean against the large wooden wheel of his cart, waiting a moment before speaking. A gentler tone took his voice. "Ma'am, do you remember how you got out here?"

The fog had cleared, both in your mind, and as the first bits of sunlight rose from the eastern horizon. After a pregnant pause, you responded.

"I'm vacationing here, from America." That much was true, you were from America and you were here on vacation, the only question was when you were visiting. You had flown over in a modern plane, taken a modern train from London to Edinburgh, and then a taxi to Inverness. The man in front of you made a subtle face of surprise, as if the journey you have described could have taken over 6 months, when in it only took 2 days for you to be a quarter of the way around the globe.

"I'm sorry you've found yerself so far from home, Inverness 's not a place I would expect an American to want to travel." The man moved the lantern from his hand to a metal bar attached to the seat of the carriage. He busied himself with his gloves. "If I'm correct, you're shivering out of yer britches and startin' to sweat at the same time." You nodded quickly, sharp pins and needles erupting from the skin you moved. The man brushed his hand over his chin, considering his options.

"My daughter Isa will have coffee and a warm hearth awaitin'. Once you've warmed up we can 'elp you return to wherever ye came from." The man sounded less than enthusiastic to have an American in his home, but the desperate need of your medical situation demanded his unwilling help. No one wanted to have any connection to a dead foreigner found at a locally mysterious site known for having a frequency of people going missing when visiting.

He helped you up onto the bouncing wooden seat. The smell of horse and leather of the reigns was the second most tangible thing you could consider basing your reality off of. This was obviously not the 21st century. A young woman, possibly anywhere in the 1830's to the 1940's (judging the man's attire and horse) in a foreign country with no possible way of proving her existence via official documents. That was the reality of the matter. You had no idea when you were, and if there was a possibility of getting back to the modern day.

Focus, and compartmentalize. There will be time to deal with the larger issues later on. Don't freeze to death, and then figure out what time and day it is. Gently and slowly returning to work, your brain made its first decision of this strange crisis: Deal with it later. In the meantime, you were able to do a quick mental diagnostic ; Legs work, fingers bend and grab, your stomach growls and you understand that your guts and heart still work, you've spoken to the man, so obviously your mouth and voice still work just fine. The only outlier was what year you were inhabited by accident.

The gentleman took one last glance at the girl who had barely spoken, and urged his horse forward toward the gentle outline of a stone town a few miles away.

The fire overtook the crisp and clammy feeling that crawled over your body. Heat licked at your hair and half exposed arms. You had met the man's daughter, Isa, and she had practically thrown a warm cup of half brewed coffee out of half awake panic. Although your father walking into your kitchen with a strange young woman at barely 5 in the morning would alarm you as well.

Adding to the alarm, Isa was just as perplexed about your strange, "American" clothes. She was convinced no one was strange enough to wear those clothes willingly, and since you were of similar size with Isa, she gave you a few of her old clothes to wear as you warmed in front of the fire. A bulky, tan skirt slightly too tight at the waist and a thin, loose in the bosom white blouse. You sat at the hearth with a large blanket draped over your shoulders, reminiscent of the smell of the man's overcoat.

Your clothes draped near the fire, steam coming off of your printed socks with cats on them. Isa had commented about the craftsmanship and how expensive they must have been. You barely muttered a response that would have made sense. All that time spent taking notes in World History class, and you remember nothing about Britain and Scotland after the Revolutionary war or before WWII. The grip on your phone was tight and you quietly pondered as to how you were going to keep it hidden while you were here. There was hope to get home. At least for now.

"So you really can't remember anything?" Isa leaned over to place the back of her hand over your warm forehead.

"Nothing from before your father found me." You only partially lied, you can't directly remember how you ended up at the cairn.

"But you remember your name, right?" Isa sat back in her chair, reaching for a cup of coffee on the dining table.

"Oh, right, sorry. My name is (y/n)." Your answer was curt, unrevealing as possible.

The morning dragged on. The sun was up, the clock on the wall above the sink read 7:46. Time.

"What day is it?" You asked quietly into your coffee while attempting to cool it off.

"Wednesday." Isa had been buzzing around the kitchen, completing various tasks but while also keeping an eye on you. Her father had toddled off somewhere else in the house, his footsteps were heard, but not yet seen in daylight. "But if you would like the specifics, it's Wednesday, February 5th, in the year 1919."

"Thank you, Isa."

Hours later and lots of planning around the limited memory you spoke about having, it was decided that Isa's father would lend you a 20 pound note he had been saving (He was subtly adamant you got his address to mail money back to him) for the trains to London, and Isa gifted you a few of her mother's worn skirts and blouses.

The plan was for you to travel back to London and hopefully return to either your home country or your family, though you knew both of these things were problematic. Isa's father, Robert, had left around 8 to ask around the town about your family, or anyone who may have traveled with you. No one had a clue. You thanked both of them urgently, and with deep appreciation. A small mental note was categorized that you should repay more than just the 20 pounds, kindness as bountiful as had been shown to you was deserved of a larger reward.

A short walk with many stumbles to the train station back to Edinburgh. The heels of your company's shoes clicked against the raised wooden deck parallel to the stone station.

"Thank you both, for your generosity." You gripped at the skirt that fell to the tips of your toes barely covered your Chuck Taylor Converse. Isa smiled gently, holding a worn and broken leather carrying case out to you to take.

"I can't do enough to pay you all back." You made a note to include Isa's mother in the thanks, as she was also indirectly gifting you items.

"Goin' home safe," a large pause entered the conversation following Robert's comment. Isa had earlier explained that her father has a strange and unusual issue with Americans. Especially visiting somewhere like Inverness. "-Is all we can pray for." His voice was genuine, but with a hint of resentment. Not towards you, but aimed at something far larger than you. Robert was odd. Everything is odd. If you were only slightly more deranged, you would be acting just as cold and bitter as he was.

The train whistle was enough to make you jump out of your skin slightly, and the final call for boarding passengers was announced by the conductor.

"Again, thank you both. Your kindness is appreciated more than you can imagine." Taking the bag from Isa's hands, the heft slightly surprised you, but recovered as you walked up the steps to the train. Part of you wanted to stay, see what life you could carve here while trying to get home through the cairn. The other part of you understood that there isn't a choice in going home.

A large smile was across Isa's face when you found her among the scattered people on the raised deck, her father seemed to have already walked away and started on the walk home. A smile and wave and the train chugged into motion, steam flying behind the glass. You catch your reflection briefly. (y/e/c) eyes and an ill greenish grey colour clung to your skin, the grey skies unrelenting in their goal to forbid sunlight from reaching Scotland’s soil. It was pitiful to see yourself like this, a homesick and anxious ache bloomed in your gut. Settling into the steady chugging, the warmth of the shirt on your shoulders, and the steadiness of your seat beneath you was reality enough to coax you into a well deserved sleep.

A clamorous crash awoke you from the short nap your body allowed, the train had stopped, and with it came your carrying case from the weak storage compartment situated above your head. Calming your racing heart, you leaned over to stand and pick the dry leather handle from the floor and returned the hefty item to its previous place. A huff of breath while you fall into your seat, and your pulse finally calms down. You looked out the glass at the yellow train station sign reading the carefully painted words ‘Welcome to Manchester’ slowly.

People filed onto and off of the individual train cars, and soon enough your train car was mostly filled, all except the private aisle you suddenly shared with an older man in a bowler hat and bulky, black overcoat. Scanning him as he took the opposing corner seat in the small room. Everything about this man was understated, his tie held no colour, nor did his vest or suitcoat. The only colour to bespeckle this man was the icy blue of his eyes, weathered by age, and his salt and pepper hair and mustache.

He carried and opened a file of paperwork close to his chest, but sitting across from him it was easy to see that he had no intention of keeping the title private; ‘TOP SECRET, SPECIAL BRANCH, BSA MUNITIONS ROBBERY : PRIME’- Suspects, finishing the sentence you couldn’t read fully. With the amount of heist movies you watched before you were thrown back in time gave you a good inference that this man was police, or whatever British version of the FBI that happened to exist in 1919.

You were shocked the man didn’t seem to acknowledge your existence in the train car, until he swiftly checked to see where your eyes had been trailing and caught you staring directly at the opened folder.

“Has your family yet taught you that staring is quite rude?” A gruff and grumbled voice projected from beneath his bushy mustache. You removed your eyes quickly from the grey-green envelope. He carried the corners back towards each other, closing the file to place it on his lap.

“They did, I apologize.” You moved to turn your body away from him, crossing your left leg over your right to lean against the window, eyes dragging sleepily over the quickly passing trees. You hadn’t even been aware the train had started moving again. Your accent seemed to surprise the man.

“American?” He queried. You nodded, turning your head back to look in his direction. “If I may be so bold and ask, are you traveling to London?”

“Yes, actually. I hope to travel home once I arrive there.” You pondered quickly over the depth of information you wanted to share with the man. “I lost my passport while visiting Inverness, I need to speak to the police in London to figure out how I can get home without it.”

The man’s mustache lifted gently with a slight smile. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing we met today, my name is Chester Campbell, I’m an Inspector with the Scotland yard. I can get you a travel visa in Birmingham tomorrow, and then the day after you can be on a boat in London sailing back to the states.” He enthusiastically put his hand to his knee, outwardly excited for the upcoming few days. Your warning alarms were blaring in your head, but you doubted this man would let you stray away from the plan he just created.

“May I see your identification?” You hoped he would be too excited to hear in your voice how deeply you distrusted him. “It’s awfully dangerous for a young woman like myself to be traveling with a stranger who can’t prove his identity.” A shy smile lit your face gently, hoping to ease your own tension. He gave off waves of steeled and attuned senses to something. What it was you couldn’t pinpoint, but you could barely manage to stay in the same car with the way your skin suddenly crawled.

“Of course m’lady,” He handed you his badge after drawing it from within his breast pocket on his overcoat. All his information seemed appropriate for a man of his age and stature, and your hackles smoothed down with the small comfort that he was in fact a police officer. “Anything for the comfort of the fairer sex.”

Ew. Forget your skin crawling, you felt violently ill. But he could get you to America sooner. Although, what the hell would be good about being a woman traveling by herself to her nonexistent home in the states? Where would you even go once you got to New York? Dangers lurk around every turn, this Inspector Campbell was proof of this. I can’t give this opportunity away, as much as I dislike him. I might not get another chance to fall into my lap like this. “Thank you, Inspector.” A response finally fell through your teeth as you handed his badge back to him, and he tucked it back into its place within his coat. A tense conversation of small talk filled the remainder of the ride to Birmingham, your trust in him was nonexistent, and the hour and 30 minute ride didn’t improve it.

Stretching your legs from the excruciatingly long train ride was a welcomed feeling, stepping off the train and onto the Birmingham station platform. The sun was setting and you needed a drink. The trunk in your hand bumped your leg as you walked with it, eager to get away from that god forsaken room the Inspector filled with conversation through the entire ride. Swiftly asking those scattered around the buildings surrounding the station, The Garrison seemed to be the only pub within walking distance and price range, and so you started your venture to find food and drink. Your legs carried you away from the station as fast as possible before the Inspector had the chance to corner and engage you in yet another drawn-out commentary on the weather.

The Inspector had also offered to take you out for dinner, but you refused politely as you were collecting your things on the train to leave swiftly. If an hour of his time was grating years off of your life like it seemed to have done, you can’t imagine dinner with him. It might kill you on the spot.

The intricate details on the glass of the front façade gave The Garrison an odd aura that felt so very welcoming and warm, and yet the building itself had a feeling of owning wary and watchful eyes. Pushing through the doors, the rubber of your shoes squealed loudly against the marble flooring, catching the eyes of many of the other patrons through the frosted glass. You paused against the second set of doors to steady yourself and grip the handle of your carrying case before walking directly to the golden bar top and shimmying up onto a stool.

It wasn’t a great bar, in fact it was barely more than four walls, a few windows, and a mountain of liquor. The lighting was dim, keeping the more unseemly stains from the eyes of the customers. The woodworking of the booths behind you was gorgeous, beautiful craftsmanship that was beer spackled and possibly pissed on. The woodwork behind the bar seemed less abused, instead worn and well loved, and before you could admire it any further, the tall bartender asked you for your order.

“What food do you have here?” You asked swiftly, running on fumes and short tempered from the train ride. You, very less than subtly, reached down your shirt to where you had stashed the 20 pounds in your bra. Luckily The Garrison paid no attention, and you were able to order the largest meal the man in front of you could provide: a few slices of sourdough bread, cheese and a small chicken breast with potatoes. Pairing it with a large stein of beer, you were barely awake by last call, nearly asleep on the bar after everyone else had cleared out, except for the strange group of men that had been in and out of the corner room over the course of the night.

“Ma’am, I hate to do this to you, but you can’t sleep at the bar tonight.” The bartender leaned against the golden surface with a rag over his shoulder. God knows what time it was, and there was no possible way of getting you to care.

“Is there anywhere nearby for less than,” You did a quick tally in your mind to count the remaining coins in your pocket. “10 pounds a night?” Lifting your head from the counter to gaze up at the barman.

He sighed above you. “Look, don’t let anyone know about it, and I’ll let you sleep at one of the booths for tonight. You seem like a good enough woman, but tomorrow morning you are done loitering here and you’ll move along.” He bargained, and your heart leapt in your chest at the grace of the cards that have been falling into place around you.

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll help you open tomorrow morning if that would help at all, I really do mean to earn my keep for tonight.” You suggested, overexcited at the fact you had a place to stay the night. He seemed to chew on the idea in his mind for a moment.

“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.” He nodded. “The name’s Harry Fenton, I own the Garrison.”

“I’m (y/n),” You smiled slightly. “And I think I will be going to bed now.”

notes pt2. : woooaaah holy crap that was a lot im so sorry for such a long intro chapter but trust itll make sense next chapter :P i legit worked on this chapter for a week and I will try my best to learn how to make a freakin masterlist now that im finally back into writing stuffs :> idk when pt 2 will be out but i can start a tag list if anyone wants to be added

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you

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connabeth · 9 months

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The first two episodes were wonderful and I really enjoyed the imagery and cinematography along with how every actor embodied the character but here are things I will complain about because I can:

1. I don’t want to see R*ck in it, why did they have to show his face…

2. Sally Jackson still just seems like a Random White Woman™️ to me. The acting was good but something just isn’t clicking for me. Also…the way she was a hardass on grover…i did not like it.

3. WHY WAS THERE BARELY ANY ANNABETH?? my girl is the star of the show!!! she’s supposed to be the one to show percy around camp and have that funny banter where he asks her questions and she answers all of them without answering at all, leaving him more confused than he was before. that was the best part of the intro chapters imo. WHY DID CH*RON TAKE HER PLACE???

3a. the full shot of a little percy standing next to chiron’s absolute wagon while walking into the hermes cabin still absolutely sends me 😭😭. it ALMOST makes up for a lack of annabeth

4. why was annabeth just hovering there in the infirmary and not nursing him like she did in the book😭 they rly made her stalk him instead of just being the person who introduced him to everything. in the book, he was already taking mythology lessons with annabeth by the time the quest came around. she didn’t feel quite as integrated into the narrative as she should’ve been. i did love how blunt she was though. she’s many things, but apparently a liar isn’t one of them.

5. clarisse didn’t call him prissy

6. why was smelly gabe so…sanitized. he’s a loser who doesn’t treat them well but his depiction also doesn’t live up to the abusive pos he really is. the interactions with him didn’t have the same gravity as they did in the books, they just seemed too lighthearted…he also should’ve looked greasier. i know abuse comes in many forms and doesn’t always reveal itself right away but he was a lot more of a pushover than i would expect him to be if sally stood up for herself

7. the plot about the hellhound that sets up luke as the traitor…simply vanishing. annabeth shoving percy’s ass into the water to figure out he can heal was funny though. would’ve been cooler if it healed a giant hellhound claw mark rather than a nick

8. percy doing some half-assed flossing on a rock alone while waiting to be maimed during capture the flag, not knowing who his dad is or if he’ll ever get his mom back is so fucking funny in the most miserably way but also…why is he a fortnite kid, this is supposed to be 2006 😭. the implication that annabeth is standing there silently watching him almost makes up for it. i can’t imagine what was going through her mind…like girl that’s your future husband good luck

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo #percabeth #pjo series #annabeth chase #ash.txt

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bloopitynoot · 14 days

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Reading SVSSS: Chapter 5

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Back at my desk for chapter 5 today, but no Charlie; he has abandoned me :(Tea this evening is Lady Grey with some milk and sugar.

Can you all believe that this is the last chapter of book 1????!?!? One out of 4 done! Anyways- let's get into this short chapter:

OMG. I would have been so pissed if I was transmigrated somewhere and had to start as an infant with my entire adult brain. RIP those circumstances for Airplane (p 264)

Honestly though, I am so here for the argument between Shang Qinghua/Airplane & Shen Qingqiu/Shen Yuan. Fight it out! The fan/not fan and the author who has no idea what's happening LOL

okay but I stand with Shang Qinghua/Airplane -> Shen Yuan really does know a lot of the lore for someone who supposedly hates this book (p265)

Oh god airplane doesn't even know that shen qingqiu here was poisoned (p267)

(okay Re: not knowing about the poisoning- correction he does, I dont know why he was confused about the mushroom side quest though. If anyone has clarity about this comment pls!)

okay but what's this demon- it's kind of scary clever (p269)

the SASS of this system going through an update and only giving automated answers LOL (p270)

it's making me laugh that the actual author and creator of this world cannot recall a single side character's name XD (p272)

+1 to the party! We have Gongyi Xiao (p 275).

what's touching him?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?! (p278) that's terrifying!!!!!

Shen Qingqiu still over here missing his boy. Re: Gongyi Xiao not being as good as Luo BInghe at picking up Shen Qingqiu's subtle non verbal cues while fighting and shen qingqiu being upset by it (p280)

I swear if that slither creature snatches those mushrooms before shen qingqiu has a chance to snag them I will be so pissed on his behalf (p282)

All three of them: WTF is that?!?!?! Airplane side eyeing shen yuan: did I write that tho??? (p.284)

RE: snatching the mushrooms- I don't think it can touch the mushrooms(?)

OMG. Shen qingqiu just made mortal enemies with this fish snake man (p 287)

At this point I don't know if he is trying to gaslight himself. But no matter what, Shen Qingqiu is really convincing people he's a little unwell about losing Luo Binghe. He mentally tells himself he's fine but man is his behaviour wild. (p 289)

OOp. Airplane calling Shen Yuan out about his feelings regarding Luo Binghe 👀 (p 290) Which Shen Qingqiu completely fails to respond to.

That's it for book 1!!!!!

I am NOT ready for the next turn of events. That foreshadowing at the end with this mushroom plot! These mushrooms better survive or poor Shen Qingqiu is fucked.

I cannot wait to start book 2 tomorrow!!!

#bloopitynoot reads svsss #svsss spoilers #mxtx svsss #svsss #This was such a little chapter #but it really set us up for book two #I feel like the plot will be plotting very soon #five more years before luo binghe returns

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evispunk · 2 months

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MEET THE CAMERONS

a/n: first chapters are normally super slow and are just to get you an introduction to the book, so if you don't like it, please give it a chance and read a little more. as a reader, i don't even like this chapter. this is where you can stop reading if you don't want to know a few things about me.

one - i've been watching outer banks and reading fics about it since 2020. i've gotten quite a feel for the characters and my own opinions and views on them. so of course, this may or may not be similar to other fics you have read, or maybe this is something entirely different! this will follow the plot of the show MAINLY. it will derive a few times and not exactly follow the timeline of the show but all of the events will happen.

two - i have been writing since i was twelve. my writing may not be your style or the best you've ever seen, but i'm proud of it and that's why i'm putting it out there for you to see. please do not critique me in the comments! save it for your therapist.

three - i'm a rafe defender sorry not sorry he's a baby

summary: violette and her parents head over to the cameron's, her parents' good friends, house for dinner where she meets sarah & wheezie for the first time, and rafe, whom she hasn't seen since they were in diapers. plot intro.

warnings: innocent little kook with no idea what she's in for

"ARE YOU ALMOST ready?" Matt called up the spiral staircase to his daughter, Violette. She huffed, unplugging her curling iron and brushing out her waves.

"Yes, Dad, just get in the car, I'll be down in a sec!" she yelled back, applying lip balm at the same time and switching the lights off. The brunette girl took one last look at herself in the hallway mirror, staring back at her smooth, cream-colored dress with knots that were tied into bows on the shoulder straps. Her black heels clicked against the stairs as she jogged down them, heading towards her parents' car.

"Oh, honey, you look beautiful." Violette's mother, Cecilia told her once she sat down in the back seat.

"Thank you, Mom." she smiled, buckling her seatbelt behind the driver's seat.

"Are you excited to see The Cameron's again? You haven't seen Rafe since you two were in diapers right before we moved." Cecilia said, turning to face her daughter.

"I guess. I'm a little nervous to meet his sisters though, I mean, what if they're the fake bitchy type?"

"Language, young lady." her father interrupted, pointing a finger into the rearview mirror as he turned left.

"I doubt that. I've never met Rose personally, but I've talked with her a few times and her and Ward are amazing parents. I'm sure they're really sweet." Violette's mother reassured her with a smile.

"What are their names again?"

"Sarah and Eloise, but the little one is called Wheezie."

"Wheezie? Does she have asthma?" she returned, pulling her phone out from her black shoulder bag.

"No, just a nickname that stuck, I'm sure. Don't make that joke at dinner."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Violette smiled, unbuckling herself as the car halted to a stop in the Cameron's yard.

"Be on your best behavior, Vi." Matt instructed, locking the door and putting his keys into his pocket, next to his wallet.

Violette swung the gold chain of her shoulder bag over her left, and began walking up to the front door with her parents. Her mother lightly knocked three times on their large door, and stepped back, awaiting their response.

The door swung open abruptly, and the blond woman behind it smiled.

"Welcome! You must be Cecilia!" the woman Violette now knew as Rose hugged her mother, then looked at her father.

"Matt." he smiled, and hugged her too as she kissed his cheek.

"Rose." she returned, moving her attention to their daughter. "And you must be the wonderful Violette I have heard so much about," Rose continued, initiating another hug. "Wow, I have to say you smell great. What are you wearing?"

"Miss Dior." the girl replied, thanking her.

"I'll have to buy that one. Come on in, guys." she said, opening the door completely to let the Rhodes enter their home. "I'm just about done with supper, and Rafe is setting the table."

Violette looked around at the Camerons' house, taking in her expensive surroundings. Their home was even more elegant than hers, and they were considered to be almost filthy rich. It smelt quite clean, almost like a mix of fresh linen and salt air.

"Violette?" a voice called from beside her, and she whipped her head towards the sound to find a dirty blond girl standing there wearing a strapless, navy, crossfront bandeau top dress. "Hey, I'm Sarah. Rafe's sister." the girl smiled, taking a few steps towards Violette.

"Oh, hi. Sorry, you scared me, but it's nice to meet you. I love your dress."

"Thank you! I got it at this cute boutique downtown, you'll have to come shop with me sometime."

"I'd love to." Violette replied, looking at the Cameron girl some more. She noticed her wearing two necklaces, one smaller gold chain, and a longer necklace with an 'S' on it.

"Your heels are gorgeous, by the way." Sarah continued, silently urging Violette to walk with her.

"Givenchy."

"Wow. So, you're bougie."

"I like what I like. Of course, not everything is about a brand, but it sure can be."

"You know what, I get that. I don't really care as much, but, I can see why someone would." she smiled. "Oh, Wheeze." Sarah stopped in her tracks, almost catching the Rhodes girl off guard.

"Hm? Oh. Hi, what's your name?"

"Violette. I'm assuming you're Wheezie?"

"I don't know anyone else with that name." she responded with a laugh, her dark curls bouncing with it.

"Can't say I do either," Violette said, voice back to normal. "Hey, I've met pretty much everyone besides Rafe. Do you know where he's at?"

"Probably in the kitchen." the black-haired girl answered, standing up to join the two girls on their walk. "Come this way." The two newfound friends followed Wheezie through the hall until they reached the kitchen, finding Rafe and Ward sipping on their drinks while leaning against the island.

"Violette. How're you doing, sweetie?" the older Cameron smiled, meeting Violette halfway and hugging her.

"I'm doing well. And you?"

"Great, great. You remember Rafe." he pointed to his son, drink in hand.

"Just barely. I do remember a lot of him stealing my toys." she replied and Ward laughed, grabbing Rafe's shoulder. The blond teenager only dryly stared at Violette and drank from his glass.

"Yeah, that sounds like Rafe. I see you already met Sarah and Wheezie, hope they weren't too hard on you."

"Hey!" Wheezie defended herself from behind Violette, still standing next to a temporarily silent Sarah, "We're actually really nice, if you didn't notice."

"I'm sure that's what you think," Rafe commented, refilling his cup with Coke. Violette's gaze fell upon him, slightly taken aback by his arrogant demeanor.

"Rafe-"

"Supper's ready!" Rose called out from the next room over, and Rafe smirked to himself while Ward's face turned sour. His expression quickly recovered when he turned to the three girls and nodded towards the dining room, he and his son following.

"This looks delicious, Rose." Cecilia complimented, smoothing her long dress down as she took a seat at the table.

"Thank you. It's an old family recipe of Ward's." she smiled at the woman in return, setting her napkin on her lap.

"It's steak, Rose." Rafe rolled his eyes, scooting his chair in louder than necessary.

"I think it looks and smells lovely," Ward interjected whilst giving his son 'the look', "Let's eat." he smiled.

Violette walked into the kitchen and began stacking plates and cups, deciding to help Rose with the dishes as a thank you for the supper she undoubtedly spent hours cooking.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, honey. You can go talk with everyone else."

"That's okay, I like to help. Take it as a thank you for supper."

"Well then, I won't stop you," she agreed, turning back to the large sink, scrubbing and rinsing dishes before loading them into their stainless steel dishwasher. "So, Violette, do you have a boyfriend back on the mainland?"

"I don't, actually. I was seeing this one guy for a while, but he turned out to be a huge jerk, so I ended it. It was sad too, he was real cute." the young girl responded, heading over to the other side of the sink and using some of the water that had collected to rinse cups and silverware.

"Trust me, I've been there," Rose laughed. "I dated this one guy in high school, Thomas White. Turns out he was making out with guys the whole time we were dating." she continued, shaking her head.

"Whoa, talk about a plot twist."

"Tell me about it. You know, I never got to ask at dinner- what do your parents do for work again? I know your mother makes jewelry, I bought some from her."

"Yeah, she does. Um, my dad's a lawyer, actually."

"Have you ever got to say, 'My dad's a lawyer,'?" Rose chuckled lightly, switching off the sink and shutting the dishwasher door.

"Not yet, but it sure has crossed my mind a few times."

"Goodnight Mom," Violette said as her mother passed her bathroom whilst brushing out her wet hair.

"Night sweetie. Love you."

"I love you, too."

Violette walked across the hallway to her bedroom and opened her closet door with the intention of finding pajamas to wear. She settled her mind on a ribbed mauve tank top, and loose white sweat shorts. After dropping her towel and changing, she slid on her beige fluffy socks and plaited her hair. Tomorrow she would explore the island after having been here for a week and only unpacking her house.

"Alexa, play thunderstorm sounds."

#writing #wattpad #series #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe fic #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #drew starkey #jj maybank #obx #outer banks

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