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daryltwdixon · 27 days ago

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Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee

fluffy Joel drabble to help clear my head. I was a barista for 8+ years and loved my regulars, so this is like a little slice of my life when I worked for a family owned coffee shop in the downtown of a city. Hope you enjoy! lmk if you want a ptII cause im thinking hot car sex w these two after their first date.

Inspired by that tlou (game) scene where Ellie asks if Joel used to go to coffee shops, and he admits, ‘All the time.’ And when she asks what he would order, he says, ‘Coffee, just coffee’

Vanilla latte, iced—extra pump of vanilla, three pumps of caramel, swirl, whipped cream. Chai latte, soy milk—hot, extra hot. Cold brew with sweet cream, shot of peppermint. London Fog—extra foamy, not too hot.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.

“Comin’ right up,” you smiled, ringing him up as he slid a few ones into your very, very empty tip jar.

‘Just Coffee’ guy settled at the small bar, joining the usual morning stragglers—people who took their time with their warm mugs, occasionally ordering a bagel or a scone to go with it. He sat next to your crossword regular, an older gentleman who always had a puzzle in front of him, filling in the blanks with unwavering confidence. Always pen, never pencil.

You left them to it, but your eyes drifted toward ‘Just Coffee’ now and then, making sure his mug wasn’t too low, wasn’t getting too cold.

The morning flew by in a blur of orders and chatter, the shop filling and emptying in waves. By the time you checked back on ‘Just Coffee’ guy, he was gone.

A pang of disappointment sat low in your stomach. You wished you would’ve gotten him talking—he had that air about him, the kind of presence that carried stories. The people who sat at your bar top, the ones who weren’t rushing in and out for their nine-to-five caffeine fix, were always the most interesting.

You were surprised to see him the next day. A smile lifted at his lips as he stepped up in line, cash at the ready in his large, dirt-greased hands. A man who worked manual labor, clearly.

"Coffee," he said, his twang deep and velvety. "Just coffee, miss."

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing him a warm mug of your house roast as he took his new usual seat at the bar.

"Dammit—" the man next to him muttered, scratching his chin with the tip of his pen. Steve, your crossword regular. Under his nose, the day’s puzzle sat partially filled in, his brow furrowed in frustration. “What in the hell is the ‘process of leveling or smoothing wet concrete’? Seven letters?" He called your name, exasperated. "You got any idea?”

"Steve, if I knew anything about construction, I’d be way further along on my home improvement projects," you called over the hiss of the milk frother.

"Screedin’ is the word you’re lookin’ for, I think."

‘Just Coffee’ spoke casually, like it was second nature, his voice rolling low behind the lip of his mug. Steve blinked at him, like he hadn’t even realized the man was there, his wide eyes darting between him and the crossword.

"I think that might just work! How do ya spell that now? S-C-R-E—"

"S-C-R-E-E-D-I-N-G," ‘Just Coffee’ said slowly, the drawl thick and steady as the letters tumbled off his tongue.

You smiled to yourself, glancing his way. Knew he had to be manual labor. But before you could turn and ask him about it, he was already stepping off the stool, giving a quick nod of thanks, and heading for the door.

A couple of ones landed next to his empty mug—more than the cost of his coffee.

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

By the fourth morning, you caught yourself lingering by the bar, staring at the empty stool where he sat. The coffee shop was just as busy, orders coming in waves, regulars dropping their change into the tip jar, Steve grumbling over his crossword. But something was missing.

You’d gotten used to those hazel eyes meeting yours across the counter, the quiet weight of his presence. The way his dark, unruly hair framed his face, always a little windswept, a little messy, like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a long shift. His hands—rough, calloused, dirt still lingering in the creases—wrapped steady around a warm coffee mug.

It had only been a handful of mornings, but somehow, he’d settled into your routine like he belonged there.

And now, the absence of him gnawed at you in a way that surprised you.

You should’ve asked him his damn name.

By the sixth day, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. He was just another customer, just a passing figure who needed a caffeine fix before moving on. Maybe he found a different coffee spot. Maybe he’d never been the type to stick around anyway.

But on the seventh morning, as you wiped down the counter, movement by the door caught your eye.

You turned, heart kicking up against your ribs.

There he was.

Another worn flannel, same dirt-streaked hands, same heavy-lidded gaze scanning the shop like he hadn’t been gone for a week. And when those hazel eyes finally landed on you, a flicker of something warm and familiar crossed his face.

You pushed off the counter before you could stop yourself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” you said, trying to sound casual, but you knew he could hear the lilt of amusement in your voice.

“How are ya, miss?” he drawled, stepping up to the counter, cash already in hand. “Been busy.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way his fingers curled around the worn bills. “Let me guess—coffee, just coffee?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You got it.”

As you poured, you finally asked the question that had been itching at you since the first day he walked in.

“You got a name, or am I just supposed to keep callin’ you ‘Just Coffee’ forever?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you.

“Joel,” he said.

You smiled, setting his mug down in front of him. “Well, Joel—hope you don’t disappear on me again.”

His fingers brushed the warm ceramic as he settled onto his usual stool. “Jobs come and go, just depends on the day, hunny.”

Hunny. It was damn near like honey dripping from his tongue in that slow drawl, thick and warm. The way it rolled off his lips curled low in your belly, heating your cheeks as you turned to the next customer, hoping to God he didn’t notice.

The middle of the week was always slow, which worked in your favor today. By the time the morning rush faded, you found yourself wiping down the counters, clearing dishes near the bar, and finally getting the chance to ask Joel about his life.

You rinsed out a mug, letting the warm water run over your fingers as you glanced toward him. He was nursing his coffee slow, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting loose on the bar. His posture was easy, relaxed, but you could tell there was something there, something deep in his bones that he carried.

"So, what kinda jobs come and go?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel glanced up from his mug, considering you for a moment. “Construction, mostly," he said, rolling his shoulders like the very word made them ache. "Been a contractor for years—fixin' up places, layin’ concrete, buildin’ what needs buildin'.”

Figures. Those arms—strong, steady—the kind that looked like they knew the weight of real work. His hands were large, rough and calloused, the kind you’d feel long after they touched you. But, Joel was a customer. You weren’t thinking that, of course not.

"Guess that explains why you knew the crossword answer last week," you teased, tossing the rag over your shoulder. "Steve still talks about it like you pulled magic outta thin air."

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Man’s usin’ a pen for a crossword, and I’m the one impressin’ him?"

You grinned, leaning against the bar. "Hey, knowledge is power around here, Joel."

He let out a quiet hmm and took another sip of his coffee.

Before you could press further, the bell above the door jingled, and you got up hastily to take the newcomer’s order.

“Don’t worry about him,” Joel called over, sitting up straighter, setting down his coffee mug as his gaze flicked toward the man.

He stepped inside, his dark hair long, face clean-shaven, dimples deepening as he took in the scene. Something unspoken passed between the two of them—something that made it hard to tell if they were coworkers, friends, or something else entirely.

Then the man clapped Joel on the shoulder, grinning wide, “So this is what you’ve been ditchin’ the mornin’ crew for, huh, big brother?”

Your brows lifted. Brother.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing with obvious irritation, but his posture remained loose—like he was used to this, used to him.

“What ya got for me, Tommy?” he asked.

You barely had a second to process before Tommy’s attention shifted to you. His gaze swept over you, warm and playful, before he leaned a little too comfortably against the bar, ignoring his brother.

“Well now,” he drawled, flashing you a grin that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, “if I knew this was the kinda place Joel was sneakin’ off to, I would’ve tagged along a whole lot sooner.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. “And here I thought he just liked my coffee.”

Tommy let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Can’t say I blame him, darlin’.”

Joel let out a long, long sigh, already done with whatever this was turning into. He stood, tugging his jacket over his broad shoulders before clapping a firm hand on Tommy’s back—firm like a warning.

“C’mon,” Joel muttered, steering him toward the door.

Tommy let himself be dragged, but not without a final wink in your direction. “I’ll be seein’ you around, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as Joel shoved him out the door with far more force than necessary, the bell jingling wildly as they disappeared outside.

Joel glanced back once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the last two minutes of his life before heading off into the distance.

You just smiled, shrugging as you wiped down the counter.

But things changed after that morning.

Tommy only needed to step through the damn door before Joel was tensing at the bar, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his coffee suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He continued to show up every morning, still ordered just coffee, still sat in his usual spot—but now, his eyes lingered on you more.

And now, he stayed just a little longer.

Not by much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

You noticed how his gaze flicked toward you between sips, how his fingers tapped idly against his mug whenever you laughed at something a customer said.

His brother joined him more too. You noticed the way he cut Tommy off real quick anytime his brother got a little too comfortable leaning against the counter, that exasperated “Tommy” carrying a warning underneath it.

And you noticed how his tips got just a little bigger after that morning, a couple extra bills tucked under his mug like an unspoken thank you.

So when a week passed—no sign of Tommy this time, no interruptions, just Joel sitting at your bar—you wondered if today might be different.

And it was.

Because today, as you cleared a dish from the counter, Joel cleared his throat. Not the casual kind, not the I’m just readjusting in my seat kind.

The nervous kind.

You glanced up, brows lifting. “What’s eatin’ ya, Joel?”

Joel exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Just—uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “You, uh… ever eat anywhere that ain’t this place?”

Your lips twitched. “You askin’ if I leave my own coffee shop, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, clearly close to regretting whatever he was doing, but he powered through.

“I’m askin’ if you’d wanna get somethin’ to eat. When your shift is done.” He finally met your gaze, voice a little gruffer than usual, but there was something hesitant in his expression—like he was braced for you to shut him down, “With me.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossing as you took your time, letting him sit in it for a second. Watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, how he resisted the urge to shift under your gaze.

Then you smiled. “Are you asking me out?”

His eyes flicked away, like he really hated how direct you were, but you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause—“That…a problem?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against his mug. “Good.”

You grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling something before sliding it across the counter. “Then you’re gonna need my number.”

He eyed it, then you, something unreadable in his gaze before he finally, finally reached for it. His fingers brushed yours as he folded the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without another word.But you swore—swore—you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another slow sip of his coffee.

Part II is here :)

#fluffy Joel miller #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou one shot #Joel miller fluff #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel x reader #the last of us hbo

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traveler-at-heart · 7 months ago

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Lessons of Love

Summary: So, Nerd!Natasha and Fem!R, their first date and everything fluffy. I just have a lot of thoughts about them and maybe this will be a series (and it will eventually contain G!P Natasha so if that's not your thing, you've been warned). Nerd!Natasha x Fem!Rogers Reader

Don’t count the days, make the days count.

Natasha’s father had told her that as if it was ancient wisdom and not a fortune cookie message.

It was also easier to say it when you didn’t have to attend high school. There were days when she couldn’t cope with it, like when the football team was agitated before a match, or there was some drama around the most popular people in school.

Those times were a stark reminder that Natasha had no one to talk to, a confidant to mock the jocks or a friend to share the gossip with.

Genius comes with a cost.

That one was her mom’s way of comforting Natasha.

She was the smartest person in school, miles above her peers. What she didn’t have in social intelligence, she more than made up with a sharp, quick and brilliant mind.

But as she entered the chem lab, and took a seat at the last table where she was always alone, Natasha wished that things could be different.

If only for a day.

“Morning, everyone” professor Fury greeted as people went to their seats. “You might have heard about an explosion during class” the few giggles that were heard were quickly silenced by Fury’s glare. “So, to keep this from happening again, we’ll switch the teams for the rest of the semester”

Natasha’s heart raced. What if people could choose and then she’d end up front of the class, everyone staring because no one picked her?

“So, alphabetically” Fury read the list, Natasha going over the name that was before hers…

Rogers.

She looked at you, sitting next to Wanda on one of the first tables. You waved at the twins when their names were called, laughing at Wanda’s annoyed stare. Being paired with her brother meant she’d do most of the work while he fooled around.

“Rogers and Romanoff”

Natasha saw you gathering your things and looking around. When you found her, a smile broke out and you walked to join her in the back of the room.

How does one greet the most popular girl in school? Head of cheerleaders, little sister of legendary quarterback Steve Rogers, not to mention the most beautiful girl in all of Shield High.

Not that Natasha was paying attention.

“Hey, Natty” you greeted, sitting next to her and looking around. “Wow, you can really see everything from here”

“I-I guess”

Natasha wanted to crawl under the table and hide. What was she supposed to talk about?

“Guess it’s my lucky day” you said, unable to deal with the silence. Natasha had a hard time understanding if you were being sarcastic. “I mean, you’re the capitan of the Science Club. So, that makes you the best partner anyone could hope for in Chemistry”

Natasha didn’t have time to answer, as Fury finally started with the lesson. Once he gave you all the instructions and wrote some exercises on the board, everyone went silent. Of course, Natasha was done in half the time.

“Show off” you teased and felt your heart beating faster when Natasha actually laughed.

“Want help?” she offered and you went over your notes, nodding.

“I think I got most of them except… this one?” you pointed with your pencil. Natasha leaned, reading again and pulling her chair closer to yours.

“You see, when you choose a coefficient, try to select one as low as possible”

“And that would affect all of the atoms in the molecule” you said and Natasha nodded. “Ok, I think I got it”

But the redhead kept staring as you began to write again, and you poked her side.

“Stop it, Romanoff”

You went back to work, missing the way Natasha blushed at the physical contact.

“Good. Now, I want you to get to know each other even better, so you’ll do a project for next class. Do not sass me, youths” Fury raised his voice as everyone began to protest.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, can we skip this one?” Pietro said while pointing to his sister, and everyone laughed.

“No” Fury said, turning to write on the board again. “Do some research on why it’s important to balance chemical equations and what other parts of chemistry rely on this skill. Bonus points for concrete examples where it helped advance important research on other fields”

He dismissed the class, and everyone began to pack their bags to move to the next session.

“So… uh… how do you wanna do this? Wanna meet somewhere?” Natasha said, unfamiliar with team projects. Teachers would let her work alone, because pairing her with someone meant she’d do all the work and split the credit.

“Yeah, not my place though. The boys have their weekly pool game after football practice and they can get so loud” you rolled your eyes, walking out of the classroom next to the girl.

Natasha’s stomach turned at the idea of being anywhere near the school jocks.

“So, the school library?” you offered, giving her a way out in case her house was off limits.

“I think my mom has more books about it than the library”

Damn it, where did that come from? She couldn’t handle a class with you and now she was suggesting her place? Where would you even work? And Melina would make some embarrassing remark, or Alexei would ask a million questions and say something silly…

“Yeah, cool. I’ll stop by after cheerleading practice”

“Let me give you the address”

“Natty, I know where you live” you chuckled, surprised that she seemed surprised. “Remember your birthday party? I was there”

“That was like seven years ago”

“Yeah, so? I remember” you smiled. “Gotta run, see you later”

Natasha stared as you walked to History class. You turned around one last time, smiling shyly and waving at her.

Natasha waved back, her cheeks turning red at being caught staring.

Crap, she wasn’t going to survive this assignment.

—

You went up the steps, fixing your hair before ringing the doorbell.

God, how were you going to manage this afternoon with Natasha? You were barely able to keep it together during class.

You were still torn on how to manage your fight or flight response when the door opened.

“Y/N!” Natasha’s sister practically shouted your name.

“Hey, Yelena. I’m here to…”

“You know my name” the girl said.

“Well, yeah, you’re Nat’s sister”

Speak of the devil.

“Yelena!” Natasha went down the stairs in record time.

“What?” Yelena said, talking back as soon as Natasha switched to Russian. They went back and forth for a while, and you stood outside, wondering if you’d ever manage to get in.

“Sorry about that” Nat finally turned to you, Yelena leaving the room in a rush.

“No worries. I couldn’t understand you. Literally”

“My room’s this way” Natasha said, scratching the back of her neck.

A second later, she regretted letting you go up the stairs first. Your skirt moved with each step you took, toned legs in full display. Natasha had to pray she wouldn’t trip on the way up.

“Which door?” you turned to look at her, her ears red. You bit your lip, trying not to think how adorable she looked all flustered.

“The one on the right” she pointed and you nodded, waiting for her to tell you it was ok to open it.

“Wow” you said, looking around at the shelves full of books and scale models of different machines.

“You can take the chair if you want” Natasha offered her desk, and you were so busy reading the titles of the books you almost didn’t hear her.

“Oh, that’s ok. I can sit on the bed” you said, placing your backpack in the corner. You pulled out your laptop and opened a new tab. “I was thinking we can get all the info we need, and then decide how to organize it. I’ll write a draft and you can review it”

It was Natasha’s turn to be distracted, appreciating the way you leaned against her headboard, stretching your arms above your head.

“I-I got some books from my mom’s study. Let me find the right one…” she sat on the floor and you laid on your stomach, your heads at the same height as you looked over her shoulder.

Natasha began reading and taking notes, while you reviewed some articles on your laptop.

“Ready”

“Ok” you said, changing to sit next to her on the floor. Natasha felt your shoulder against her arm, and your sweet parfume invaded her senses.

You always smelled good. And looked so pretty. It was hard to focus but she managed just enough to dictate some of the things she’d found useful.

“You don’t have to write this down, but let me know if you think any of it is interesting for the paper” she said, and you really wanted to pay attention, but your eyes kept drifting to her lips. “Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I’m boring you” Natasha said, closing the book and looking dejected. She was about to put it away when you reached for her hand, sitting up.

“Now hold on. You weren’t boring me”

“It’s ok”

“Nat, look at me” you asked. The redhead seemed to forget you had moved closer when you reached for her hand, and when she turned to look at you, you were inches apart.

“I…”

Was she looking at your lips? Were you leaning forward? Did she want this?

You didn’t have time to find out, as the door to Natasha’s room opened and you jumped back.

“Oh! Yelena was telling the truth”

“Hi, Mrs. Romanoff” you greeted, hoping she didn’t notice your cheeks turning pink.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you. Why are you sitting on the floor? Natalia, where are your manners?”

“Mom”

“No, that’s ok. I prefer the floor. Your hydrengias are looking spectacular, by the way” you tried to change the subject.

“Thanks to you! You were right about the change of place. Oh, I should have sent you a plate of cookies, you helped me with it and I didn’t even thank you”

“That’s ok, Mrs. Romanoff”

“Well if you want to stay for dinner, you’re more than welcomed” Melina turned to her daughter, with a more serious demeanor. “And you, remember to put those books right where they belong. I have a very particular system”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“So…”

“I…”

You both spoke at the same time.

“Sorry” you tried to breathe, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “You were saying?”

“I didn’t know you spoke to my mom about flowers?”

“Oh, that” you blushed and Natasha bit her lip, drinking in every word you said. “Yeah, Mom and I ran into her at the farmer’s market. They were talking about plants and we gave her some tips. That’s how we spend quality time, working on the garden”

Natasha nodded, but you still stared at her.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, looking at her lips. Natasha swallowed and nodded. “I… uh… why was Yelena acting weird when she saw me?”

That’s not what you meant to ask, but you had lost your courage.

“Oh…” the redhead looked disappointed. Or were you imagining things? “She’s obsessed with joining the cheerleading squad, and you being the President…”

“I’m not, anymore” you blurted out, surprising even yourself. “I mean, I’m still on the team… but I thought Pepper would do a better job”

“But they won the Nationals last year because of you” Natasha protested, and you were taken aback by her sudden rage. “There’s no one better than you”

“That’s really sweet, Nat” you placed your hand on hers. “But it’s for the best. Trust me. I’ll have more time to focus on the school paper or… I don’t know, dating?”

“I guess you could do that…” Natasha said, looking at your hands. For the second time in the day, your eyes found hers and then traveled to those beautiful lips.

“Y/N!”

Bucky shouted from the door. Damn it.

“My ride’s here” you said, disappointed. Natasha nodded, standing up and offering her hand to help you up. You took it, surprised at her strength.

A gasp left your lips when you were face to face, inches away from her lips. All you had to do was step forward and stand on your toes…

“Y/N/N” Bucky insisted and you had to control the urge to tell him to go to hell.

“Sorry. I have enough notes to write something. Can I text you once it’s done?”

“Sure, let me give you my number”

“I already have it…” you blurted out, trying to hide your face.

“How?”

Now, this time you were grateful for Bucky’s insistence.

“Coming, Buck! See you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll walk you out”

You nodded, allowing Natasha to lead you to the front door. Her father, coach Romanoff, was chatting with Bucky at the door.

“Good practice today” Alexei said and Bucky nodded.

“Thanks, coach” he then turned to you, offering his hand to get your bag. “Ready to go, doll?”

“Yeah. Thanks for having me, Nat. Say bye to your mom and Yelena for me?”

“Sure”

An uncomfortable feeling took over Natasha as you walked next to Bucky, watching him take your bag and carry it for you. You laughed at something he said while he opened the car door for you and then drove away.

“They make a cute couple, don’t they?” Alexei said, but Natasha shrugged her shoulders and went back to her room, almost knocking Melina over on the way up the stairs. “Did I say something wrong?”

—

Natasha felt weird doing it, but she couldn’t help herself.

She only opened an Instagram account to watch cool science videos. But she knew your username because Yelena followed you and now, she was acting like a creep, looking at your profile.

In search of what? She wasn’t sure. Maybe proof that you were dating Barnes.

“Hey” Yelena walked into her room and Natasha dropped her phone. “Ew, were you watching porn?”

“What? No! What do you want?” Natasha said, the blush in her cheeks only making her seem guilty.

“Well, just wanted to ask you if Y/N mentioned anything about this year’s tryouts?”

“No, we didn’t really talk about… that”

Natasha didn’t mention the conversation you had about stepping down as president. She had a feeling that was private.

“Ok, go back to watching porn” Yelena said, closing the door before Natasha could throw a pillow her way.

Then, her phone pinged and Natasha looked at it as if it was a cursed object.

Unknown number: Hey, Nat. I have a draft ready. Lmk if I can send it to you

Natasha: Hi. Sure thing, I’m not doing anything

Damn it, way to be a loser, Natasha.

She didn’t even wait a few minutes to reply.

Y/N: Ok, should be on your email now.

Natasha: Thnx, reading now.

Y/N: Gotta get ready for dinner. It was nice seeing you today.

Y/N: Outside of school, I mean.

Y/N: So… yeah. Anyway. I’m being weird, haha. Talk soon.

Y/N: XO

Natasha’s heartbeat sped up with every new text. She caught herself reading them over and over again.

She didn’t have time to worry about what to reply, because her mother came knocking.

“Dinner’s ready. You can take your time… Yelena told me you were busy.”

“Oh, my GOD!” Natasha jumped out of bed, opening the door. “I am not… watching porn!”

“She said you were stalking Y/N’s instagram” Melina said, turning to find her youngest daughter holding a laugh.

“сука” Natasha screamed, running after her.

“Papa, help!” Yelena screeched, going down the stairs.

“Language! And no running inside the house!”

Melina sighed. With the way Natasha was looking at you today, she had a feeling that parenting was going to be even more complicated now.

Throughout the week, you never left Natasha’s mind. It was a strange feeling. She’d never dwelled on social interactions that much, thinking it wasn’t worth her time.

But still, when Friday came, she was excited because you shared English class as well.

And there you were, leaning against the door, speaking to Barnes. Again. Natasha sighed, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in her stomach at the way you laughed with him, smacking his arm playfully.

As usual, the redhead kept her head down and went to the last table of the classroom, where she could be left alone. Only, you walked straight to her as soon as Professor Harkness started the lesson.

“Hey” you greeted, sitting next to Natasha.

“H-hi”

“Sorry, do you want me to find another place to sit?” you said, looking around the room.

“No!” Natasha practically shouted, making you flinch. “I’m sorry. No, you can sit here”

You nodded, occupying the chair next to hers. It was going to be a slow day, as Ms. Harkness set up the projector to show a documentary about Patricia Highsmith.

“You have to write a report about this so pay attention” the professor said, taking a seat to start the film.

While the documentary played, your mind kept drifting back to Natasha, sitting a few inches away from you. Truth be told, you had always found her to be beautiful, intriguing… but after spending an afternoon with her, those moments when you touched hands or locked eyes, kept replaying in your head.

Instead of taking notes, you decided to execute a plan that was saved for the next Chemistry lesson. Drawing on a sheet of paper, you created a game of hangman, double checking the number of letters for each of the three words.

Without looking at Natasha, you pushed the sheet her way. She looked at it for a second too long, and then at you. You were beginning to regret the whole thing, and then she underlined the letter T. You smiled, writing on the designated place.

Natasha took her time analyzing the sheet, but by the time the lesson was over, she had guessed some of the letters.

_o_i_ o_ _ _ tur _ _ y ?

The bell rang, and as the lights were turned back on, you looked at her, smiling nervously.

“So… want me to tell you what it says? Or, you can take the sheet and text me if you figure it out?”

God, you sounded so desperate. No wonder Natasha looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“I’ll take it” she smiled, placing it between her notebook and walking out.

“Actually, Nat…” you went after her. Why not just ask straight away and see what happened?

“Yes?” she said, turning to look at you. Truth be told, she was anxious to get out. Your proximity had distracted her during the entire class. And it only got worse when you slid that sheet her way, and she saw the way you were biting your lip nervously.

She had to force herself to look away from your lips.

“I was thinking, if you’re not too busy…”

“Go on a date with me”

You were both taken aback by the interruption. The words were stolen right out of your mouth by a junior student, Peter Parker. He was staring at Natasha excitedly.

“Never mind” you grumbled, rolling your eyes and walking away.

Natasha flashed an angry glare at Peter, but you were walking down the hallway at record speed.

“What is wrong with you?” Natasha said. Peter was a year younger, but knew the redhead from science club.

“Sorry, it’s just that I… those were the words that came out of my mouth to ask MJ out. MJ! And she said yes!”

“Yeah, start with that next time”

Natasha spotted you across the hall, talking to Thor. Of course.

“I have to go” Natasha pushed the boy aside.

She was so distracted, she never noticed where she was going until she opened the door to the computer room, where Barnes was making out with another senior, Sharon Carter.

“Knock, damn it” Barnes said, but Sharon smacked his arm, looking stern.

“Don’t be a dick, James”

Natasha wanted to call Barnes a lot more than a dick, because who on their right mind would cheat on you? She stared at him a second longer, too angry to even speak, and then turned around, shutting the door behind her.

You deserved so much better than Barnes.

—

Y/N: Were you able to figure it out?

Natasha kept staring at her phone. She hadn’t replied to your message since yesterday and the longer she waited, the worse she felt.

Should she tell you about Barnes? Would you believe her? Or would you call her the worst name in the book and refuse to be in the same class as her?

The girl was pacing around in her room, but of course Yelena chose that moment to play her music at full volume. Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, going to her sister’s room.

“Turn it down!” she yelled from outside, knocking several times to get Yelena’s attention. “Yelena? Your music is too damn…” let the record show she had tried to knock. Natasha walked into Yelena’s room without permission, ready to get into a screaming match with her sister. What she didn’t expect was to see you sitting on her bed, while Yelena showed you different things on her closet.

“I told you it was very loud, Yel” you said, smiling at the girl and then at Natasha, who took a step forward to shut the music down. “Hey, sorry about the noise”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to come in, sestra” Yelena said, examining a t-shirt and her favorite vest. She turned to you. “What about this?”

“Yeah, that’s better. And hair braided, don’t forget that. Pepper and all the other girls love braids. I think the ones Natasha wears sometimes are really… uh, pretty”

You didn’t mean to sound like a creep, but of course you had noticed Natasha’s fiery hair braided from time to time.

“So, since you’re standing there and made me turn off my music” Yelena turned to her sister, showing the outfit. “What do you think? Tryouts are on Monday and Y/N is helping me pick an outfit”

“That one’s nice” Natasha nodded, trying to avoid your stare. She thought she had today and tomorrow to figure out what to do over Barnes. But what if you came to talk to her and she just blurted the whole thing out?

So, she excused herself and thought it would be better to hide in her room. Peace didn’t last long, though.

“Knock!” Natasha grumbled when her sister got in.

“Hey, you didn’t knock either just now. I wanted to ask if you got the tickets for the movie”

“Yes, of course I did”

“Good. I can’t go with you, so you should take Y/N”

“Wait, what?” Natasha hissed, trying to not lose it at Yelena’s ridiculous antics. “You can’t just cancel like that and she probably doesn’t even want to…”

“Ask her”

“What?”

“Ask her. Or if you’re too afraid, I can do it for you. But honestly, Natalia. Just do it. You’re both driving me crazy”

Natasha didn’t know what Yelena meant by that, so she just rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’ll ask her, I don’t want it to seem like my little sister has to arrange my outings”

“Fine. I’m getting some water, you should do it now. Don’t pass out” Yelena winked, knowing her sister could barely handle social interactions.

Natasha felt her heartbeat strong in her chest, but didn’t wait too long before going back to Yelena’s room. She knew her sister meant it and would absolutely ask you out on Nat’s behalf.

“Hey, Y/N” she walked into the room, door ajar.

“Hey. What’s up? Want to try on outfits with us?” you joked. In spite of her nerves, Natasha smiled.

“I wanted to ask if you wanna go to the movies”

“Really?” you smiled. “What time?”

“It starts in an hour so… we can leave in thirty minutes if it works for you”

“Yeah. Awesome”

You didn’t think about asking which movie or anything else really. The fact Natasha had asked you was all you cared about. The redhead left the room once her sister came back, trying to hide her anxiety. Yelena gave her a knowing look, and kept chatting with you but wasn’t surprised to find you smiling out of nowhere, distracted and constantly checking your watch.

Once it was time to go, Natasha waited downstairs to drive you both to the movies. The ride there was quiet at first, until you reached out for the radio.

“Very cool” you praised when OK Go came on. “Their best music video is for I won’t let you down”

“What? No way! This too shall pass. That Rube Goldberg machine was insane”

“But what about all the extras and the umbrellas? Imagine the coordination it took. I tried to talk the girls into doing it for Nationals but they said I was insane”

Natasha laughed at that, humming along to the song, feeling more relaxed. You also smiled, and enjoyed watching her drive. She looked hot as she held the wheel.

As you were arriving to the theater, you mentioned Barnes and how he always forgot to get the tickets and once again, Natasha’s anxiety came back.

She was quiet as she parked and you both exited the car.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I can’t do this”

“Do what? What’s wrong?” you looked at her, searching her eyes.

“Please don’t hate me” she pleaded.

“Natty, I could never” you shook your head, the term of endearment almost leaving Nat out of breath.

“I saw… Barnes and Sharon Carter kissing in the computer room. I’m sorry”

“Ew. Yeah, they tend to do that anywhere they can. I’m the one who’s sorry you had to see it” you laughed, but the sound died down when Natasha looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“Aren’t you dating Barnes?” she said, trying to understand everything.

“What? Gross. He’s like my other brother. Slightly less annoying than Steve, that’s for sure”

“You’re serious?” Natasha said, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“I’m very serious and very much single… waiting for a pretty girl to come sweep me off my feet” you said, smiling as Natasha blushed. You took her hand, going inside the theater. “Come on, the movie is starting soon”

You waited in line for the candy store, her hand still in yours. Once it was time to get your stuff, you stood behind her, looking over her shoulder by standing on your toes. Natasha blushed at the contact, your chin resting against her shoulder while you asked the clerk for some chocolate.

“Let me” Natasha said, paying before you could give the man money.

“Chivalry isn’t dead” you said, enjoying how much she was blushing. You smiled, helping her with the soda and finally going inside the room.

“So, what are we watching?”

“It’s this new zombie movie, like found footage”

“Oh, cool” you muttered, feeling the palms of your hands get sweaty.

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask if you were ok with that”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just a bit of a chicken” you laughed, settling in your seat. You hoped Natasha didn’t think you were lame and as the movie started, you really did try to be brave. And then a zombie came jumping through a window and you hid your face behind your hands.

“Hey, it’s ok” Natasha took your hand. “We can leave if you want to”

“No, I’m fine” you said, forgetting about the movie as soon as her hand let go of yours, arm going around your shoulders to comfort you.

No way were you leaving now.

You leaned against her chest, hiding when something scary was about to happen. Natasha held you close, her hand going up and down your back in a soothing manner.

Who knew all it took was some scary zombies to get close to her…

The movie didn’t last as long as you’d have liked, but still, you were happy when she kept holding on to your hand as you left the cinema.

“That was fun” you commented and Natasha let out a laugh. “What?”

“You were hiding half the movie”

“Maybe I liked that part the most” you challenged, pleased when she blushed again. “But next time, we’re watching a rom com or a sci-fi movie.”

“I’d like that” Natasha said and you were looking at her lips when your phone rang. “Want a ride home?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to”

“It’s not a problem. Come on” she walked next to you, opening the car door.

“What else do you listen to?” you played with the radio, going from A-Punk, to Keane and Travis. “Really good taste”

“What about you?”

“Anything really. I have like 45 playlists that are completely random. I could send you one if you’d like”

“Yeah, I’d like that” Natasha nodded. You smiled, enjoying the view (and by view you meant Natasha, her fingers tapping against the wheel) for the rest of the ride.

Once you got home, she opened the car door for you again. You didn’t move from your spot next to her, enjoying the proximity.

“Nat?”

“Yes?”

“I like you” you said without a warning, and it was hard to tell who was more embarrassed, you or Nat. “I’m sorry for being so forward but I think I needed you to know. I’m thinking about kissing you and holding your hand and…”

For the first time in her life, Natasha did something without thinking. She pulled you by the waist, connecting her lips to yours. You groaned in surprise, but sighed against her mouth a second later. Your hands went up her neck, to keep her close to you as you moved your lips against hers.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself”

“Never apologize for doing that” you smiled, leaning your forehead against her shoulder. Natasha smiled, kissing your temple. “Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah” she nodded.

“Ok. I don’t want you to do it if you’re distracted or something. It could be dangerous, you know?” you rambled and Natasha saw genuine concern behind your words.

“I’ll text you when I’m home, how about that?”

“Yes, please” you sighed with relief. “Be careful. And thank you for today” without being able to help yourself, you stood on your toes and pecked her lips one more time.

Natasha got in the car, smiling as she drove back home. True to her promise, she texted you as soon as she arrived.

She was expecting Yelena to greet her with a million questions, but the girl was back in her room, still listening to music.

Going back to her own room, she found the game of hangman you had done for her, now complete with Yelena’s handwriting.

Natasha was really clueless.

Movie on Saturday?

This whole time, you were asking her out. Natasha took a picture of the paper and sent it to her sister.

Nat: You went through my stuff.

Sestra: Ur welcome.

Natasha would never hear the end of it. Her phone pinged again.

Y/N: Glad you’re home safe.

Y/N: Still thinking about that kiss.

Y/N: So… yeah. When’s our second date?

Coming to think of it, she was happy to pay that price.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

669 notes · View notes

coeurify · 1 year ago

Note

ok but what do you think about making a sex tape with ellie 🧍‍♀️

an: this has been reworked over and over since this request came in in march… so enjoy! its very lovey dovey and sm plot sorry :3

warnings: 18+. filming. jackson!ellie. fingering and oral!r receiving. mostly lovey but some teasing and rough language :3 ellie is obsessed and lovesick and so is reader soooo they make a sex tape. unedited gimme time.

When Ellie first brought up the idea, you had recoiled into her old beat up couch, scoffing as she waved the old camcorder around, a shiteating grin on her face.

“I doubt that thing even works El,” you shrugged your shoulders under the blanket you had stolen off her bed. It wasn't unusual for you to hole up in her small homey garage while she was on patrol.. but what *was* odd was her little.. Souvenir from this particular trip.

“C’mon babe,” Ellie pouted, “Let me try on you..” she wiggled the little camcorder, slipping her hand into the attached grip, flipping open the small screen. Despite your complaints that there was no way it worked, Ellie just could never be wrong. Of course she knew you would fight back, and so she had made sure she fished some batteries too. Of course they came from Maria, the cost three days of stable duty.. But it was worth it for the immune woman, who ducked her nose down and watched the screen flicker to a slow start.

The quality was no better than that of what you could expect from a decades old camera, the film grainy and muffled, each corner covered by symbols Ellie didn’t really understand. But it was no roadblock in the trek of her wants. She smiled when your hands immediately came to slap over your face, voice serious behind your palms as you spoke, “put that down.”

Eventually however, you got a little used to Ellie’s newest fixation. The little hums she made were always a dead give away that she was filming you. During a video game tournament against Dina and Jesse, squished so closely to the two on the floor of the garage that you literally bruised the taller man during a particularly aggressive round of a fighting game. When you were trying your best to compete against your girlfriend’s art skills, tongue poking out the corner of your lips as you worked on a very detailed stick figure that dawned pointed down eyebrows, a large frown and red pencil hair. Even just when you were organizing Ellie’s closet for her, sorting through the tens of sweatshirts with a judging pout on your lips at the mess.

Each time you heard the distinctive sound of El’s attempt at holding back laughs, a small little choked up ‘hmm’ sound. You usually turned your head, quick to flip off your girlfriend-turned-filmmaker. But by the fifth time of catching her smiling behind the little object, you just let her. Whenever you could see her a little less tense, you took it.

Even if that meant starring in all of her little five second shitty clips. Her excuse always, “Just something to look at when I miss you.”

In some ways it made you feel weak legged, slightly lovesick by the thought of Ellie loving you so dearly she just had to steal little memories of you. Every small grin that broke onto freckled cheeks wherever she filmed coaxed you into the haze built up by her new hobby. You became so covered in adoration soon that you resorted to tiny only half mad eye roll when the click of the camera sounded.

Small clips turned into Ellie’s free hand wrapping around your bare waist as you looked in the mirror of her bathroom, the camcorder pressed near your cheek, the auburnette on the other side. You wiped the condensation from the glass, the room still slightly foggy from your shower. “You are not filming me out of the shower,” you huffed. Ellie didn’t answer, the familiar sounding hum stopped only when she pressed a kiss to the base of your neck, lips pulling up into a smile against the skin. “Won’t point too low..” she promised. “You just look so pretty..”

That time, the camera had been closed and discarded on a random bedside table as the two of you stumbled across her floor, giggling as Ellie cursed, stubbing her toe on the corner of the bed she tried to press you down into.

It continued like that, the limits of what you allowed Ellie to film seemed to blur further with every day.. Every curl of her fingers around the object that had become so central to this small haven of her home. Your own neck hot for reasons very different from embarrassment each time the filming light blinked a little too long. The line that you and Ellie had drawn in the sand of your mind was looking a lot less precise with every new memory saved into the device.

Even further along into the passing weeks, you had settled comfortably into yet another night spent at Ellie’s. Your own bedroom had remained untouched for nearly a week this time, bed spread likely just as cold as the air outside. But the garage was warm. The air inside thick as you pressed two fingers against your lips to keep a laugh from spilling out. Glasses of half empty wine, stolen from Tommy and Maria’s cupboard, balanced on the table that sat directly in front of the couch you were cuddled into.

The feeling of wine drunkenness always made you giggly, but your girlfriend parading around her small living space with her camcorder, well, that made you even more prone to bursts of laughs. She had gone from filming and rambling on about what wine you were drinking to zooming into your face, chuckling with breath that smelt like red wine. “See how pretty?” Ellie gaped to no one, stepping closer to you on the couch. The whole garage was painted a light orange from the setting sun outside, but it didn’t stop Ellie.

“El, you’re being a dork,” you chide, shaking your head as more compliments spilt from her. She shoos off the bitten remark with a sound that boarders on a coo, leaning over you as the lens of the camcorder sat close enough to pick up the smaller details of your face the grainy film usually could not.

“I’m just showin’ how perfect you are..” Ellie explains, a softer tone edging into her lungs as she presses her thumb to your cheek, drawing a new heat under the digit. “Perfect cheeks…” her finger traces over your jawline next, and then your chin. Each new landmark of your face that Ellie doted on swept closer and closer to your soft lips. You were no idiot, you saw how the green of her eyes fell to the fat, watched as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and then out again. You made no move to stop what came next.

That next move was your girlfriend’s finger following like a moth to a flame to the one spot that teetered on that blurry line again, thumb pressing softly around the curve of your lips.

“Perfect lips,” Ellie continued, eyes flicking back and forth from the camera screen to you. Soon the pad of her finger is right against your bottom lip, and the room seems to slow.

The both of you hold bated breaths as you mull over your options. But this mulling is no longer than a few seconds, feeling overwriting the more logical side of your brain with a gushy type of tightness in your chest.

Your lips part, eyes meeting the lense as you suck the tip of Ellie’s thumb into your mouth. Lips wrap around the soft skin, salty and cold, and Ellie has little to say other than a slow and breathy, “Fuck..”

Your tongue peaks out just for a moment, lavishing over the wet skin, but Ellie is quick to pull away, leaving your shining lips parted in confusion. The camera falls to her side as her free fingers wrap around your wrist. Just like last time, the little red light twists away from your face. Ellie’s toes step backwards from that oh so mysterious line you two made.

“You know what you do to me, hm?” Ellie questioned as she hauled you up by your arm, a sharp giggle following as she stomped to the bed. The camera is discarded on the table near her pillows as you are thrown back on it.

“No,” you tease, your next giggle cut off by a thump noise that was Ellie pushing you back against grey sheets, you make a sound that almost sounds like “oof” as you try to readjust. Ellie clambers on top of your squirming frame as another sputtered laugh escapes at the messy, and not very seductive, way you two found contact against the creaking mattress.

“Tell me,” you prompt, meeting Ellie’s narrowed green eyes. “Why should I? You’re laughin’ at me.”

Your eyes roll as Ellie’s lips fall into a pout that you want to kiss clean off. “Stop being a baby,” you mutter before letting your impulse win, your hands cupping the freckles cheeks of your girlfriend and pulling her down for a soft kiss. Her pouted lips quickly shape to your own, and you sigh in approval as the hand not holding herself up traces down to your waist.

“I’m not a baby,” your girlfriend complains when your lips part from each other, and you nearly pinch her cheeks from just how lovely you find the whiny drawl in her voice, instead you just shrug, biting back another half bubbled up laugh, “mhm, prove it.”

Ellie does just that. One tug on your hips has you flatter against the bed, one poke at your side has a squeal leaving your mouth. You see how Ellie’s lips quirk up, but before you can admire the sight, she kisses you again.

“So,” Ellie punctuates the word with a kiss, the sort that makes a loud and annoying smacking noise, before trailing her lips to your cheek. “Fuckin” Ellie’s lips find home on your jawline next, and act that has a simmering heat grow between your legs. “Perfect.” Ellie finishes the repeat of what her fingers had done earlier by nudging your head back, lips pressing softer kisses to the flesh of your neck.

Your eyes flicked to the side table, pupils finding the little camcorder as the auburn haired girl bit at your neck, your attention pulled away as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “El,” you breathe out, a hand finding her messy hair, nails scraping at her scalp as she bit harsher at the column of your throat. You aren’t sure why her name had been your first thought to say after seeing the camcorder, swallowing as your fingers itched to reach toward the side table.

“Hm? Tell me,” Ellie taunts, words muffled as her next target becomes your collarbone. Your own words biting at you again as your eyebrows furrowed together, watching as your girlfriend’s fingertips find the edge of your shirt, pushing it up as your hand falls from her hair to help take it off.

You pull her back for another kiss before you can even think to answer her question, one you weren’t even sure you could explain. Ellie’s needy fingers come into contact with the fat of your tits, tweaking at the perked nipples, nails pressing in just a little too hard, earning a mewl directly against the spit slick kiss. As Ellie kissed you, you tried your best to focus on the feeling, and not how you were acutely aware of the camera beside you.

Her tongue swiped at your bottom lip, warm against your parting lips as she searched to deepen the kiss, messy sounds of half breaths and kissing all sounded through the small area, your hips rolling up as her knee slotted itself between your trembling thighs.

You can’t help but wonder what this may look like on camera, and as Ellie pulls back, you notice the green of her eyes had dimmed, pupils blown as the pretty eyelashes fanned lightly. The freckles splattered over the apples of her cheeks were particularly prominent tonight, and you suspected it had something to do with the blood that rushed there, rosy and all around causing that same lovesick feeling to creep up your weakened bones.

You wonder if she would look as pretty on that grainy screen too.

Before your mind can even form another thought, Ellie is pulling away from your lips, a small whine the response she received. You can’t complain for long as she moves down, wet lips trailing sloppy kisses to your soft stomach, planting the ember of a growing fire in your groin, causing your hand to flex. Your eyes are pulled by an invisible string to the side of you again, the black material of the camcorder your gaze’s target. Ellie grumbles in response, and a small pinch on your hip has you yelping.

“What’re you looking at? Look at me.”

“Ellie,” you try again, lip quivering nervously as she ushers you to lift your hips, tugging off the bottoms you wore. “Fuckkkk,” she drawls, lost in her own little world as a large hand presses your thighs open. “You see that?” she marvels, a finger pressing against the wet spot on your panties. When she presses, you can feel the fabric stick to you, nearing translucent as she teases, your lips hugging the now soaked panties. It has your hips stirring in their spot, the flame in your stomach burning your liquid feeling stomach. “Ellie,” you sigh again.

Finally her gaze looks up, “Yea?” she asks, her voice softening. You can see the flash of confusion, her hand falling from your thigh as she searched for any apprehension. “You ok?”

“I can’t—“ your voice comes out whinier than you would like to admit, harsh against your ears with a feeling of embarrassment. “Can’t say it,” you finish, eyes moving to the camera sitting on the small wooden table beside you for the umpteenth time.

Ellie follows your eyes, and when you look back to her, there’s a flash of surprise in the shade of green you loved so much. It was replaced quickly, her eyelids drooping as her chin tilted up. “Hm. Don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, fingers going back to teasing your panty line.

Her tone is laced with sarcasm, the teasing tilt to it is a voice you had heard many times before, many times in this exact position. Ellie liked to make you say things, liked to watch you squirm. You were convinced at this point she got off on your embarrassment, and she probably wouldn’t even deny that.

“Gonna have to spell it out for me, babe,” Ellie added, dipping down to place soft kisses at your hip-bone, pink muscle licking over a mark there.

A low and annoyed sound escapes your throat, and your girlfriend chuckles against your flesh, one finger curling around the fabric of your panties, tugging it down a little ungracefully, your shaking thighs to thank for that.

“Barely even touched you yet and you’re shakin,” Ellie teases again, whispering softly, “Such a pretty pussy..” as the sight of your weepy folds meet her eyes. “This all for me, baby? Or somethin’ else on your mind?”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, hoping to rid your mind of the film reel like thoughts of the camera pressed in Ellie’s hand as she did this. They played over and over behind the black of your eyes, and another frustrated sound fills the garage.

“Not gonna answer?” Ellie was quieter now, repositioning herself, parting your thighs even more. A finger ghosted over your dripping cunt, a hum following the action. “Can’t make you feel better if you don’t use your words, y’know?”

The warm air hit your folds as Ellie exposed you more, thighs burning from the stretch, from the tight grip of one of her hands, fingers digging into and squeezing the fatty flesh.

The blanket beneath your bare ass is no comfort as you move around, and Ellie’s nose bumps against the softness of your thigh. So close, so fucking close to giving exactly what you were searching for, so close to your aching center that your resolve cracks lightly, head tilted back and against the pillow.

“The camera,” you croak, your mouth dry as your lips part, refusing to look at the other girl.

“What about the camera? Look at me and tell me what you want.”

The crease between your eyebrows likely was gaining small droplets of sweat just from how hard you were attempting to avoid this entire fucking conversation, but Ellie kept pressing you further, and who were you to deny her?

“Wanna film this,” you eventually admit, head dipping down to meet her darkened eyes.

“Yea baby? Wanna see what a mess I can make you?” Ellie’s words start to blur together, the idea surely muddling any coherent thoughts together in her mind, licking her lips as she awaits your response.

“Fuck— mmph, yes El. Please.*”

Ellie’s lips curl into a smile that’s more wicked than loving, “Red button starts it, you can hold it.” She instructed, and you scramble to reach your arm out, grasping at the little hand strap connected to the camcorder.

“There you go babe,” she nods, “give it a go, let me see what you’ve got.”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes a moment for your thumb to hit the button, to see the soft little red light noting the start of the film.

The grainy screen doesn’t pick up on all the freckles adorning Ellie’s face. The ones that made you feel all gooey, that you wanted to kiss until her face was a pretty shade of red. But it did capture her parted lips, the expanse of your thighs, and your shaky grip tilted the camera down as Ellie’s head dipped between your thighs.

Her mouth latched to your achy cunt, tongue licking up the drops of arousal that covered your slit, pearling on the petal like lips that she spreads with her fingers.

Your arms almost immediately gave out.

Clearly, you were not as skilled in the art of film making as Ellie had been, the camera dropping almost completely to your tummy as Ellie sucked at your cunt. Her eyes flicked up, and she unlatched from the saccharine slick that pooled on her tongue.

“You keep that camera steady,” she muttered, thumb rubbing tiny, tight circles on your throbbing clit. “Or I stop, yea?”

You nod quickly, hips grinding into the slow and steady motion of her thumb, wet with your sticky . You would have agreed to anything she demanded of you right now anyway. Too needy, too desperate to feel her lips on you again.

“ ‘M counting on you to make a pretty movie for me.”

The sentence tapers off as she disappears to the space between your thighs again, and you nearly and truly sob as her nose bumps your clit, her tongue poking experimentally against your hole, feeling as it clenches against nothing.

You know your whimpers and quick little puffs of air are being picked up by the camera, but you’re too focused on keeping the lense directly focused on the auburn tendrils of hair, on where her face was covered by your thighs caging her cheeks in, keeping her in the place she most needed to be, drinking down every single single drop you gave her.

“Ellie,” you whine, toes curling when she presses away from your clit, two long fingers coming to part your folds, admiring the sticky sight.

“Shhh,” Ellie coos, eyes glancing up at the camera again, the burning sight of her fern colored gaze through the tiny screen has your stomach clenching even harsher, hands trembling lightly.

The air on your exposed center lasts no longer than a few seconds, Ellie’s head dipping down as the warm, wet feeling of a glob of her spit trails down your clit, finding your pulsing hole. Her tongue swipes it quickly after, suckling gently at the shiny bubbles. The sound that follows, the loud wet squelch of your wetness mixing with her spit is enough to make you want to cover the speaker of the camcorder, fingers gripping tightly at the little contraption. She focuses on licking at your sopping cunt, her head moving slightly, moaning against your folds.

“Oh—nnh—El!” you cry, your chin trembling in tandem with the hand you try desperately to keep still. Your hips rut up, and Ellie’s face moves up with you, an arm detaching from its place on your squishy thigh to instead wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. Impossibly closer.

You can feel yourself closer, closer to that delicious peak, Ellie’s nose bumping your clit, tongue working mind numbing ministrations on you.

Then she pulls back.

“Fuckin made for me,” Ellie groans, taking a deep breath as she unlatched from your pussy, her fingers sweeping through your puffy lips. “Was fuckin’ made to let me taste you.” Her eyes flick to the camera, her tone louder than usual— a little less breathy. She wanted the microphone to hear.

You cry pathetically at the loss of her tongue, lip quivering.

“Tell me,” she demands, voice overpowering the slick noises of her now shiny fingers rubbing between your folds, the tips pausing at your pulsing hole, dipping only a little in, teasing. “Tell me this pretty pussy was made for me.”

And then Ellie is reaching forward, letting go of her grip on your hips to grab harshly at the camera, maneuvering it to show your trembling body, her fingers pressing open your lips, giving the camera a pretty close up of your soaked cunt. She croons at the sight, her fingers pressing together to land a short and sharp slap against the swollen lips. “S’pretty.”

“Ellie,” you choke, chest heaving up and down as the embarrassment creeps up, making that coil in your tummy even tighter.

“Tell me,” she says again, smoothly.

Desperate to have her fingers opening you up, to have her filling you and breaking that tightly wrapped tension in your groin, you break.

“I’m yours el. ‘m all yours, was made for you,” your voice is restrained, quiet as you chew at your lips, stirring in your spot as she continues the teasing.

“What else? Tell me more, baby,” she insists, one long finger sinking into you, hissing at the feeling of your cunt molding to her, perfect for her as you clench.

“A—ah!” your voice is a sweet little cry. You grind down into the feeling, searching for more. “It’s yours El,” you babble— louder now, head thrown back. Ellie captured the moment with a quick tilt up of the camera. “M-my pussy s’all yours.”

“Fuck,” Ellie breathes, her own, usually steady camera hand, wavering as you speak. She grants you with another finger as she thrusts harshly into you, a shriek pulled from your open mouth.

“So—s-so fucking perfect,” she grunts, curling her fingers gently, hitting that squishy spot in your walls that has you keening, eyes rolling back. “Love this pussy so much, shit—shit, love you so much.”

“Love you too El,” you blubber, your chin tilting down to stare directly at the camera for a second. That awkwardness, the fear from the early days of when she’d film you completely gone as you moan pathetically, eyes shiny with complete and utter adoration.

She only pistons her fingers into you harder, faster, relishing in how you moan, how your toes curl and your chin wobbles. You’re the prettiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

The camera points down to where she’s thrusting into you, watching through the screen as you meet her thrusts, your hips moving against the grey sheets, your thighs squeezing her hand in between them as you sob out.

Ellie meets your eyes, stealing your attention from the camera she keeps focused on your squirming frame, pounding her fingers into your cunt. “Cum for me, you can do it baby, go on. Give me a pretty show.”

And you do. Your sweaty back lifts off the bed with a sharp sob as the cord in your tummy snaps, gushing around Ellie’s fingers, pulsing around her as she thrusts shallowly, riding you through it.

Your vision goes black for a second as you heave, hands shaking as you reach out for Ellie, fingers looking to curl around her warm skin.

You don’t even notice the off click of the camera, of how she lets it softly drop to the side as she climbs up your shaky form, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“So pretty,” Ellie hums, “Prettiest movie star ever,” she mumbled, and you pour your lips— getting another soft kiss as she continues to plant tiny loving pecks around your face.

“Never should’ve let you keep that camera,” you whisper gently, smiling right when she does against the corner of your mouth that she pecks at.

“Yea fuckin’ right, we just made the movie of the year babe.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff

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petrichorium · 2 years ago

Text

“you broke up with nagi?”

you yelp at the sound of a voice behind you as you leave your apartment, dropping your key as you spin around and clutch your purse instinctively.

it’s reo. he’s leaning against the half-wall across from your door, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with some kind of contemplative frown marring his features.

“mikage, fuck, you scared me.” the familiar face has you relaxing. he only continues to stare you down, and you realize that he’s actually looking for a response; you clear your throat and shift a little awkwardly. “uh, yeah. it just wasn’t working out.”

his frown deepens. it’s distinctly ugly, you think—the furrow of his brow, the way his nose crinkles.

it’s now that you take note of his clothes—the jumper he wears is a pretty blue, certainly costing more than six month’s rent, and the jeans are expertly fitted. this is a singular visit, he hasn��t stopped by on the way to his work. you figure he’s taken the day off; perhaps for this specifically, or perhaps to support nagi. it isn’t your business anymore.

nor are you reo’s business anymore.

“what are you doing here?”

you watch his brow furrow further, that contemplative frown returning in full force. his eyes dart to the side, lips pursed, and he crosses his arms again.

for half a moment, you watch him. when he neither moves nor begins to speak again you decide to finish locking up while he ponders whatever it is that’s nagging at him.

you turn, glancing down to scan the concrete floor for your dropped key. the glint catches your eye a few inches away from where it had fallen—you crouch to pick it up, acutely aware of the pencil skirt and heels you’re wearing for the office.

when you rise to your feet you feel reo at your back before it fully registers.

how he spanned the distance so quickly and silently is beyond you, though you’re inclined to blame those professional athlete abilities. it doesn’t much matter either way when you spin around and find that he’s now right before you.

you lurch backward, shoulders slamming into your closed door, staring at him and his proximity with wide eyes.

“mikage…“ you trail off as he tilts his head.

“do you think i hate you?” the words are off—quiet and absent-minded, like he’s talking to himself, not you. it’s only magnified by the way he stares not at your eyes but at your lips.

you swallow thickly. “i don’t really care. nagi liked me, that’s all that mattered.”

“you don’t care…” reo gives a little huff. he pulls away just slightly, eyes flitting sideways as his hand flies up to ruffle his hair.

“reo—“ you start, and then catch yourself, but the damage is done. his eyes widen and his arm drops and he draws closer, closing the distance in a single step. at the same time he reaches out with his hand to brace against the door behind you, trapping you between his arm and the barricade next to you. you forget how big he is until times like this—until he crowds you up with your back to the wall, and every bit of your vision is filled with him, and he’s so close you’re surrounded by the heat of his body and the smell of his nice luxury cologne.

“to be honest i always did hate when you were around.” you feel his laugh fan over your skin, warm and husky. “but when he told me you’d broken it off with him, i was furious.”

“reo,” you say again, and you’re not even certain what it is you’re pleading for anymore.

“all i could think to do was come here to see you, couldn’t tell you why, but now… well.” he’s careful not to touch you, only to hover, and that’s worse somehow—it has your heartbeat quickening, your stomach flipping. it has you turning your head away and inadvertently baring your neck to him, a motion he takes full advantage of as he dips his head to almost-but-not-quite brush lips against your pulsepoint, and your breath hitches, eyes closing. “now i understand it.”

“stop,” your voice is hoarse, almost breaking, “nagi—”

“push me away, then.” it’s low, whispered like a secret, and he still doesn’t touch you but he keeps you pinned here, a butterfly under glass. as if to prove this point he presses closer, one polished leather shoe sliding forward between your legs, his free hand sliding behind your back. “push me off. i’ll leave. or…”

he drags that featherlight touch up your neck, along your jaw; stops just over your lips, eyes heavy-lidded and halfway to closed. you feel the words against you more than you hear them, spoken so quietly—like if he doesn’t say it aloud it isn’t a betrayal of his best friend.

you could kiss me.

and, really, it’s on reo—nagi, you remind yourself, isn’t your responsibility anymore. reo is the one betraying him. when you press forward, no more than a centimeter, it’s that thought which propels you. when you reach out to tug him in with a fist bunching that handsome sweater, you disregard how much you still care about your still-fresh ex.

and when you come to your senses a fraction of a second later it doesn’t matter. reo surges after you, encouraged by the minuscule taste of a kiss that you’d given him. if you’d thought him overwhelming before it’s nothing like now, as his arms close in and he presses you flush between him and your own front door.

his hand slides in behind you and sprawls, hot and heavy, wide at the small of your back; the other finds your cheek, cradles it gently but insistently as he gives you no choice but to tilt your head up towards his for easier access. in the back of your mind you feel like a horrible person for comparing, but it’s difficult not to—reo’s kiss is desperate, fervent, stark contrast to the lazy way nagi always kissed you. it’s messy, with clacking teeth and a questing tongue and the obscenely loud sound of spit-slick lips. your head would have slammed into the solid wood behind you if not for his hand cushioning you, and you can’t help but melt into him, falling limp in his hold.

before long you’re forced to turn your head and break away for air, chest heaving as you catch the breath he’s stolen from your lungs. he has no such need. his mouth doesn’t leave your skin, but in the absence of yours he turns his attention to sucking what will inevitably be a deep, lewd mark just beneath your jaw at the pulsepoint he’d been so interested in before. and it hits you then, exactly why he’s fixated: months ago, it’d been a mark right there that had revealed your relationship with nagi to him.

the revelation snaps you out of whatever spell you’d been under and you yank your hand back from his chest like it’s been burned. it slams into the door handle, still yet to be locked by the key you clutch in your other—which gives you the only thought you can manage with your mind so fogged by the feeling of his lips on your neck. you still fumble a bit, but you turn it, let the door swing back from behind you and feel the swoop in the pit of your stomach that accompanies your body dropping.

now you thank everything for those pro athlete instincts, because just as quickly as your support falls away reo is there to wrap his arm securely around your waist and, before you can even react, turn the pair of you around so that you land on his chest and he takes the brunt of the fall.

“ow— fuck, are you okay?” he’s sprawled out on the floor of your foyer, one arm around your waist as he blinks away the shock. that jumper is ruffled, bunched up the side to give you a little peek at the taut expanse of skin beneath, as he rubs at the back of his head with his free hand. ironically, you think this suits him better than the stiff, polished mannerisms he typically employs. there’s a boyish charm to the wide, dazed look and the little purse of his lips, the way his hair is now mussed. you’re almost inclined to giggle before you remind yourself, quite sternly, that reo’s charisma has always been a little overwhelming even when he isn’t trying. still, you soften, even easing into his hand at your waist.

but then he pauses in his motions, and lifts his head, and his eyes jump to the now-still door before meeting yours—and you fling yourself back, breath hitching as you settle on your haunches as far away from him as you can manage in a single motion.

“was that on purpose?” he asks, leaning forward to sit up and reach out towards you, all wild-eyed and hazy. you scramble back even further.

there’s a glint to those eyes now that they’ve fallen on you, something you don’t dare to name. something that makes you want to slam the door in his face and never return to your own apartment for fear of what you’ve trapped within; something you’ve only ever seen when he’s looked at nagi but only now realize can be turned on someone else, something you hope desperately is a fluke.

(the following day, when you arrive at work to find your desk flooded with hundreds of deep purple roses, you know it was a futile hope.)

prequel

#reo x reader #reo x y/n #reo x you #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #mine.🌧#char.🌧 reo #OKAY SDFHV OKAY THERE WE GO #if there r mistakes...... shaddup #JHSBDFJHB #i hope this isnt too tonally confusing #reader is Very Ambivalent okay we'll just blame it on that #and pretend it wasnt that i was very ambivalent abt how i wanted this to go LMFAOOOOOO #n e way #enjoy ig

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my-castles-crumbling · 11 months ago

Text

eyeliner - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 440 - NSFW but not explicit (stripper!Regulus, anyone?)

James wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. Somehow, Marlene's entire bachelorette party had migrated to the strip club, where scantily-clad dancers moved suggestively, and Peter had already taken three shots of tequila.

James stared around, eyes a bit glazed from the alcohol, not looking for anything in particular, contemplating challenging Pete to take another shot when he saw him-

An angel.

He moved across the room like he was floating, dark hair falling in loose waves over his kohl-covered eyes, matching black satin lingerie covering perfectly slim milky-white skin scrawled with tattoos.

James reached out to slap his hand against whoever was sitting next to him, hardly daring to look away.

"Ow! James, what?" Dorcas's voice yelped.

"Something to write with. Quick," James muttered, voice rough, eyes still glued.

"Erm...I only have-"

"Whatever you have," James nodded, still craning his neck to stare.

Not bothering to look at the pencil in his hand, he began to move as soon as he closed it in his fingers, chasing the man he set his sights on.

And with absolutely no finesse, he tapped him on the shoulder, nearly choking on his own spit when he realized that he had the most beautiful grey eyes on the planet.

After an awkward moment of silence, during which the piercing eyes looked him up and down, the man asked in a low, bored voice, "Want to dance? It'll cost you."

"No-no. Just a date," James forced out, still begging his brain to catch up.

The man scoffed. "What kind of person do you think I-"

Realizing how it sounded, James corrected himself. "A real date. Dinner. A movie. You- you're lovely."

Thin fingers pushed a strand of black hair away from eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Please," James nodded. "Can I have your number?" He held up the pencil as he asked.

But the man smirked. "Eyeliner?"

Doing a double-take, he looked at the pencil only to realize it was eyeliner. "Fuck. Sorry, I-"

"No problem," the man replied softly, snatching the pencil from him and holding his hand firmly.

How was it so sensual? Suddenly, the man was carefully, slowly writing on his arm with the dark pencil, the sensation of it drawing goosebumps and fire from James's skin. He almost drooled, watching the way the man bit his lip in concentration as he drew letters and numbers across his skin.

"Call me," the man whispered after a moment, handing the pencil back. He turned before James could say a word, giving him a wonderful view of the g-string he wore.

"Fuck," James murmured, looking down at his skin.

Edit: Marlene and Dorcas are having a joint Bachelorette party, guys. Sorry for the confusion!

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loveinhawkins · 2 years ago

Text

Up until recent events, Eddie hasn’t really put much thought into flashlights—save for that time he had to take out the batteries in the T.V remote to get his to work, back when the power went wonky last summer.

But now? Oh, as soon as he’s through with this whole nightmare, Eddie’s gonna find out whichever saint invented the damn things and start a petition to get them a federal holiday. That’s gonna be his whole… raisin something, something—he thinks it’s French, Buckley will know.

Fucking wondrous creations.

… Okay, he might still be a little jittery.

So sue him. It’s either run with his increasingly stupid train of thought or have a thoroughly justified panic about—well, there’s just so much to choose from: the ash in the air, the apparently sentient vines on the ground, how it’s so fucking cold and dark—

Jesus H. Christ, calm down.

It’s not all that dark anyway—or at least, it’s not as dark as it could be. Steve’s lighting the way, flashlight in hand. Honestly, Eddie thinks he should get it preserved, like in one of those glass cabinets in museums, complete with a plaque: This bulb somehow survived a journey from the depths of a lake into an alternate dimension, and all for the low, low price of…

Well, Eddie doesn’t know how much it cost. He’ll workshop the whole plaque thing.

In his reverie, he stumbles carelessly, nearly pitching over right into Hive Mind territory.

“Ah, shit,” he whispers.

Steve’s hand must move because the light drifts over—ends up illuminating much more of Eddie’s path than Steve’s.

“Thanks,” Eddie says—glances sideways to find Steve already looking at him.

“Think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Steve replies.

His hand flexes, as if he’d gone to twirl the flashlight before catching himself; Eddie has a very faint memory of Steve doing the same with pencils in class and fights a private smile.

“You gave me it,” Steve continues. “I would’ve just… gone right in without thinking.”

It’s said self-deprecatingly, but Eddie would argue that Steve’s impulsivity (his courage) is an admirable character trait, even if it sets his heart pounding.

His own problem is that he thinks too damn much, until the window of opportunity has almost been and gone.

He was the only one to hesitate before diving into the lake: he knows all too well how that could’ve made its way onto the increasingly long list of moments that haunt him.

He could’ve been too late, could’ve not found the Gate at all—and then, would only have been able to pathetically swim back to the kids and tell them that their heroes were gone.

The light skips onwards just a little, encourages Eddie to look up from his feet. He blinks a few times to try and adjust to the darkness looming ahead. There, the indistinct outline of trees, and he’s drawn back to a classroom again, to the soporific noise of chalk on a blackboard, to…

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

“The hell is that from?” Eddie wonders, and he doesn’t realise he’s also said the quote aloud until Steve speaks.

“S’a poem. Robert Frost.”

Eddie clicks his fingers. “See, that’s why you actually passed English.”

Steve rocks his hand back and forth, so-so.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t play coy now, Harrington.”

“I’m not, I passed by the skin of my teeth, dude.” Steve looks into the distance as he walks, like he’s being drawn back to some place, too. “I was meant to, um, submit a portfolio thing, and I just… didn’t.”

“Like stories and shit?”

Steve smiles. “Mm-hmm, and shit. Poems, too.”

“So why didn’t you…?”

Steve just shrugs in reply so Eddie changes tack—rolls his eyes expansively, but only at himself.

“Fucking Frost. Ugh, why can I remember that shit now, but when a paper’s in front of me, it’s just…” Eddie mimes an explosion in the back of his head, gone.

“Well,” Steve says, chuckling, “if the, uh, lovely atmosphere of this place jogs your memory, we’ll make some time, get you to write an essay.” He grins at Eddie, teasing and charming in equal measure. “We’re nothing if not productive.”

“Sure, that’s one word for it.”

Joking aside, Eddie finds that the mention of school calms his heart somewhat: to think of the foreboding sights around him as part of a story. Maybe it’s a control thing, like his campaigns. Dress shit up, put a film on top, then you don’t have to look at it directly.

He suggests as such to Steve in a longwinded ramble, and gets a thoughtful look in response.

“Like the Shire? And Mordor?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve nods slightly. The movement dislodges some particles in his hair—and yes, it helps, Eddie thinks, to believe it’s just freshly fallen snow.

“Yeah, that sorta never really worked for me?” Steve’s voice goes up at the end, almost apologetically, although for the life of him, Eddie can’t work out what he’s apologising for. “Like, when the kids ran with all the D&D stuff, the uh… analogy? Metaphor?”

Eddie gestures at himself with one hand, I failed English.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, whatever. Dustin and Lucas keep hashing that one out. Anyway, it didn’t exactly… help. Help me, I mean. Just made everything more…”

He sighs heavily.

Eddie thinks he understands. All his bullshit is just a veneer, after all: it doesn’t truly mask the fear.

“Hey, maybe you could give it a shot,” Steve adds. The light dances for a second, like he’s just barely resisted twirling the flashlight again.

“What?”

Steve smirks—juvenile, light-hearted, almost like he’s about to challenge Eddie at the school gym, like, bet you can’t make that shot from center court, Munson.

“You could write a poem. Make sense of…” Steve gestures around them.

“Harrington, as I keep reminding you, I failed English.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve heard Henderson go on about your campaigns, dude, s’not like they come from nothing.” Steve looks Eddie up and down in exaggerated scrutiny. “You look like the kinda guy who loves a theme.”

“Oh, really,” Eddie says flatly. He can’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“That’s what I thought, every time you’d come into class late: oh, here he is. The symbolism.”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, shut up.” Eddie steps into Steve’s space just to shove him away (just to touch). He thinks that if he were to try his hand at poetry, it’d be horrendously self-indulgent—something about how he might not be the one holding a flashlight right now, but he’s certainly carrying a torch.

“I don’t work for free, Steve. You’ve gotta do one, too.”

“A poem for a poem, huh?” Steve says. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

And yeah, they might just be saying anything to pass the time. But Eddie chooses to believe otherwise; there’s still a pensive flicker in Steve’s eyes that makes him think he might just get lucky, that Steve might even dig up some old stuff from his abandoned portfolio.

It’s a nice thought—something to look forward to, at the end of all this.

He considers Steve, and even though he knows it’s not snow, he can’t help but turn the particles into flakes in his mind again, into something prettier, safe—almost as if Steve’s presence has softened the danger.

He wants to stop here, suddenly. Linger. It doesn’t make sense. But it feels like time is…

A gentle nudge—a warm elbow to his side.

“C’mon, daydreamer,” Steve says. “You can write down whatever you’re thinking later.”

Eddie snaps out of it with a breath of a chuckle, follows Steve’s light again. Keeps moving forward—past the ash, and the vines, and the trees.

The woods won’t be forever.

After all, he’s got promises to keep.

#oh the woods… they could’ve talked about so much #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Note

how do i find a laptop that won't immediately break when (not if) it slides off the tray on my lap while I'm reaching for a pencil or something? I thought I was buying something relatively robust with my current laptop but it's gotten damaged twice in two years, even though I was trying hard to be careful. Any tips on where to shop for something more durable?

Anyway your tech explainers are very helpful, have a good day!

Generally speaking, laptops are built to be lightweight, not durable.

If I had unlimited money to spend on a computer, I'd get a Panasonic Toughbook maxxed out on all the specs and I'd end up with a computer that cost more than some cars I've owned and would be totally worth it. I actually own two 20+ year old toughbooks that are totally worth it and Large Bastard owns several (we paid between 0 and $100 for each of these), but those are all old enough that they're dedicated to a single task like programming radios, not useful as modern computers. A new Toughbook starts at around $2k and goes up to obscene prices.

This is a laptop that costs more than any car I've ever owned, and will survive a fall of fifty feet and can be used fairly effectively in a thunderstorm.

Because laptops are built to be slender and small, they don't have a lot of room left in them to flex or to pad against drop damage. If a laptop is sliding off your lap and onto the floor, that's probably a fall of at least two feet, which will be enough to significantly damage most laptops because they are not meant to withstand falls.

If you are certain that you are going to end up dropping your laptop, you need to look for ruggedized laptops.

There are low-end ruggedized laptops for students, these are typically chromebooks and I wouldn't recommend them because they are chromebooks and also they tend to be really underpowered.

Toughbooks are the highest, high-end ruggedized laptops. If you've got the money for them, you can't do better, and there are some that are decent when compared to similarly priced slim laptops.

The Dell Latitude 5430 Rugged is somewhere in between those two options; it's expensive but not extortionate and it's not the most powerful computer in the world but it'll do laps around a chromebook.

But if you're looking for a thin, lightweight laptop that is going to survive a fall, I'm just going to recommend that you upgrade your warranty to include drop protection and anticipate it breaking. Laptops aren't designed to survive falls.

Laptops that are in metal cases tend to do a little better in falls than laptops in plastic cases. Laptops with nothing plugged in during a fall are less likely to get damaged than laptops with USB or power jacks in use.

Good luck, and you have a good day as well!

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tassjis · 1 year ago

Text

Small Copper - 10 lion Medium Copper - 100 lion Large Copper - 1,000 lion Small Silver - 10,000 lion Large Silver - 100,000 lion Small Gold - 1,000,000 lion Large Gold - 10,000,000 lion

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30 Fruit on the market <100 Payment for ordinary handiwork

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100 Shumil Feystone 100 Effa paid Lutz 200 Payment per flower part of a hair stick 500 Payment for making a mass-produced hairpin

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1,000 2 mugs of Behelle and some sausages in Ebb's bar 1,100 Hair ornaments with an express fee 2,000 Stone slate and one slate pencil 3,000 Initial price set for a mass-produced hairpin 6,000 A used calculator 8,000 Myne took home after selling her first sheets of paper 8,000-10,000 Ralph's monthly salary

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10,000 10 cookies sold at the Harpsiel concert 10,000 Given to each soldier escorting grey priests to Hasse 10,000 Cost per hair stick arranged for the girls in the Ehrenfest dorm to wear as a promotion 20,000 postcard-sized parchment 20,000 postcard-sized Volrin paper 30,000 profit from Frida's hair sticks (split between Lutz and Myne) 40,000 postcard-sized Trombe paper 40,000 A bottle of writing ink 40,000 Initial price for one of Freida's hair sticks 50,000 registration for the Myne Workshop 50,000 - 70,000 planned price for Reversi and Playing cards 60,000 Frieda's twin hairpins

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100,000 An apprentice uniform for Gilberta Co. 100,000 contract-sized parchment 100,000 contract-sized Volrin paper 100,000 minimum monthly wage for a Math and Writing Tutor - Three 1 bell lessons per week 100,000 Monthly salary of a gatekeeper (Gunther's Salary) 160,000 Myne's share of the 5 small gold donated to the temple 200,000 Given to the guards for handling an unexpected Clarrisa correctly 300,000 Monthly travel allowance paid to Italian restaurant chefs 300,000 Price for a Concert Program 300,000 Single colour poker set 400,000 Premium Reversi and playing cards 500,000 contract-sized Trombe paper 500,000 Monthly rental fee of an Italian chef 500,000 A Ferdinand portrait sold at the concert 500,000 Price of Karuta sold at the castle 500,000 - 800,000 Ticket price for low seats at the concert 800,000 Final price for a picture book

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1,000,000 price per Italian restaurant recipe 1,000,000 Highest seats in the concert 1,000,000 A picture book sold at the castle 1,000,000 Coloured playing cards sold at the castle 1,000,000 Price paid on Brigette's dress 1,000,000 Damuel's reward for the raise angelicas grade squad 1,000,000 Previous Grey Priest price 1,000,000 Royal Academy's Library Registration fee 1,800,000 Initial price of the Children's Bible 2,000,000 Laynoble price for Rozeyne's Mana Compression Method 2,000,000+ A faulty magic tool that will break 2,800,000 Cost of the mana tool to save Myne 2,800,000 2.5 years of Gunther's annual income 3,000,000 Information Fee to improve Rinsham 3,000,000 Used Mana draining tool that has been overwritten twice 5,000,000 Commission for a new mana-draining tool (estimate) 5,000,000 Average price for a grey priest 5,000,000 exclusive rights to pound cake for a year 6,000,000 Production method for plant paper 8,000,000 Mednoble price for Rozemyne's Mana compression method

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10,000,000 Mynes initial donation to the temple 17,000,000 Production method and rights to hair sticks 20,000,000 Archnoble price for Rozemynes Mana Compression method 22,000,000 price of grey priest Volk 30,000,000 deposit to borrow a book from the Royal Academy's library 30,000,000 Donations from the Tea Party 40,000,000-50,000,000 Price of a book 50,000,000 250 Trombe Paper (The size of a holy book) 128,600,000 profit from Ferdiand's concert (an undisclosed portion of this is considered "loose change" to Ferdinand) 180,000,000 estimated cost of transcribing and translating Dunklefelger's history

#I may have missed something #honzuki no gekokujou #ascendance of a bookworm

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battry-acid · 6 months ago

Note

From your recent piece with Colossus in it, I would love you to elaborate on the autism mention!!

If it’s a hc, I love it, I have never thought of it before and it just makes a lot of sense

absolutely!!! apologies for the incoming ramble

yes it's only a headcanon, not actually canon (for now). i've always related to colossus both as a neurodivergent person and as an artist due to how it's easiest for him to communicate his feelings through art, and how he otherwise normally struggles with words. that is the main reason i view him as autistic, among many other reasons. the many other reasons are listed below!

<< DISCLAIMER: when i talk about x-men characters, unless i'm specifying a particular IP/media, just assume i'm talking about the original run of the all-new all-different uncanny x-men comics and how the characters are portrayed there. 1975-1990 is the sweet spot. that is the "source material" to me, the blueprint of what roles those characters are made to serve and what their most prominent traits are. yay >>

1. COMMUNICATES BEST THROUGH ART

piotr specifically says "my pencil can create far better pictures of this land...than my poor words." in "prison of the heart" (this story appears in vol 1 issue 5 of classic x-men as it was cut from the original run of UXM. it takes place between issues 97 and 98). yet he still calls his drawings "not very good". he thinks he's terrible at communicating no matter how he tries to do so.

to summarize in the story, he falls in love with a fellow russian immigrant with an artistic heart named anya. he expresses his affection by giving her a drawing of her performing, "from my heart to yours". it is the purest way he can express how he feels.

and yet, it doesn't work out. he protects her by turning into colossus, a show of his care for her, and she runs from him in fear.

this sequence makes my heart EXPLODE. mfw autistic people get called heartless all the time for struggling with empathy

the way he talks and acts as colossus is entirely different to how he talks and acts as piotr. it's obvious by how quickly his voice dies in his throat when returning to his unarmoured state. he was boasting such confidence in armoured form, and when it's over....all that confidence is gone. this is the purest example of how he switches between confident and quiet, protected and sensitive, physically and emotionally between forms.

from then on, he's afraid of himself, and more afraid to express himself. he continues to hide his art and he avoids forming stronger bonds with anyone other than fellow x-men, and even that is hard for him. he has intense rejection sensitivity (like meee) and i think he has incredibly high levels of empathy (LIKE MEEE) which is as much an autistic trait as low levels of empathy are. he cares so much, he cares so much it hurts, so he has to protect himself.

it is a common theme with the characterization of piotr that his powers are defense, they are to protect himself and others. he needs to protect his sensitive heart. so large, so compassionate, but so fragile. he may be able to protect himself from physical harm in his armoured state, but he cannot protect himself from emotional harm no matter what he does. he still has his weaknesses, impenetrable skin or no.

2. STRUGGLES IN HIS RELATIONSHIPS

when he gets another chance at romance in "first love" (classic x-men vol 1 issue 21, also in UXM issue 115) he is afraid. he says that he is afraid repeatedly and uhhh there's a lot of things that happen in that story that i am going to avoid talking about right now (it has triggering content and is recognized as a problematic portrayal of indigenous pacific islanders. boy oh boy do i hate the savage land. i may talk about this more in depth at another time if somebody wants me to!) it's like, yay, they don't judge him for being a mutant, or for being afraid!!! but at what cost (bad things happen to him)

and this is, of course, not the only instances of piotr having issues with romance. he seems to constantly experience issues in relationships due to his insecurities, rejection sensitivity, and (very reasonable imo) fears. he has as much trouble expressing his affections for someone as he does verbalizing his discomfort in others' advances towards him. because even when he has said no in the past, some have not listened to him. so he chooses to stay silent. I ALSO HAVE HAD THESE ISSUES!!! it can be so hard being in relationships (romantic or otherwise) as an autistic person, it can be so hard learning effective ways to communicate, it can be so hard constantly fighting to be treated like a person. that's what he feels like to me. he does make progress over time, but it's difficult for him, and he never truly masters it.

3. HAS HIS HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

there's also the entire aspect of piotr of being a bit oblivious at times. sometimes it's to depict him as a younger member of the group with less experience, or as the russian who doesn't understand american customs, or just simply a guy off in his own world that only snaps back to reality when he has to focus on a fight. he ain't the leader for a reason, he's a follower type of guy. my favourite thing ever is when they talk about him like he isn't there and he's just "?"

i don't know why they repeatedly depict piotr as just "❓" red question mark emoji personified but i never want it to stop. i actually adore it

but just being a little oblivious isn't enough sometimes. sometimes they gotta push it. sometimes he's portrayed as being so stupid that he can't even count!!! love to see it! (/s) people looove to insult his intelligence. people looove to call him an idiot both in and out of canon. don't that just remind you of somethin? of having your intelligence questioned all the time solely based on how you act?

you see this struggle to advocate for himself, or being a bit naïve in his hopes for another person, in every single depiction of piotr. or, at least, every single accurately characterized depiction of piotr. in as long drawn-out plot points of piotr feeling as though he can't join the x-men in x-men: evolution, from as small instances of deadpool grabbing his ass in the deadpool movies and him clearly being kind of uncomfortable but giving up on trying to sway wade, you see him struggle to verbalize how he feels. he always says nothing. he's called the strong but silent type for a reason.

4. PREFERS TO PLAY IT BY THE BOOK

on a different note, we get to see how much he loves rules and schedules and routines. he is definitely a goody two-shoes at times in terms of how inclined he is to follow the rules no matter what, usually because that's what he thinks xavier wants him to do. it takes encouragement for him to want to do something other than what he understands to be the socially acceptable thing to do.

just one mere example of his nature to follow the rules:

this one panel is single-handedly one of the best representations of how the three of them interact with each other and what makes them such a fun trouple

there's so many more examples i could point out, but it can all be summarized simply by the fact that he is always a follower, never a leader. he doesn't like to make the rules, he just likes to follow them. he likes to have a clear idea of what he is expected and supposed to do, and can easily be directed in ways that benefit others the most. i love being told what to do if it means i get to help other people!!! it's so much easier having someone tell me what to do and clearly communicate what is expected of me instead of playing this constant social guessing game i always find myself in.

IN CONCLUSION...

so he's kind of unobservant, emotionally illiterate, rule-oriented, experiences empathy at an abnormal level, and expresses himself best in artistic ways. so what, you may ask? that's hardly enough evidence to be autistic. make him take the RAADS, you fool. and to that, i say....y'know what, fair, you don't have to agree with me, but also i don't care and he's autistic and yay yippee yippee i love colossus so much yaaay he's autistic just like me :D!!!

i have so many feelings about piotr. can you tell x-men has been my special interest since i was 8 years old?

<< also yes i know there is a kitty-sized elephant in the room. if someone sends an ask for me to do so, i may talk about my feelings on her relationship with piotr at some point. that is a whole other can of worms >>

#thank you for reading my x-men essay. x-say? sure #ask answered #feel free to ask me more stuff!!!#i love writing a manifesto of why one of my comfort characters is autistic #piotr rasputin #colossus x men #colossus #x men #uncanny x men #uxm #x men comics #FASTBALL TRIPLE #my headcanons #autistic headcanon #autism #audhd #neurodivergent

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instrumentastrology · 2 months ago

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New Years Resolutions

Flute: Your year is now monochromatic! Congratulations. Pick a color, or spin a wheel to spice it up. You can only wear, eat, and touch things of that color! Go on, you've earned that pink Mendini Flute.

Oboe: You have entered your soothsayer era. You now exclusively speak in rhymes and riddles. Buy a robe and grow out your hair to really commit to the bit. Drape your reedmaking supplies conspicuously around yourself for that extra bit of authenticity.

Clarinet: Start applying to reality TV shows - really insist on making the clarinet your entire personality. The Bachelor/ette would be a good place to start, particularly if you stand up the last person standing for your instrument - but I'm not telling you how to live your life.

Bassoon: World's largest ball of twine? Boring. Time to start the world's largest ball of reed thread. Sell tickets under the table and use it to fund your ridiculously expensive hobby.

Saxophone: It's time to reinvent yourself. Who will you be? What will you become? Mortuary Scientist? Squirrel Whisperer? Nurse? What will you sacrifice? Burn all of your material possessions and start over. Give your name to the fae. No takesies-backsies.

Trumpet: It's time to start that gym membership you've been thinking about. Not because there's anything wrong with your body - no. Your body is perfect. You're perfect, you silly creature. But everyone's past catches up to them if they don't stop running from it, so you'd better be ready.

Horn: Learn a new language, to appease the old, green owl god. Select the most obscure one you can find. The weight of its continued existence now rests in your hands. This is your burden to carry for having superior aural skills.

Trombone: Start a cult. What could possibly go wrong?

Euph/Baritone/Tuba: Turn the world upside down and break the status quo. Write a new piece of music, giving all of the glory to the low brass and reeds for once. The flutes get the bass line. Make every rhythm needlessly complicated for no reason, and demand that the editor not fix it. It wasn't a mistake. Make the others suffered as you have.

Percussion: Collect every pencil left on the floor after rehearsal. If your group is good about that, resort to theft. They'll never expect it from you. Create a new..." addition" to the percussion family with your collection. Interpret that as you see fit.

Violin: Join a new niche hobby. But only something that you're good at right away, or it won't be fun. The smaller the hobby, the more likely you are to claw your way to the top. Success at all costs.

Viola: Create short-form videos on the internet in which you take on the persona of an entirely new person who time-travels and does not play the viola. Build a following. Once achieved, pull the rug out from under everyone and tell them you were a violist all along.

Cello: You broke an item when you were a small child. You might not remember what it was - but the ghosts do. They've been biding their time, waiting to exact their revenge. You'd better study up and figure out how to best prepare for that.

Double Bass: Saving money will be critical for you this year. Big instrument = big debt. Look on the bright side, gigs are often plentiful for someone of your caliber, and if the mob comes for you, you'll probably fit in the case...

Piano: You should really get outside more, you've been looking a little pale lately and the vampire rumors have started. If those rumors are true and the outside is indeed dangerous, then bring the outside in with a few new plants at the windows.

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angryschnauzer · 1 year ago

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I realised two months have gone by since i last updated you all, i'm not even sure if anyone is interested anymore. I know i haven't been on much, perhaps sporadically coming on and mindlessly reblogging Henry stuff just for a little escape, but its intermittent at best. I had hoped to be back to writing by now, but life is still a huge pile of shit.

I'm run ragged trying to pay the bills. My wedding decorations business is halfway between slow and dead; the cost of living crisis means weddings aren't really happening, and if they are most of the items i do people are making themselves. My side gig in ebay flipping is quiet too but at least its trickling by. I don't mention this much as people get a lot of abuse over 'thrift store flippers' (Charity Shop resellers here in the UK), but right now its what's keeping my family fed. I buy clothing for £1 from the stinky dregs bin in a charity shop, wash it, mend it, resell it for £4. I'm not making millions or even thousands. I'm lucky if i'm bringing in £150 a week which barely covers our weekly food shop. Its draining that when i do eventually mention this to my friends they immediately start moaning at me that i'm the one 'ruining' charity shops and why its pushing the prices up. But when i calmly tell them its that or i don't eat they go quiet. I'm not the one pushing a 2nd hand coat for £25 which was only £20 brand new which most high street charity shops are doing. Do i like doing this? No. Do i have to? Yes. Because i sure as ain't cute enough for onlyfans.

But the majority of my time over the last couple of months has been spent caring for our son. He's 8 and has type 1 diabetes, and since school started back in September one little shit in his class has spent every waking moment bullying him. This little shit has been stabbing my son with pencils, poking him in the kidneys with whatever he has to hand, laughing and sneering at him at every opportunity even when he's just walking past. Having the adrenaline and cortisol in my son's bloodstream affects how his insulin works, and he builds up an insulin resistance because of all the other hormones in his bloodstream. I've had so many meetings with the school, and have had to get the board of governors involved because when your 8 year old kid says quietly to you "It would be better if i wasn't alive as then *Little Shit* wouldn't be able to bully me" your heart breaks into pieces.

He needs my support more than anything, so every single other thing has been put by the wayside. And its tough. He acts out at home, messes around with his dinner because he feels he needs to be able to control something, but that in turn messes up insulin dosing so i'm spending half the night dealing with highs and lows for his blood sugars. I get at most 5 hours sleep a night.

I have no more energy left. I'm not eating, because i just can't stomach it. I'm 43 and hitting menopause, but my doctor doesn't want to know because "You just need to loose some weight" (don't get be started on fat bias from the NHS).

So i'm filling my time with volunteering at school so i can be 'around' for my Little Dude. He knows that if he's having an awful day, he will find me in the office sorting through paperwork for our next fundraiser. Its not what i want to be doing, but its what i need to be doing.

One day i hope to get back to my writing. I miss being creative and i hate that i have so many stories part written/published. As the months tick by i actually end up seeing stories written by others that have the same characters/plotlines. This is no-ones fault that two stories exist on the same synopsis, it would just seem that they and I have taken the same inspiration from media at some point. But it makes me scared that if i now publish a story i started 2 years ago, i'll be accused of stealing an idea. I don't know what to do. So i just leave my WIP folder abandoned.

For everyone that has stayed with me thank you. For those that have moved onto pastures new, i wish you well and hold no malice.

I do love you all

Mama Schnauz

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spoiledmilks · 3 months ago

Note

not sure if you've said this before, but which brush(es) do you use for your sketches? i love the texture everything has!

These two are my bread and butter

First is a textured pencil brush with pressure sensitivity that doesnt affect the opacity (it also costs 10 points on the clip studio store) good alternatives would be pencil brushes with low pressure sensitivity

Second is a nice smooth line brush which was for free on the clip studio store

(both brushes are in brush packs)

Also for my textured look i always put a noise layer on top of my drawings <3

#inbox

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johankasas · 4 months ago

Note

I’m sorry if it was already asked by someone, but what materials do you use for your traditional art?

Heya!!

Okay this will be a bit of a longer reply since over the years I do art I've accumulated a lot of tools, but I'll try to write it in a "digestible" way under the cut.

1. Sketchbooks

I am an easy woman, I like sketchbooks that have a lot of pages, can handle multiple tools and doesn't cost me a fortune. So far the winner in this is Canson XL for mixed media.

2. Sketching

For my sketching and pencil doodles I use mechanical pencils in size 0.5 and 0.3 with HB lead, it's the easiest one to erase and it doesn't smudge, not any preference in a brand, just don't really use the light plastic ones since they tend to creak.

For erasing I use a combination of kneadable eraser and tombow mono eraser for more precise things.

3. Lining

tombow fudenosuke!!!!! Best marker ever, doesn't smudge under water nor alcohol markers and has flexible nib.

If you're not a fan of the flexible nib, my other go to are either liners from Uni-pin or microns

4. Coloring

For my marker pieces like this one :

I use the cheapest off-brand alcohol markers I bought in a big set on AliExpress. They're great for personal work but not that much if you're planning to display it anywhere, the color gets immediately eaten by sun

For my watercolor pieces like this

I now use white nights watercolors :]

The set of 36 to be exact and some random brushes I also accumulated over the years.

Before investing in white nights I used watercolors from Koh-i-noor, that looked like this :

And are much cheaper (in Czechia, dunno the prices out of the country)

For white highlights I use Sakura gelly roll pens. I tested out different brands too and these do their job the best.

5. Scrapbooking/ collage backgrounds

For backgrounds like this:

I accumulated over some time a lot of scrapbooking papers and stickers either from action or AliExpress, but also sometimes I use cut outs from magazines I get for free.

For precise cutting I use a precision craft knife, but before that I just used a box cutter knife, just don't press too hard.

Also a very good thing to get is a light pad, again AliExpress is your friend in this, and tbh before moving to the light pad, I used to shine my phone camera under the paper.

Makes the cutting muuuuuch easier.

And last but not the least

6. Taking photos of your art/ scanning

Phone camera + Snapseed is god tier combo for me, there are so many tutorials on YouTube how to edit the photos into full crispy quality.

But between my friend group it's well known that I am not very good at taking photos, so I scan most of my things.

Just a disclaimer that a good scanner is a very expensive thing ... But if you're willing to go through some loops, you can get a very neat CCD scanner from second hand for very cheap, sadly most of the time the cheap ones are very old and it took a lot of prayers and IT friend to set that thing up :DDD

So that's all I can think of right now, don't forget I got all these things over the years, and still I tend to draw or doodle with pretty cheap low quality things, since I believe that art can be made with everything... The more professional tools just tend to make things easier, but still it's better to test it out a bit before fully jumping into buying big expensive sets.

I wish a lot of luck with creating and don't be scared to experiment :3

#me žblptin #long post #art tips #jojka's creations #traditional art #i hope that my rambling is understadable-

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hotcheetohatredwastaken · 1 year ago

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Day 2 -- Solitary Confinement

Modern AU where young Wild is a feral forest child, raised by Wolf Twilight. He is captured, separated from Twilight, and put under observation. Confusion, claustrophobia, loneliness.

Wild missed the Wolf.

Well, he missed a lot of things. He missed his own clothes—his cloak, soft blue tunic and khaki trousers, even his shoes—which had been taken from him and replaced with a scratchy, backless gown that seemed to slip off his shoulders every time he dared to move. Even his hair tie was gone, and his long blond hair hung loose around his face. He missed the forest he’d lived in ever since that portal had snatched him up and dropped him in a world he didn’t recognize. He missed his cave that he called home and shared with the Wolf, and he missed the little trinkets the Wolf had brought to him he kept on the shelf next to his bed—his sketchbook, his few pencils, his stuffed replica of Wolf that he slept with every night that Wolf was away. He missed the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and the birds singing from their branches and leaves rustling beneath his feet on the forest floor. He missed the sky, bright and blue above him.

It was all replaced with silence and this dim white room. Eerily steady lights hummed and flickered overhead, making his ears ring; the cold tile floor nipped at his toes anytime he ventured from the low bed in the corner of the room; the white walls burned themselves into his vision; the air itself, stale and heavy, weighed heavily against his chest with each inhale and exhale; and the one-way mirror on the opposite side of the room antagonized him worse than anything else, taunting him with his own bedraggled reflection.

Wild glared at that mirror, loathing it with all of his being. He imagined driving his fist through it and shattering it to pieces. He focused on a section of the glass, and he hoped that he was managing to stare down whoever was behind it, though he couldn’t tell. Those people hiding behind its shield—people with rounded ears and blinding lights in their hands and rough voices, that talked in a language that he didn’t understand—had been the ones that brought him here. That kidnapped him.

Wild hugged his knees close, curling smaller into himself where he sat on this unfamiliar bed, wedged in the corner of the white, sterile room. Even the bed itself was an odd thing, with dark blue covers covered in cartoonish shapes and the walls around it surrounded by faded, peeling stickers of stars and rainbows as far as one could reach. He thought it might have been meant to brighten up the atmosphere of the room, but the odd splashes of color clashed horribly with the white of the rest of the room, and it only made him all the more anxious.

Guilt and fear waged a battle in Wild’s chest. It was all of his fault that he’d been kidnapped by these strangers, he knew. The Wolf had warned him, with sharp nudges and low growls, from getting too close to the people of this world. People with rounded ears and language and machines outside of his comprehension, similar to the Divine Beasts, but also so different. They’d had a few close encounters—each time, Wolf had signaled for Wild to hide and driven the interlopers away with his fierce stature and glowing blue eyes—and afterwards, Wolf would move them deeper into the forest. He would drive it in, with his expressive glances and exasperated huffs, that these people were to be avoided, at all costs.

In his curiosity, Wild hadn’t listened to the warning. Last night—had it been last night? There was no sun by which to tell the time within here—he’d snuck away from the Wolf to explore one of those nearby villages, with its bright lights and tall buildings and roaring machines.

He’d only meant to have a little expedition, not even crossing the hard roads that crisscrossed the thinner parts of the forest. He’d only wanted a glimpse. But they spotted him, and before he could get his wits about him, he was surrounded. A group of them—all older than him, stronger than him—had run him down through the forest, cornered him against a natural cliff, caught him and wrestled him inside of one of their roaring beasts even as he kicked and screamed, crying out for the Wolf to save him all the while. He’d been too far from home by then, and the Wolf hadn’t heard.

Something had stabbed into his neck, an unnatural sleepiness had overcome him, and he’d woken up here, under the thin covers of that bed in the corner of the room.

Completely alone.

Wild wondered if the Wolf knew where he was. If he knew that he’d even been taken. Perhaps the Wolf was sitting at home, his head on his paws, as he wondered when Wild would get home to cook dinner from whatever he’d hunted during the day. Maybe it hadn’t been long enough, and he didn’t even know that anything was wrong. Wild’s heart clenched at the idea, and he turned his mind away from it, towards action.

Wild knew, rationally, that he had to escape and get back to the Wolf on his own, somehow. But he’d run through the scenarios a thousand times, and there was nothing in the room to help him get out. The door that trapped him here was thick and windowless, its handle stiff and guarded by some glowing square that the strangers hit little buttons on to open and close. He’d already crept over to it, and despite how much he fiddled with the contraption, it only flashed red and beeped at him unrelentingly. Both chairs in the room, as well as the metal table around which they sat, were bolted firmly to the floor, so he couldn’t use their edges to break that cursed window. The flap in the door through which they delivered food—which he had ignored earlier that day—was too small for Wolf to fit his muzzle through, nevermind for Wild himself to shimmy his way out.

And besides, those strangers were still watching him through that window. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there, observing his every move. It made his hair stand on end, to know that they could see him while he couldn’t see them in return.

And suddenly, frustration and anger seized Wild so fiercely that he was shooting to his feet and crossing to the one-way mirror before he even realized he’d moved.

“Let me out! Let me out of here!” he demanded in a yell. His reflection shouted back at him, wild-eyed and pale, its shoulders drawn up in defensive anger. He banged his fist against the glass, and it bowed slightly underneath the weight of his blow, but it didn’t break. “What do you want? Who are you people? Where am I? Where’s Wolf? What’s going on? I want to go home!”

There was a cup on the table, it had been there since he arrived. It was filled with some syrupy, sweet smelling liquid that Wild was sure was poison. In an instant, Wild had snatched up the cup and thrown it at the mirror. It bounced off of the glass with a brilliant spatter, then rolled along the floor, emptying the rest of its contents in a wide arc across the sterile white tiles.

“What’s going on? Where’s Wolf! I want to go home!” Wild’s voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “Let me out! I want to go home!”

Wild’s chest heaved with fury as he glared down the mirror, his ears pinned back and his teeth bared in animalistic anger. The mirror, as always, gave him no response.

And suddenly, the room seemed to be growing smaller, and the air thinner. This was it, the walls would close in and the ceiling would lower until he was crushed into a little tiny box. The room would run out of air, and he would suffocate. He’d be trapped here forever until he died, and he’d never escape those eyes that he couldn’t see, and he’d never find Wolf again.

Wild stumbled away from that cursed mirror, choking on air. He had to get away from those eyes, to get away from the white walls so that he could breathe . But how could he hide, when there was no way to escape this room? Somehow, he found his way back to that bed in the corner of the room, and a semblance of an idea managed to rise from the panic consuming his mind.

Wild threw himself underneath the bed, dragging down the covers of the bed to the floor like a curtain to hide himself, and wedged himself into the far corner of the small space. With the eyes finally off of him, his breathing eased, but not by a lot. He hugged his arms around himself, breathing in and out with a count of eight just like Wolf had taught him.

He longed for Wolf so much that it brought tears to his eyes. Wolf would have curled up next to him underneath this bed, poking him with his cold, wet nose until Wild uncurled and buried his face in his thick fur instead. He would’ve walked him out of here and taken him home, where his surroundings had color and sound and natural light, where he wasn’t watched and where things made sense. Instead, he was here all alone, and it was all his fault.

Hylia, he missed Wolf.

Visit me on ao3! Day 2 -- Solitary Confinement

Yeah so basically this is an AU i've been sitting on for a few years that's like Pete's Dragon but instead it's Wild's Wolf and also he gets taken to freaking Area 61 because he's from another world and got those long elf ears. Listen, I don't really have this thing fleshed out. Anyways let me know what you think :D

First Chapter >> Next Chapter

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #wild linked universe #lu wild #wild lu #twilight linked universe #tbf he isn't really here #but he's mentioned a lot #also he's a wolf not actually a person #haven't decided if he can transform or if wild knows if he can #i am in awe of all you modern au people #linked universe au #cheetowrites #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday2

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