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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

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heich0e · 2 years

Text

"You're taking fucking forever in there."

You ignore Levi's irritated comment as you fiddle with the buckles on your shoes, too tiny to clasp easily and at a part of your ankle that requires your legs to be both tilted and bent to access them. A lethal combination in opposition to your dexterity.

"Are you sewing that dress by hand or what?"

His voice is nearer to your bedroom door now, a little bit more difficult to tune out with only the thin wood between you.

"No, my little mice helpers are doing that for me while I sing to them," you call back, but your words are light and flippant where his were heavy with the weight of his impatience.

"It wouldn't surprise me if you did have your own army of vermin with the amount of junk you've got in this apartment." You can't see Levi's face but you know he's looking around your living room with his nose crinkled in the particular way he does when he finds something distasteful.

You scoff as you finally succeed in doing up your second buckle. You lift your head so you can snap your rebuttal directly towards your closed door.

"Sorry we can't all live like minimalist monks!"

Levi snorts in reply. "I'm hardly a minimalist, I just don't accumulate needless things."

"You only own one bowl, one plate, and one mug."

You've known Levi since college, and you're fairly certain he has the same amount of possessions filling the entirety of his one-bedroom apartment that he did in his one-room dorm a decade prior. Probably the same ones, too.

"That way no one ever tries to come over for meals, it's clever."

"It's spartan."

There's a light thump on the other side of your door, and you wonder what it may have been.

"Didn't you ever read those Marie Kondo books?" Levi's voice is impossibly close now, like he's got his forehead pressed to your door. The thump makes a little more sense.

You laugh a bit to yourself as you imagine the way he's slumped against the expanse of wood, long-dressed in his suit and ready to go where you've taken your time getting ready. It's not your fault Levi showed up thirty minutes earlier than he said he would to pick you up for the company party your shared workplace was throwing that evening--though you should have expected it, given he's never been tardy to anything in the entire time the two of you had been friends.

"Can't say I did," you reply as you cross your bedroom, leaning over in your mirror to get one last close-up look at your face. You run your thumbnail against the edge of your bottom lip where your gloss was slightly ill-applied. "Why do you ask?"

"S'all that," Levi sighs, "'spark joy' bullshit. Don't keep things in your space if they don't make you happy or whatever."

You smile at your own reflection, eyes flickering to the image of your bedroom door you can see in the glass.

"And what if all my 'junk' makes me happy?"

There's some shuffling, and a moment later Levi mutters: "How can an issue of a magazine from 2010 make you happy?"

You suspect he's plucked an old copy of some fashion magazine off the stack resting on the bookshelf beside your door. You've actually been meaning to throw those away for a while, but you don't tell him that.

"How can you manage to not find happiness in anything?"

"That's not true," he argues.

"Oh yeah?" you counter, adjusting the way your necklace is resting against your collarbones. "Name something that you keep around just because it makes you happy."

"My kettle."

"Nope," you answer immediately, grabbing your purse off the end of your bed and heading towards the door, "that serves a practical, utilitarian purpose. I mean something useless that you just like. Just something you think is pretty."

You grasp the handle and pull it open, and you take Levi by surprise--he barely catches himself with a hand on either side of the door frame to keep from crashing into you.

There's a little pink mark at the centre of his brow where he'd been leaning against the door, and his eyes are wide.

"You ready to go?" you ask him, tucking your bag under your arm.

He's frozen, his expression still a little taken aback.

"What?" you ask him, suddenly self conscious. Your hands tug at the material of your dress nervously. "Should I change?"

"No," he says, soft but sure. "You look... fine."

Your face pinches.

"Fine?"

"Nice," Levi corrects himself, finally looking away. He fiddles with the stack of magazines he'd been complaining about moments prior. "You look nice."

"Wow, Ackerman, with compliments like that it's shocking that you have to take your best friend as your date to the company party and not one of the countless women I'm sure are knocking at your door."

Levi narrows his eyes, tossing you a withering look.

"You're the one who said we should go together."

"That's because I want to blackout at the open bar, and you're the only person I know who turns down a drink on the corporate dollar," you say with a bright smile.

Levi tuts in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes wandering away from you again. "Charming."

A beat of silence passes.

Levi sucks in a little breath.

"You."

"Pardon?" you ask, and not even because he said it so quietly you barely understood him, but because it doesn't quite make sense.

"Something I keep around just because I like it," Levi says, his eyes fixed so intently on the outdated magazine stack that you're surprised the pages don't burst into flames. "Just because it makes me happy..."

Your heart stutters in its rhythm, a sudden weakness in your knees you can't chalk up to the height of your heels as easily as you may have liked to.

"...Just because it's pretty."

You swallow thickly.

His eyes meet yours.

The time and space between the two of you is thick and sweet like honey, and you wade through it slowly as you fight to find your words. You swear you can almost taste it as your tongue peeks out to moisten your already glossy lips.

"We should probably go," you say quietly, reaching out to adjust the lapel of Levi's suit. If your touch lingers a moment longer than it ought to, if your fingers brush against him in a way that friends' shouldn't, neither of you says anything about it.

Levi nods and clears his throat, taking the slightest step away from you towards your front door. "We gotta get you back before midnight after all, Cinderella."

You blink, a little confused, a little dazed, a little bit of a head rush still clouding your thoughts.

"The mice, remember?" Levi offers when he sees your curious look, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Oh," you laugh, letting your head hang as you nod slightly. "Right."

The two of you make your way down to the parking lot outside of your apartment building towards Levi's car, and you watch as the lights flash when he unlocks it.

"I've got two mugs, by the way," Levi says as he pulls the driver's side door open, and you pause with your hand on the handle of your own. He looks at you over the roof of his car, his eyes suddenly firmer than you'd seen them all night. More insistent. More sure.

You tilt your head, confused.

He ducks down to slide into his seat, but not before calling back to you one last time:

"The other one is yours."

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman #aot drabble #aot writing #writing #here u go anon idk what this is

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1-800-deactivatednearu · 9 months

Text

woag character design notes

[i.d.: a drawn line up of the half life vr ai characters, from left to right, gordon, dr. coomer, tommy, bubby, gman, and benrey. /end i.d.]

yeah i skipped some guys , i dont draw some of them enough to have much unique designs and some of them are a png of a dog

trust me i am just surprised as the rest of yall that i am doing hlvrai art . design notes below (very long, mind your step)

gordon:

wow this guy dont got no head

i didnt want to give gordon a face because of how unexact the person is as the fandom engages with it. is it wayne rtvs? (well as presented to an audience, yes) is it gordon freeman? (well as seen from an in game perspective, yes) is it a whole new guy entirely? (well as

i cut the confusion and took it a whole new direction: guillotine

hlvrai being treated as a very broken game is fun to me as a design perspective, so if you (the audience) are not supposed to see his face, what happens when you see it anyways? missing texture time

there are eyes drawn over because i did not have confidence in my expressions at first and then it grew on me

i think if i were to draw (and i have drawn) an actual person under the mask i would still censor the eyes because that is where the vr headset sits!!

(i do not like putting an actual flesh to gordon though)

though i really like seeing how other people interpret gordon hlvrai it is not . my gordon ? we are talking about the same guy . but this is my gordo . i made this one . this guy my guy . maybe i should draw other gordon designs

i can draw the hev suit from memory and it is also the entire reason why i can render metal confidently

i liked how people changed the lambda to read ai :] i also have no clue if i wrote the lambda correctly

(i did, i just checked)

dr coomer:

as much as i draw/drew him i find it more fun to not stick to one set design :)

so a lot of my takes on dr coomer tend to jump from idea to idea, especially from what other people are doing, though they could be fitted to the left and right designs!

the left design is mainly based off what i saw in fandom spaces

we see rounder shapes, making for a more friendly and welcoming appearance

i think of this as straying from the more professional uniform of the actual scientist models

enter swimming shorts and bright yellow socks, for some reason

so now he kind of looks like a cool science teacher :)

it might be the lab coat

the right design is mainly based off thumbnails for hlvrai itself

these use a more angular appearance

i want to push how comically buff he is because of strength he shows at times, especially since his left design seems to completely down play it as a comically not buff man who is still very strong

the shadows on right design coomer get so much more harsh and exaggerated because i have comic books on the mind :)

he really does look like a dehydrated comic book character huh

tommy:

stick bug (he gets it from his dad) (this thought process is explained at gman section)

i pushed a lot of the saturation of colours in her design because i think tommy gets to be a little silly with it

fun art story of the day! when you color, try messing with hue! you might notice you can get away with a lot as long as your values are about right

i like pushing this with white because you can get away with a lot of things reading as “off white”

old faithful for me is cool shadows with a warm transition colour to keep things visually interesting

i keep making white objects the trans flag

happy pride

tommys design looks a little like a school boy, with the tucked in button up shirt+suspenders+shorts+jacket tied around the waist . and the primary colours . but like it is really fun to dress up so brightly

i actually was strongly inspired by medieval babies if that is a weird descriptor? i wanted him to both be a middle aged man but also a young adult

do not be like tommy, who has their finger on the trigger of the gun while not even looking at where it is pointing and good god he is squeezing the trigger . top ten firearm safety of all time

bubby:

the absurd part is that i think bubby is tall . he is just between tommy and gman who are exaggeratedly lanky .

i wanted to make bubby a pointy kinda guy, so he is the only one actually wearing the lab coat proper . and the only one actually wearing dress socks but not even wearing dress shoes

i wanted to give him a novelty tie but i was running low on ideas and running high on boreds so we dont get a tie

he does have crocs though!! in attack mode!!

i do think we all kind of saw his model and collectively decided it works for him because i have honestly not seen major divergences from his model?

gman:

stick bug

i wanted to stress the more spooky and unknowable nature of him and took it in the dark souls direction of “make bigger than player character”

maked too bigger

he cannot walk through any doorways but you will have to crane your neck to look up at him

in the opposite direction of tommy, i pulled a lot of the saturation in gmans design

it feels important to make them both not fully match the rest of the slightly less broken npcs because there was so much work to make them look cool so i have to respect that

actually a lot of gmans and tommys designs are made in opposite to one another

gman has a largely stationary face and very stiff line work

while tommy is pushed to expressive as possible

thats pretty fun, way to go me

benrey:

benrey also has two designs

and in both of these i keep getting too lazy to use a reference so the vests are super plain (forgetting the badge and black mesa logo) . i think the helmet is supposed to be darker actually .

the design ethos of benrey was “built like a brick shithouse”

a friend of mine took this cooler and interpreted it as a shield/wall/barrier as a physical (and narrative) obstacle

again the first uses fandom designs

most notably the overcast shadow (seen in video thumbnails but i never noticed it or understood why so many people did it until someone pointed it out to me)

i think hlvrai is such a great medium because it acknowledges it is a game and is able to play into that to great effect! i think the shadow is fun to imagine as solid black as a small reminder of the impossibility of the space :]

benrey is a smug cat in the body of a human . to be honest . and this is the full range of emotion i have ever drawn him with

the second was mostly because as fun as taking creative liberties are, i just really wanted to see benrey as is: the half life security guard model in all its slight wonk :]

i actually do prefer this design . it is a little more uncanny because i choose the worst translations of the model . i like it because it is a little more uncanny !

that can be said for like . every single design in this line up huh .

#hlvrai #my art #gordon feetman #dr coomer #tommy coolatta #dr bubby #gman coolatta #benrey #half life vr but the ai is self aware

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where-dreamers-go · 26 days

Note

I love your Dbh Connor writing 😍 can you please write something (if you'd like) in his pov of him realizing he *feels* for the reader, though he'd likely not know what that entails and what to call it. Just something introspective exploring his inner logic when it comes to his newfound deviancy? Thanks so much ❤️ I hope life treats you well!

“Feelings And Deviancy” Rk800 Connor x Reader

(A/N: Awh! I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Here’s a little something where Connor finds himself in a new routine with feelings he can’t pinpoint just yet. Warnings: Use of (Y/N) for your name. Word Count: 1,072 words)

Detroit held much to be discovered, especially when living was a new concept.

No more demonstrations or frantic humans in the streets.

It was almost quieter.

Connor took up walking to explore the city upon his deviancy. To rediscover the world.

Androids and humans were coexisting again. Nothing was perfect. Never was.

On one of his walking routes he had noticed a change. More life in a small bookstore beside an always popular coffee shop. The display window no longer appeared as a physical advertisement or thumbnail. No longer the attention-seeking images. Lined, stacked, and decorated with air plants were books. Physical books. Yes, there were always tablets for sale, but the display was not leveled. Nothing about it was symmetrical.

He was compelled to enter.

That was two months and two days ago.

Blinking, Connor found himself there again. The colorful bookshop in the shadow of quick service caffeine. He stood in front of the display. New books had been added, angled to show their spines, designed in detail to allude to the story’s tone.

Spying movement from inside, Connor moved to open the door and entered.

Familiar bookcases remained in their usual placements. Each shelf neatly arranged with books categorized by genre, author, and title. The usual.

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Connor urged himself to search by sight and not scan. To take his time was a skill in need of practicing.

Light display flickering to yellow, he stepped further into the shop. He wasn’t alone inside. Towards the back, a couple of older individuals could be heard in hushed tones. They were regulars, almost every Friday.

He’s probably holding a stack of books for her again.

Connor found himself doing the same; visiting every Wednesday and Friday. Creating another routine.

What interest could a deviated android have in a bookshop?

Connor pondered on that question each day. Every time he would picture you instead of a simple answer. A connection to books, stories, and knowledge. The person responsible for decorating the shop’s window.

He found a particular interest in you, one of the shop’s employees. It started the first day you greeted him with your friendly smile and had yet to be stored away.

“Connor, hi.” Stepping around a table display, you waved to him while balancing three volumes in your other hand.

“Hello (Y/N).” He smiled, feeling something akin to happiness.

“How are you?”

Opening his mouth, ready to respond, Connor said nothing.

What was a truthful answer?

Connor sure wanted to know.

I am functioning properly, Connor thought. I’m not feeling any negative emotions. But they don’t want to hear that.

“I’m well.” He answered. “Thank you for asking.”

“No problem. I’m glad you’re well.”

At your smile, Connor took notice of his thirium pump increasing its speed. Something he was trying to look into over the past few weeks.

“How are you? Do you need help with anything?”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “I’m pretty good.” Stepping over to the main counter, you added, “I can handle a few books. Just double checking these are in shelves too. Someone’s doing a pickup later. But thank you for asking. Again.” You sent him a teasing smile.

“Oh.” Connor stood still beside the counter, eyes downcast.

Embarrassment, he knew that emotion. Connor knew how it felt and it wasn’t his favorite. Feeling it while around you made him want to reset his system.

Do I ask to help them every time I’m here? Connor thought back to previous encounters and his embarrassment grew. I’m being polite. He urged himself to be more neutral with the fact of him wanting to help you.

Why wouldn’t he want to help you?

You were kind, had a good work ethic, and you made time to talk with him.

Connor appreciated you.

He appreciated other too, but he didn’t find himself trying to consistently learn their interests. That happened when he was with you, asking you handfuls of questions.

The more Connor learned about you, the more he could talk to you. Information one could not find online or in databases. Time one could not simulate.

“So what brings you here today, mister questions?” You inquired as you walked around the counter. Pulling out a tote bag, you placed the books inside one by one.

The corners of Connor’s lips lifted. A jolt of something registered through him. Not physical. An emotion that made him want to remain standing in your presence and perhaps hear you give him another nickname.

“I was wondering…”

You hummed shortly, letting him know you were listening.

“If there was a book you think I should read.”

Your eyes lit up in joyous surprise. “A million times yes.” You rushed out from around the counter and headed between a row of bookshelves.

Connor followed after you without hesitation.

“I don’t think I can just pick one,” you stated with two books in hand already. “So you have some options.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

You sent him a smile over your shoulder. Then you resumed scanning the shelves, not wanting to miss a book you had in mind for him.

Knowing you already had options for him made Connor smile endlessly.

You thought of him.

They’re thorough. Connor thought as he got lost in watching you search.

Connor had never been around someone who he felt such a variety of emotions for. Deviancy hadn’t lasted long enough for him to name them all.

How could he?

The situation and environments he found himself in was calm and new. Full of books, unique displays, and people going about their business. Seeing you had become a constant. Something he could count on even if each time would be different, lively.

Connor did not have anything in his past to compare his present to.

If I had more context, he thought, I could figure out what I should be doing. I like their company. I know that, but big deal. That doesn’t tell me what to do about besides visiting them twice a week. But…I do like being with them.

Slightly frustrated with himself, he made sure to keep it to himself.

So, Connor remained standing, keeping you company during your shift, and making you laugh. Soon three books purchased and all his own.

What would come from him having feelings for you?

Connor hoped he would find out in his new way in life.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Detroit Become Human Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh connor #dbh fanfiction #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #requested #where dreamers go #detroit become human

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careydraws · 1 year

Text

Here's a writeup about the process of making this 12x18" poster that's in the booksamillion special edition of TAZ: the Eleventh Hour GN! It looks like there are still some available for preorder!

Long post about how I got from the initial options I sent to my editor to the final below the cut (or unlocked on my patreon here).

We found out pretty late in the life cycle of making the actual book artwork that we were going to get to do a special edition that included a poster, which was nice because it meant I had a good sense of what cool moments in the book we might want to highlight... and what existing art I might be able to use as scaffolding, because these books are on extremely tight deadlines and there was not a separate timeline for painting a whole poster. So when we can avoid doing that, it saves me a lot of time and heart/wristache... but it's not always possible! spoilers: it was not possible this time around.

I started out by sending my editor two options for poster designs: one that would save some work by letting me reuse cover & interior elements that happened to be drawn at a large size, and one that was loosely based on a page with a fun splash panel, but would require total redraw and repaint. As I said in an email,

...Unfortunately, we both agreed that the one that was going to be more work (A) was the cooler choice & would make for a better poster. Also, by this point I was thinking about doing a version of the cover for a lenticular, and I didn't want to double-dip with fun promo materials. So it goes!

The composition was off, since this was based on a comics page with, y'know, dialog and other panels on it. We talked about whether adding some kind of a text treatment might help balance it out, but ultimately,

[narrator: she would later regret this.]

ANYWAY, once I was all-in, it was time to get goin! First, I made a small color thumbnail, then scaled it WAY up for print and took it back to pencils to space out the trio & give everyone a little more room.

Next I inked and flatted it! Flatting is the only time I can really zone out & watch something while I work, it was a nice break.

Then I blocked in big hue shifts for the ground and sky; painted big shadow shapes, and drew in the text; and finally added some details like bounce light and atmospheric perspective blue shifts.

One final touch-up pass with some additional cool tones-- If I were to do this again, I might tone it down a LITTLE bit on the reflections on Magnus's gear… but then again, it looks cool, so I might not.

And there it is!

Next time I do this, I want to try to keep the initial color thumbnail much looser- I got frustrated at the rendering stage because I'd done most of the fun work of thinking about color already, and ended up feeling like I was treading the same ground twice. It's tough to find a balance between enough planning to be ready and not so much that I lose something in the work!

I'm always happy to get process questions over on patreon, it's fun to talk more about this sort of thing!

#thezonecast #taz balance #tazgn #process #taz #long post

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damon-loves-pie · 1 year

Text

“Care to Remake One of Those Scenes?”

"Care to Remake One of Those Scenes"

Pt. 1??????????? (Let me know down below.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader.

Word count: About 2,400 words

Warnings: 18+, Older Henderson Sibling, talks about Erotic writing, mentions of porn, implied sexual relations, and a little choking, talks about worried of mental health. I think that is it, but please let me know in the comments if I missed anything.

Summary: Older Henderson Sibling had been avoiding Eddie and the rest of their friends since finding a new Erotic book which has taken up all of her free time. Best friend Eddie confronts her, and see’s how dirty his best friend really is when he reads a page from her book. NOT REALLY ANY SMUT, But pretty fluffy.

Author’s note: Hello everyone I AM BACK! I mean I am still depressed as fuck, which is why I stopped writing in the first place, plus I just had a lot go on in the last couple of months. But I think I’m ready to get back to writing. ANYWAY, moving on, I really wanted to write smut into this but I just couldn’t get myself to because I wanted to get it posted since coming up with the idea yesterday. I really hope you enjoy but please don’t come for me since I know I keep changing between different tenses, I’m just too depressed and lazy to care to go back to change it.

But I may, and I mean may make a part 2 if it gets requested enough. But enjoy my babies, and hope you are all doing well!

Writing Masterlist

Eddie and Dustin strolled into the Henderson home after a successful campaign looking for the eldest Henderson sibling, you had been actively avoiding everyone the since Monday. Worried, they wondered why you said you were going to be unable to pick the younger sibling up after hellfire was over tonight, it wasn't like you to not show up. Little did they know it wasn't anything as serious as Eddie thought it was, you were just caught up in a daydream of what you wished your life was.

"(Y/N)?" Eddie called out as he shut the front door behind him, causing a loud bang to echo throughout the living room. Dustin winced as he finger flied straight to his ear to protect his hearing. After having his eardrums basically blew out on the ride here, his ears were sore.

"She's probably in her room, her car is outside." He motions to the hall, setting his bag down as he walked to the kitchen to find something to consume after a long day. He knew you were probably okay, and would come forward eventually if there was anything serious going on. Yeah it was a little weird to him that you would not show up to a place Eddie was going to be to, but he knew it wasn't anything serious.

Hell he's hoping soon you two would realize you were into each other.

Eddie nodded at the younger kid before making his way to your bedroom, wanting to check on his bestfriend. He knows you get like this sometimes but can't help but worry each time scared one time there will actually be something keeping you from him.

You hadn't heard them come in, you were laying comfortably on your bed with a book sprawled out in front of you, and headphones blasting music from your Walkman. The smile on your face was wide as you read one of the best books of your life, legs kicking happily behind you while you chewed on your thumbnail in anticipation on what was going to come next.

Eddie knocked on your door, waiting for an answer or to see the door open. A few moments passed without any acknowledgment, so he pressed his head against the door, hearing the low sound of music playing. Standing there for a few more moments he decided to open the door, praying he wouldn't be intruding in a private moment. Once someone hits middle school, you never know what you're going to get when you enter someone's room unannounced.

Leaning slightly into the room, he spotted you on the bed. You were smiling to yourself as you read your book. He smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you at least looked like you were doing fine. But the smile soon turned to a slight frown as he wondered what was so special about the book that it made you fall away from reality the past couple days. He felt like he's barely talked to you. Every time he's seen you, your head has been buried in that novel.

He was done living second place to a book, he missed his best friend and he wanted to spend some time with you, he wasn't going to let the book take away your usual Friday night movie nights. He survived not seeing you much this week, but he wasn't about to sacrifice a weekend. Sneaking into the room, he quietly shuts the door behind him, trying to not make a noise as he creeps behind you.

Your mind was still intwined with your book, still not noticing his presence yet. Your smile was widening more as Christian and Alice sneaked away into the closet of their workplace, unable to keep their hands off each other. Your face reddened as your eyes skimmed over the dirty scene wishing ever so much Eddie was Christian and you were Alice, sneaking into the janitors room between classes. You too understood how hard it was to keep your hands to yourself when Eddie would wear a certain pair of jeans.

You had thought about doing more than friendly things with Eddie so much that your favorite troupe had became friends to lovers, waiting for the day that maybe someday it would happen to you. Almost all the stories you've consumed other than for class lately had been centered around the troupe to help you manage with not being able to confess your feelings to Eddie.

You didn't have time to comprehend as Eddie snatched the book from behind you, making you jump at the sudden action of the stack of paper being ripped from your hands. Realizing what happen, you yank off your Walkman, turning to him as he held your dirty little secret in his hands, slight smirk on his face as he waves it slightly.

Your eyes widened as he went to open it.

"Wait! Eddie please give it back! Please, I don't want you to lose my spot." You reached for it as the metalhead took a step back, waving his finger at you as he tsks, the noise echoing through your brain as your mind races at what he would think if he knew what he was holding in his hands.

"Not till I know what's so great about this thing, and why it's keeping my best friend from me. You had me worried all week." Eddie speaks, scanning the cover for any indication on what it's about, which you thanked a god you didn't even believe in, that the cover looked like a normal book cover.

Your eyes met his as you physically pleaded.

"I'm sorry that I had you worried, but it's nothing special, I promise you. It wouldn't be of interest to you, it doesn't have anything mythical or magical. Can I please have it back?" You asked again, a little more eagerly.

Eddie shook his head no, holding the book in his hand as he took a seat in the desk chair next to your bed. His fingers held the page you were on last as he got comfortable in the wooden chair. He took another look at the book before looking back at your tense body, sensing you were hiding something.

"Come on (Y/N), it has to be somewhat interesting. You're acting like me when I checked out Lord of the Rings. " He argued, making you sigh as you realized there was no way of getting out of this unless you somehow manage to get the book out his ring-covered hands.

You sat up a little taller in hopes of seeming more convincing, as you pointed back to the book.

"It's just some girly book Eddie, romance. All that gooey gross romantic shit." You shrug, which wasn't a complete lie. It was friends to lovers, just he didn't need to know about the erotic portion of it.

Eddie's eyes met yours after you glanced down at the book before bringing your line of sight back to his. He didn't believe you, he knew you were holding something back in order to save yourself. He didn't want you to think you had to hide yourself from him, hell if anyone knows what it's like to be into weird things, it's him.

"What's so great about this romance that you couldn't even pick Dustin up from Hellfire tonight?" He asks, leaning forward as he holds the book out in front of him, the book ever so slightly dangling between his fingers as he teased you.

"Maybe I was too caught up in it because of my lack of one." You shrugged, which is partially true. It's hard to just be friends with Eddie when you want to be more, you needed an outlet.

Eddie watched your body language as he continued motioning the book in front of you like you were an animal he was trying to catch.

"Mmmh, and even though the book is nothing special you want to spend all your time reading it?" He asked as your eyes focused on his hands.

"Yes. Now since I've answered your questions, can I please have it back?" You begged, well basically yelled as you stood up, flinging yourself at your book, hoping to get it out of his grasp. You just knew Eddie would never let this go if he found out the kind of things you liked to enjoy in your free time.

Eddie was too fast for you though, he knew you too well and could already see it from your body language that you were going to try coming for the book. He had stood up and turned around before you even reached him, chuckling slightly as he shook his head.

Tsking you again, he opened the book.

"You bad girl, trying to steal it back- You can't have the book till I read the last page you were on. Then, and I mean then maybe I'll decide if this book is good enough to have put our friendship on hold." He laughed as he glanced down at the long paragraphs in front of him.

Your voice felt needy as you pleaded for him not to.

"No Eddie, please don't. I'm begging you." Eddie turned towards you, ready to read what was consuming your free time.

"Come on (Y/N) it's just a book, it can't be that bad." He reassured, eyes darting across the first line as your brought your hands to your hair. Knowing there was no way to get out of this.

Eddie's eyes widen as he read the page, cheeks reddening as much as yours. Not even halfway done with the page he decides he has to say something.

"You're not only a bad girl, you're also a dirty one!" He grinned, he hadn't realized his best friend would read something so filthy. He knew you weren't innocent but god were you more dirty than he knew.

His comment makes you groan out in embarrassment as you sat on your bed while he continues.

"You're not reading a book (Y/N), you're reading porn." He laughed lightly, eyes darkening as he finished the page.

"You literally have dirty magazines in your room." You argued, feeling your body burn as he closed the book to focus on you.

"But that's different, my porn has pictures. Plus I use them for personal pleasure, and I don't read them in public around my friends." He taunts, as his eyebrow raised, "Do you use this for personal pleasure?" He questions, making you turn more red at the conversation at hand.

Why couldn't I had just picked Dustin up, you cursed yourself as you turned back towards him.

"No." You answered, shrugging slightly as he looked at you with a 'really' expression, not believing your words one bit. He knew for a fact you got off, hell just last week you and Robin went to the 'toy store.'

Sighing, you speak because you were already caught. Plus it wasn't like he didn't know about your sex life, or lack there of this year.

"Okay, not like while reading but sometimes after, when I'm laying in bed at night." You tell him, your cheeks blushing as he smiles more.

"How often do you read this kind of stuff?" Eddie asks, taking a seat next to you, deciding it was finally time to hand you back your so called book, which he would claim was porn with words.

"More often than I want to admit," You laughed, looking down worn out pages.

"God you're as big of a perv as me," He grinned, leaning back onto the bed with his hands behind his head. Catching your eyes as they twinkled down at him.

"I still think you're a bigger one," You joked, setting your book and Walkman down on the dresser before leaning back next to him.

"Hey, at least I'm open about my pervyness." He states, lightly tapping your elbow with his.

"Well I'm sorry that I don't want to shout to the world I like to read erotica." You giggled as you turned to look at him, the rocker licking his lips as his mind races.

"What do you think about as you read it?"

"What do you mean?" You questioned, feeling your face redden.

"What goes through your head, as you read about Christian and Alice?" He challenged, voice sounding thick. Your eyes flicked across his face as butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"I liked to picture myself as Alice, sometimes." You tell him, as he leaned onto his side taking in your words.

"And who do you see as Christian?" He hums, free hand moving to push your hair behind your ear before resting on the side of your neck.

"Does it really matter?" You breathe out slowly when you realized how close you and Eddie had actually become on the bed.

"Very." He whispers, hand still lingering on your neck.

You gulp taking a deep breathe, nervous at the sight in front of you, wondering if you were imagining it.

"Come on sweetheart, who do you think about?" He asks again, eyes darting between your lips and eyes.

"I-i don't want to say." You stutter, breathing getting heavier as the tension thickens. He chuckles to himself lightly at the sight of you underneath him, basically already falling apart. Your chest moved up and down slowly as he eyed the necklace sitting on your neck, twiring it between his fingers, making you take a deep inhale at the light touch.

He rolls over leaning more above you, your face just inches from his as he mumbles down at your lips, before bringing his eyes back to yours.

"What would Alice do in one of those scenes of your book baby? I bet she would tell Christian when he asked, wouldn't she?" He hums down at you, looking at you in a way he had never done before.

"You, I think about you." You breathe out, letting out a breathe you didn't even realize you were holding.

A smirk comes across Eddie's face as your necklace tightens around your neck while he brings his face closer to yours, his strong hands holding it tightly.

"Care to remake one of the scenes?" He whispers against your lips, barely brushing against them.

A sigh slips your lips against his.

"Please." You beg, your soft hands moving up to his hair as his lips crash against yours.

You knew just by how he was holding you, this wasn't going to be the last time you begged him tonight just like it wasn't the first.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things spoliers #stranger things season 4 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #eddie munson imagine

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sweaterkittensahoy · 1 month

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CleganMarge Wedding Stuff

The night before the wedding, there's a party at the house Buck and Marge will share after they're married. Buck's been living there since he got back and Marge picked it out. She comes over every day to put up wallpaper and place furniture and laugh at Buck's attempts to paint a straight line.

John looks around the house and sees them both all over it. A blue he knows Marge prefers because she has dresses that color. A living room set in a masculine tan but with overlarge cushions so Buck can nap to his heart's content. Books everywhere, all propped up by little wooden bookends that Buck made himself in the little shed in the yard.

The dining room sparkles from the fancy lighting fixture to the floor, and John grins at the fixture as he takes his seat at the table. He'd helped Buck wire it in yesterday evening when he'd arrived, Marge supervising for a few minutes before running to her mother's house to put the parachute silk John had brought to its intended use.

"You absolutely sweet man!" Marge had crowed when she'd unwrapped the tissue paper from the bundle.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get it here before now," John had replied, feeling Buck's happy, warm gaze on his profile like the sun. "But the only way I could get it brand new was to take it just before I left."

"Oh, this is beautiful," Marge's mother had said. She'd been there when John showed up, helping Marge finish centerpieces. "Honey, I can make you a dress lickety split, but I'll need my sewing machine. Yours is packed up."

Marge had looked at Buck, blushing in excitement. "Do you think you and John can handle the light fixture, Gale?" she'd asked. "I really do want it up before the dinner tomorrow."

"We can figure it out," Buck had said, then leaned down to kiss Marge, touching her cheek lightly as he did so. She'd murmured something in his ear, and he'd beamed at her.

Marge had turned and stood on her toes, pulling John down by his tie to kiss his cheek. "You are truly the best man," she'd said, and John and Buck had laughed while Marge's mother had looked mildly shocked by indulgent.

The moment they'd left, Buck had put the lighting fixture on the table, taken John's face in his hands, and kissed him within an inch of his life. "That's from me," Buck had said.

"You got one from Marge ready to go, too?" John had asked. And that kiss pushed him against the nearest wall as Buck got both hands on his hips. "Well, damn, I think she outdid you," John had gasped when he could breathe again.

Buck had grinned and nuzzled John's neck. "She said to make sure I gave you a little extra to thank you for the silk."

"Shit, Buck. If that's all it takes, I'll raid the shed at base when I get back."

And now here he sits, the night before their wedding, at Buck's left hand. The fixture they'd asked him to choose lighting up the room as he looks around the table and finally to the end, where Marge sits beautiful and smiling in her spot as hostess.

She catches his eye and touches a finger to her chin. A little signal she has to tell him she loves him.

John rubs his thumbnail along his moustache, sending his own signal back.

Under the table, Buck's foot touches John's, and above the table, John lifts his glass to make the first toast to the happy couple.

"I was surprised when anyone caught Buck's eye," Bucky says when everyone's paying attention. "Hell, I had to give him most of my name for him to even talk to me, and we were co-pilots in training."

It gets the laugh Bucky wants. He catches the gleam in Marge's eyes that calls him a danger and a treasure. "But, then I met Marge, and well, it was easy to see how it had happened. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's funny. And she puts up with me."

And this time, it's Buck's eyes that have the look, except he's calling John exasperating and ridiculous.

"I can say I've never seen a happier couple, and I am truly pleased to be able to be here to watch them tie the knot. You are two of my dearest friends, and I couldn't want more for you than each other."

There's a cheer, and a smattering of applause, and John sits down. Marge's maid of honor stands to say a few words, but John doesn't hear them. He's feeling Bucky's hand brush his on the table as he shifts his water glass, and he's seeing the tiny edge of a private smile in the corner on Marge's mouth.

When Marge leaves that night to stay with her maid of honor, Marge makes the excuse she forgot her hat and ducks back into the house. She kisses them both and holds John's face for an extra second.

"You know this wouldn't be right without you here, right?" she asks. "You know we'd marry you tomorrow too, if they'd let us?"

John picks her up by the waist and brings her level so he can kiss her again. He pulls Buck in and kisses him, too. "You let me pick the fixtures. I know where I'm wanted."

Marge and Buck both laugh, and Marge hurries out the door.

Buck and John sleep together alone for the last time, and it's nice, but John misses Marge along his back.

"How lucky are we?" Buck asks.

"We're damn lucky," John replies.

The next day, John opens his best man gift. It's a signet ring, his initials done in a lovely monogram on the face. On the inside of the band, there's a heart, and on either side, "M" and "B."

"B?" he asks Buck even as he blinks back tears.

"That's who I am to you," Buck says. "That's who I want to be to you."

John has to dab his eyes. "You son of a bitch," he says. "I never cry at weddings."

Buck laughs and slips the ring onto his left pinky. "Yeah, Marge says that, too."

#cleganmarge #just a ficlet idea i had #so i figured i'd run with it

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kingdomofred · 20 days

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Burn & Burn Again (Male Yandere!Writer x GN!Reader)

feat. Sun Vasileiou Nevrakis

♡ pt.0, approx. 2.5k words | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: reader is slightly self-depreciating, very short innuendos | series warnings: yandere themes, reader is a horrendous flirt

♡ a/n: this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

You'd finally gotten a break, spiralling down a rabbit hole trying to find something to entertain yourself with. The snow fell in blankets outside and you sat huddled on your mattress. A mug of black tea had long since gone cold on the bedside table. It'd been a few hours since you picked up your phone, watching videos, searching random things, stumbling across old forums. Nothing was interesting you, and you were dying to find something to busy yourself with before evening turned to night and you'd be left with the feeling of wasting away what little moments of reprieve you had from the hustle and bustle of your life.

Just as you were getting ready to give up and spend the rest of your time staring at the wall wallowing about your poor decision-making, something caught your eye. A brightly coloured thumbnail on your browser's news section. The headline seemed compelling enough so you clicked on the article and skimmed through it. Apparently, to celebrate their coming anniversary, the publishing company Writermad would be holding an event in which a fan could partake in a one-on-one interview with bestselling author, S.V. Nevrakis.

You'd click away if you hadn't actually read any of his books — the whole selection process just seemed tedious and too much for someone as stressed as you — but you had read his books. They were damn good. That opinion wasn't yours alone either; the book sales, paired with the multiple movie adaptations and merchandise production all spoke for themselves. There hadn't been another author so renowned for their works since Larry Otter had been published and now that you were checking social media, almost everyone across your feed was buzzing about it.

You typed in the address of the official Writermad website where the online applications were open and read through the requirements there. Your eyes flicked over the screen once, twice. You were so tired. There were too many rules, practically a wall of text. The likelihood of you actually winning the interview chance was basically zero. It wasn't worth the effort.

A notification made your phone vibrate in your hand. Your best friend had sent you a link to a different article that covered the same topic, and then a series of keyboard smashes. You almost smiled. She was a bit of a bookworm, you'd always found that cute. She really liked S.V Nevrakis. You pictured what her reaction would be if she'd won, how she'd jump on you and squeal excitedly. Your smile dropped when you imagined how depressed she'd be if the lucky chance missed her. Maybe if you did enter, and at the possibility you got the place, you could give it to her. Just to make her happy. Odds of two against an indiscernable amount were still better than one, right?

With a sigh, you reply to her messages with a thumbs up emoji and start filling out one of the many long forms.

♡♡♡

"Here." A cute bear-shaped mug was placed in front of you on the coffee table. The petite hands that were wrapped around it prior tugged your phone from your grip. "Drink it while it's hot."

"Thanks, Bea." You smiled, then sniffled. The tea was scalding. It burnt your tongue on the way down, but your throat felt nice and warm, more tingly than scratchy like it had been for the majority of your cold. "Sorry for making you do all this on your day off," you looked away from her sheepishly, "I know you really wanted to hole up."

Bea cupped your cheeks and pulled your face back towards her. "You didn't make me do anything. I offered to come down." Even her stern voice was sweet. You didn't know what you did to deserve such a kind friend. "Plus, I can't just be sad about it forever," she moved to sit down next to you on the sofa, features falling with a sigh, "one out of however many million applied. I barely stood a chance."

"Bea..." you trailed off, and let her lean against your side. You were back on your phone, refreshing your emails again and again. You were terrible at comforting people, but you really wanted to make her happy somehow. Your brows furrowed. You understood that announcing the winner last was to keep tension high about the whole event, but it was beginning to get on your nerves. It had already been two weeks, all the rejections should have been sent by now. You hadn't recieved anything. There was still a chance. You just needed something good to pop-up in your emails.

"I mean, it'd have been really cool to see Nevrakis in real life. He doesn't even do interviews normally, he's really private. No one even knows what he looks like! Do you think-"

"Bea." You cut her off, eyes not leaving your screen.

"I know, I know, I'm rambling and you're getting bored but-"

"No! Bea, look." You shoved your phone in her face, open on a colourful email that started with a bold 'Congratulations!'.

"Oh." Bea blinked. Then, she snatched your phone up and held it right up to her eyes. "Oh! Y/N, you won! You actually won! You're gonna get to meet Nevrakis! You're gonna interview him!" She smacked your shoulder excitedly. You smiled through your wince, happy to see her spirits lifted.

"You can go instead of me."

"What?" Bea stopped hitting you and looked at you with her shiny eyes before shaking her head. "No, I can't do that Y/N, you won this for yourself."

"I want you too." You shrugged, making to lean back on the sofa cooly and being interrupted by the sudden urge to sneeze. "Sorry." You apologise quickly and get up to wash your hands. Bea follows you. "Anyway, I'm not even that interested in Nevrakis."

"That's not true!" She retorts, voice almost a whine. "You've read all his books. I've seen you."

"Because they're good books," you dry your hands, and chuckle before continuing, "you forced me to read the first one, remember? Otherwise I wouldn't have got the hype."

Bea huffed and waddled after you as you went back to the living room to finish your tea. "Still. Literally everyone would want to be in your shoes right now, you can't give up on going just so I can."

"Bea," you sigh and turn to her, hands grabbing her shoulders to focus her attention on you fully, "you're my best friend. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" Bea shook you in retaliation, "you're my best friend too. I'm not going to let you let go of a good opportunity! Look," she took a deep breath, and you knew that meant buckling in because she was going to be talking for a long while, "I'm not even sad anymore, you going is practically me going. Wait, wait, let me get a pen and paper to write down some of the questions I want you to ask him for me..."

♡♡♡

Through the series of events that took place over the last few weeks, you'd finally ended up outside a fancy hotel for your interview. You were bundled up in your warmest clothes, courtesy Bea's need to always mother hen at you. Although, thanks to her attentive care, you'd fully recovered from your cold.

Walking into the grandiose lobby, you couldn't help but think the venue was only slightly suggestive. Still, you tried to keep your head out of the gutter and reason that a hotel was the obvious choice to ensure privacy and safety. You'd no doubt thousands of fans were lined up outside of various Writermad branches around the world right now, and it wasn't an option to give you the location of Nevrakis' actual home. Luckily, you didn't have to take a flight across the globe and it was only a somewhat inconvenient journey of a few hours.

You tried to be inconspicuous as you went through the motions and were directed upstairs by the staff. During the entire elevator ride to the seventh floor, you were wringing your hands nervously and mentally going over your list of questions. Bea had come up with most of it, but she pressured you to add in at least a few. Honestly, the only thing you were insanely curious about was how Nevrakis looked, because at this point it may have well been one of the seven mysteries of the world. The elevator pinged, open, and you stepped out.

You'd know soon enough.

After waltzing down the hallway to the door you'd been given the number of, you'd stood there motionless for a few seconds, head empty. You really needed to gain your bearings. Swallowing hard and exhaling, you lifted a shaky hand and knocked thrice.

Your breath hitched as not even a few seconds later, the door opened to the most ethereal man you'd ever been blessed to lay your eyes on. You weren't sure how someone could make a simple yellow hoodie look so good, but it matched the honey of his eyes and the streaks in his hair. He looked like the epitome of beauty, and he was staring at you through thick lashes that fluttered shyly.

"Um... are you here for the..." he didn't finish his sentence, but you assumed it was because you were scaring him with the intensity of your gaze. You tried to reign it in and not appear like a freak, but even his voice was pretty, you didn't know what to do with your treacherous heart. Love at first sight was a thing. It was a dangerous, dangerous thing.

Before you stressed him out any further, you showed him a verification email that had been sent to you and quickly apologised. "I'm just a bit nervous, I swear I'm not this strange normally," you rubbed the back of your neck and laughed awkwardly.

His shoulders seemed to relax a bit and he moved aside to let you in, smiling at you gently. Your stomach started to do a whole set of flips and one ballet choreography. You were going to ignore it.

The door closed behind you and you trailed over to the table set with two chairs, paying no mind to the lavish bedspread and its implications. Nevrakis sat down and you sat opposite him, and you were absolutely resolute in completing this interview without saying anything weird.

"I love your face."

Stupid mouth saying stupid things. Why were you such an idiot? Did you even have a brain? If you did you needed a new one, but surely you didn't. Who in their right mind would say something like that to someone they just met? Wait, maybe you could fix it.

"I meant, uh," you pointed to your cheek and then at him, "it's cute."

Nevrakis' hand went flying to cover his cheekbone, where the spatter of beauty marks you'd been reffering to were. Great. You'd made him uncomfortable. Just which deluded train of thought made you think you could fix it, again?

"Like really," you were worrying yourself with your inability to shut your trap at this point, "I've never seen them in such a perfect circle before, I didn't even know they could do that! Nature sure is a funny thing, huh?" You were seconds away from cringing at the sound of your own voice.

"Yeah..." he responded after a while. His hand dropped to rest with his other one on his lap and he avoided eye contact with you.

You rubbed your temple in frustration. Bea should've just agreed to go in your place. "I'm so sorry you're stuck with me on this, honestly," you whispered. "Can we start again?" you ask hopefully, your hand stretching out towards him. "My name's Y/N. I really admire your works."

Nevrakis' gaze flitted to your arm, then to your face and back to your arm. He was slow to reciprocate your handshake, but it seemed like it clicked that you meant no harm. "...Vasileiou." You'd only just noticed a dust of pink lining the shell of his ears. "Thank you for reading them."

You grinned at him and leaned your head on your palm. "Vasileiou? That answers half of the first question..." you acknowledge, watching with what you hoped was subtlety as he tucked back an inky strand of hair. The pitch black really made his dirty blonde highlights stand out, and framed his face into the prettiest picture. "Let's finish it." You lean in the tiniest bit. "What does the 'S' in your penname stand for, then?"

"...just the initial of my first name..." his eyes darted about from corner to corner, the blush travelled to his cheeks and darkened.

"Which is?" You'd learnt just now that the bestselling author of a very many number of horror and action books was easy to fluster, and you decided it was the cutest thing in the world.

A beat of silence passed as you waited for him to answer you.

"It's stupid." He dismissed finally, after a clear mental conflict that was visible in his expression.

"It isn't," you retaliated, "it's not like your first name's something like Salad, right?" You really hoped it wasn't, otherwise you'd sound like the most insensitive piece of shit on earth.

You thought you heard a small laugh from him, but it was short-lived. "Not Salad." He shook his head. "Sun."

"Sun?"

"Sun Vasileiou Nevrakis," he said shyly, "my full name."

"I'll just call you Sun then, if you don't mind," you smiled, tilting your head. "It's such a nice name. You were so reluctant to share, I almost felt like a villain for pushing," you joked.

"It really isn't," Sun — and he really did look like a Sun now you had the name to his face — sighed. He was playing with his fingers underneath the table. "Just, like... why would you choose something like that out of all the other names in the world?"

"Well, who named you?" you pose softly.

"My mother."

"Have you ever asked her?"

He let out a scoff, which sounded surprisingly elegant for reasons unknown to you. "She said it's because of this," he gestured vaguely to the ring of beauty marks on his cheekbone. "My younger brother has a stupider name for the same reason. Not Salad." He added the last part with a hint of amusement as you opened your mouth to inquire.

"No, no, I see her point," you trace over the area of skin with your eyes, "the shape of them and position in correlation to each other gives the impression of sun rays. It's clever, really."

"Tell that to the kids from school who used to throw grass at me to help it photosynthesise." Sun frowned.

"Dumb of them," you snorted unattractively, "how is it gonna photosynthesise if it's been plucked out of the ground?" You relaxed into your seat. "And even if it could, it'd just burn because the sun's a fucking flameball."

The laughter that graced you in reply was practically kissing your ear drums in the softest way. You looked at Sun in awe, his hand covering his mouth and eyes smiling. Light filtered in through the window, hitting his skin in fragments of broken amber and orange. There was something so warm about him that nestled itself perfectly into the crevices of your mind. You'd practically forgotten that you were here to interview instead of oogle him.

"Sunshine." You murmured quietly, and he stopped to lock eyes with you. "Sunlight. Sunflower. Sunset. Sun is the perfect name for you."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. That blush returned. Oh, you were in love.

#redw.rites #redw.ritesocs #redw.ritesyandere #redw.ritesSFW #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #gn reader #yandere oc #oc #my ocs #reader insert #male yandere #male oc #male!oc #yan x reader

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spidernerdsblog · 2 years

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web art

A/N : This was a bit of self indulgent because I myself have a bad habit of biting my nails lol. Can be read for both mcu and tasm peters. Let me know what you think.

Summary : you have a habit of biting your nails when stressed out so Peter decides to help you get rid of it by painting your nails.

Pairing : Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings : fluff

“A little more and you’re gonna chew your whole thumb off.” You hear Peter say as you stop chewing on your thumbnail and lift your gaze from the book on your lap to him.

“You know I can’t help it when I’m stressed.” You huffed with a pout. “And tomorrow we’ve this seminar, so major stress!”

“But it’s not good to do that, you could get an infection.” His voice was full of concern as always.

“Ok mom, I’ll try not to do it.” You snicker, returning your attention back to the book you were reading.

You got the habit of biting your nails during your middle school and since then it stuck with you. Stress, anxiety or just plain and simple boredom triggers it so you don't get to see the whites of your nails that often.

In the past you tried a lot of things to get out of that habit— applying bitter tasting polish, consciously trying to resist the urge to chew your nails but it was all in vain. And tomorrow you had this seminar where you had to discuss your project with the professors and you wanted to impress them badly that is why you had called Peter to your apartment to go through the key points for one last time.

You didn’t notice but Peter was keeping an eye so when your thumb reaches up to your mouth again he barks out.

“Ok that’s it!” You look up at him startled. “I think now I’ve to take the matter in my own hands and stop you from biting your nails”

“And how are you gonna do that genius?” You quip.

“I’m going to paint your nails.” He declares quite confidently.

“What?” A laugh bubbles out of your throat.

“Yes.”

“You sound way too confident for someone who doesn’t know a thing about nail art.”

“What’s youtube for? And I’m a fast learner, it won’t be that hard.” He shrugs nonchalantly as he thinks about all the times he saw you and aunt May applying nail polish. It looked easy to him just like filling color inside a shape.

“Ok Mr. Parker, thou shalt I trust my nails.” You agree, secretly a little excited at the whole idea of him painting your nails.

Peter opens youtube on his phone and types in the search bar as you look over his shoulder.

“DIY spiderman nail art tutorial? Really?” You arch an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with that?” A cute frown appears on his forehead.

“You’re so self obsessed.” You snort, shaking your head.

“In my defense red looks good on you.” He says.

“Uh huh.” You nod, trying to stifle a laugh.

“And also your boyfriend is the spiderman so…” He lifts a shoulder grinning cheekily.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You narrow your eyes giving him a knowing smirk. “Now get on with it tiger.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He plays the video and there it instructs to get all the necessary supplies first. Accordingly he walks over to your dresser and opens the second drawer to take out the box in which you keep your nail polish bottles. He comes back to sit on your bed and resumes the video. It then says to apply the base coat first.

“Ok that’s easy.” He says and looks into the box full of bottles in different shades. You smile at how adorable he looks confused as he tries to figure out which one it is. You finally decide to help and pick out a clear bottle.

“This one.”

“Oh thanks” He takes it from you rubbing the back of his neck, smiling meekly. He grabs a pillow and places it on his lap as you rest your hands flat on it.

Peter then uncaps the bottle and dips the brush in the clear liquid to apply it evenly on your nails one by one. He was doing quite a good job and you loved to watch him so focused on his work.

“And it’s done. What’s the next step?” He says enthusiastically, very happy with his work and presses the play button again. The video then says to let it dry for a minute before applying the red color nail polish next. He playfully blows air over your nails and you giggle.

Next he opens the red nail polish bottle and slowly applies it on your nails. You thought your nails were already looking pretty not just because of the color but because of Peter who was doing your nails.

Till now everything was going fine but then the video goes on to demonstrate how to draw webs and the eyes of his mask which you thought was a bit tricky.

“You’re sure you can do that?” You ask him with a dubious look on your face. “You can just leave it like this, it already looks nice.”

“Have some faith in me Y/N, I designed my own suit.” He grunts. “I can do this very easily.” He says with confidence but you aren’t convinced at all.

Peter picks a thin brush and dips it in the white paint and draws webs on your nails which were a bit uneven but it was passable. Then he goes to design his mask with the black paint and it smudges around the corners.

“That definitely doesn’t look like your mask.” You comment.

“Just wait a second, don’t get so impatient.” He huffs and goes to correct it but it gets mixed with white color which was still wet.

“Oh no this looks bad.” He groans. “I’m sorry, Y/N let me rub it off with some remover. This was a bad idea.” He sounded so upset that it made you feel sad as well.

“No!” You take your hands off the pillow when he goes to put some remover on it. “Leave it like that.”

“Y/N, I totally messed it up. You were right, I should've kept it simple.”

You look at your nails admiring the artwork. “I think it’s perfect.”

“What?” Peter looks at you as if you’ve gone insane.

“I think they’re pretty, Peter. You know why?” You smile fondly. “Because my sweet, caring boyfriend did them for me. How can I get rid of it so easily? I love you, Peter, that means I love all your imperfections as well. So I’m gonna keep these.” You grab the top coat and apply a good amount of it on your nails so the paint stays longer. Peter couldn’t help but fall in love with you all over again as he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

“See it’s done.” You twirl your fingers in front of him. “Now let’s order some takeout then we can cuddle on the couch and watch your favorite star wars.”

“Done.” He says excitedly and hurries out of the room to put on the movie.

Next day after your seminar you were sitting in the college cafeteria with your group.

“Nice nail art, Y/N. Didn’t know smudged nail art is the latest trend.” Harry snickers.

“Haha, very funny.” You roll your eyes “fyi Peter did these for me last night. And I think they're pretty.” You say proudly making Peter blush a little sitting beside Harry.

“Aww can you guys be any more cute?!” Gwen chimes in. “Harry, you should take notes.”

“I think I need a manicure too.” Harry says making a show of checking out his nails. “Petey, can you do my nails as well please?” He leans over Peter, batting his eyes at him.

“Fuck off man!” Peter shoves him with his elbow grumbling.

“You wound me Parker.” Harry laughs rubbing the side of his stomach and you all laugh along with him.

Surprisingly Peter’s plan to stop you from biting your nails worked . The whole week you were being extra careful to make sure his artwork doesn’t chip off. But you knew it wasn’t going to last forever because at the end of the second week the color started to chip off at the corner of your nails as you let out a sigh feeling upset.

“What happened?” Peter asks, sitting beside you on the couch.

“Your web art is fading away.” You show him your nails with a sad pout.

Peter laughs. “That’s alright babe” he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Your personal nail artist will do it again for you. And I’ve been practicing so this time it’s gonna be perfect.”

..................................................................................

Reblogs are appreciated ❤

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker oneshot #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x reader

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jojo-schmo · 1 year

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THIS is how invested I am in the Roleswap. I am not messing around here.

Extra thoughts on my creative process and other bonus material under the cut :D

So! My creative process has evolved a bit since I made this post five months ago!!

I have graduated from a used computational notebook to a handy disc-bound notebook!! I tell you, the disc-bound book is life-changing. I thought they were just for those bougie planners but they make plain notebooks with them too!! It was a little more expensive than a traditional notebook but it's been so incredibly worth it for me so far. I thought I'd share in case someone else has been looking for a system like this!

My habit of revising, adding, and deleting sections of the story isn't a problem anymore, because I can literally remove a portion of the notebook from the binding and stick it somewhere else! Or add more paper if a section I'm working on becomes longer than I intended. It's absolutely fantastic and keeps my chaos 1000x more organized. I can finally keep everything sorted by chapter without committing to a set number of pages! I can actually figure out where the story is going to go now, and actually organize my ideas for endgame chapters... and the endgame is going to be FUN. >:)

Here's a peek into my brain for previous updates: Chapter 1 Pages 26-29, and Chapter 1 Pages 34-42! I still love my sticky note thumbnails. And it's fun to compare how much the final pages change from my initial thoughts :P

Here's a sneak peek of Chapter 2 and some scrapped content! Fixing the pacing is the biggest cause of scrapping scenes.

So yeah!! This Roleswap is the biggest exercise in storytelling and art that I've ever taken on, and I'm so, so excited to keep working on it and sharing it! Perhaps this organizational approach is a little unconventional (I have personally not done this on a true professional level... yet) but it's working well for me as I continue to learn and evolve! I'm so grateful for the opportunity to share this.

Thank you for reading- and thank you for the warm reception so far! I never expected this story idea to grow to the size it did, but I'm so happy for the opportunity! I'm really passionate about it. I'll keep working hard to make the wait between updates worth it and create an enjoyable story!! <3

#next update is close to finishing I promise!!#I just need to share my excitement for my new system or else who else am I gonna tell? haha #roleswap scraps #forgotten land roleswap #king dedede #meta knight #kirby #Kirby and the forgotten land #Kirby au #elfilis

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magniloquent-raven · 2 years

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~~tag list ppl @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you 💕💕hope yall are in the mood for some mungrove lol~~

cw: implied child abuse

(read on ao3)

They don't talk about it.

They shoot the shit about music and books, they argue about who's the most annoying member of the basketball team—Billy always points out that he has insider knowledge, so his opinion carries more weight, and besides, Eddie only thinks it's Jason because he wants to get in Chrissy Cunningham's pants, but he's full of shit—and sometimes, rarely, they commiserate about growing up with shitty dads. They hang out in Eddie's trailer getting high, and more often than not nowadays that ends with their jeans in a pile on the floor.

It's just…something that happens. Billy's an attractive guy, and he moans like a fucking porn star when Eddie tugs on his hair for better access to his mouth. Eddie's a little bit addicted. And maybe that's got him acting reckless. Being stupid about things he shouldn't take risks with.

Because they've never talked about it. Billy lets him get rough, eggs him on until he pushes and enjoys every second of it. It's easy to believe him when he acts like he doesn't have any limits. It's easy to forget how wrong this could go when Eddie doesn't know where the lines are.

Until he finds one by crossing it.

He has Billy crowded against his cluttered wall, a poster crinkling behind him, corner caught on the rough edge of his cutoff tanktop. He's warm, pressed to Eddie's chest, to his palms, he's always so warm. His throat works beneath Eddie's fingers, adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes are unfocused, long eyelashes dipping low over hazy blue.

Eddie digs his thumbnail into the underside of Billy's jaw, turning his face so he can get a better look at the smudges of purple dotting the side of his neck with a curling satisfaction. It takes work to leave marks on Billy, he barely bruises at all, but when he does it's fucking gorgeous.

"Lookit you…" Eddie says softly, shifting his thigh between Billy's legs just to watch his lips part around a groan. "What would your braindead goons say if they could see you now, huh? Big man on campus riding my thigh like a little whore."

His grip on the back of Eddie's shirt tightens, fingertips digging into his shoulderblades. All that manages to do is pull them closer. Eddie is more than happy to lean in, his nose brushing Billy's flushed cheek, a grin tugging at his lips. He rolls his hips, relishing the way Billy meets the motion almost desperately, seeking friction.

"Mnmg, fuck you," Billy mumbles, belatedly, his protest weak, breathy.

"Sorry, what was that? Didn't quite hear you."

All at once Billy tenses.

It's a small change. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't make a sound. But the rhythm of his movements stutters, fumbling, and it takes Eddie a long moment to realize he flinched. Billy flinched. He's…never done that before. Eddie's snapped a leather belt at him once and it just made his laugh, which might have impressed him if it wasn't so annoying.

He never thought it would be so terrifying to see Billy actually falter.

Maybe if he'd recovered immediately it would've been fine. If he'd stayed putty in Eddie's hands. But there's an odd expression on his face that Eddie can't parse, and Billy turns away when he sees him trying to.

Eddie slips his hand from Billy's throat to cup his cheek, gently. "Hey…" He manages to keep the tremors out of his voice. It helps no one if he lets slip how much he's freaking out.

"Don't," Billy growls.

There are tears in his eyes. It's not the first time Eddie's seen him cry, but he's never been the cause, not like this. His stomach drops with an unpleasant swoop.

"Are you—"

"Just, just fucking—keep going."

"Billy—"

"Shut up and fuck me."

"No."

Billy's gaze snaps to his, blue eyes full of helpless anger, glassy and red-rimmed. A muscle in his cheek twitches, and Eddie can feel his jaw clench. "Then get off me," he says curtly, making no attempt to move away. He's rigid and trembling like a cornered animal, but still clutching Eddie's shirt.

"Tell me what I did wrong."

"Get off."

Eddie meets his glare with a flat look. "Make me."

He doesn't.

But he doesn't relax either. Eddie lets out a quiet breath and tucks a curl behind Billy's ear. "You know I won't hurt you when you don't want me to, right?"

Billy makes a tiny, wet sound. His brows draw together, and his bottom lip trembles, despite his efforts to keep his expression neutral. "Like you could," he mutters in a strained voice.

"...Yeah, whatever, we can't all lift weights for fun." Eddie snorts, and knocks his forehead against Billy's, just a tap before he pulls back again, smiling small and brief. "I did do something, didn't I? You're obviously not okay, and, I mean…I just, don't like that it's my fault, okay."

"It's not."

"It kind of is though."

"It's not, it's…" Billy grits his teeth. "It's fucking stupid."

"Y'know, I always avoid spending time with you after you work on the Camaro. Because you come around smelling like engine grease and suddenly I can't breathe, 'cause…I feel like I'm five years old again, watching my dad get manhandled into the back of a cop car." He trails off with a shaky, humorless laugh. "Can't be stupider than that."

It feels like an overshare. Not the time to bring that up. They never get into that kind of shit when they're this sober, and he's never offered something up like a bargaining chip just to get Billy to open his stubborn mouth. His palms feel clammy while he waits for a response, trying to pick something out of Billy's unreadable expression.

"Just…don't ask me to repeat myself," he says finally, every word coming out of his mouth like he had to drag it out by the neck.

Eddie's brain stalls. He blinks.

"He hates it when I mumble."

"...Oh." His first instinct is to apologize. A weepy, messy thing caught in his chest, unproductively wallowing in self-loathing. This can't have been the first time he's asked Billy to repeat himself. It is just the first time he's noticed how much it bothers him? Or was there something different about this time. Was it a combination of things. Guilt floods his insides, cold and writhing, as he tries to recall every conversation they've ever had.

But he stops himself. He can't make a big deal out of this. Or at least, he'll have to wait until Billy isn't around to have his massive freak-out.

This can't be Billy's only hard limit, and if Eddie falls all over himself being weird about this one chances are Billy will clam up and he'll never find out what the rest are.

"Good to know. Full offence to Neil, he is the last thing I want you to be thinking about while I'm touching your dick, so, uh. Is there anything else I should know?"

Billy chokes out a damp laugh. Success. A grin blooms on Eddie's face in response as Billy drawls, "If I think of anything I'll let you know."

He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Billy's mouth, with an exaggerated noise and everything, just to get Billy to sputter indignantly. "You better."

#mungrove #billy hargrove #eddie munson #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #hello it's projecting onto billy o'clock

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vivalgi · 4 months

Text

Another month, another Choices Insiders

I lost a lot of interest when it turned out we're not the titular character in Hot Shot but a lowly reporter who has to wh*re out and do filthy propaganda for some hockey team. However, it has GOC MC so I'll still give it a try, albeit with low expectations.

I liked the behind-the-scenes stuff though, always cool to see what goes into creating art for the game. There seems to be a lot of 3D modelling involved in background art, which is cool. Perhaps PB could base character sprites on 3D models as well, then they wouldn't look so weird.

Surprised that PB is trying to release Blades 3 already this year, although it doesn't sound that impossible. After all, book 2 was still in pre-production less than a year before its release. I hope that they won't rush it though and take more time if needed. RWB spin-off and COP3 are not surprising as they're lower budget linear stories.

1 GOC book per 1 gender locked book is ...ooookay, it's not good but better than last year. 3 per 2 would be more in line with the better years and actually improve the situation overall. I'll probably do the next Choices stats post about GOC books.

ID2 - the main villain, the final battle, the way MC was turned into vampire and how he reacted to it were all hugely underwhelming but I still look forward to it. Urban fantasies seem to be my thing (besides sci-fi but sadly PB isn't interested). I'm curious how they'll handle the 3 different romance paths, I also want to see MC seriously struggle mentally with vampire life and I hope that whatever danger is waiting for us is more multifaceted than the boring villain in book 1. Hopefully there won't be another cheesy happy ending where regular humans and vampires suddenly become the best buddies.

ACT - it's gender locked so there goes my interest.

TDG - the name and thumbnail made me hope for something dark and gritty but based on the leaks we're once again getting involved with the quirky lives of rich people. Still, it's a GOC detective story so it shouldn't be too bad. Fingers crossed there's still going to be some gore and blood besides the fake glittery glamour.

TGOU - meh, another gender locked book. Probably THOBM but smuttier and over 3 times longer.

FR - lol I don't know why the title sounds so funny to me 🤣! Based on recent patterns, the filthy rich one is probably the LI, unless PB manages to surprise us. What is up with the fascination with billionaires anyway? What is PB trying to tell us with it? That the company is struggling and waiting for a sugar daddy to rescue it? Anyway, it's another gender locked book, so there's little to no chance I'm going to read it.

HOF - that must be the book about firefighters that PB teased sometime ago. It's good to have something involving a more down to earth life style for a change that us regular people could relate to. I just hope it's not another one of those books where only the LI is the firefighter. Or where we are another rookie falling for an older, more experienced person.

#playchoices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #choices #choices insiders #hot shot #blades of light and shadow #roommates with benefits #crimes of passion #immortal desires #along came treble #the deadliest game #the ghost of us #filthy rich #hearts on fire

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holdmecloser-gandydancer · 2 years

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27 with Taakitz from the musical prompts please

from this prompt list! [still accepting if you want!]

To say that Kravitz has his plate full after the almost-nearly-apocalypse is to put it delicately. There was a blissful six hours where he sat on the moon with his boyfriend, two liches, and a group of people that had a criminally high death count; there would be time for discussions and deals later. For a frozen moment in time, they were all safe and alive and generally only mildly scathed.

But time waits for no Reaper and he was summoned to start helping the Raven Queen balance the books, as it were.

So he was whisked away for the better part of three weeks, leaving practically no time for anything else. Taako’s assured him that this was fine, that he had a whole mess of interpersonals to clean up.

But at long last, Kravitz has found a free evening.

He initially plans a veritable smorgasbord of options: a botanical garden, the hottest restaurant in Neverwinter (that also has had the chance to reopen), a trip to the beach, anything Taako desires.

What Taako desires, though, is a quiet night. For the time being, Taako’s still living in a dormitory on the moon, though he’s had the chance to move into a private one, given how many former Bureau members decided to move home. But for those that didn’t exactly have a home anymore, their old abode suited them fine.

So at promptly 6:45 PM, Kravitz rips a portal into Taako’s living room. Taako, determined to keep his composure, is very proud of himself for only jumping a little bit when he hears that all-too-familiar noise.

They delight in small talk, Kravitz discusses how filing his paperwork now feels like climbing every mountain on Faerun at once, Taako mentions needing to find a new place to live posthaste, given the discomfort spending time in close proximity Lucretia gives him.

It’s here where Kravitz makes an error. He’s not even thinking, he’s just so so happy about seeing Taako without any pretenses or slinking around. His brain’s a little soupy. So when he offhandedly says that “We could go looking in Goldcliffe or Neverwinter next week,” it takes a moment for his brain to catch up to his mouth. But by this point, Taako’s already blanching and clamming up. Kravitz has fucked up; obviously this is moving at lightning speed.

“Oh, oh Taako I didn’t mean—It’s not that I wouldn’t—I just…is it hot in here? I think it’s really hot in here,” Kravitz sputters out. He feels like his tongue has tripled in size in the past six seconds.

Taako doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. When he finally does, he doesn’t acknowledge Kravitz’s slip-up. Instead, he just beckons Kravitz to the couch to watch an old season of The Great Faerun Bakeoff. And so they get comfortable on the couch, Taako stretching his legs out and resting his feet in Kravitz’s lap; a blanket draped over the two of them and it’s like Kravitz didn’t develop foot-in-mouth disease.

Almost.

They’re an episode and a half into the season when Kravitz feels Taako’s eyes all but burrow into him; he’s biting at his thumbnail and staring at Kravitz, his brow furrowed and his face nearly screwed into a scowl.

“Everything okay, love?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Taako asks bluntly.

Kravitz is certain his recoil is big and embarrassing. “Excuse me?”

Taako chews at his nail with a little more force. “What’s wrong with you?” He repeats. “Because there has to be something wrong with you. Y-you like me and you’re so nice to me and you make me happy all the time and you know that I’m a total dick and nobody in their right fucking mind would be into all this so there’s gotta be something wrong with you, Bones. You said…you said that thing earlier and you shouldn’t want to maybe move in with me someday, you should be figuring out how to run off.” He looks down at the blanket, suddenly feeling like he's said too much.

Kravitz nods for a moment. “You can be a dick, yeah.” Taako looks back up at him and raises an eyebrow. “And pretentious. And distant. And confusing. And warm. And kind. And funny. And caring. And loving, even if you like to act like you’re above it all.” Taako’s other eyebrow ascends and he’s staring at Kravitz in utter disbelief. “You’re this divine mass of contradictions and impossibilities and you keep me on my toes but also solidly here with you, Taako. I never used to spend this much time in this plane. Never saw the worth in it. But now? Any waking moment I can spend here, with you, is something precious to me. A-and I did slip up and say that but I don’t want you for a moment to think that I wouldn’t adore that. But I also want to move at your pace. But Taako, you’re not getting rid of me. I’m not running off. As long as you’ll have me, you have me.”

Taako presses his lips together in an effort to keep some kind of composure. “Well, I don’t know how much your mom would like you living with a death criminal. Especially when my sister and her husband are also death criminals and liches,” he says, voice wobbling like a tightrope walker on a windy day.

“The Raven Queen isn’t my mom? But I have been discussing that situation with her. She can’t exactly condemn the saviors of the planarverse to the Eternal Stockade.”

He nods and swallows. “Well, I have a lot of clothes. I don’t know that there’d be much closet space for you.”

“My love, my outfits are constructs.”

“That’s kinda hot.”

“It is kinda hot,” Kravitz affirms. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Right now we can just sit on the couch and watch baking sabotage.”

Taako bites at his lip before shifting haphazardly. He winds up leaning against Kravitz’s side. “Okay. I’d like that.”

Kravitz smiles and wraps his arm around Taako’s shoulders. “I would too.”

#rip (reeses in pieces)#noodyl-blasstal #taz #taz balance #reese writes #the adventure zone #taakitz #taako #kravitz #this is. not quite how i wanted it to turn out but here we go!#thank you!!#also i never realized this song was from 35mm by my dear twt mutual ryan scott oliver lskdfjlsdf #[yes im on twt i dont wanna talk about it]

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ask-obt · 1 year

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What steps do you usually have for creating each page, and how long does each one usually take you? Do you do stuff like thumbnail entire chapters in advance, etc?

I don't know how big your page buffer is, but you seem to get pages done at a really impressive rate, especially considering every page is clean and colored, so I'd love to know how you manage it :)

// this is a long ask, so buckle up!

all of my pages start with an outline, which is then fleshed out into a script- over time I've found that having an entire chapter done before starting any other step cuts out unnecessary fat that comes with editing. if there's one thing I learned from preboot OBT, trying to figure out what exactly happens on a page as you're drawing it can lead to a lot of heartbreak if you decide to change it (a lot of preboot OBT's chapter 4 was subject to this- I have a million drafts of rune and fienne in the market because I didn't know what I wanted them to do there). my scripting program is actually the beta version of a program one of my classmates in college made, and if it ever goes public I'd be happy to pop a link since I believe they want to make it open source eventually. on average my scripts are about 5000-6000 words long, and are written (casually) like film scripts since that's the format I was trained on as a film student.

my outlines are a bit sloppy because it's just like a stream of consciousness flowing out while I try getting ideas slapped down as quickly as possible. I try not to worry too much about details unless I have a clear vision in mind because I think writing the plot out in one go flows the most smoothly.

and then from there, I expand that outline into a script.

after the script is completed, and assuming I have enough buffer, I thumbnail the entire next chapter- or at least as much as I can stand in one go. I'll usually either be working on rendering the previous chapter during this step, or I'll have the previous chapter completed so I can devote my attention to it. either way, I try and give myself room to do a variety of tasks depending on my mood. thumbnails are easy to work on while on-the-go for example, but they require a lot of thought to put together. coloring can be tedious, but it's great to do while multitasking of on lunch at one of my jobs.

part of the thumbnailing process for me includes putting down text bubbles. surprisingly, this is a very tedious task, so I try to get it all done in one go so I don't have to agonize over it. and this is where my process gets a bit convoluted, so bear with me.

to do this, I take a look at my script and break all the dialogue into different text bubbles. I've gotten to the point where I think I do pretty well naturally finding breaks in pages, and I just go in chronological order putting text down. for this step I have page templates prepped, which show the safety margins that I need to follow to prevent text from getting stuck in the binding when printing into books. I make sure all the text is safe, and then move onto the next step.

after that, I copy the page with text bubbles, and then shrink it really small into thumbnail size. on a layer above this screenshot I trace the text bubbles, and then treat those bubbles as "dead zones" to draw around while working on the thumbnails. this might be an unnecessary step if you have a good grasp on how much text takes up a panel, but I am historically awful at judging that so knowing the exact text bubble size when thumbnailing helps prevent my bubbles from getting in the way after the art is already rendered. then, rinse and repeat for the rest of the chapter!

some chapters I'm quicker at thumbing than others- on the low end we've got chapter 5, which I wrapped up in 2 months (I did roughly 1 thumb per day)

and then chapter 6 which I dragged my feet on a little bit, at around 6 months

(and chapter 7, which is twice the length of a normal chapter for me, took 4 months!)

after that is sketching, the part I dread most when working on a chapter. it's the part that requires the most thinking on my part, and I did away with sketching completely for most of chapter 3- but I've been trying to make my lines thinner lately, and until I build up the confidence to work without sketches, I'm afraid I'm stuck with them. I try to do 1-2 sketches per day, but some days I just don't do them if I'm not feeling up to it.

(I'm actually avoiding sketching while I work on this ask)

while most of OBT is done in CSP, the one thing I don't do there is lines- for that I use Autodesk Sketchbook. sketchbook has a pretty incredible predictive stroke tool that adjusts your strokes after you make them. it takes a bit of time to get used to, but with it I can draw much faster than any other program or with any other stabilization tool. I gave CSP an honest shot with lining by trying to use it for 6 months, but sketchbook was just too powerful so I live the multiprogram life. I try my best to keep all my lines closed during this process because it'll make coloring WAY easier. like I think coloring used to take me an hour, now it takes me 20 minutes tops.

then I flip off the visibility on all layers except the lineart layer, save as a PNG (saving a working file as well if I'm feeling spicy), and then import to CSP! where the most fun part begins.

to start, to do that colored lineart thing where the lines on my characters are darker on the outside than the inside, I start by coloring characters their inside color first (using the "lock transparent pixels" layer option). for comics this is reduced to a simple "warm palette" color and "cool palette" color, which are brown and blue respectively. it's subtle, but you can see it in action with rune and eilwyn here.

then I use the magic wand tool, my best friend. I select the negative space around the characters, invert it, and then with the dark color selected in my palette (for me it's a dark brown approaching black) and the transparent pixels still locked, I use the "outline selection" option to outline the characters. I usually outline them by 6 px, but it'll depend on what looks best.

then for coloring, with the characters still selected, I use the "shrink selection" option to shrink it by 1 pixel. this helps prevent aliasing when I use the fill bucket to fill characters in with a base color! after that I pick them out by character and manually add their main color by hand, so they look something like this.

and here's the part where I impart upon ye, dear reader, with the forbidden knowledge I learned while doing the Monster House Marathon this month. see, I really like doing these daily events because they push me to my limit. a page a day is the most comfortable fast pace I can work on the comic, but it can still be a bit of a strain to get a page done before my bedtime, so I'm much more willing to learn shortcuts in order to get a nice juicy 6 hours of sleep instead of 4.

if you do a closed lineart method like me for most of your character's markings, the "Set Reference Layer" tool is going to become your new best friend. using this, I set the lineart layer as the reference layer (and only the lineart layer), move over to my coloring layer, grab my fill bucket tool, and then I can just start literally filling in characters within seconds. some characters have unclosed markings that I'll have to do by hand, but this is extremely quick and I love it so much.

finally I add a multiply layer where I do some light shading. this step used to be full cel shading, though over time I've found that my art reads a little more clearly without it. and shading also used to be miserable because it was another 30 minutes to an hour of rendering that kept me from completing a page, so it sometimes got a little miserable.

and finally, I add backgrounds and lighting effects. I have a pretty decent library of pre-rendered backgrounds I've made that I can just plop in a scene, but sometimes for new or one-time locations I'll make a new one by hand.

and that's a completed page! it's a bit hard to calculate how long a singular page takes start to finish since I try doing everything before the lineart in batch style, but I'd say it all roughly evens out to 2-4 hours. breaking it down, it looks something like:

Thumbnail - 10-20 minutes Sketch - 30 minutes - 1 hour Lineart - 30 minutes - 1 hour Coloring - 10-20 minutes Rendering - 10-20 minutes Background - 20 minutes - 1 hour

so pages are pretty quick for me to make! this helps me build a pretty sizeable buffer, I think my previous record was somewhere around 40 pages? maybe 70 if I included dielle's wish. though I will admit during this Monster House Marathon, I actually ran out of buffer on day 7, and I'd been laying the tracks in front of the train until, uh, checks watch, the 27th! as of writing this I finished the buffer through the MHM, so I can rest easy. this ask probably won't queue until after the MHM has ended so this probably sounds a little comedic. the main reason I was able to manage these daily updates without a buffer was because of an art high I was experiencing this month, which is also why I did a marathon in the first place.

though usually, I really am an advocate for buffers. having a buffer of at least 3 months means I can hop around with different processes as my interest in them flips around. my brain usually likes to focus on one task at a time, and a lot of it, so having that freedom is great for me. and sometimes, I just wanna take a month off to play a new game or hyperfixate on stardew valley once again! it all comes down to practice and developing a workflow and schedule that works for you.

#on borrowed time comic #ask-obt #ooc #wip #behind the scenes #page process

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