#*query confirmed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

3igbootyl0ver · 5 months ago

Text

doctor's in

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: After surviving another Ghostface attack, Tara meets a calm and compassionate doctor, Y/N, who helps her throughout her stay in the hospital, leaving a lasting impression.

word count: 3405

“If you ever need me, just call,” Kirby declared, her voice rasping slightly from dehydration. A wave of relief washed over her as the nightmare finally came to an end.

“We’re all part of the same messed-up family now. Legacy doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, okay?” she said softly.

The air settled into a comfortable silence, with both Tara and Sam finally beginning to relax after the relentless attacks. But the peace shattered when Tara started to weep, the memory of her injured friend resurfacing—a haunting reminder that Chad might not have made it.

Sam and Kirby exchanged concerned looks, their eyes silently urging Tara to speak.

“Just... Chad,” Tara whispered, her voice breaking.

“Hey, we’ve got another one over here!” a voice shouted, snapping everyone’s attention and pulling Tara out of her spiral of negative thoughts.

Her eyes darted towards the commotion, and her breath caught when she saw her best friend being wheeled toward an ambulance on a gurney. His face was pale, his body still, but the steady rise and fall of his chest brought a glimmer of hope. Tara’s tears turned into a sob of relief as she and Sam, hands trembling, dashed toward him.

“How are you even alive?” Sam blurted out, astonished that he had somehow survived at least ten stab wounds.

Chad managed a weak grin and raised four fingers, his silent response making both Sam and Tara scoff in disbelief.

“Core fucking four,” Tara confirmed with a small smile, pulling her friend into a heartfelt hug.

The moment was cut short when Mindy approached, grinning as she began to ramble about Ghostface, as if they hadn’t already pieced it together. Before they could respond, a paramedic stepped in, gently guiding Chad and Mindy toward the ambulance to tend to their wounds.

Both Tara and Sam shared a breath of relief, grateful to have survived another nightmare. For a moment, a fragile hope lingered between them—the possibility that this franchise of terror had finally come to an end.

Tara hissed as a sharp sting radiated from her abdomen. Glancing down, she noticed a small patch of blood seeping through her shirt—her stitches must have torn from hugging Chad too tightly earlier.

Sam’s eyes narrowed in concern as she noticed Tara clutching her side. Without hesitation, she guided her little sister toward a nearby paramedic, determined to ease her pain and ensure she was cared for.

“Hey, can you help my sister?” Sam queried, your back facing her as you were packing up your first aid supplies into a bag.

You turned around the face the sisters, your sharp eyes quickly detecting the issue as Tara clutched on her abdomen. You immediately took charge and instructed Tara to sit on the platform of the ambulance.

As the paramedic knelt in front of her, their fingers brushing hers to gently move her hand away from her injury, Tara felt her pulse quicken. It wasn’t just the pain from the wound—there was something about the steady calm in their eyes, the soft yet firm pressure of their touch, that made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The world outside, the chaos of the night, seemed to blur as she focused on their quiet presence.

She hadn’t expected it, but the more you moved with such confident care, the more she found herself wanting to know you. Just to thank them properly. Maybe more than that. You knelt beside Tara, trying to ignore the faint blush creeping up your neck after noticing how she was staring at you. Her voice trembled as she explained how she got her injury, and you couldn’t help but notice the vulnerability in her tone. It tugged at something deep within you—a mix of pity and something harder to name.

“Looks like your stitches tore,” You said, voice steady but concerned. “We need to make sure there’s no internal bleeding, okay?”

Before Tara could respond, you took out a stethoscope from around your neck and placed the earpieces in your ear. You moved your fingers to Tara’s lower abdomen, feeling carefully for signs of any internal damage, and then listened intently through the stethoscope.

Tara lay still, trying to steady her breath, feeling the subtle pressure of your hand on her abdomen. She couldn’t tell if the rapid thumping in her chest was a result of the pain from her injury or the way you moved your expert hands gently across her skin, sending unexpected tremors through her.

“I’m not hearing anything concerning yet, but we’ll get you checked at the hospital just to be sure,” You explained, removing the stethoscope. “You’re still stable.”

Sam’s hand tightened around Tara’s, relief flooding her. "Thank you," she whispered, though the fear still lingered in her eyes.

You stole a glance at Tara as she sat silently, her hands trembling in her lap. There was something about the way she tried to hide her fear that made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if it was pity or the strange, protective urge bubbling within you.

Both of them followed your lead into the ambulance, settling carefully in the back to ensure they were comfortable. You glanced back at them briefly before heading toward the driver’s seat. Tara’s face was still flushed, her thoughts lingering on the way your hand had rested lightly on her waist when she struggled to climb into the vehicle. The touch, so gentle yet somehow grounding, had stirred something unexpected within her.

Sam’s eyes softened as she noticed the way Tara’s cheeks flushed. “Tara, seriously. You almost died today.”

Tara swallowed, her voice quiet but defiant. “I know. But… they were kind. And, yeah, cute. So what?”

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her. She was too relieved to see Tara okay. For now, she let her little sister hold onto that bit of normalcy, even if it was a little misplaced.

———

“It’s not a serious wound, so I’ll stitch you up soon, and you can sign those papers to leave right away,” the doctor explained while preparing the supplies needed for the suture.

Tara nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. As the doctor continued to explain the mini-procedure, Tara’s mind lingered on you—the paramedic who had been in the ambulance with her. Except, as it turned out, you weren’t really a paramedic at all. You’d been calm, kind, and surprisingly attentive, and she couldn’t help but wonder who you really were.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tara blurted out, breaking the doctor’s explanation mid-sentence, “but I was wondering… the person who came with me in the ambulance, where are they?”

The doctor stopped and glanced up from her tray of instruments, arching a brow. “The paramedic?”

“Yeah,” Tara said quickly, though the word felt wrong now. “I think they said their name was Y/L/N?”

A flicker of recognition passed over the doctor’s face, and she gave a small, distracted nod as she went back to arranging her tools. “Oh, Doctor Y/L/N? They’re not a paramedic. They’re a physician here—just happened to volunteer to ride along because we were short-staffed tonight. They’re probably somewhere checking on patients. It’s been a hectic shift.”

Tara blinked, caught off guard. “They’re a doctor?”

“Mm-hm,” the doctor confirmed, her tone clipped. She seemed more interested in finishing up quickly than continuing the conversation.

Tara leaned back slightly, letting the information sink in. That explained a lot—your confidence, the way you handled her injuries so effortlessly. And yet, it raised more questions. You hadn’t mentioned being a doctor. Did you always downplay yourself like that? Or had you been too focused on helping her to say more?

She suddenly realized how disappointed she felt that you weren’t here now. She had hoped to see you again, maybe even expecting you to stitch her up instead of someone else.

“I didn’t know,” Tara murmured, almost to herself.

The doctor glanced at her briefly but said nothing, clearly eager to finish the suturing.

Tara hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Do you know where they might be?”

The doctor sighed softly, not unkindly, but with the weariness of someone who had been asked too many questions in one night. “Probably somewhere in the ER. If you’re that curious, you can always ask at the nurses’ station when you’re done here. They’d know.”

Tara nodded slowly, a faint flicker of determination lighting in her chest. “Thanks.”

As the doctor began stitching her up, Tara resolved to find you before she left. There was something about you she couldn’t shake—a quiet confidence, a warmth she wasn’t used to. She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but she knew she couldn’t leave without at least trying to see you again.

After the doctor was done with stitching Tara up, she gave a curt nod to both Tara and Sam—instructing them to sign the discharge papers at the reception area.

Tara slid off the exam table, feeling a little unsteady but determined. Sam was already holding the clipboard, scrawling her name with a tired sigh.

“Finally,” Sam muttered. “Let’s get these signed and get out of here. I need sleep after the night we’ve had.”

Throughout the chaos radiating from the ER, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the sterile white walls, Tara couldn’t help but feel a familiar weight pressing down on her chest. The organized commotion—the beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and faint voices of medical staff—was a sensory overload, but it wasn’t unfamiliar.

She was back in a hospital, back in a place that should’ve meant safety but instead brought memories of pain, fear, and helplessness.

As Tara sat in the sterile room, the familiar hum of machines brought a tightening in her chest. It was the same feeling she had a year ago in Woodsboro—vulnerable, alone, barely holding on. Her memories of that night still haunted her, but now, there was something different. There was someone there, not Ghostface, but someone who’d held her hand through her panic. Someone who had treated her with quiet care.

Her breathing quickened as flashes of that night replayed in her mind: the sharp sting of the knife, the searing pain of betrayal as someone she’d trusted turned out to be her attacker. She remembered the sterile room, the aching loneliness, and the constant terror that Ghostface might come back for her.

Back then, her body had been broken, her wounds fresh, and her spirit barely hanging on by a thread. She’d woken up to the chilling realization that she was alone in her fight for survival. No one had been there to hold her hand, to tell her it would be okay. The only certainty she’d had was that Ghostface was out there, waiting for another chance to finish what he’d started.

Her breath began to quicken.

At first, Tara thought it was just the anxiety tightening her chest, but soon her breaths became shorter, raspier. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as her lungs tightened painfully, and her hands instinctively went to her chest. Her vision blurred at the edges as panic set in.

Amid her inner turmoil, Sam’s voice cut through the chaos. She noticed Tara’s breathing immediately—the rapid, shallow gasps, the slight trembling of her hands. It was all too familiar.

“Tara?” Sam’s voice was sharp with worry as she turned toward her sister. When Tara didn’t respond, her panic rose. “Can someone get my sister help? Please!” Sam called out, her voice wavering with desperation

——

You were in the middle of tending to an elderly patient, Mr. Day, who had been complaining about lingering back pain. You listened attentively, nodding as he spoke.

“It’s like a knot that won’t go away,” the man grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.

“I understand,” you said calmly. “Let’s take a look—”

Before you could finish, the commotion outside the room drew your attention. A pleading voice rang out, urgent and strained.

You glanced at Mr. Day apologetically. “Just a moment, Mr. Day. I’ll be right with you.”

“Get me some pain meds while you’re at it, would ya?” he grumbled, waving you off.

You nodded absently, already moving toward the hallway. As you stepped out, you saw the same girl in the ambulance—Tara, sitting in a chair, hunched over, her hand clutching her chest as she gasped for air. Her sister, Sam was beside her, frantically looking around for help.

Your pulse quickened, but your movements remained calm and deliberate. You approached quickly, crouching down beside Tara.

“She’s having an asthma attack,” Sam said, her voice trembling. “She doesn’t have her inhaler.”

You nodded, assessing Tara’s condition with practiced ease. “I’ve got this,” you said to Sam, your voice steady and reassuring.

“Tara,” you said gently, drawing her focus to you. “I’m here to help, okay? I need you to trust me.”

Her wide, panicked eyes met yours, and she nodded weakly.

“Sam, can you grab a nurse and ask for an albuterol inhaler with a spacer, now?” you instructed firmly. Sam didn’t hesitate, running toward the nurses’ station.

You turned back to Tara. “I need you to try and slow your breathing. I know it’s hard, but I want you to follow me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

She tried, her breaths ragged and uneven, but her chest remained tight. You kept your voice calm, unwavering. “That’s it. Slow and steady. You’re doing great.”

Her trembling hand suddenly reached out, finding yours. Her grip was weak but desperate, her fingers curling tightly around your own. The gesture startled you for only a moment before you gently squeezed back, letting her know you were there. Your touch was warm, a contrast against the cold sterility of the hospital. The firm pressure of your fingers felt grounding, pulling her back from the brink.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice soothing. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone in this.”

Moments later, Sam returned with a nurse who handed you the inhaler and spacer. You quickly attached the spacer and held it out to Tara.

“Okay, Tara, put your lips around this, nice and tight,” you instructed, your tone firm but kind. “When I press the inhaler, take a slow, deep breath in and hold it for as long as you can.”

Tara nodded weakly, following your guidance as you administered the first puff. She inhaled deeply, her grip on your hand tightening momentarily before easing while her other hand covered yours that was holding the inhaler. You repeated the process, encouraging her to take another measured breath.

As you continue to console her, Tara’s chest heaved, each breath catching in her throat like jagged glass. The room spun less violently now, though the fluorescent lights still pressed on her like a weight. Your hand was steady against hers, a tether in the storm. Breathe, Tara. Just breathe. She closed her eyes, focusing on their words. The chaos around her dulled—a faint buzz instead of an overwhelming roar. Slowly, her breaths deepened, her fingers unclenching from where they gripped the edge of the stretcher while the other was focusing on your thumb that was soothing her hand.

After a few moments, her breathing began to even out, the tightness in her chest loosening bit by bit. Her shoulders sagged as the panic ebbed, replaced by relief.

“Better?” you asked softly, watching her carefully.

Tara nodded, her breaths still shaky but deeper now. “Yeah,” she managed, her voice hoarse.

You didn’t let go of her hand just yet, giving it one final reassuring squeeze. “You’re okay now,” you murmured. “Just keep taking it slow. You did great.”

Tears welled in her eyes, though she quickly blinked them away. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Sam’s hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Seeing Tara like this—struggling to breathe, barely holding it together—hit her like a punch to the gut. She wanted to scream, to yell at the doctors to move faster, but all she could do was stand there, useless. ‘I promised I’d protect her,’ she thought, her jaw tightening. ‘How the hell am I supposed to do that when she’s falling apart like this?’

Sam crouched beside her. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I can’t—I can’t lose you, Tara.”

“I’m fine now,” Tara murmured, her voice steadier.

As you stood, handing the inhaler to Sam, you offered a parting reassurance. “Keep this with her, just in case. She’ll need to rest for a bit, but she’s stable.”

Sam looked up at you, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you. Really.”

You nodded, smiling softly before turning back to Tara. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

——

You followed the Carpenter sisters to sign their discharge papers, the quiet hum of the hospital filling the comfortable silence between you. Tara, walking just a step ahead of her sister, glanced over her shoulder at you.

“I didn’t know you were a doctor. I thought you were a paramedic,” she said, her voice soft but curious.

You chuckled lightly, the sound warm and unguarded. Tara’s heart fluttered at the sound, and it scared her a little—how someone she barely knew could affect her so much.

“Sorry about that,” you replied with a teasing smile. “Didn’t think my job title mattered much when you were, you know, trying to breathe.”

Tara let out a small laugh, the tension from earlier easing. “Fair point.”

The brief exchange brought a faint blush to her cheeks, but she pressed on. “Honestly? I don’t really care about the title anyway,” she admitted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Whether it’s a doctor or a paramedic, you’re still helping people when they need it most. That’s what matters, right?”

Tara’s gaze lingered, and for a moment, you felt exposed, as though she could see right through you. Heat crept up your neck, and you looked away, pretending to check your watch. Why was she looking at you like that?

Her words made you pause for a moment, glancing at her with a faint smile. “Exactly,” you said. “That’s how I see it, too. It’s not about the title—it’s about making a difference. As long as I’m helping someone, I’m doing my job.”

The sincerity in your voice struck a chord in Tara. She found herself studying you—the way your eyes softened as you spoke, the calm confidence in your stance. Passionate, compassionate, smart, and…cute, she thought, her heart skipping a beat.

Sam, who had been quietly observing the interaction, cleared her throat. “Well, thanks, Doc, for everything. We’ll let you get back to saving lives now.”

You gave a small nod, flashing them a kind smile. “Take care, Tara. And you too, Sam.”

"Thanks," Tara said quietly, her lips curling into a faint smile.

You nodded, feeling your words catch in your throat. Why did you suddenly forget how to speak? You managed a quick, "Anytime," before busying yourself with the clipboard in your hand.

As you walked away, Tara found herself staring after you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Great, she thought, her cheeks heating. Now I’m going to be thinking about them for the rest of the day.

Tara’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of lingering vulnerability and something softer—an unspoken connection that hadn’t been there before. Her chest felt lighter now, the immediate panic subsiding, but she couldn’t shake the way your calm, steady presence had steadied her in the chaos.

By the time Sam and Tara finally hopped into a cab to head home, Tara felt a mix of exhaustion and disbelief settling over her. She slumped into her seat, exhaustion weighing her down. The night had been chaotic, leaving her reeling from everything that had happened. But then it hit her—she hadn’t done the one thing she’d been meaning to since she was first under your care.

She hadn’t gotten your number.

“Fuck.”

She wanted to thank you properly, to say (and do) something more than the rushed gratitude she’d managed back there. But now, the opportunity had slipped through her fingers. Her lips pressed into a thin line. No, she thought, determined. This isn’t over. Her mind was made up. She didn’t know how, but she was going to find you again. And next time, she wouldn’t leave without your number.

----------

a/n: Hi hehehehe will post pt 2 in a few weeks

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream

480 notes · View notes

oneoftheextras · 6 months ago

Text

down a peg | j.t

masterlist | tip for the author?

paring: sub!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: jayce's ego has gotten the better of him, so you come up with a way to put him in his place

words: 7k (happy holidays ig)

warnings: +18, smut, pegging, eventual sub!jayce, dom!reader, male whimpering and begging, two tops fighting for power, hair pulling.

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Jayce Talis was the man of progress. He was smart, caring, egotistical and most definitely in need of humbling.

He walked around the lab like he owned it, making so much noise with his fancy shoes and his constant monologuing.

His long muscular legs striding across the room to pick up pages of work that wasn’t his, just so he could be involved and comment on it.

He drove you and Viktor crazy on most days.

When he became counsellor his head grew so large that you were surprised he could fit through the doorframe.

In reality, he was harmless. Both you and Viktor knew that he cared about the two of you more than anything, but his new title gave him a false sense of bravado that you didn’t like.

The afternoon that Jayce accidentally slipped a ‘That’s an order’ to you, was the afternoon that began his downfall.

If the raised eyebrow and displeased look you shared with Viktor wasn’t enough to let Jayce know he’d gone too far, the sarcastic “Yes, Counsellor Talis,” from you, and the mocking “Anything you say, Counsellor Talis!” from Viktor should’ve been.

After Jayce left the lab, you and Viktor decided enough was enough.

“He’s got a good heart, but we need to do something about his ego,” Viktor had casually mentioned, unintentionally lighting the catalyst of your scheme.

You huffed, signalling your agreement and began reorganising the papers Jayce had messed up earlier, “What can we do? He’s the golden boy!” you feigned excitement.

“He just needs reminding of where he came from. Taken down a few pegs,” Viktor was concentrating on tinkering with something to calm his frustrations.

Wiping a dirty, ink covered hand over your forehead, you thought about his words and a sly smile formed on your lips.

“Say that again?” you turned your body from your work to face Viktor, “What? Remind him where he came from?” he was still concentrating on his gadget.

You shuffled your chair closer, “No, the other bit,” there was mischief in your voice.

At your sudden proximity to him, Viktor turned to face you, the magnifying glass in his goggles making his eye look funny.

“Take him down a few pegs?” he repeated himself, eyebrows slightly knitted with confusion, but they eventually relaxed as the realisation hit him.

He chuckled a little, but when you didn’t laugh with him he stopped, “You cannot be serious?” he gave you a surprised expression.

“I’m very serious,” you confirmed that his train of thought and yours were on the same tracks. "How?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

You grabbed some clean paper and a pencil, "Give me 10 minutes," you turned back to your desk and started scribbling.

It took you a little bit longer than the 10 minutes you had promised, but your design was done.

Handing it to Viktor, you held your breath, waiting for his feedback the same way you did the first time you showed him one of your ideas. "It is a little crude, don't you think?" he turned the paper ninety degrees to observe it at a different angle.

"I think it would be impossible to not make it crude, considering what it is," you put your hand on the back of his chair and lowered your head to study your drawing again.

Viktor leaned his head to the side and sighed as if to say that you were right. "It is simplistic, yet... beautiful," he complimented and your chest swelled with pride.

"Manageable?" you queried, that was the main concern of yours. "Oh, of course," Viktor put the page down on the desk in front of him, "Easily so," he confirmed and you smiled.

The clock showed 9:41pm, "Let's get started then," you picked up the paper and walked over to the shelves of resources you shared. "What? Right now?" Viktor was surprised at your eagerness.

"Might as well," you shrugged, putting what you'd need into a box under your arm, "A little hasty, no?" he'd stood from his desk and taken a few steps towards you with his cane.

He watched you pick and choose which materials you wanted and which you didn't. "No time like the present," you chuckled as you put the last piece into your box and headed for the workbench.

"Do you really want to deal with him for another day?" you raised an eyebrow, and the way that Viktor glanced to the ground and back up at you was all the assurance you needed.

In no time, Viktor had joined you at the workbench and the two of you got to work.

After a few hours, the main parts were basically done. There were a few modifications you'd needed to make along the way, but Viktor was good at problem solving on the fly.

He stretched his back and paused for a moment to watch you work. "One query I do have..." Viktor started and you hummed in a response for him to continue.

"Once it's made, how are you going to... you know?" it was as though vocalising the words was too embarrassing for him, but you didn't interject. "Execute your plan?" he finally asked.

In honesty, the realisation of what your scheme entailed hadn't fully set in just yet.

"I have some ideas," you shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but your heart raced at the thought.

As if talking about him had summoned him, the door to the lab swung open. You and Viktor let out a small gasp, but you immediately grabbed a sheet and threw it over the workbench.

"Have either of you seen my-" Jayce had started to say, but stopped when he saw you both by the workbench, "-What's going on?" he interrupted his original question.

You walked out from behind the table and instead leaned on it, trying to body block anything you hadn't managed to cover.

"What were you looking for?" you tried to steer him back to his first thought. "My forging gloves- are you working on something?" he stepped forward and leaned to the side to try to see behind you.

"No!", "Yes!", you and Viktor spoke at the same time. You mentally cursed yourself for not preparing something for this exact scenario.

"We are-" you spoke quickly and loudly to indicate to Viktor that you would handle it, "-But it's not ready yet,". Jayce didn't even look at you, he had excitement and annoyance in his eyes that trailed the table.

"Without me? Let me see!" Jayce almost-whined, you could hear the small fraction of hurt in his voice.

Taking a silent and quick inhale, you knew what you had to do.

As Jayce continued to walk towards the table, you stepped forward to intercept him, your chest no more than an inch from his.

"Jayce..." you lowered your voice slightly and spoke with a soft and enticing cadence. The room fell silent, and Jayce blinked a few times as he glanced down to you, he'd never heard you sound like that.

He opened his mouth to say something but his jaw slowly closed again when your hand gently trailed up the front of his shirt to play with his tie.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your soldering iron?" the tone of your voice and the words you were saying couldn't have been more contrasting.

You slipped your fingers under his tie and you could feel the warmth of his chest and the beating of his heart against your knuckles.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he cleared his throat after his words came out slightly shaky.

Running your thumb over the expensive red silk of his tie and smiling sweetly at him, you looked up at him with the best 'fuck me' eyes you could muster, and lightly pulled on the fabric.

His eyelids fluttered as his blinking sped up. In all the years the three of you had known each other, you'd never acted this way with him.

"Great, where is it?" you spoke even quieter than before so he really needed to focus on your words, so all of his attention was on you, "Forge," was all he could say.

You hummed to indicate you were happy with his response and let go of his tie, smoothing your hand down the front of his chest as if you were making in presentable again.

"Off you go then," you tapped his chest twice before stepping backwards to signal that he could leave. "Right, okay," he nodded and cleared his throat again, almost snapping out of the trance you'd put him in.

He nodded again to Viktor to say goodbye and promptly turned around and strode out of the lab.

As you spun back around to face Viktor, his jaw was being collected off of the floor, "Wha-Huh? How did you do that??".

You shrugged and smirked confidently, "I said I had some ideas,", Viktor was also as lost for words as Jayce was, "We don't have time for that, come on!" you laughed and gestured for Viktor to take the sheet off.

Conscious that Jayce wouldn't take too long returning from the forge, the two of you worked double time. The only thing that was left to do was connect the most important part.

"What're you going to use for the..." Viktor tried to make hand gestures instead of saying the word, and you saved him the embarrassment, "I have something already don't worry," somehow all shame had been lost the longer you worked on this.

He shook his head to erase the thought from his brain.

“I don’t mean, like, mine!” you tried to quickly backtrack, “I’ve made a prototype of something previously,” your hand gestures became more elaborate the more you tried to explain.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Viktor shook his head quicker than before, “I don’t need to know!” he protested but he was smiling, still finding the humorous side.

You spared him any further details and tapped the table as though audibly providing the full stop to your sentence.

The silence that followed was awkward and somewhat tense.

"Are you really going to do it?", Viktor was the first one to break the quiet between you. At first the whole scenario was kind of funny, but now that you'd actually made it, the seriousness of your plan was starting to rear it's head.

You picked at a piece of the wooden workbench that had began to splinter, nervousness running through your veins.

"What if he doesn't want me, and I make it weird?" you ask Viktor quietly, your voice showing an insecurity he'd never seen you have.

It was impossible for you to make eye contact with him after saying something like that, but the reality that you were about to attempt to seduce and sleep with, not only a friend, but your business partner.

"What if I try this and I ruin everything we've built together?" you still avoided looking at Viktor. Afraid that his expression would provide you with the answer you were dreading.

He exhaled sharply and he called your name with a soft and comforting tone, only then did you find the courage to meet his eye.

"We have known each other for a very long time, yes?" you nodded instead of verbally replying to his question, "In all that time you have never noticed the way Jayce looks at you,".

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. An exasperated one at that.

"The way he looks at me?" you pointed at yourself and it was your turn to look surprised. Viktor let out a 'Pfft' noise, "Please-" he raised an eyebrow, "Do you think he acts like that-" he gestured to the space where the two of you had been earlier, "-with everyone?".

The cogs in your brain were barely turning, all their power used on your creation that was laid out on the workbench in front of you.

"I guess not," you relented any further protests, and glanced towards the clock, 1:27am.

Viktor followed where your vision had landed and stood from his stool clearly noting how late it had become, "Right, I am going to my bedroom... which is on the other side of the building...".

He said the last part with faux innocence, but his smile gave away the context to his words.

"I need to get the thing from my room anyway, so I'll walk with you,".

Jayce grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the lab. The hallways were a ghost town at this time of night so he had nothing other than his own thoughts to accompany him.

Despite the never ending to-do-list that was handed to him over the last few hours, his mind kept drifting back to the interaction he'd had with you in the lab.

He had never seen you act like that. Why did it make him stumble over his words? How did he crumble so quickly under your touch?

He was perplexed at the involuntary actions of his own body; frustrated and annoyed at himself for following your instructions so blindly, yet a part of him yearned for that feeling again.

Whilst that want was strong, he still felt as though his pride had been wounded. He'd yielded at your commands like a lap dog, and it wasn't going to happen again.

He was simply caught off guard, that was all.

Jayce's grip on the soldering iron was tight as he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the lab.

He'd entered this room a million times over the years, but he felt the rush of adrenaline surge through him as he crossed the threshold, only for it to dissipate when he realised it was empty.

The only signs of you or Viktor was your messy station, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment he didn't know he had. He glanced down at the iron in his hand, maybe he'd taken too long.

Sighing, he walked to the workbench where the two of you had been standing before and placed it down on one of the only free spaces available.

He was about to continue his evening, maybe go for a walk around the grounds or find a bar to have a quick drink in, but the sheet of fabric was too tempting.

With no one else around, who would know that he took a quick look at your project?

All hesitation he previously had was replaced with childlike excitement as he peeled back the fabric to reveal what you both had tried to hard to keep from him.

Once his eyes landed on the object, he tilted his head to the side and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion - he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

He picked it up by one of the leather cords and held it in his hands, his thumb running over the hollow circle in the middle that was decorated by a metal ring.

The design was very simple, but a few embellishments decorated the soft triangular fabric and the belts that were connected to it.

He turned it over in his hands but couldn't quite figure out what it was, until he saw the accompanying sketches.

When you entered the lab, you didn't see him at first as you pushed the door open with your hip, but the clanking of tools and rustling of paper made you look up.

"Oh, I- uh-" Jayce fumbled with both his words and his hands as he tried to put everything back as he'd found it. The sound of metal clattering to the floor interrupted any excuse he was going to start making.

This was probably how he had found you and Viktor a few hours prior.

"I thought you'd left," he chuckled nervously, "I did-" you pointed to the door behind you, "-But then I came back," your finger redirected to the floor in front of you.

It was painfully obvious that you'd caught him in the act, but he was trying to play it off with that dashing smile he'd give during speeches.

Unfortunately for Jayce, you weren't the average population of Piltover that were so easily won over.

"Find anything interesting?" you folded your arms over your chest, "What, I- no?" he maintained the façade, but your scolding stare told him the gig was up.

"Fine, yes, I looked," he relented, "I'm sorry if you felt like you couldn't tell me, I wouldn't have judged-" he was making less sense the more he spoke, but there was an air of something to his voice.

"-What?" you studied his hand gestures to try and figure out what he was trying to say so poorly, "I had no idea you and Viktor-", "-Me and Viktor?" you interjected with even more confusion than before.

Jayce stopped speaking for long enough to stare at you, his eyes searching yours.

"Is this not for you to use with him?" he asserted and pulled back the fabric sheet; the seriousness of his tone made you laugh. "No, it's not," you unfolded your arms and rested your hands on your hips, your bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Jayce scoffed and glanced around the room with annoyance, clearly not believing you.

"Then why were you being so secretive about it earlier?" his words were less of a question and more of an accusation.

You approached him and placed your bag on top of the assortment of papers and materials.

"Why would you not include me?" he fired another question at you before you had a chance to answer the first.

The workbench was in between you, but you could still feel the heat of his emotions from where you stood.

"Did you really think Viktor and I were together?" you leaned forward on the workbench, his scent wafting over to you the more he gestured.

It was hard not to crumble as the notes of coal smoke, cherry and leather that filled your nostrils, but you stood strong.

"I think a lot of people do," he grumbled, "The two of you spend all your time together, you're basically inseparable-"

He stepped away from the workbench and angled himself towards the door.

"-I can't talk to one of you without the other being there, it's like you're attached at the hip-", his ramblings became more emotionally charged.

Although you couldn't see his face, you finally caught what his words were laced with - envy.

"-Are you jealous?", you cut him off. He clearly wasn't expecting the accusation as he stopped mid-step and turned back to you.

"Why would I be jealous?" he tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. His cheeks flushed a new shade of pink, and you knew your game had began.

You shrugged and leaned against the workbench, the same way you had earlier, but now it was just the two of you.

"It just sounds like you're jealous," you lowered your voice ever -so-slightly. Not as much as before, but enough that it made Jayce swallow the saliva that had caught in his throat.

Jayce's brain buffered for a moment, caught in the fog of your voice, but he quickly recomposed himself - he wasn't going to let you get the better of him again.

"I'm not," he muttered.

You shrugged and turned your back on him, reaching over to grab your creation from where Jayce had left it, you looked back at him over your shoulder as you leaned.

As predicted, his eyeline was not on your face. When he realised you were looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

His hands gripped at his sides as he took a few steps towards you.

Your heart leap in your chest when you saw him move, but it was short lived when he stopped, keeping an arms distance between the two of you.

"Where is Viktor anyway?" Jayce asked, avoiding your eyeline as you twisted back to face him.

You held your project in your hands but gave Jayce all your attention, "He's gone to bed," you explained, "Wont be back until the morning," you implied.

His lower lip darted in between his teeth for a second at how slowly and purposely you spoke. He could feel the suggestion in your voice as if you'd written it out in front of him.

Hesitantly, he took another step towards you and put himself within touching distance, if you wanted to.

He could feel his heart picking up speed under his ribcage. The two of you had been alone multiple times over the years, but it had never felt like this. Never felt so tempting.

He grabbed hold of the device in your hands, his middle and index finger overlapping yours sent fireworks through your body, and you knew he could feel it too.

"And this?" he was so close to you now that he only needed to whisper and you could hear him clear as day. "What about it?" you gazed up at him, trying to speak to him with your eyes, but he was focused on your hands.

"Who's it for?" he asked, and you smiled to yourself, "Me," you stated plainly, "And whoever else I want," the last part was almost inaudible, but he most-definitely heard it.

"And who do you want?" he leaned towards you, his confidence was starting to show again as his question caught you off guard. This whole time you had planned to be the one to initiate, but never actually figured out how to.

It seemed as if he was giving you the perfect opening, but now that the time was here, you found your words caught in your throat.

"Jayce..." was all you could manage, it wasn't needy or relenting, but the low and suggestive way you said his name made him act before he could think.

He forcefully stepped forward, his chest pressing against yours but the momentum not stopping until his hands - and your lower back - were firmly against the workbench.

At some point during the two or three seconds of movement, you'd let go of the strap and it was now in between Jayce's palm and the counter.

His eyes pierced into yours as he towered over you, giving you nowhere to move, but you knew this wasn't how this was going to go - no matter how much you enjoyed it.

Other than his body against yours, he hadn't actually touched you yet, and you decided that you were going to be the one to bridge that gap.

You gently placed your hand on his chest and untucked his tie from his waistcoat whilst maintaining eye contact with him.

His breath was hitting your face in hard puffs as your fingers intertwined with the soft red fabric, pulling it loose from his collar.

His eyeline dipped from yours to your lips and you knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and moved his head quickly, but your finger caught his pursed lips before they could make contact with your own.

He opened his eyes and glanced between your finger on his lips and your face, and immediately backed away.

"I'm sorry, I-" his thoughts were momentarily consumed with scolding, thinking he'd misread your messages and made a fool of himself.

To defuse the situation, you hooked your fingers into the front of his collar and pulled him back towards you, "You haven't earned that yet," you asserted.

His expression softened before returning to a sultry smile, "Earned?" he tilted his head to the side and mockingly repeated your wording.

You hummed to show your agreement as you pulled the remainder of his tie free and let it fall to the floor.

"Take this off," you lazily pinched the fabric of his waistcoat, "Then maybe you can kiss me," the command in your voice was new, even to you, but it felt comfortable.

He regarded you for a moment with his mouth slightly parted, you were sure you'd pushed him too far, but when he reached up and undid the first clasp you mentally let go of the breath you were holding.

The waistcoat slid off of his shoulders with ease, and he instantly leaned into you again, but you tutted.

"No," you pushed him away by his chest gently and tapped your finger to your chin as though you were thinking, "That too," you pointed at his shirt.

This time he didn't hesitate. He straightened his spine and shuffle backwards so you could properly see him as he undid every button.

He started at the bottom, untucking it from his pants, and slowly popping two of the buttons, one with each hand.

The first part of his skin you saw was the dark trail of hair that lead to his belly button, then his toned abdomen. He sped up when he got to his chest, his shirt fully open but still hanging from his shoulders.

He smirked as your eyes raked over his form, he was playing with you as much as you were playing with him, just in his own way.

In all the years you'd spent together, you'd never actually seen Jayce in a state of undress. Whenever he was in the forge, you were at a desk.

You nudged your head to the side, indicating for him to continue, so he did. With a shrug of his shoulders, the black fabric slid down his body effortlessly to land a few inches away from his waistcoat.

The sight of him with his torso bare almost knocked the air out of your lungs, "Pretty boy," you breathed absentmindedly.

He practically preened at the compliment and strode back to you, this time he waited before trying to kiss you again.

Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and between his pecks, it felt so different without the constraints of his shirt in the way, but you felt him shiver under your touch.

Drawing the outline of his collarbone with your fingertip, you felt his voice rumbling before you heard it.

"Can I?" he kept his composure but there was an underlying tone of pleading to his question, "You can-", the words had barely left your mouth before he'd grabbed the back of your head and encapsulated his mouth with yours.

His lips were soft and warm. At first he only pressed his lips against yours, but he quickly pulled away only to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

The way his bottom lip dragged over yours made lightening sizzle through your body, if he wasn't already holding you up your knees would've buckled beneath you.

Your hands found their way into his hair and you returned the feverishness of his kiss.

The way you both timed your sharp inhales of breath between the milliseconds where your mouths weren't connected was nothing short of a display of years of longing.

His lips snatched every kiss from you as if he was never going to get the opportunity to do this again, stealing every inch of your mouth for himself.

He quickly and gently pressed his teeth against your bottom lip and pulled playfully, causing a quiet and unintentional moan to escape your throat.

He continued to kiss you, but you could feel the cocky smirk against your lips. He was playing your game and you were losing.

You realised how much you'd leaned into his touch, how his strong hands had moulded you to where he wanted you. You needed to regain control.

Sharply, you tightened your grip in his hair and pulled his head backwards - a soft whimper leaving his lips, and hitting you straight in your core, giving you a small tingle.

The two of you panted as his throat was exposed to you.

You leaned in and licked up the sensitive flesh, feeling prickles of his stubble against your tongue, "I want your pants off," you spoke against his throat, before you released him.

He stumbled backwards, obviously taken off guard by you. He was sure you'd melted in his palm, but you were back to giving him orders.

When you gestured to his lower half, he quickly undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, pushing them to the floor and stepping out of them.

His underwear was slightly pulled down from the force he'd pulled his pants down with, so you could see the indents of his V line and a patch of dark hair peaking over the waistband.

You were going to tease him some more, but the clear outline of where he was straining against the fabric was too much of a temptation to wait.

"And those," you lazily gestured to his boxers as if you weren't as excited as he was. He just had the unfortunate biology of not being able to hide it.

He grumbled, but hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slowly pulled them down. Just as he was about to get to the halfway point, he put his hand into his boxers and pushed the rest of the fabric down.

Once again, he stepped out of the leg holes, but kept one hand on the base of his dick so his hand and wrist evaded it from your view.

"Let me see," you said in a gentle tone. For a moment you were unsure if he was shy, but has he slipped his shoes off with a smirk, you knew this was a man who had every confidence in his physical appearance and this was him trying to yank some control back.

"I think we need to even this out," he sauntered over to you with poise, he took hold of your collar and attempted to undo the first button, but you gripped his wrist and pulled it away.

"I think you need to remember your place," you corrected him, your index finger and thumb taking hold of his strong jaw and squeezing for a second.

You hand trailed up to the side of his face, it was gentle and a complete contrast to the way you'd just grabbed him.

Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip and he instinctively opened his mouth with a groan, allowing your thumb to slip in and hook over his teeth.

He could easily pull your hand away if he wanted, but he didn't.

"Don't you want me to touch you?" you asked with faux innocence, and he nodded with your thumb still in his mouth, "Then let me see," you continued the façade of purity.

He gazed into your eyes and you could almost see his golden irises searching for his next opportunity for the upper hand, but when he found none, he simply moved his hand.

It hadn't registered that he'd let go at first, it wasn't until his cock thumped heavily against your thigh that you realised he'd done it.

You looked down, thinking for a second that something had fallen off of the workbench behind you, but when you saw his thick member resting against your leg and stood to attention, you held back a gasp.

Of course he was big; not that you'd thought about it before.

As you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and started to slowly move your wrist, it was something that seemed obvious to you now. He was a large man, easily taller and more muscular than you, so of course you would struggle to make your fingers meet around his width.

He wanted to make a smartass comment, he'd seen the momentary surprise on your features and he wanted to capitalise on the opportunity, but the way you massaged his length left no room for anything other than strangled moans to come from him.

His hips started to move with your rhythm and his breathing got heavier, he was adamant to stay standing tall and keep eye contact with you, but he was struggling.

"I saw how much you were straining, isn't this so much better?" you purred, and he bit his lower lip with a quiet response of "Mhmm," as he fought to keep his eye contact with you.

You noticed how he was trying so hard to remain composed, so you sped up your hand. He gasped and audibly moaned; he stayed upright for another three or four seconds before he fell forward and caught himself on the workbench.

His forehead rested on your shoulder, with one hand resting on he base of your neck, and the other against the bench.

The noises that spilled from him were sinful, but you wanted more.

He got louder as his hips moved against your rhythm, and you got a brief glimpse as to what he would feel like inside you as the ridges and veins of his cock pressed against your fingers.

You pressed your legs together to try and relieve some of the tension but it was useless, feeling him grip you so tightly and breathing so heavily against you was almost too much.

The grasp you had on him loosened until you fully let go, "No, please," he protested breathlessly and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

That image of him would be ingrained into your brain forever; his hair messy, with a few strands stuck to his sweaty forehead, whilst his glossy eyes bore into you with desire and desperation.

That would've been enough to get you through any more of his egotistical demands, but you were greedy, and too turned on to stop now.

"What do you want?" you cooed at him, brushing his hair back out of his face, "I want to fuck you," he quietly confessed.

You smiled, "What was that?" you teased, wanting him to say it louder.

"Please let me fuck you," he begged, and you affectionately caressed his cheek.

You reached behind you on the workbench until your fingers found what you were looking for, and once you did, you held it up proudly.

"Not today, pretty boy," you pinched the tip of his chin with your thumb and index finger to make him look at you, "I want to fuck you instead, is that okay?" you said with as much confidence as you'd ever had in your life.

He rapidly looked between your face and the strap you were holding, before he glanced towards the floor with a blush, but nodded.

"I'm going to need to hear you," you forced his eyeline back to you again. When he didn't immediately reply, you added with sincerity, "If you don't want to, that's also okay,".

Almost as soon as you'd provided him with a proverbial 'get-out-of-jail-free card', he shook his head "No, I want to, I really want to,".

"Are you sure?" you dropped all teasing and mocking tones you'd previously had to let him know that it was okay if he wasn't certain.

"One hundred percent sure," he confirmed with a smile, his eyes blown out and filled with desire.

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth for a second before gently pushing him away.

You pointed to the black leather couch in between two of the desks and started to slip off your own pants as you ungraciously stepped into the harness, relieved that he had his back turned when you stumbled on one of the belts.

Once it was on, you reached into the bag you'd left on the side and pulled out the silicone cylinder you'd made months prior, and a bottle of lube.

When Jayce sat down and saw what you were holding, his eyes went wide with curiosity, "What is that?" the blue light reflected in his eyes.

You chuckled as you approached him, "I made it for me, for the rare times I get to be alone, it's intuitive to the user. If you want it bigger it'll get bigger, if you need it smaller it'll-" you explained but he interrupted.

"You've used it on yourself?" he asked with some of his usual confidence, his dick twitching as his mind clearly ran rampant, "Yes," you said with a mocking tone as an answer to his stupid question.

He was going to continue his questioning as he reached towards your crotch, but you playfully slapped his hand away, "You can touch me when I say you can," your voice reverted back to it's commanding tone.

"But I want to make you feel good too," he laid down on his back, taking up the majority of the couch by himself, but there was a small space for you between his legs.

"It will," you reassured him and placed the device through the metal ring, reaching into your own pants to move your underwear out of the way, and pressing the hooked end of it find your own hole.

The blue light got stronger as it slipped inside you, the sudden intrusion making you moan suddenly.

Jayce watched you eagerly as his breathing sped up again, his dick bouncing against his stomach when your moans hit his ears.

Now that it was in place with the phallic part protruding from the metal ring, you drizzled some lube onto it and rubbed it in with your hand.

He wouldn't admit it, but watching you stroke the device as if you had a dick of your own was extremely hot to him.

"Ready?" you asked as you positioned yourself between his legs. He lifted his hips and nodded eagerly.

You lined the tip of the dildo up with his asshole and rubbed gently, smearing the lube against it. When the device made contact with Jayce it moulded itself to be thinner, already working as you'd designed it.

As slowly as you could, you pushed the tip into him, breaching his tight ring with ease. Jayce whimpered as his eyes rolled back into his head, you pushed in a little further and then pulled back as far as you could without it coming out of him.

"I can t-take more," he moaned, and glanced down to where your crotches were connected.

You gave him a scorning look, "That's not how you ask," you pushed into him a little bit more, letting another whimper fall from him.

Inside you, the dildo reverberated and pushed itself deeper into you, but you were able to hold back the moan.

"Please, more," he begged, fully giving into your control. He wanted to hold out a little longer but it was impossible, between your lust-filled gaze and the dildo's ridges massaging his insides, he had no chance.

Happy with his pleading, you thrusted softly forward, pressing deeper into him, "Fuck!" he moaned loudly.

His hips squirmed as he tried to fuck himself onto it more than you were giving, the dildo slowly got thicker once he'd gotten used to the sensation.

You would be merciful this time since he had adjusted so well, and thrusted at a more natural pace, the device mimicking your movements inside you.

It pounded into you with a bit more ferocity than you were giving Jayce, it already being accustom to you. Moaning, you fell forward, catching yourself on Jayce's chest.

Somehow you'd managed to keep your eyes open. Watching how his cock bounced with every thrust, you could've help but imagine what it would feel like to be riding him instead.

Your genius had become your downfall as the intuitive nature of the dildo kicked in, widening and lengthening itself to be a replica of what you were seeing.

"Oh, g-god!" you threw your head back with pleasure, the constant pounding against your g-spot, alongside the stretch of the new design was all too much, your strangled moan echoed through the room.

Jayce's eyes opened so he could see your face and he almost came on the spot. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyebrows lifted into a knot of ecstasy, his own moans and whimpers a harmony of your own.

The fire inside you was burning hotter and hotter as you struggled to keep up your pace, whilst Jayce had found the perfect rhythm to manoeuvre his hips to your own.

He begged and pleaded with you not to stop, the word "Please" becoming his new mantra.

"Can I cum?" he asked you with a broken voice, his eyes finally meeting with yours. He looked so messy, pathetic and beautiful all at once, you couldn't deny him, "Yes," you barely got out.

You were barely holding on yourself, the tingling up your spine and your muscles going solid made it almost impossible for you to move anymore, but Jayce's bouncing kept the pace going.

A string of curses fell from Jayce's mouth as he gripped the base of his cock and pumped it a few times, that was all he needed to release the spurts of cum from him.

The moans and whimpers that Jayce made was enough to throw you over the edge, your hips thrusted wildly as you clenched around the dildo, your head going dizzy with euphoria.

Jayce watched your jaw fall open and the most beautiful sounds leave your throat, he never wanted to forget them, he only wished it was him that made you sound like that.

When the cloud of ecstasy faded, you removed the device and put it in the cleaning bag you'd brought with you.

Jayce cleaned up the mess he'd made on his own abdomen whilst you pulled your pants back on, the silence wasn't uncomfortable although it was obvious that you both wanted to address what had just happened, but neither of you wanted to be the first one to speak.

You picked up his clothes and handed them to him, "I'll see you in the morning," you caressed his cheek and he leaned into your palm with a soppy smile and puppy dog eyes that could melt your heart.

Things would be different in the morning. You weren't sure by how much, or for better or worse, but you knew everything would change now.

#kinkmas #jayce talis x reader #sub!jayce talis #dom!reader #jayce talis smut #jayce talis x you #arcane fanfic

733 notes · View notes

haikyu-mp4 · 4 months ago

Text

Tricky twins – Tsukishima x reader wc 638 – f!reader, twin!Hinata

Tsukishima Kei refused to admit he had a crush on someone in his class. He would never tell anyone about his total focus on every smart word that comes from your mouth at the teacher’s query in history class, nor anything about the way he would pretend to adjust his glasses just so he could divert his eyes to take in your beauty.

But between us? Tsukki was lowkey obsessed with you.

He’s lucky your brain was part of the reason he likes you; the way you distracted him in class would have led to a decrease in grades had your intelligent answers not been what occupied him.

You’re quiet and calm, and everything the volleyball club was not, so he had you and them as two wholly separate worlds. Until one day, disaster struck when you knocked on the gym door and pulled the door open to stick your head in.

Tsukki stuttered in his step, realising he was closest to the door. Honestly, his first thought was that you must be there for him. “Hey. Do you need something?”

You raised an eyebrow and didn’t have to strain your ears to find the person you were looking for. “My brother told me to come here with my house key because he’ll be home late.”

Tsukki’s blood ran cold. No. Way. Any one of these guys could be your brother and pretty much all those options were terrible news. “And who would that be, exactly?”

“Shoyo.”

Right. Because your last name is Hinata. How could he not have put those two inevitable pieces together before?

As he heard his name, the orange-haired spiker turned towards you and grinned, bouncing over and thanking you profusely for lending him your keys. “No problem. Will you make it home to watch the new episode with Natsu?”

As the two of you talked, Tsukishima struggled to move away. He stared from one of you to the other, horrified at the revelation that you were probably twins.

“Suckyshima-“ Shoyo’s voice brought him right back, and he quickly cleared his throat and turned away from you two, going back to serve practice beside Yamaguchi in complete ignorance of whatever Hinata wanted to say.

Tsukki’s ears were irredeemably red, and his best friend would not let it past him.

“She’s in your class, right?” Yamaguchi asked him before picking up another ball from the basket behind them.

“She is,” he confirmed, as nonchalant as ever.

“I didn’t know you two were friends-”

“We’re not.”

“Is that why you didn’t realise she was Hinata’s twin?” Tsukishima sharply turned to his best friend, surprised and quickly switching into a glare as he turned back to the net, taking a while to gather his answer.

“She doesn’t have orange hair.”

“Maybe she dyes it,” Yamaguchi genuinely wondered, glancing over at where you were still laughing with your twin.

“She’s smart. So smart.”

“Twins can be very different,” Yamaguchi agreed, snickering under his breath at the burn on their shorter teammate.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki called, making the float server’s throat hitch. The blonde had turned his whole body to him, hands squeezing each side of the volleyball he held. “We will never speak of this again.”

Tsukishima stared at the back of your head in class the next day. It made no sense.

He couldn’t pull his eyes away as you read a scientific paper in the break time, itching to ask what kind of article it was because his glasses, unfortunately, didn’t come with extra zoom.

Before he knew it, he had walked over to the side of your desk, finally noticing the name of a palaeontologist he admired highlighted in green.

You looked up at him in surprise and he inevitably crumbled. “Can I help you?”

Yes, he had a raging crush on Hinata Shoyo’s twin sister.

masterlist

requested by @paradoxicalwritings for my event, anything for you <3

587 notes · View notes

bookwyrminspiration · 1 year ago

Note

Quil I should read babel right. I have it I just haven’t started yet

!! Yes!! It's such a wonderfully heartbreaking read, and while direct with its message I don't think that detracts from its impact.

Covering colonialism, language as a tool of oppression, the language of violence, the necessity of violence, and so so much more it's a bittersweet, cathartic journey. It doesn't shy away from the grief and pain, from betrayal, but that doesn't mean every moment is suffering.

I'll just keep rambling about how I adored it if I don't stop here, so point is yes. I emphatically encourage you and anyone else to start Babel

#babel rf kuang #quil's queries #sunsplatteredfeathers #i assume you're already leaning that way and are just looking for confirmation #because of course i'm going to say yes #GOD i love babel #i should reread it #robin swift....

4 notes · View notes

fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

Text

Good Omens graphic novel update: June 2024

Welcome to the June update. A lot of behind the scenes work at the moment but we're grabbing the travel sweets, popping in the Bentley and hitting the road. More on that below.

Admin

Ongoing reminder that the project FAQ can be found here.

I pledged using my Apple ID, or no longer use the address my pledge is attached to, or I cannot work out what email address my pledge is connected to. What should I do? Please contact us via your Kickstarter account where the pledge is connected; we will be able to see on our system which address it is. If it's one you have access to, great! The FAQ has information on how to resend your invite link to access the PledgeManager. If it's one you are not able to access, then you can let us know which email is preferred and we can update this on the system, which will automatically send a new invite.

Events

We've had a lot of queries about when the Good Omens team will be attending events more formally, after some Aziraphale and Crowley spotting at conventions we'd been to previously. Well, we're excited to confirm the first: Good Omens HQ will be at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow, Scotland this September.

We'll be bringing the actual-real-life-home-to-Crowley-and-his-plants Bentley from Season 2 of Good Omens, the first time the car has been made available publicly for fans to come see and get photos with, ahead of its journey back to the set and the start of Season 3 filming.

We also see Quelin Sepulveda, aka Muriel, has been announced for the event for some additional ineffable joy.

You can get your tickets for ACME Comic Con here. We hope to see some of you there.

While we won't be rocking up with the Bentley to this next one, we want to let you know about Ineffable Con which, though sold out in person, is also taking place virtually in July. The fan-run event hosts great panels, auctions and more, with money raised going to Alzheimer’s Research UK, in memory of Sir Terry Pratchett.

Where next? We have - not an exaggeration - a list of about 200 events somewhere from when we asked fans this on Instagram and while we can't promise quite that amount of convention attendance, we're certainly looking to do some more things in future with Good Omens at large. Watch this space.

Good Omens items...

This month has largely seen prototypes and samples for the wider Good Omens merch store arriving, and while we can't share those yet, we are certainly excited to see more fan product suggestions coming to life. That does, however, leave our public item updates a little slim on the ground.

To make up for that, here's some new panels from Colleen:

Also known as, "What could possibly go wrong?" And:

Also known as, "Well why don't you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇!@#▇" or words to that effect, we'd imagine.

Update from Colleen

Following such a positive response to Colleen's piece last month, bringing you behind the scenes into making the Good Omens graphic novel, we are delighted to say that she has agreed to write something for our updates going forward! For June, she's going more in depth into the process of flatting and the technicalities of colouring on screen vs print. Over to you, Colleen.

---

I mentioned the other month that I use a flatter to help me with technical work on GOOD OMENS, and here is a great example.

This is my original, hand drawn line art.

And this is the flatting file which was created using the MultiFill computer program.

It will put your eyes out.

The raw image above demonstrates how the color art lines up solidly under the line art. If it doesn't do that, you get a weird phenomenon in print called ghosting, a tiny little line of white around each segment of color. I had this issue on one major project and ended up redoing every single color file after I got a look at the first printing. Nearly two weeks of work.

The same image with the line art on top.

The layer order looks like this.

Background copy is the clean, line art layer.

I scan the art at 600 dpi, then make the blacks pure black, the whites pure white. Then I convert back to greyscale, then RGB, then duplicate the layer. Then I delete the white on the upper layer so the line art layer is transparent but the blacks on that layer are not.

If you have blacks on a layer that has been multiplied, you can see slight color through those blacks. You want pure black.

The lower layer is where I use the MultiFill program to create the digital flats. First you use MultiFill to drop in the random colors, then the companion plug-in Flatter Pro to make those colors seal under the black lines.

This probably sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but if the flat colors don’t line up perfectly under the black line art, you get the dreaded ghosting I mentioned. You can see it below in this image. It’s a tiny little white line that will appear around the black lines and color areas.

This drives me nuts and is an absolute nightmare to fix.

It’s a very common problem, especially for people who work for web and don’t anticipate the problems going from web to print.

What looks great on your computer can cause big problems in print.

From here, my flatter Jul Mae Kristoffer, who is way over in the Philippines, does flatting that is more in keeping with the areas of color I want to isolate. As you see on Layer 1.

But again, this is still pretty ugly, and not what I would use for final color. Flatting is a technical issue, not a creative one, though in some cases a flatter will make choices you may use. Most of the time they don't.

Here is my final color page.

Sometimes my MultiFill flats are so wonky I have a hard time getting my brain to snap out of what I see before me. If I get stuck, it's a good idea to just pick at it and come back to it later.

If it really, really bothers me, I’ll take the MultiFill flatter layer and desaturate the color so it doesn’t poke my eyes out.

Here’s an example. The digital flat file.

The desaturated flat file that doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes out.

And the final color.

Sometimes I just put in a solid white layer so I don’t see the flats at all. Flatting is there to allow you to easily pick spots to color in, and doesn’t usually appear in the final work.

Sometimes I want to create my colors using transparent color over a white ground, which is more delicate in the final.

Here’s an example from Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. I also selected all black line art here and converted it to sepia to give it a vintage look. Except for the fairies. They’re green.

A colorist must also consider color settings.

Different clients can have different requirements. I find these color settings, which I got from the Hi-Fi Studio, to be pretty solid. I use them as my default for all my projects unless otherwise requested. If your publisher has other settings, they’ll usually send you a csf file which you can upload to Photoshop. The program will save your files and you can just switch between them as you need them.

This tells the printer things about the paper and the spread of the ink you will use. That’s what dot gain means - it makes printed color look darker than intended, so you set up your files to account for it.

When you hover your pointer over each box, it will tell you what each setting is supposed to accomplish.

Another really important thing to consider when coloring comics is color range.

I’m coloring this book in RGB range, but for print you use CMYK.

I’m about to confuse the heck out of some people with this post, I’m afraid. But here we go.

Here is this shot in RGB color setting.

And here is the same page calibrated for print in CMYK.

The biggest shift is in the reds. Print cannot match those reds.

You may not see much difference here, but it’s the sort of thing that drives artists crazy.

A computer should be perfect for conveying exactly what you want, right? It's all just 0's and 1's, binary information, and that information should be the same from one computer to the next?

Nope. Not even close.

First off, computer monitors must be calibrated. You can use a computer program or a tool that measures the color on your computer screen and then adjusts the color to an industry standard.

Have you ever been in an electronics shop where a bunch of TV shows were on display, all of them playing the same show, and have you noticed how different the color was from one TV to the next?

It's like that.

I freely admit I don't pay a whole lot of attention to calibration, but if I were a professional photographer I would. I'd have a little spectrometer attached to my screen and software would adjust my monitor to the best possible standard range. As it is, I just use the default setting on my computer and hope for the best.

If your monitor is properly calibrated and your art is shown on another monitor that is properly calibrated, the art will look almost identical from one monitor to the next.

YAY!

But from one monitor to the next, that's about where the resemblance ends.

Colors are calibrated to something called RGB, or Red, Green, Blue.

All colors come from a mix of red green and blue. At their greatest intensity, all the colors in the spectrum together become pure white light.

This is why RGB is called ADDITIVE color, because you ADD colors from the spectrum to get ALL colors, and all colors create the entirety of the rainbow, and pure white light.

Your computer monitor, your phone, your television, all images are created via light using RGB, a gamut that covers all possible colors that can be created.

That's a lot.

And that's why some of the colors you see on your TV or phone are so deep and intense.

For the widest possible range of color and intensity, you use RGB.

Unfortunately, there is what you can create with light, and then there is what you can create with pigment or ink. And that is why printing what you see on your computer almost never looks exactly like what you see in a book.

For printing, you must use a color setting known as CMYK. This stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Key/Black.

In printing, the pure blue is actually Cyan and the pure red is actually Magenta.

CMYK color range is not created by addition, but by SUBTRACTION. In order to get the color you want, you reduce the percentage of one of the four colors for ink mixing. Mixing all colors, instead of giving you white, gives you black.

The gamut of CMYK is limited to what can be created with ink.

You've probably heard the term four color press? This is what that means. Four colors, with each color of ink run over the paper on rollers which, combined in varying layers of opacity, create all the printing colors you see.

But remember, what you see on your computer monitor and what CMYK gamut can handle are two different things.

Now, I’ve been really careful with the color settings on Good Omens, so there haven’t been any big surprises, but let me show you a snippet of a project I did for the French fashion house Balmain.

The RGB version:

And then this shot after it was converted to a CMYK file for print.

That's a pretty big difference.

Now, you see this shift mostly with vibrant colors, such as that pink there. But other colors hardly changed at all, right?

That's because this issue is about range of color. CMYK and RGB occupy a shared range which you can see demonstrated by this graphic I got from Wikipedia.

The graphic shows the RGB ranges supported by various digital formats. SWOP CMYK is the most common range my publishers use. Note that the bounding box line shared by the RGB and SWOP CMYK formats shares about half the range space. So whatever RGB colors you use that are outside that range will be digitally converted to the smaller SWOP CMYK range.

And you may not like what you end up with.

As you can see, some of the most ethereal and intense colors get lost outside of the SWOP CMYK boundary.

A look at the Dark Horse Comics color settings in Photoshop. Theoretically, this information should prevent your art from looking like mud on publication.

Now, after I just told you the dangers of coloring in RGB then converting to CMYK for print, I tell you I am coloring Good Omens in RGB anyway. There’s a couple of reasons for this.

Remember, RGB give you a greater range of color, so it can be to your advantage to preserve your original files using a format that gives you the greatest range.

Again, here is the unaltered file.

You can see what the CMYK result will be simply by clicking the Proof Colors button here. This will show you how the art will convert.

And the Gamut Warning will show you which colors are out of gamut range for print.

The intensity of that magenta and that purple in the top right are not going to print true.

This is how it will look in final.

So even if you do what you think is perfect color on screen, there is no way it can perfectly convert to print. Almost everything will involve a little bit of compromise.

Even though you have to consider the color shift issues, preserving your files in RGB gives you greater wiggle room, especially if you get lucky someday and get to work with a printer who can print in 6 colors. Or maybe some technology you don’t know about will pop up and make printing super glorious. Who knows.

Regardless, you should keep an eye on that gamut and color for CMYK print, while preserving your master files in RGB.

Until next time.

#good omens #graphic novel #good omens graphic novel #graphic novel kickstarter #colleen doran

849 notes · View notes