#did anyone ever write a fic for this art because...i need it

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[ruruvxz]

what is making out with newjeans Minji would be like ? Oneshot idea

“DRAIN ME”

Roommate!Kim Minji x Law Major!Reader

↳synopsis: College was hard enough especially ever since your new roommate moved in with a high and mighty attitude. Always berating you for your life choices and the people you constantly surround yourself with; she was the epitome of annoying. But you couldn’t help but be… enamored by her in some weird way.

↳cw: classic roommate troupe, swearing, overachieving, making out, Minji is stuck up, reader is also stuck up, both kinda annoy me, pure fluff, slightly sexual themes

↳wc:2.6k

a/n: how does… how does someone write a kissing scene what the fuck heuahhfhhhhh, i was a little bit too embarrassed to write this. kinda halfassed but idk what else to add anther … Also this is the 5TH rewrite for this Minji fic im trying to cope with the news that they might disband rn.

Harvard was hard enough to get to, especially with the scholarship you broke your back for, no one deserved to be here more than you. Needless to say, you found it awfully annoying whenever, Kim Minji, your roommate who was an undergraduate in the arts section, would belittle your talents—always having snarky to say when you couldn't understand the lecture, and insisting that her life was far more complicated than yours. Not to mention how much of a slacker she was during house tasks, often refusing to do any chores even if she was the sole factor in the apartment was a mess.

Minji often rebutted all your complaints with the same excuse stating that "she shouldn't have to help because your friends were always over, and that they can do it." Which wasn't all that false, you did have someone over almost every day, and you knew she didn't like them because of how loud they were, but that's what made it fun. Seeing the scowl on her face whenever she opened the door another batch (of completely different people) walked in with no remorse. Or whenever she avoided talking to any of them because she simply hated being around them. A stern believer that people like you and all the people who accompanied you were plastic and fake.

It wasn't until she called them out to you that you reached your boiling point. "None of them actually like you Y/N, how do you expect every single person to actually fuck with you like that, let alone the hundreds of people you constantly have over." She spat out, reaching her hand out to grab the trash your guest left all over the living room, Minji didn't even have the curtsey to look up at you while she spoke.

"What is your problem, Kim." You scowled as you grabbed the empty beer cans; shoving them into the black plastic bag you were lugging around. To be fair Minji was far nicer than you thought, even if you were the one who threw the party without her knowledge, she patiently camped out in her room, only coming out once it ended to clean up beside you. It wasn't all that out of character since she was the nicest one between the both of you, always offering to help anyone in need, for example, right now. Minji was somehow so endearing in her weird way, that you almost felt bad taunting her every single moment you could. I mean, she reciprocated the banter, so who really is at fault here?

Minji just scoffed as she pushed her glasses back up from the bridge of her nose, she was about to say something before cutting herself off with a heavy sigh. "Nothin— nothing, they just..." She slurred looking up at your scrunched face before looking back down, continuing to throw trash into the bag. "Y'know what— never mind, forget what I said," Minji mumbled, looking back at her annoyed before picking up a pillow and chucking it at her. She let out a soft yelp before looking up at you, ready to attack Minji couldn't help but notice how you broke out into laughter once the pillow collided with her face.

"Hey, what was that for!" Minji scowled as she dropped the trash bag next to her knees, you, being you, continued to laugh harder as her expression tensed. She grabbed another pillow from the couch and flung it at you, hitting your shoulder with a heavy thud. "Woah! What the!" You bite back rubbing your shoulder with your arm in pain, not realizing she would throw it too hard she reached her hand out, not before she laughed her ass off. "Hah— I'm so sorry—" Minji said before bursting out laughing as well, grabbing the pillow you threw at her from the ground and placing it back neatly on the couch.

Laughing at her action, "Why are you saying sorry? Aren't I the one who threw the first hit?" grabbing the pillow she threw, you dropped it haphazardly on the couch and walked away from her. "Not that." Minji cackled as she fixed the couch again, "I mean, yeah..." she cut her thought off "What I meant to get at, is I'm sorry for the other thing I said."

You stopped cleaning up the trash from the floor and peeked your head up, firstly why was she apologizing for anything, secondly, out of all people, she was apologizing to you. "Uhm, I'm sorry too I guess..." You rubbed your nape uncomfortably, taking your gaze off of her, "Y'know, for everything." Sighing you continued, feeling terrible because most of the stress she had coming back home was due in fact how horrible of a roommate you've been. "I haven't been— the best." It hurt a part of your ego to say that, as out of people you were apologizing back to your art freak of a roommate, Kim Minji.

"Thank you for acknowledging that Y/N." Minji exhaled as she looked back on all the times your bare presence had been obnoxious towards her. Despite understanding how dreadful you've become towards her, you still couldn't let that slide, who was she to talk like that towards you anyway? "Hey!" Was the only that could come out of your mouth, until Minji eventually cut you off. "I'm being honest Y/N, I'm glad you know, and that's not in a sarcastic way whatsoever."

The way both of you stood slightly as you continued your cleaning task was unbearably awkward, trying to figure out what to say next after that comment was gruesome. It finally ended when you had to bright idea to turn a new leaf with your roommate, could you go through your whole college experience hating someone you lived with? And to be fair she wasn't all that bad, she cleaned up to herself, she was mild-mannered, and she didn't actively seek conflict. (unlike you.) "Ahem... so Minji you busy after this?" You asked as you tied the black plastic bag and leaned it against the wall.

She followed in your footsteps as she chucked the last few beer bottles into her bag, tying the note protectively tight and chucking it aside. "I have an anthropology exam to study for..." She thoughtfully answered, you pouted at the thought that Kim Minji, of all people, was going to turn you down. "But that's in a few days, so I guess I'm free?" She moved across from you, heading to the kitchen to wash her hands, coming back to talk to you face to face. "Well, uhm, do you want to watch a movie or something— like to get to know each other... or something." You interrogated, trying your best to be nonchalant about the whole thing. "Sure, that couldn't hurt." She shrugged her shoulders as she made her way to the couch, and you soon followed behind her.

Needless to say, the whole interaction was more awkward than the both of you apologizing to one another. The movie picking was terrible as you both seemingly couldn't agree on what to watch, finally landing on The Idea of You. During the beginning, part felt as if you were having a dopamine cleanse, everything was so oddly boring, and without having any form of enjoyment like stress eating popcorn, you were going insane. It wasn't until the first kissing scene of the film that things got interesting, you were so bored you could only find entertainment from making fun of her expressions throughout. This scene in particular made you more intrigued by her as she was blushing madly while watching the protagonist deeply kiss the main lead, almost as if she's never experienced that herself.

"Pst, Minji." You leaned into her, jolting as your head hovered next to her shoulder "You good? You look like you're bugging out." She looked at you as you laughed quietly, still focused on the movie, only taking a small gaze at her as you leaned away.

"What." She scoffed, covering her face with her hand, "You're crazy. Just watch the fucking movie."

"Alright, just saying." You chuckle as you lean forward, pretending to go back to being 'interested' in the movie.

As the movie reached the peak of its raunchiest moments, Minji failed to hide her blush more and more, having trouble focusing as she stared down at your leaning posture and back at the movie. She failed to focus on the actors, finally reaching her breaking point, "What is with this movie, what is the whole point of recording a whole scene like this..." She muttered loud enough for you to hear. You gave her a noisy laugh, before leaning back up and resting your back on the cushions. "Dunno, maybe that's what does good nowadays— speaking of which, why don't you ever invite people over to y'know..."

"To what?" She scoffed, folding her arms and looking back at you, clearly offended by the insinuation that she was a geeky dirtbag who had the inability to attract suitors. "Not everyone's like you Y/N." Minji insulted, coming back a little more sleazy than intended.

"Oh? And what does that mean?" You pouted, stretching your neck wondering what snarky comment she would say next. "Nothing, I didn't mean it like that, I just hate when people bring that up." She took back her words quickly, turning her head away from you and back at the movie ahead, watching the two actors absolutely go at it. "Makes me feel like I haven't accomplished everything I 'should've already accomplished', catch my drift?"

"Ah, so you think that just because you haven't done anything inherently explicit it feels like you're less than an adult?"

"Woah, that was a quick evaluation, how'd you get that?"

"I mean, I do minor in psychodynamic psychology, maybe that's why? Hah… Sorry didn't wanna sound like a major nerd there, but I don't think you hold base your opinion on yourself over something you can't do at the moment." You spoke, turning your head towards her as she studied you, looking at inspecting every single one of your facial features before snapping out of the trance she was in. “I guess, well if it means anything, you’d ace that course if you kept up with those assumptions.” You both chuckle loudly at her comment, not noticing how both of you are slowly leaning closer to one another.

Minji was closer to your face, the tip of her nose colliding with yours as she inched your lips to hers, the soft huffs as she glanced down at you before finally interlocking your mouths together were exhilarating. Her touch was soft and hungry, she wanted to conquer every part of your lips; not wanting this moment to slip her by, she reached out and grabbed the back of your head gently. Pushing you farther down her lips, Minji felt herself getting lost in you, her eyes squeezed shut as she was in a deep state of euphoria. Before pulling you away from her, she slid her hand off your cheek and back, creating distance.

Her heavy breathing was apparent as she tried to gain composure, stunned by her actions she let out a meek cough, staring straight into your soul to gain back any confidence left within her. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what had gotten into me." Minji tittered, pulling away fully her hands gripping the section of denim on her thighs, you didn't know what was going through her head right now as she fumbled her gaze away from yours. It took a long moment for Minji to open back up, only muttering a few words before clamming up again "I wouldn't blame you if you ended up moving out—"

She couldn't continue as her breath sharpened and took focus on how your hands rested on top of hers, gently rubbing her fingertips, taking a count of how soft she felt under your touch. Smiling, you answered back, confused as to why you would ever do such a thing (despite despising her moments ago, and being quite literally on the verge of signing your lease termination to get away from her) "Why would I?"

Minji was astonished by your sudden change in attitude because if she were to ever be this raw and genuine towards you any time before this, you'd curse her out and avoid any contact after. This was different, you seemed so... empathetic and sweet, it made her heart thump out of her chest, staring at your lips was not making it any better for her. She lacked any self-restraint as she interconnected your lips with hers once more, with much more haste. Minji yearning for your touch, pitifully grabbed onto your hands, holding them tightly with a slight shake.

Despite doing much more sinister things with other people, you felt as if you were flung back to high school and having your first kiss, it was all so electrifying. You didn't want to admit to yourself that you were enjoying this a little more than she was, but gosh, does this woman know what she's doing? From her timid (even borderline, loser-ish) personality, you wouldn't expect her to be dancing her tongue with yours. "For something oddly explicit, she's very delicate..." you wondered to yourself. Finally taking charge, you pull your hands away from hers, Minji pulls back regretfully, questioning why you stopped holding her.

It wasn't until you cupped her cheeks with both your hands and pulled her down on the couch, that she finally got a hint. Minji's cheeks burned up, she was able to rest her elbows to leverage herself up only to be met with your face inches away from hers. She was stunned by the visual you pinned her against and was unable to speak as you kissed the tip of her nose, anticipating more only to be cut off by you pushing yourself off of her. “Woah! Okay, let’s end that there today.” You cut yourself off, not wanting your relationship to be another victim of hookup culture, knowing that you’d be stuck with her for the next few months.

“What…” She furrowed her eyebrows, her cheeks still flushed with a pink hue, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d want to continue, this, with you. But I don’t want the consequences of being in an unhealthy, uncomfortable, and unethical relationship with my roommate, whom I was getting closer to.” You coughed, realizing how fast you were speaking right now, Minji who was still under you processed everything you were spewing out. “So what I’m getting at, is that instead of wanting to sleep with me… you’d rather just have me as company first?”

“Correct, unlike anyone I’ve been with, I’d like to get to know you first before committing to anything that sexual.” You nodded, pulling yourself off of her and sitting back normally on the couch “Not because I don’t want to, I just wrong want to take it too far.” Sheepishly admitting as you watched her sit back down next to you, a bit embarrassed by the situation. “Truly what I want to take away from this, and what I took away from spending this time with you, even if it was fairly short, was to get to know you as you. To take in what you’re capable of and understand if you can handle someone like me.” Minji stared at you in awe, the complete shift from a prudish foulmouthed popular campus student, who couldn’t barely hold her own emotions, was now so prim and proper.

Minji wondered if maybe it was her who did that, or maybe that’s how you were this whole time, but it took one day to bring that out of you. Whatever it was, she didn’t want this moment to slip by her! “Hmm, well then, take what you want.”

[chlmtsdoll]

omg i kinda need a fic of babysugar!reader getting corrupted by patrick alone bcs their tension is js amazing 😩 like yes pls tease her more when art and tashi is away…. god knows what happen

Loveddd writing that tension in nothing without you omg ur so right anon. What could happen when mean Patrick gets poor reader all alone ? Hmmm…

౨ৎ warnings: 18 + smut, p in v (unprotected sex), oral (m reviving), degradation kink, manipulation and heavy corruption, teasing, mentions of Art and Tashi throughout, short reader (size kink 🎀)

You begged Art and Tashi every day prior to the tennis awards ceremony to let you be their plus one for the night even if it was just once. You’d never got to get as pretty as you did for them to the outer public all too often, when you had really been just their own little secret for when the cameras were away and the couple was safe at home.

So you should of known better that you, their adorned little sugar baby, would be left alone for the night — but fortunately, with the keys to their estate in New Rochelle.

Having the place all to yourself was a apart of the allowance the couple gave you when they had to attend to press conferences or tournaments they had limited space to bring you along. And you never complained when the grounds of their beautiful mansion was left to you to do anything you wanted or absolutely nothing for however long they’d be gone.

And with the silence that coursed through the place — most girls your age with the privilege would throw parties or call up friends to fuck up the gorgeous abode. But not you. You’d stay put on the couch, being as pleasant as ever. Never making a mess, and only ever watching movies if you weren’t studying for upcoming midterms.

You were so good for Art and Tashi, so much to you’d almost forgotten the words of ‘left a little surprise for you on the guest bed.. just for when we get back.” Art mentioned to you with a dotting wink and smirk to what could be waiting for you before fixing his tie to run out with his wife. Even the thought of those little gestures of how they’d spoil you, come home to play with their perfect girl, seeing you all dolled up waiting for them at home made you flustered to your core even in the empty house.

You’d been ready to run upstairs just to see what it was Art had left for you — but that being just before there was a disturbance brought to the front door.

When you got up and tucked your feet into your slippers before minding to get it, you undid all the locks on the grand door. Letting the breeze in with a swing, your eyes went wide too quickly when the brunette with a menacing grin that stood beyond you looked up from his cracked phone to eye you down just outside the doorway.

Patrick stood in the cold of the night and you couldn’t have pushed to shut the door any faster.

“Hey, hey ! What the fuck is your problem.. ?” He spat as his hand rejected the way you attempted to shut him out without even a pitch, his grip beating yours on instant as he pushed the door open wide enough for him to invite himself inside aways.

You closed your eyes with a sigh of annoyance. One thing you did know is to avoid the daring man at all cost. Weather with Art and Tashi around, or when it was just the two of you — Patrick was a man of way too many words. Always teasing, picking on you like a sworn bully just because he could. Because it was amusing to him to try and snip on the pigtails of the pretty, much younger and energetic play thing his best friends kept around. And with you being just too full of admiration of the couple and anyone who was a friend of theirs — it just stained your poor little heart what the patronizing man put you through. To have to despise his presence.

“Why are you here ?” You spoke with furrowed eyebrows, voice timid and more serious as you tried to hide behind the front door, towering you, he made his way through the floor like he owned it, letting his denim jacket slip from his arms.

“What ? The couple leave you to color or whatever you do here alone ?” He scoffed, grin on his face mocking your fuzzy cardigan you kept on your shoulders to trying making you feel small for your shorter size as always. Although There was always an obvious flirtation to his teasing — the two sidedness of Patrick being mean as way to get girls just like you to do whatever he pleased always confused you. It was alarming. Like he’d want you to feel cornered and vulnerable so he could have his true way.

However he wanted.

“Awards ceremony. Why are you here?” You repeated yourself again and shutting the door with a lock, before you turned to face Patrick already making himself as comfortable as he pleased.

“For grown up stuff, baby doll. You wouldn’t get it.” He totally means trying to hang out with Art and Tashi, or bug them to hang out with him. “You really here by yourself?”

You nodded a bit and took in the darker haired man walking towards the living area. “Yes… and I don’t need a babysitter. They aren’t here so you’re welcomed to go.”

Patrick chuckled a bit as he looked down at you over his shoulder. “Do you ever relax ? I mean, fuck... Why don’t you.. sit with me. Keep company ? Just till they get back- - I know you don’t actually wanna be all alone, do you ?”

You folded your arms, tough pout forming on your lips. You just knew how this would go by now. How it always went.

Patrick would lure you an excuse just so he could try and have a go at what Art and Tashi got from you. Which was a complete different story the man who knew nothing of boundaries had no business being apart of. But it was just in Patricks nature to have what he couldn’t. The treat you are for them. Gorgeous and full of youthful energy after big games — Tashi had you give her husband the most dutiful back massage, an intimate time that would end up with you on your back some where in the echoing mansion, as the blonde got to fuck the purest moans out of you.

And all Patrick did was yearn for that use of you. It was what he devotedly wanted behind all his gimmicks. “No thanks.” You settled for with a moment of building courage to just say that to the man. You knew he’d have some words to spew back in defense regardless.

He chuckled. “Why so tense? A movie or two won’t hurt you.. or are you just scared I’ll bite?” You notice his hand along with his words, patting his thigh once he sat leaning against the cushioned seat to send a beacon call your way, and you just batted your eyes away.

“I have better things to do.”

“Bullshit. You just want to run off and what..?” His eyes scan your figure, he chuckled. “Touch yourself till Art and Tashi get back?” The man began and with a flustered heat rising to your face, you made a putrid expression of disgust before turning away from him without another word to say, your hair swung behind you as you muttered how ignorant the brunette was and he sat pleased with himself there in the living room behind you. Your ears couldn’t even endure anymore of his objectification. And you didn’t bother shooting a text to Art and Tashi that Patrick had stopped by for whatever reason because they’d surely be knee deep in talking with tabloids and press at this hour.

So, as a way to have as little interaction with the man as you could — you continued up the stairs to the near guest room where your small but lovely left gift from Art was waiting. With a little sideways smile returning to your expression, you shut the door softly behind you so the man downstairs didn’t bother. Your fingers laced through the silky bow holding it all together. This fabricated box you unraveled to reveal the new pretty edition to your wardrobe of wondrous pieces the couple spoiled you with.

A set of lingerie all dainty you were sure you’d be quite at home in for the next couple of days just for Art to toy with, only then sharing the way your heavenly hips would fit it with his wife.

Your grin spread at just the thought of their hands on you. Praising and cooing like the sheer temptress you were. A soft “oh.. you’re getting special treatment.” softly purred through your lips as you took in the lace garment and immediately shed off your comfy clothes.

You knew how much the couple valued their privacy and especially when it came to you. Their perfect little secret for behind all the cameras and sports media. Your body ? Their choice. It was part of the agreement you made when you came into their lives to be their after match sugar baby. And you did honor and respect that in every way — but as your painted finger tips taped against your phone in thought, it crossed your mind that a few pictures in the tiny panties couldn’t hurt if you kept them to yourself.

So in just a few moments you were on the bed. Only the light colored patches of fabric over your nipples covering you up, thong stretched thin across your ass and garter strap ruffling around your thigh felt nice and familiar. You felt your prettiest like this — dolled up and with the expectation to please the star couple whenever they got home.

You reached across the bed where you left your phone and that’s when you opened up your camera app. You let your body do the natural work it’s used to — posing for your own revealing string of teasing selfies. One’s you used to take for random guys before Tashi had you be ready for a face time at any moment while they were away and you couldn’t tag along, demanding you spread your legs and show her husband what he’d get to have after a grand slam. (If he made one) thanks to you he always did.

You were placing your phone at vigorous angels as you switched poses with a sugary smile being the only detail of your face in the photo. Too unfortunate your sweet doe eyes wouldn’t make the cut. You glide your fingers with pink painted tips innocently against your bottom lip as you turned your smile into a naughty little grin soon enough to the light of the camera. You couldn’t help but let your playfulness shine through, even in the set that was simply too tiny for a good reason.

You were having a bit of fun with yourself really. And your body is one to be confident in, feeling like the adorned little thing you were — that was until your phone was being dropped automatically the second you heard “holy shit” being croaked from the door frame.

Patrick was grinning like an idiot as he watched your now mortified expression turn bashful quick. You stashed yourself underneath a corner of the covers, “Patrick- what the hell !?” He’d already been laughing as he let himself fully in the bedroom while you’d been quietly cursing to yourself with a palm to your brow. Frustrated and guilty already, you avoided making eye contact with Patrick in preparation for the week you were about to have of him miking this to patronize you.

“So you were feeling naughty, huh ?” He chuckled and one of his hands go from his jean pocket to scratch against his untamed beard that framed his haughty smirk. He inched over to were you’d gone completely flustered beneath the comforter. “Get out. Just- please..” you huffed although your voice was only as fragile as it usually was around the brooding man, you dropped your head along with your expression in shame and he only grinned a little wider.

Patrick stared at you with that smile before he made a grab and snatched up your phone before you could even jump to stop him. “Let me just take a quick check of how pretty you look before they’re turned in to Tashi and Art.” his thumb casually scroll through your exposing photos as you yelped for him to quit it, and he only kept you at a distance much too easily from his taller height.

“Give it! Patrick! It’s not funny- -” you whined as you ran in circles around the brunette and attempted countlessly to leap for your phone, but Patrick laughed on as he held it up where you just couldn’t get your legs to reach.

“Fuck I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they see their perfect little princess sneaking in nudes...”

You already had tears building in your ducts. You just knew that if Art and Tashi found out you weren’t faithful to their promises, being careless especially around such a careless man — and letting your spite lead your decisions of keeping what they gave you just between them. It could all be over in an instant. They couldn’t know what you’ve done. How poorly you acted without thinking.

You finally give up on your fight with Patrick that had really been you flailing arms at your phone as he tosses it between his hands so you couldn’t grab it. He messed with you like a toy. Patrick lived to play cat and mouse, and you’d fallen right into the trap.

“Patrick, please. Don’t do this… those pictures can’t be shown to anyone. I need my phone.” You sniff as you looked up at the dark haired man with watery eyes and he stiffed finally as did you. Course, tight grip of your phone in his larger hand. You watched as his green orbs now ran over your state — vulnerable in the pink lace that he was absolutely not supposed to be seeing you in right now.

Nearly every inch of your skin was on display, tits sitting too pretty, and the way the lines of the lingerie lined your hips, made the corners of his lips curve into a snarky grin.

You were asking him, just once, not to be an asshole.

And with a low tone, he was bound to respond like an asshole.

“I kinda like it when you beg.” The man was looking at you with eyes of the pure hunger and all you could do was close your own in defeat as you sighed.

“You really are afraid of them finding out, aren’t you?”

You nodded with your lip between your teeth. “They can’t.. you can’t tell them. This never happened, Pat. Please.”

You softly echoed again, throwing in calling him by half his name just to keep your chances sweet that he would eventually comply. The man chuckled as his eyes trailed off for just a fine moment before his expression got serious.

“So say I didn’t. If I didn’t… what’s in it for me?”

You swallowed hard. Bating your eyelashes in a moment of contemplation on what he could perhaps want from you. You hadn’t thought this far — and you didn’t have a clue.

“I- um- ..well- - what do you want?” You peered up at the man again, and this time, his stupid smirk had once again been making a comeback.

He eyed you. Your flower covered bra, with just a tiny bow in the middle. Then you again. Then of course, back down to where your smooth hidden cunt had been behind the fabric of your panties. Till his eyes finally land back on you again with a idiotic kind of smile.

You had to take a minute to wrap your head around it all. His wordless declaration until your eyebrows knitted with uproarious fear when it clicked.

“No.” You uttered.

“Well.. yeah.”

“No. Patrick… anything else- -” you pleaded as you began to sniff again and the man cut you off.

Patrick stepped a little closer to you, your pouty expression followed his gaze as you anxiously toyed with your hair and he slowly examined your frame again.

“You want these pictures to stay between you and me, right ? You don’t want your precious sugar mommy and daddy to find out about you slutting around the house when they’re away. It would make them so upset with you if they found out….” He made his tone sympathetic and only a little less poisonous, you nodded as you folded your arms timidly. “Then you’ll do what you have to do so they don’t know… yeah ?”

You nodded and listened up to his rant of your own mistakes. He caught you at a draw. The man’s green met your gaze even when he narrowed to read your doubtful head and wondering little eyes at how much you’d just been desperate to be seen as good for them. Tilting his head some, you stepped back as he stepped forward.

“I know what you want.” Patrick rose his hand to let a finger slide underneath the strap of your bra. Your wide eyes looked up at his dark curls to match his pupils. Tongue darted out to lick at his lips, he knew you’d innocently be oblivious to his hunger stride. All you could do was let him pull the strap down your shoulder just as slow as he talked.

“Good girls have to do what’s right for everyone. And I know your a good girl.” His voice grew softer, but lustful as he was now far beyond in your space.

You syncing up with his overall musk of pine scented cologne, cigarettes and numerous college girls he’d pick up in bars lingering off his sent.

You did know how dangerously he could lead, and you didn’t need to find yourself in any more trouble at last — yet something in the way the heat from his body had been melting into your senses, how his eyes made you feel like an intoxicated prey. And hands that were roaming your little figure that made you feel obligated to return in his favors.

You looked at Patrick as he leaned forward to your level only to whisper at your ear. You felt shivers like electricity from his next words.

“So get on your knees and be good for me.”

Patrick pulled away as he’d been close enough for his lips linger over your exposed skin, you trembled from just his teasing hands on your waist and voice too much for you to escape.

You eyed the floor where your feet landed, a little quiver in your throat — but a kind of lustrous flutter now taking over instead. And like that, you had been gradually lowering yourself down on both of your knees.

The man still standing above you showed his teeth with his next sideways grin, watching your hair spill back as you craned your neck to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“How do you want me?” You question, voice sweet as it always was while you’d been at such a naughty view for the brunette. He had chuckled with a little groan as he looked over your angelic grace in the garment you’d been in, all with eyes wide and not one thought behind them of knowing of all he harsh ways he could treat you.

“That set is- - something else on you, pretty girl… why don’t you suck my cock in it, hm?” with calculated intentions behind all his cooing, Patrick had already taking a swift of your hair into a nice ponytail and your eyes went trailing to the fly of his pants before you, hands shakily going to where they were intended.

You could feel the brunette’s hooded eyes on you as you began unzipping the fly, fingers tug at the hem of his boxers like you’d been too scared to touch, not ready for what’s beneath. “C’mon, don’t be shy..” his tone almost haunting. He knew he’d had you practically on strings and you did comply, taking them down just enough so his cock had been on display, hard and getting harder by the second, you stared — a little whimper escaped your tightening throat at the way his tip rose with the width of your eyes.

You glance up at Patrick’s face again, diplomat expression taking over suddenly. “You swear… none of it leaves this room?”

The man scanned the door way briefly before returning your gaze with a prideful smile. “It dies at the door.”

You breathed deeply before your hands were bracing the back of Patrick’s thighs. Knees with no cushion, already pained from the floor boards — the smooth skin of your lips were being pressed to Patrick’s thick member, leaving just one kitten lick on his reddened tip before your mouth was full of it. The brunette watched you with lips agape as he slipped your phone into his back pocket and used his other to swoop up your loose locks.

Your mouth had hallowed on his cock as you began sucking on him with as much as you could take — with how full he’d been in you orally, light moans echoing in your throat, his tip hit the back of you and Patrick cursed. “That’s it, baby doll. Nice and slow,” he watched as your lips ran up and down his foreskin, coating him in your saliva as you whimpered through your wet sucking.

Your head bobbed on him, and the man let out low groans of his own as his head let back at your heavenly warmth around him. As you looked up at him, the way he reacted to your work was enough for you to think just when you thought you’d distracted him with your pleasures, your fingers were gliding from his thighs to his back pocket. Reaching for where he stuck your phone, but your wrist was abruptly stopped and the man made a ‘tskk’ sound as he removed your hand. “Nice try angel.. I wouldn’t do that again.” He muttered before taking matters into his own hands and pumping his cock down you throat at a rougher pace. You whined helplessly and adjusted yourself so you’d sat on your own feet beneath him.

Patrick had let out a deep moan as he fucked into your more than perfect little mouth that was stuttering on just how much you needed him to keep your dirty secrets. And you, all wanting nothing to do with him earlier — now had tears streaming down your face as you whimpered and gagged on his cock. Stroke after stroke had your finger nails digging into the man’s jeans, his eyebrows hitched with his breath as he observe your teary eyes and wide mouth taking him,

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.. you’re gonna make me cum.” The man grunted as you moaned and he pulled you off his dick with a knotted grip on your hair just in time as you coughed vigorously.

Wiping your puffy lips with a sniffle and eyes welled up with tears as you narrowed with a cry, Patrick grinned while he’d already been jerking his cock, “you’re doing so well for me. Now open up..” his voice husked as he pumped his throbbing cock through his orgasm, letting his tip rest on your tongue the second your mouth was wide enough to let ropes of his cum spill on to.

You didn’t feel the cleanliness, and maybe that didn’t matter, because as Patrick had been cooing praises to you while he released on your tongue, you soon realized you’d been sitting with a wet puddle of your own.

“You know, while we’re at it, I can help with that..” Patrick nodded at the way you checked yourself and your neck craned to look up at him again when you heard his voice.

“But- - Patrick, we shouldn’t.”

“The damage is already done weather you like it or not, baby doll. You can get a little fun out of this if you let yourself.”

You didn’t exactly know how to respond, with what you’d already done being far beyond a bargain but a total price to pay especially since Patrick used his power over you at best. And with the dark haired man standing there only halfway putting his ravishingly large dick away beyond you — just sitting there on the floor, nervously toying with your fingers with a ache sitting in your core. You knew that since you’d been there, letting Patrick make you cum was all you could think about now.

His smirk returned when you rose to your feet and eyed him before walking back over to the bed.

“Okay.” You uttered quietly as it was now your back turned to the taller man who followed you over like a shadow, and you knew to surrender by now.

“God you look good..” his hands examined wherever they pleased on you now. Patrick’s fingers slid from the top of your breasts to the dip of your lower back to your ass, that he squeezed tight, making a hiss escape from you. And even though you hit him in the arm and it left no damage as he grinned to himself, you still let him do it.

Maybe you were acting quite slutty.

“You said you would help me, not grope me…” you spoke up in a voice that made the man laugh at your ought to be stern.

“Well, firstly I think sweet girls like you should say please.” He beckoned as his tongue darts out to lick over his lip while he panned down at you. It may be a signal to the way his cock was beginning to stand again at the sight of your breast near getting lose within your bra from the aftermath of the way he just manhandled you.

Your eyes shift anywhere elsewhere than his gaze. “Please.”

“Please.. what ?” His hands wrapped around your neck to pull you close, and you yelped a tad, he chuckled at your annoyance, but enticing want towards him.

You looked into the mans daring eyes and going against your own rules, in desperate fashion, you begged. “Please.. make me cum, Pat.”

Patrick glanced where your panties had a darkened spot spreading, damp as he grinned before letting his hand slip beneath so he could feel the soaked parts — you immediately gasped softly as you watched where he toyed with your slit to find your folds. It was like he found where you needed most as if he’d been a pro. Observing as your lips make a fine “o” shape when his pointer and middle slid against your clit and your poor heavy eyes met his again.

“I know you loved having my cock down your throat.” He rasped with a sly smirk, you quickly grabbed his bicep. One of his fingers made it inside of you, feeling him fill you with just his thick digits had your eyes wanting to role and you hissed out a whimper immediately. But fuck that. Patrick already wanted you moaning as quick as possible.

He pushed your figure on the bed and you hit the sheets with a noise as the man hustled to get your last bit of cover up discarded. You noticed the way his cock bounced as soon as he saw your smooth cunt be revealed to him and your eyebrows furrowed when your ache grew, moaning slightly through your bitten lip.

“Patrick, please.. hurry.”

He took your legs under his grip rough as the flailed and he made sure they were as far apart as he needed to handle you, “keep these spread for me.” Was all the man said before aligning himself with your entrance and making sure your slick had covered his tip finely.

You whined as you viewed him do the work of getting himself coated with your pre-cum. Patrick couldn’t take his eyes off your pussy that just looked a little too pretty and smooth, you could tell his head was going full with need to fuck you senseless. So when he started to slide in your hole with a jarring “fuck” coming from him and you moaned out a more high pitched noise with knitted brows — you kept your hands on the back of your thighs for the brunette as he only gets halfway before he needed to readjust you and himself.

“Mmm.. you’re too big, Patrick.” Came from you as your chest slightly heaved and the brunette had a dumb grin on his face again while he looked down at how sweet you looked all spread out for him, letting him get your tight cunt after all of this. By now you’d surely forgotten about your little photos and just how much he could ruin what was between your legs at this point.

Patrick was thrusting into you with no hesitation, letting his grunts fill the room on top of your pathetic mewls as he kept your hips steady and against the thigh while you slid up and down his dick. Your hands dig into the bedsheets near your head as your lips go fully agape and your eyes are being pulled elsewhere with the euphoric sensation of Patrick’s hips slapping into your cervix, “Oh ! Oh… fuck,” you hiss as you can’t help yourself but watch the man’s shaft run against your wet walls when he grabbed hold of your wrists.

And with a impressed grin, Patrick saw your fixed gaze go from totally oblivious to just wanting to be tossed around like a whore for him.

“You gonna let Art and Tashi know how much of a good girl you were for me when they get home, right ? No issues. Just you doing whatever your told… right sweet girl ?” The man coo’d as he let up one hand from your arms to cup your chin. When your eyes met his dark ones, you’d been holding a dazed smile behind your bitten lip with a plea for him to keep going.

As he’d taken your little photoshoot to ending up deep inside your precious cunt with a few tactics of his own, your photos count on staying between you and him.

With a small nod and “uh hu” you let Patrick make you cum.

[pillowspace]

Could you share more about your modern no loops au?

Oh, I'd love to!!!! So I have a 10k word draft currently. Haven't touched it since December because I've been writing other things, but I'd like to return to it when I'm done. I didn't actually know what I was writing until I started. I decided to go for the first line I could think of, which was:

So I had to build an AU off of that from that point onward.

It's a bit of a "post-canon" setting in a sense, except neither Siffrin nor Loop have met the party yet, and the two live together in an apartment. At some point, Loop's attacked, and they begin to bleed out in an alleyway. Odile catches sight of them and rushes to help. They appreciate her efforts, but they die anyway.

They've died plenty of times before though...! So they wake back up. They still have the stranger's coat from when she was trying to help, so they hide within it and head back home, feeling bad for having likely traumatized a random person with the sight of them dying.

A few months go by after this though, and Odile stumbles upon Loop at the library. Loop doesn't recognize her at first, but Odile recognizes THEM, and proceeds to accidentally corner them which freaks Loop out.

Odile, a complete stranger, instantly wants to know everything about Loop. How their life has gone, how they're alive, etc. So Loop decides that they DON'T LIKE ODILE, but that they'll at least find the time to bring her coat back to her to repay the favour of when they had died.

After Loop returns home, Siffrin reveals to Loop that he's... worried about them. Loop's been entirely dependent on him the entire time, and he thinks that they should have friends. Loop denies needing anyone but them, all the while struggling with bottled up trauma they want to talk about but are unwilling to go to Siffrin for.

This sticks to Loop though. Next time they see Odile at the library, they get to talk to her now a bit less freaked out, and return her coat to her. (This isn't art directly of the fic but I did draw this after writing Loop returning the coat). She reveals some of her curiosities about Loop, and although Loop still doesn't want to answer, they're curious what she means by the word "explore."

Loop makes a bit of a mistake though. They accidentally give Siffrin the impression that they're friends with Odile now, and Siffrin's happy for them!

Loop doesn't want to correct them though, so instead accidentally snaps at them for pestering them for the details on this totally real friendship.

There's a lot of hints scattered throughout the fic of Loop having very bad trauma. A large star-shaped scar on their chest. Implications that they're very familiar with Siffrin's blood. Having nightmares and waking up feeling like they have to kill Siffrin. Being so used to panicking whenever they wake up without Siffrin being there that they already know how to try and calm themself down.

I haven't gotten to writing the interview itself yet, but I want for Loop and Odile to actually start to become friends. I want for Loop to finally agree to an interview. And perhaps in an Interview with the Vampire (2022) style of things, start off completely contradictory and rewrite how it all started based on their own outbursts of emotions. Odile would catch onto this though, and get them to stick to the truth or not answer at all.

And thus, through much trial and error, Loop would eventually tell the story of meeting King. A nice man who Loop had once been friends with (it takes a LOT to pry that out of Loop), before they were ever Loop, but rather Siffrin. Loop would talk about how they had grown close over being from the same forgotten country, but that they'd come to learn that King had... other motives in wanting to get close to another Islander.

King had been studying something called Wish Craft.

King wanted to immortalize the Island's memory. Or at least, the memory that something existed from it. Perhaps somehow, some way, King could use Wish Craft to make things right again.

So what better way to try than to immortalize Loop?

Loop was betrayed and made to be a personal test subject. They weren't the first person to be a test subject, but they were the first success to survive it. Loop died very frequently those days, and after a long enough time, they reached a breaking point. They didn't want to suffer alone!! They wanted company!!! They wanted Help!!!!

Which tore Loop's strength out of them to create Siffrin.

Loop cannot regret Siffrin. But they regretted it at the time, as the experiments... lessened... on Loop, while the focus instead shifted onto Siffrin. The two were all each other had, so it pained Loop to have their burden fall onto him. Another regret was that Loop had become significantly weaker after Siffrin came to be, giving them less of a chance to fight back and escape. Loop was very protective of Siffrin, all the while wondering if they should just permanently kill him to get their strength back and escape. Towards the end, they almost went through with it.

They didn't though. The two eventually escaped together, sticking close to each other and occasionally moving from town to town while keeping their past secret.

I imagine that Loop will need... a lot of time and effort to tell Odile about all that though. They're very hesitant to even tell her that Siffrin exists, still wary about trusting her.

So between interviews, Loop and Odile just hang out, and Loop will come home to Siffrin who continues to live his own life. Loop will find themself healing just as Siffrin manages to.

If I do finish this fic, I would like for Loop and Siffrin to wind up friends with the whole party in it.

[bella-rose29]

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe. 

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter. 

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating. 

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned. 

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more. 

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship. 

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different. 

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway. 

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind. 

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night. 

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up. 

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died. 

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm. 

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked. 

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all. 

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong. 

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls. 

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning. 

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words. 

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him. 

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm. 

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet. 

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. 

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move. 

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon. 

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his. 

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye. 

[technically-human]

So I've seen you mention fics in the tags of some of your art and I'm just wondering if you write fanfics???

I do, though not very often! I wrote The devil wears black and I'm currently writing a post second movie one from the Doctor's POV. Here's a scene just in case I never do finish it

When Robotnik was around 4 years old, bored with the coloring books and the rhymes in the ones that actually had words, he had read about symbiotic relationships, and concluded it was a good enough way to classify human interaction.

Parasitism was easy enough to understand, and something to be avoided. He knew himself extraordinary, and was aware of how that could attract all kinds of leeches to him. He couldn't allow anyone to benefit from his spoils while actively harming him. If he was prone to that kind of analysis, maybe Robotnik would claim that was when his paranoia and distrust began to build. In reality, he considered that his default mode ever since birth.

Mutualism seemed like something to aspire to, beneficial for both parties, strong. Unfortunately, Robotnik would later learn that while lots of people –and institutions– wanted something from him, rarely did they have anything to offer. He was self-sufficient, and although some things he couldn't get on his own, he was sure he could find suitable replacements if he felt so inclined. Mutualism was rare, perhaps even unrealistic, at least for him.

Commensalism was stupid. Even if he wasn't being harmed, why would he allow someone else to benefit from him without giving anything in return? Sounded like slightly more subtle parasites, in his opinion.

So Ivo Robotnik learned to live surrounded by leeches and ticks.

People, yes. Foster parents who only wanted the benefits of having a genius at home, colleges that wanted him to attend even if they had nothing to teach him, because his presence made things more prestigious, government organizations that intended to put a leash on him, to guide his genius like it belonged to them.

He managed. He learned when to say no and when to say yes, when he could tolerate the sting and painstakingly squeeze some benefits for himself.

He didn't reconsider his stance on commensalism until he got Agent Stone assigned to him. Robotnik didn't actually need him, he had lived more than enough on his own to be confident in that assessment, but… having him around actually didn't hurt. Stone never took from him, never subtracted. He just attached himself to the Doctor, clearly got some things out of it, but without stealing them from him. Like a barnacle.

What do whales think of the barnacles that cling to them? Do they even notice? Robotnik certainly did notice his, but found he didn't actually mind. Even while knowing that Stone held on waiting for future compensation, he found that it was acceptable. When he eventually revealed his true nature as yet another parasite, Robotnik concluded, it would be fine, for he, unlike everyone else, had earned it. The Doctor had bled for lesser men, he could spare a few drops for a pest that at least was loyal.

The idea that he could be the parasite had never occurred to him before.

Ivo Robotnik was the man with the resources, the one with the brains and the plans and the irreplaceability. People wanted, needed things from him. Even when he was a child, an orphan with nothing but his half-baked plans and the few spare parts he could collect and transform, it was easy to see potential in him. It was easy to know he had a lot to offer, if one was willing to take the risk of trying to steal it.

Ivo Robotnik had nothing now, defenseless and empty in a way he had never been. He couldn't even move. He couldn't even build or create or think. And he was only alive because he was taking from his own agent.

Subtracting.

There weren't mosquitoes in the crab, but Robotnik could almost visualize it. Stone distractedly slapping his hand on his own arm to eliminate the pest. Looking at it, at the tiny trace of blood with disgust. Then pausing, turning towards the Doctor, who couldn't move and wouldn't speak and had nothing anymore, and realizing…

Well, the crab was underwater and mostly free of living organisms, except for Stone himself and, if one felt inclined to count him, Robotnik, so that wasn't realistic.

The image still played in his mind every now and then.

[midnightmischief10]

welp. i'm posting this unedited and EXTREMELY self indulgent pedro pascal x reader fic. i have more written, but i will only post the full thing if ppl are also as sick and twisted as me.

hope who ever reads this, feels a little more seen bc i am SICK (well not really HHAHAH) of all the pedro character ddlg fics!! i just wanted to write something more realistic? idk welp, here it is! (not in its entirety:P )

Si no te hubieras ido

pairings: Pedro Pascal x Reader

warnings: age gap, drinking, reader is in their 20s

getting to work on a set like The Mandalorian was a dream if you were being honest. no, you weren't some high end actor, or a famous director, just someone part of the production crew, doing things like planning, writing, hell even editing. you'd do anything to just be a part of a project like this.

interactions with the actors were also common in a job like this, but apart from just guiding them through certain scenes and how they should look, you really didn't cross the boundaries that weren't professional. It was really nice to admire them though. Getting the occasional chat with big shot superstars was so cool and always something to brag about to your family even though they weren't supportive of your career choice. You didn’t end up a doctor or lawyer like they wanted, but hey! You did something you loved.

It was honestly a very normal day in the workplace. You were working in the art department as usual, helping make sure the vision that the director wanted was really coming through. Being behind the scenes for such big projects like these was really something. Your admiration for the process really grew getting to do all the behind the scenes work, it was such a nice feeling seeing the thing you along with many others, worked so hard on being televised was something special.

You weren't the overly ambitious type, but the thought of directing something sounded really cool.

You continued on, designing what the director wanted on a few scenes we’d be working on in the following weeks.

Lost in your work you didn’t expect anyone to come up to you for anything, you weren't the art director so it wasn't usual for people to come to you. Unbeknownst to you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm, not roughly just to get your attention.

you look up and woah…why the hell was Pedro Pascal standing right behind you.

"uhm, I'm sorry to bother you, you seem busy, but I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?" Pedro asked.

huh? what…the…fuck…?

it caught you off guard.

Firstly, why was Pedro Pascal even looking for you? Because I mean you? of all people he could ask something like that, it was you? A man notorious for not having any sort of relationship, at least not public, was standing here with you asking you to go out for a drink.

you didn’t even think about your response before the words fell from your mouth.

"oh..uhm…Is this some kind of prank?"

you dumb BITCH WHY WOULD U SAY THAT???

was what you thought immediately after.

In your defense, you were in disbelief because what the hell was Pedro Pascal, a very prominent and influential actor, asking you out for drinks? I mean the interactions you both have had were merely professional and work related so why?

he looked confused at your answer, maybe even a little insulted, which was not your intention.

"shit I'm sorry I didn't mean to sound rude I'm just in a bit of disbelief" you let out an awkward laugh to soften the previous response and got out of your seat to face him properly. how do you even respond to a question like that, you had no idea that's for certain.

He stared softly at you and started, "no I'm sorry, that was very sudden haha. no need to say yes I just wanted to see if you would." His response was genuine and he wore a soft smile as he did.

God, was he really handsome up close.

To be quite honest, you always found him super attractive. But he was the internet’s daddy so it wasn't just you who felt attraction towards him. And sure, you might've dabbled in the idea of maybe even going out with him, but you were realistic with yourself.

But here you are now. Getting asked out on a date with this hunk of a man.

You were still lost in thought, trying to reflect on what was occurring and what came out of Pedro’s mouth.

He spoke again, "Sorry, just forget it ev-"

"no no, I mean I'd love to, who wouldn't want to go out for drinks with you, I'm just not all that special ya know?" you were being honest. You weren't some super sexy model or a renowned actor, you were just some girl working on the same set as Pedro.

Also, you were much younger than Pedro.

"I'd beg to differ." he said quite frankly. He smiled that sweet and tender smile of his and you couldn't help but think, for an older man he was sure fine.

you were daydreaming again at this point when Pedro spoke again,"so...is that a yes then?" it snapped you back to reality. It was so odd to see him so nervous over something like this, but being in the know of most things Hollywood, everyone who knew Pedro also knew that he had social anxiety so it must've taken a lot out of him to even ask you out

your heart raced, “yea- yes, I'll go for a drink with you.” you smiled, but if you were being honest you were really nervous too. What exactly did he see in you? Sure you were kind and respectful, but that's how you were with everyone. Pedro felt way out of your league to even grasp the idea of flirting with him, I mean come on. Who would even think about flirting with an A-list celebrity, especially someone way way WAY younger than he was and someone who wasn’t on any level to him.

he had a huge smile on his face, he seemed so content. “Great, should I get your number while I’m at it?” He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. You slightly grazed his hand when he did and it caught you by surprise.

His hands were so big, and you didn’t realize till just then how much of a height difference you two had.

You put your name and number, your hands were trembling a bit as you did so.

“here you go. so…when should I expect that drink?” you tried being coy to play off the fact that you were actually freaking out.

he smiled and laughed, “what about tonight then?”

that was quick

“oh. uhm yeah sure, i get off at 5, would like 8 be okay.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll pick you up, wear something nice.”

“Do I not look nice now?” you said sarcastically.

“No no, you always look great, I’d just like to see you in a dress.” He looked at you with so much love, his sweet smile still plastered hard on his face.

You couldn’t help but blush hard.

Has he always looked at me?

“I’ll send you my address then, see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” and he stepped out.

what the fuck were you getting into

~~~~~~~

[melwnst]

HIII, I’m so happy someone still writes for dick Grayson titans, I was wondering if you could make a dating headcanons list for dick Grayson for GN or fem. Thank you so much if you ever get to doing it!!

yes yes and yes. He and the show are so underrated people are missing out! Finding fics on here is so hard so your wish is my command! If you have any other requests for dick let me know<3

DATING DICK GRAYON WOULD INCLUDE…

word count. 1,1k

my masterlist/support my work!

──────────୨ৎ──────────

- this is a very obvious one but, dick is so protective. Given that you’re basically fighting villains like every day, seeing bruises on you makes his blood boil. He loves doing this with you, but if you stayed home, had a normal job that didn’t require risking death all the time, he wouldn’t complain about that because you’d be safe and he wouldn’t have to worry as much.

-he does think about what a normal life would look like by your side so often. Fighting crime is his lifeline, but so are you and if you asked him to, he’d quit in an instant. Only you matter.

-even if he was raised in the weirdest way possible, I mean he literally got taken in by Batman himself- he was also raised to be a gentleman, his parents made sure of it, and so did Bruce- though he wasn’t here that much.

-Dick would do anything- and I mean anything to keep you safe. Whether it’s killing people, fighting them until enough blood is drawn, or just shelter you, he does it. You do feel a bit over protected from time to time- but you know he means well. He tries not to suffocate you, and he knows the limits, but it’s dick..

-you do make fun of his name sometimes. Richard makes you laugh, but Dick is too funny to you. The first time he introduced himself, you laughed in his face. Dick has a big ego, so he couldn’t stand you for the first couple minutes, and then he got to know you, and he forgot about that incident though you never fail to remind him that his name makes you laugh.

-so… in bed? Yeah. You know where his nickname comes from. (Obviously didn’t come from that but you know what I mean.) Or at least it suits him. Dick is GREAT. Like mind blowing Great. Everytime is like the first time, a good first time. The princess treatment is crazy. If you’re too tired, don’t even worry about lifting a single finger, he’ll take care of you.

-whenever you’re in the middle of fighting evil people, dick sometimes gets distracted. He either looks at you, to see if you’re okay, which he knows you always are because you’re one hell of a fighter, but he also lets his eyes trail over your body when he has a second. He thinks you look hot. He thinks that you, look like the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen. The way you move, the way your body’s snatched under your costume.. it does drive him crazy. He did get knocked out a couple times in the past because he was too distracted to see the fist coming.

-dick is a yapper. He’s such a gossip. He’s also pretty funny. He makes you belly laugh at whatever hour, if you’re laying in bed, naked or not, he’ll tell a joke, or something embarrassing that happened to him, and you’ll laugh so loud he’ll have to put his hand on your mouth, shush you and tell you not to wake up the others, which immediately will make you laugh even harder. He’s so good at it. And he loves it.

-because danger comes with the job, if and/or when you get hurt, which is pretty much inevitable, dick is the biggest caregiver. He’ll put any plan aside, he doesn’t care about hurting anyone’s feelings because he has to take care of you. You have to beg him to get away from you for a little bit. Go on a walk, clear his head, because he’s always there. You love it- but he can’t give up his entire life for you. When it comes to him getting hurt though, even if you try to be the same, he doesn’t let you. He has more authority than you, so you comply. HOWEVER! When either of you come home after a fight, are all bloody, and have cuts that need bandaging, you can be sure it’ll end with steamy sex. One of you is stitching up the other, looks up, ( most of the time you stitch him up) he gives you the eyes, and you’re gone. Most of the time- that’s the best sex.

-dick is a great cook. He’s great at baking too. Baking with him is very therapeutic. A lot of times, he’ll bake and you’ll be siting on the counter next to him, he thinks it’s hot, so he’ll go stand between your legs and make out. Forget about whatever it is you’re baking, it’s just you and him, hands all over each other and you might end up in the bedroom. However, there’s a very high chance Rachel and/or gar might walk in on you, close their eyes with their hands and pretend like they just witnessed the grossest thing ever. Full of ‘ew!’ ‘Get a room!’ ‘That’s so gross!’ And you’ll just end up falling into a fit of laughter with dick.

-he’s big on words of affirmation and physical touch. He tells you he loves you any chance he gets because he knows what you do is dangerous, and a lot of people want the team dead. When it comes to physical touch, it doesn’t have to be sexual. Whether it’s a hand on your shoulder, at the small of your back, on your thigh or just holding your hand, dick needs that. He needs to feel you, to know that you’re close, to feel your presence, just to touch you.

-neither of you have families. His only family is pretty much Bruce, and although he loves you, and loves what you do for Dick, the man is cold and absent. So you’re pretty much each others family. Obviously, the team is your family, and you love them to death, but you know dick is the only one who has no chance of walking away. He’s probably the only one who’ll stay by your side until you’re grey and old, and you don’t mind. Neither of you can see your future with anyone else, it’s either you together, or you alone, no one else could fill in for him, or for you.

-I see this as friends to lovers maybe? Definitely unspoken feelings on both sides for a while, then maybe one of you gets hurt, and it ends up in a full love confession. Probably from you, you ramble, you’re scared to lose him, blah blah blah and he shuts you up by kissing you. It’s a heavy, passionate kiss that tells you he’s been wanting to do that for ages. From then on he can’t take his eyes off of you.

[advantage-artrick]

your artrick piss kink fic changed me. i beg of u to write more

your wish is my command! 😌💜

when it comes to artrick omo, there's never a need to beg lol. as soon as i see those words together, the entire plot of my next piss kink fic has already taken shape in my mind.

btw, the art in this one is not bedwetter!art. this is pantswetter!art, who is bedwetter!art's more pathetic doppelganger. not to be confused with normal art #4, who is simply fun to make piss himself (and will be featured frequently in future omo fics).

CW: piss kink (obv), nsfw content (handjob, public humiliation, etc.), d/s overtones, mdni!!

alrighty! let's get this piss party started!

XOXO ✨️🥳

it wasn't that art was incontinent.

he wasn't. not by any means. despite what several dozen MRTA graduates may claim, he actually made it to the bathroom significantly more than he didn't.

so what if he'd pissed himself a few (eighteen) times? that didn't mean he had bladder issues! he just. . . got a little distracted every once in a while.

sometimes he just got so focused on practice or homework or video games that he didn't always feel the urge to go until it was too late.

so no, he wasn't incontinent. but by the end of his senior year, he had pissed himself five times on his bed, twice on patrick's, four times on the court in front of the entire team, three times in a hallway while trying to make it to the bathroom, once in the woods on a team-building hike, once at a party when he'd had too much to drink, once in a museum on his eighth grade field trip, and once on the bus on their way back from a tournament. . .

and that wasn't counting summers or his years before the academy.

so, whether the habit was medically justified or not, art had developed an unfortunate reputation for being a chronic pants-pisser by the end of his first year.

many kids were cruel to him in the beginning, but he didn't get made fun of for very long. partly because patrick would beat up anyone who so much as gave him a nasty look, but mostly because once they all started to see how kind and smart he was, and how devastated he got every time it happened, they just didn't have it in them to be jerks about it anymore.

in fact, there were many students who developed a soft spot for him purely because of his little issue.

of course art was grateful for this, but having random girls hug you while you're standing in a puddle of your own piss is hardly less humiliating than being pointed and laughed at.

now patrick, being art's best friend and sworn protector, tried to prevent these accidents whenever he realistically could.

there was no one in the entire galaxy who understood art better than patrick did, which is why patrick often figured out when art had to go pee even before he knew himself.

when he noticed the familiar tells, like art squeezing his legs together, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, or even just fidgeting with his hands too much, patrick was quick to ask him if they could take a short bathroom break.

patrick would always pretend he was the one who had to go so art wouldn't be embarrassed, but when they stopped at the urinals and art took longer to empty his bladder than he did, patrick could see in his eyes that they both knew who the pit stop had really been for.

neither of them ever mentioned it, but patrick knew art was grateful even if he didn't say it out loud. plus, there was no denying that art's accident count would've been way higher had he ever stopped interfering, so they never felt the need to rethink their dynamic.

now, art was only two months away from graduation, and he was pretty confident that with patrick's assistance, he could keep the number of accidents he'd had at the academy below twenty.

patrick had been sure of this too, having not missed one of art's tells in years, but then something happened at practice that made him wonder if he really wanted art to reach his goal after all.

they were doing volley drills on a sunny afternoon in march. art and patrick were partners, as usual, and their coaches mostly left them alone to do their thing, wanting to focus more on the younger students.

they went back and forth between practicing for a few minutes and meeting by the net to talk about whatever girl patrick wanted to seduce at a party that weekend. everything was perfectly normal, or at least it was at first.

"do you think i should wear the green shirt or the blue one?" patrick asked, tossing art the ball so he could serve next.

"the blue one. it brings out your eyes," art responded easily, taking a step back so they could go again.

patrick just watched the ball go right past him with a smirk, making no move to hit it back. art rolled his eyes, coming back to the net to hear whatever he apparently still had to say.

"that was so gay, man," patrick laughed, grabbing the spare ball from his pocket.

"pat, this is the twenty-first century. you have to stop using gay as an insult," art lectured.

"it wasn't an insult," patrick defended, tossing art the ball again for a redo. "but you gotta admit, that was a pretty gay thing to say."

"whatever, i meant it," art huffed, but his annoyed look was ruined by how he shifted slightly onto one foot. . .

and then the other. . .

and then back. . .

patrick wasn't really sure why he didn't say something when he saw the signs. he'd told himself they would take a bathroom break in just a few minutes, but then a few minutes passed. . . and a few more. he saw art squeeze his thighs together after lunging to hit the ball.

he didn't say a single thing.

it wasn't like he wanted art to piss himself. that would've been crazy! what kind of friend would intentionally let art wet his pants in front of all their teammates and coaches?

it had just been so many months since it'd last happened, patrick could barely even remember what art looked like all red-faced and teary-eyed. plus, he had gotten so used to taking art to the bathroom, he wasn't even sure art still needed him to. so maybe he was just curious to see if it was even still a possibility or if he'd finally outgrown it.

on the next serve, art bit his lip, bouncing a little in place. by this point, patrick should've known art hadn't changed, but for some reason he still couldn't bring himself to mention it.

it was just so fascinating how his body seemed to know well before his mind did. how he felt every twinge and pulse in his bladder, but couldn't quite connect the dots as to what it was trying to say. not until he couldn't do anything about it, at least.

his subtle squirming was just so entrancing to watch, especially when they were playing. it almost felt like a show that was put on exclusively for patrick, him being the only one who could really see it.

"you okay, pat?" art asked, bringing him back to reality.

patrick blinked, realizing he'd been thinking so hard about art's shifting, he'd completely missed the last ball he had hit.

"yeah, sorry," he said casually, getting back into position.

and that was when he fully realized what was about to happen. he was about to watch art lose control, knowing he could've stopped it. the entire tennis team was about to see the poor kid cry into the puddle he'd made.

and it was going to be all patrick's fault. . .

god, what was he thinking?

just as he was about to turn around and rush them to the bathroom, he heard art let out a horrified gasp.

without even seeing it, patrick knew what'd happened.

when he looked, he saw art standing there frozen and tense, holding himself through his practice shorts with eyes full of desperation.

"pat," he whined as the first dribble escaped him, dampening his crotch as a single drop ran down his leg.

he'd managed to get it under control, but patrick knew that if he moved a muscle, he'd be done for. art knew it too, of course, but he couldn't bring himself to give up so easily in front of so many people.

"shit," patrick hissed, jumping over the net and rushing over to him.

he wasn't entirely sure how to help, but he didn't want to just stand there and watch art humiliate himself. . . well, maybe he did, but he definitely didn't want art to know that.

"aw shit," patrick groaned, standing in front of him to block as many curious eyes as possible. "i'm sorry, art, i didn't notice."

"i-it's okay," art replied shakily, biting his lip. "it's not like it's your job or something. . . pat, i can't move."

"i know, babe, it's okay," patrick reassured him, pulling him into a tight hug. "just stay here. you'll be fine, i promise, and i'm sure the coaches would rather clean a puddle than a trail."

art leaned into him gratefully, letting out a soft, embarrassed whimper. he was still holding on so hard, too stubborn to admit it was a lost cause.

patrick could feel people watching them, probably wondering why they were hugging for so long in the middle of practice. fortunately for them, they didn't have to wonder very long.

"it's okay. i got you, babe. just let go," patrick hummed, and then art was crying into his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt for dear life as the sound of water hitting the pavement filled the air around them.

patrick could feel it soaking his shorts and his shoes, the warmth making him feel things he had never felt before. he ran his fingers through art's curls soothingly, talking to him in a gentle voice to distract him from the people watching as art trembled and wet himself uncontrollably.

"that's it. doin' so good, artie," patrick whispered, holding art's head firmly against his shoulder.

art just sniffled, feeling stream after stream of hot piss run down his legs, wishing desperately he could stop it. his shorts were so wet it was like he'd been thrown in the academy pool, and when he shifted from one foot to the other, his socks squelched pitifully.

the court had grown uncomfortably silent, and the only audible sound besides the dripping on the ground beneath them was the whispers of their many onlookers.

"you don't have to see them," patrick murmured, pushing art's head back down when he tried to lift it. "i'll get you out of here, okay?"

"okay," art breathed, sniffling again.

"you finished?"

art nodded, rubbing more tears into patrick's shirt in the process.

patrick glanced down at the massive puddle they were standing in, wondering how they were gonna get out without tracking piss across the entire gym.

"zweig," one of their coaches interrupted, passing him a towel when he looked up.

distantly, he noticed the other adults in the room encouraging the rest of the players to get back to work.

"get him cleaned up," the coach said awkwardly, doing his best to stay outside the lines of the spreading puddle. "you boys take the afternoon off."

"thanks, coach," patrick mumbled, rubbing art's back when he noticed him shaking harder.

"sure, kid. . . you're a good friend, patrick," he said, nodding. "take care, art."

when he walked away to give them more privacy, patrick carefully extracted himself from the hug, shushing art when he whined in protest.

"we can put our shoes and socks in the towel when i'm done, okay?" patrick told him, pressing the cloth gently to art's inner thigh.

art covered his face with his hands, nodding. he rubbed his eyes shamefully, doing everything possible to keep from looking around at his teammates.

everyone had resumed practice for the most part, but there were still quite a few stolen glances and sympathetic whispers going around.

patrick tried his best to ignore it.

"can you spread your legs a little?" he asked, and art complied, letting patrick dry his thighs before moving down to his calves.

he would've offered to clean himself up, but he was too embarrassed to say much of anything at the moment. he knew patrick wouldn't have let him even if he wanted to though, so he didn't feel too bad about it.

"heads up," patrick murmured, and before art could even blink, the towel was being pressed against his soaked crotch, helping to stop the fabric from dripping.

art choked, blushing brighter if that were even possible. standing there with wet shorts and his best friend sponging casually at his dick, he was sure he'd never been so mortified in his entire life.

patrick, on the other hand, was struggling to ignore how aroused he was by the whole ordeal. first it was watching art squirm, then holding him while he lost control in his arms, and now taking care of him while he hid his tear-streaked face in his hands like a little accident-prone toddler. . . something about it was making his dick so hard it was about to burst right through his underwear.

"patrick," art whined, probably begging him to stop rubbing his crotch as if it weren't already obvious what'd happened.

"shh it's okay," patrick cooed, fully grabbing art's dick when he went in to squeeze the fabric again. art jumped, but he didn't push him off. "hang on, i'm almost done."

once they were both dry enough, they toed off their shoes and socks and wrapped them up in the towel, drying their feet before patrick led them back to their dorm. he just hoped passersby would be too distracted by art's wet shorts to notice his obscenely tented ones.

"patrick," art sighed as soon as the door was closed behind them.

patrick heard the shake in his voice, and knew immediately what was about to happen. calmly, he pulled art back in against his chest, feeling a sickening mixture of pity, arousal, and guilt.

"was doin' so good," art hiccuped, sobbing now that there was nobody watching them.

"you're still doing good, art. this is the first time in months, remember?" patrick comforted.

art sniffled, looking up at him with the prettiest teary eyes patrick had ever seen. fuck, he wanted to kiss his bitten red lips more than he ever had in their entire friendship, and that was saying something.

"because of you," art whispered.

patrick wasn't really sure what to say to that. because it was true, wasn't it? without him, art would be wetting himself nearly every day. hell, maybe every day if he'd done it the one time patrick decided not to say something.

god, why hadn't he said something?

"it's fine, art, really. don't beat yourself up about it. we've all got our issues, okay?" patrick brushed off, playing with art's hair to distract him from his shame.

a long silence passed between them after that. patrick happily held art for as long as he needed to calm down, which was understandably a very long time.

it was only when art's trembles turned to shivers that patrick decided to move things along. since he'd already gotten in the mindset of taking care of his best friend, patrick hooked his fingers in the waistband of art's shorts and pushed them slowly down his thighs before art could stop him.

art let out a little confused noise, but he was too emotionally exhausted to protest.

"let's get you cleaned up," patrick whispered, kissing art's temple as he let the soaked garment fall to the ground with a wet slap.

art stepped out of the shorts, letting patrick kick them aside, but he caught patrick's wrist when he reached out towards his underwear.

"pat, what're you-"

"shhh it's okay, art. nothing i haven't seen before," he teased.

art hesitated for a second before releasing patrick's wrist, allowing him to tug his underwear down until they were joining his shorts on the floor.

"so pretty," patrick murmured, entranced. he hadn't even looked at art's dick yet, not that it was much to see soft.

"w-what?" art responded, eyes widening.

"look so pretty when you piss yourself," patrick continued, inhaling the scent of art's sweat and shampoo greedily. "so pretty when you cry. fuck, i always thought so."

art shook his head, trying to step out of his grasp, but patrick pulled him back in easily.

"hey, it's okay," patrick coerced, reaching down between them to wrap a hand around art's half-hard cock.

patrick smirked when he felt it, chuckling proudly into art's hair.

"aww, i knew it," he mused, stroking him slowly a few times. "knew you liked me taking care of you."

art keened, not sure if he should buck forward into patrick's hand or take a step back. as soon as he'd made a decision though, patrick gripped him tighter and brushed his thumb over the tip, and art promptly forgot what his verdict had been.

"that feel good?" patrick hummed, too caught up in the moment to realize what he'd just begun. "this makin' you feel better, baby?"

art nodded, his head falling forwards against patrick's shoulder. god, this was infinitely better than jerking off on seperate beds.

patrick huffed, pulling himself out of his own wet shorts. art's little noises were driving him so fucking crazy, he just couldn't take it anymore.

he gripped their aching cocks together in one hand, jerking them both off at once as art moaned and whimpered into his shoulder. patrick noticed with a sick satisfaction that he had at least an inch and a half on art, the visible difference making his stomach twist possessively. art definitely wasn't small. in fact, he was perfectly average- maybe even a little more than- but when you saw the two right next to each other. . .

"yeah, there you go," patrick groaned, thrusting up into his fist. "don't be embarrassed, baby. you're so sweet when you wet yourself for me. fuck, so pretty."

art whined, humping into patrick's hand a few more times before he was coming, covering patrick's dripping cock with his release. he'd finished so fast, patrick almost wanted to tease him for it, but having been hard for almost an hour at that point, he definitely wasn't too far behind.

"fuck, baby. oh, fuck," patrick groaned, coming hard all over art's favorite practice shirt.

feeling unsteady, patrick eased himself back onto his bed, sitting down and pulling art with him onto his lap. art sighed, settling in easily while they tried to catch their breath.

"patrick?" art questioned after a minute.

patrick hummed, seemingly oblivious to the less-than-normal position (and state of dress) they were in.

". . . what just happened?"

"i don't know," patrick responded, pressing his lips to art's neck tiredly. "but i really don't think you're gonna graduate below twenty."

yay! more artrick piss! ✨️💦

so did y'all like this one better than the other one, the same, or less? just out of curiosity.

thanks for the ask! this is one of my favorite things to write for sure lol 💜🫢

requests are always open!

XOXO 🥳

[pixiedurango]

DAV fandom Love Letter Time

I was tagged by the wonderful @serensama in this wonderful stream of love which celebrates the DA fandom's good sides and its wonderful people. I get overwhelmed easily by long posts so I decided to cut and link the previous contributions to this awesome love train (choo choo) I came back after years of writer's block and a personal life on a down-spiral especially (mental-) health wise. I was anxious for both: playing the new game and reenter the fandom that had been all my heart, soul and life 10 years ago. What if I would hate what I used to love... It took me a while to settle in and felt on the outside, where I used to have a welldefined spot within my little wallbanger bubble. I mingled and tried to find my place and it often felt like yelling into the void. Until one day @becausedragonage saw one of my posts I made for a tag game despite no one tagging me. She decided to interact and promised me to tag me in the upcoming week. I felt seen and welcome and will be forever grateful for her reaching out to me. And I really appreciate that this is just what she does: Making people feel welcome and part of our little corner of tumblr. I can't talk about what I think of as the glue that keeps us together as a fandom, without mentioning @hyperions-light and @thedissonantverses. I know there are more who work tirelessly to make the DA fandom a welcoming place for everyone but those I mention here have been here for me personally, running weekly events and sharing deep and intelligent meta with us and being just all around good and thoughtful people. I am really bad with reading because, my focus only rarely allows me to lock in on the written word nowadays. And only once in a while a fic crosses my dash that achieves to get me reading. This is not me being ungrateful or not being interested in other people's writing, it's just my brain not cooperating, especially when it comes to ongoing longfics. But I never stop trying and found a few works that were just what my dumb brain wanted at that time. I need to mention @midnightwind. Top tier writing, never shying away from exploring the darker sides of life and relationships, whre I often am stuck in fluff. I love their way of thinking and our ramblings about the Antivan Crows is my favorite thing. @serensama has a wonderful way with words just as imho she is one of the kindest and sweetest people our fandom has to offer. Whenever my brain cooperates, I come back to reading her stories. @draco-illius-noctis is so close to my heart, because she, too, embraced the art of letter writing. Just as I did with my Antivan Postal Service, she offers letters from our favorite Nevarran Necromancer Emmrich and we share the sentiment, that nothing can make an OC and their creator happier than heartfelt words from their beloved. @uchidachi I know we found each other within this DA space but we crossed fandom borders together and I really enjoy our wrestling-co-watch-across-oceans-happenings. You are loved and appreciated <3 Finally I need to thank my AMOM (a murder of misfits) crew. @alystrin03 @ezriell @nyx-de-riva and @only-slightly-terrified followed me into an AU where our OCs Alecto, Xander, Nyx, Micah and my Cara de Riva live, love and work together on their journey to become full crows. We created a safe space for each other to bounce off ideas, rp, write, laugh and cry together and support each other during good and bad days. Our little bubble means so much to me, I can't even put it into words. There are so many more around here, that deserve to be mentioned in this (very long already) love letter and I try to not forget anyone. You are loved and mean more to me than you can ever guess. @ofcrowsanddragons @rook-de-rivas @hightowerqueen @motleymercurialmarionette @brennacedria Basically said: If we ever interacted, had a few words, you rambled in the tags of a post you reblogged from me (or vice versa): I think of you as a friend and please consider yourself mentioned, tagged or not. Thank you all for being you <3

[taintedcigs]

eddie w tattoo artist reader..... trying SO hard to seem like he's not dying from pain while she tattoos his chest, bc he's trying to impress her. she's the coolest girl he's ever seen and the fact that her art is on him forever makes him so giddy and happy, almost as happy as getting her number

call me if you need a groupie — e.m.

yes yes yes yes yes. a thousand times yes to this. thank u for this request omg i looooove lovesick cutie eddie soooooo much. this was meant to be a blurb but now its a 2.8k+ fic oops. idk if there were exclusive shirts ok i tried to do my research but this is the best i could get and idk how tattoo processes are so take everything i wrote w a grain of salt !! not proofread as always so ignore any mistakes and also idk why but i looved writing for this dynamic and if anyone would be interested i could write a pt.2 for some smut !! (maybe sub!eddie or switch!eddie? 👀)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!tattoo artist!reader (wc: 2.8k+)

warnings: MINORS DNI w any of my works!!. just pure fluff!! maybe the teeniest tiniest angst, eddie is kinda insecure <3, eddie is a lovesick cutie honey pie !! and swearing? oh also tattooing ofc (needles n stuff)

He doesn't mean to flinch, he doesn't mean to show you how stressed he is, but you can sense it.

Each time the needle presses against his skin, he hisses, mouth biting onto his lips, harsh enough to draw blood.

But Eddie doesn’t care, you—the hottest and coolest girl—that has ever graced the hellhole that was Hawkins was tattooing him, and Eddie couldn’t afford to look like a coward.

So with everything in him, he shut his lips, biting on them, becoming accustomed to the metallic taste because it didn’t matter, not when you looked so fucking pretty when cooing him and your free hand squeezed his biceps for reassurance.

He didn’t know what to admire first, the way your lips quirked sweetly when you answered his dumb questions, the way you looked so focused with your lip between your teeth, trying to tattoo him, or the fact that you were wearing an Anthrax shirt, and not just any regular Anthrax shirt that you could find at those regular shops, it was an exclusive shirt that was only sold at the concerts, and he had to gulp physically at that.

You were a tattoo artist… and a metal fan? How perfect could you get?

Before his questions were answered, the needle pricked at his skin again, he cursed out, and instead of screaming in his mind, he whimpered out loud this time.

Your head perked up quickly and Eddie was now cursing himself, for being a fucking idiot, for looking like a coward in front of you.

“I can slow down if you want to,” You said with a smile, a sweet smile that adorned your perfectly red lips, they looked so fucking kissable.

“N–no!” He stuttered, but you gave him a huff. “C’mon Eds, you’re doing good… better than anyone I’ve ever tattooed has, we can slow down a bit.” You reassured.

His eyes lit up like a child, Eds? His new acquired nickname rolled off your tongue so sweetly, your words dripped in honey. And Eddie decided he would do anything to hear you call him that again.

Not only did you call him Eds, but you also said he was better than the others, and the childish grin on Eddie’s lips was quick to grow again, his entire body relaxing as he almost melted into you.

“You think so?” He asked, tone giddy and all sweet, causing a pretty giggle to escape your lips.

“I know so!” You hummed. “Tattooed a guy yesterday. He was tall. Like really fucking tall, and he had this long beard and tattoos everywhere!” You exaggerated, watching Eddie’s eyes widen. “He cried like a baby the second that needle prickled his skin!”

“And look at you, taking everything I’m giving you like a champ,” You winked.

If only you knew the affect you had on him, Eddie’s entire face grew red at that, he would, without hesitation take anything you gave him.

He tried, so fucking hard not to think about it, but now his mind was filled with the images of you, sitting on his faze, your pretty cunt glistening as he lapped away at your juices.

He imagined those pretty manicured fingers discarding his hair, ruffling while those pretty little lips were hung open, chanting his name. Your whines and whimpers would fill the room as he begged for you to cum in his mouth. He wouldn’t stop until you smothered him.

Until all he could taste was you.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, because the blood was quick to rush to his cock, and he didn’t want to have his bulge hardening against his tight pants anymore than he needed to, you were inches away from him and he wanted to seem cool–so fucking badly.

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded swiftly. “So brave for me.” You coo, lips lightly brushing against his cheek, as you plant a little kiss.

And Eddie was sure this was heaven now, he blinked quickly to make sure he wasn't dreaming, the light kiss you left on his cheeks lingered, and he could feel it burn.

His cheeks were purely crimson red now, he couldn't fucking help it. He ached for you, ached to have you close to him, ached to feel your touch, and everything you did was enough to drive him crazy, make him feel out of his fucking mind.

He was putty in your hands and you had no fucking idea.

His mouth stood agape, a dumbfounded look overtaking his features for too fucking long until the soft buzz of the machine brought him back again, the needle quick to puncture the skin's surface again, causing Eddie to squeeze his eyes shut as he tried his best not to fucking scream.

Be cool, be cool, be fucking cool Edward Munson.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head, and he was glad you were focusing on tattooing the cute sketch you made for him, and not his actual face that probably looked straight out of a horror movie.

“So—uh... c—cool shirt,” Eddie muttered, voice so low that he was surprised when you hummed back at him.

“Oh, yeah,” You muttered.

“You listen to Anthrax?” You asked with a beaming smile, gaze still focused on Eddie's arm.

Eddie huffed painfully but realized quickly that the nervousness of talking to you was overpowering the pain of the tattoo gun drilling into his skin.

“Are you kidding? Anthrax, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath... Megadeth! You name it I probably listen to it,” He hummed, and your eyes glimmered, causing Eddie's breath to hitch and his wavering nervousness to appear again. “Metal is my jam, baby!” He exclaimed, not too loud to disturb your tattooing process but loud enough to cause a giggle out of you.

Metal is my jam? Baby? Who the fuck says that?

Eddie was afraid to look into your eyes now, afraid to see the gaze everyone gives him.

Like he's an outsider like he's a freak.

But when he hears that pretty giggle of yours again, comfort takes over him, nervousness dissipating quickly when he sees the gentle look you give him.

Almost as if to let him know that you also love those bands. Almost as if to let him know that he wasn't an outsider because you were just like him.

“Dio?” You asked with a curious gaze, face beaming up when Eddie nodded furiously.

“Fuckin' love Dio,” He muttered, barely realizing the needle on his skin now, all thanks to you.

“Uhh—how did you even get that shirt?” Eddie asked, almost shyly, admiring the way you were neatly tattooing him.

“I wanted to go to that concert so badly but the tickets were sold out so quickly.” He added.

“Oh! I was Belladonna's groupie,” You muttered mindlessly, the pain as you prickled the needle was an afterthought to Eddie now, almost forgetting how to breathe, he coughed, quite loudly, causing you to look up at him and see the bewildered look on his face.

You stopped the machine when you chuckled lightly, "Oh, Eds!"

There it was, that nickname again, god you were dizzying his mind.

“I was just joking,” You smiled at him, and he wanted to melt, right then and there. "Needed to go a little bit deeper so I thought I'd distract you," You shrugged, and Eddie returned the smile.

He liked the feeling of having someone care about him, he liked talking to you, and he sure as hell enjoyed being with someone so similar to him—someone so fucking cool.

“Though I did go to that concert in 1987.” You could feel Eddie’s curious gaze on you

“My friend knew their manager,” You murmured again.

"Really?!? How was it?" He asked, face beaming again.

“So fucking cool.” You gushed as you started talking about their set list, how the first punch you ever threw was at that concert, and you enthusiastically animated Donais' guitar riff, earning a hearty chuckle from Eddie. He loved every bit of your story, listening attentively as your exaggerations enticed him more and more.

The longer you tattooed him, the more comfortable Eddie got, pain was no longer his main concern when all he wanted to do was make you laugh, hear that sweet giggle escaping from your lips, admire the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him so sugary.

Minutes stretched into hours as you focused on his tattoo, each pass of the needle causing a smile on your face as the sketch you made became more intricate and alluring on his bare skin.

“All done!” You exclaimed with a smile when you finally finished tattooing him, a sigh of relief escaping your lips when the buzz of the machine was finally replaced with silence.

You couldn't help but trace every part of his face now, you wanted to see if he liked it, anxiety bubbling up in your stomach as you couldn't read Eddie's expressions.

“Oh my god,” Was all that left Eddie's lips, and your lips almost started to tremble.

Jesus fucking Christ, how bad did you fuck up?

“Oh my fucking god,” He repeated again, this time his head tilted upward to your direction, almost snapping as you looked at him with scared eyes.

But your gaze eased the second you saw the admiration in Eddie's gaze. “This is a fucking masterpiece!” He beamed, causing a smile on your lips, so fucking big and pretty that he wished he could have that tattooed instead.

“It's fucking perfect,” He muttered again, shaking his head in disbelief when he looked at the tattoo on his forearm.

“I mean when I saw that sketch, I knew you were good to , but holy shit,” He praised again, causing heat to grow in your cheeks, he had no idea how much it meant to you, to have someone appreciating your art, to have people walk around in the sketches you did, indelible on their skin. It felt so fucking good.

“It's...perfect.”

“Really?”

“Of fucking course,” He gushed. “You're so fuckin' talented it's crazy,” He muttered, fingertips gentle as they avoided glazing through the tattoo, but around it.

You were so fucking perfect it was killing him, and he couldn't help the giddy feeling inside of him knowing that your art would be etched into his skin, forever.

You couldn't shake off the thoughts in your head, swirling when Eddie uttered those compliments to you.

Your cheeks grew hot so quickly that you felt the need to turn around, trying to think of something to say to him so that you wouldn't look like a fucking idiot.

Eddie turned around to face you, the smile that brought out his dimples apparent in his face as he watched you scrabble something on a business card.

“Thank you,” You muttered when you turned around, hands almost shaking as you extended your arm to give Eddie the card.

He scrambled it into his back pocket, not caring when you were this close to him, but you frowned at that. “No, thank you, for this masterpiece” He winked, pointing toward his forearm.

He didn't even know where he got the confidence to even be able to wink at you, and his coolness wore off the second he exited the shop, a silent shrieking scream exited his mouth as he freaked out.

Your sketch. On his arm.

You. Tattoo artist. Metal fan.

You, kissing him on the cheek, talking to him for hours, laughing at his idiotic jokes.

You.

Eddie was sure he lost his mind, hands shaking as he reached for the card in his back pocket.

The card was black and the title on it was dripping with blood. He whined.

How much cooler were you going to get?

He gulped when he looked back, seeing you toward the clear glass door, and he knew.

He knew that if he didn't do it now, he could never do it, this was his only fucking chance, and he couldn't be a coward, not now, not when you were this close to him.

Eddie entered back into the shop in a frenzy, causing your head to pop up swiftly as you looked at him dumbfounded.

God, you were so gorgeous he could feel his heart skip a beat.

“C—can I ask you something?” He cleared his throat to not appear nervous, and you nodded, furiously.

“Look, I know this is weird and all... but... uhm, I really feel like we connected,” He muttered, fingers tapping against the glass counter that you were standing behind in.

“And I thought maybe... uhhh... I could like—get your number or somethin'?” He uttered anxiously, tilting his head slightly to the side, and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips.

And even though why you laughed was reasonable, it was the worst fucking thing you could have done to Eddie.

Especially when your laugh seemed so mocking, almost different than the ones you gave him earlier before. Jogging deep into this memory of the countless times when Eddie tried to pluck up the courage to ask girls in his class out, only to be laughed in his face, or to have them insult him.

But this was more than that, it pained him.

It pained him to think that you thought of him like the others did. Like you saw him as an outsider, too.

His bubble of confidence that was already wavering was even quicker to fizzle out, he could feel that familiar lump in his throat, shoulders slumping as his gaze was quick to show his emotions.

He was hurt. And he was sure this hurt much more than a thousand needles breaking the barriers of his skin, “Uhhh,” He gave you a bitter chuckle. “Just.... never mind” He added, defeatedly turning back around to exit the shop once again as he ignored you calling out for him.

“Wait!” You yelled out after him, but Eddie started walking faster.

“Shit shit shit!” You cursed yourself for your little joke.

“Eds, please!” You called out again, this time effective enough to make Eddie stop in his tracks.

Eds. Oh you knew how to get him hooked, how to get him right where you wanted him.

And he hated himself for being this weak for you, someone he met, just recently.

“What?” He answered coldly, glaring at you with bitterness that made you want to hide out, that gentle soul in him disappearing in mere seconds.

And you sighed, hating that he could ever see you as someone that would make fun of him.

“Flip the card,” Your gaze on him was intense, cheeks growing hot again knowing that you were going to see his reaction to your stupid note.

“I don't have time for your bullshit” He spat, almost on his feet to leave.

You sighed. “Eds, just... will you just please flip the card?” You asked, all prettily that Eddie couldn't help but oblige, but be gentle with you again because he couldn't resist it. He couldn't resist you.

He huffed as he plucked the card out of the back pocket of his jeans, turning it over in one swift motion.

'CALL ME IF U NEED A GROUPIE' and your digits were attached right below it.

His gaze softened immediately, head drooping further as he huffed at himself.

He felt stupid, so fucking stupid.

Why did he ever think you would treat him like the others?

His chest expanded with hope when he looked back up at you, a soft smile graced his lips.

“Oh,” He muttered, not able to help the childish grin that was now stuck to his lips.

“Shut up,” You giggled, nudging him slightly.

“You owe me,” You narrowed your eyes sarcastically, causing his brows to quip.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” He asked, a newfound confidence washing him over when you were so easy to talk to.

“A date,” You beamed, scrunching your nose.

“Okay.” The words left his lips quickly, too quickly that it had you feeling giddy inside.

“How about tomorrow?” He didn't even know how he managed to get those words out without stuttering.

“Uhm—sure.” You were the one stuttering now, cheeks burning up as you could barely look at him. His grin was sickly inviting.

“I'll pick you up at 8?” You nodded so quickly that you were sure your head was about to fall off.

“See you tomorrow,” His voice was sultry as he winked again, making you almost melt, looking cool on the surface when all he wanted to do was go home, freak the fuck out, tell Wayne all about the cool girl who tattooed him, and not be able to sleep until your date tomorrow.

[londonfoginacup]

Personal stream of consciousness around Liam and grief and moving forward

Every day I wake up and Liam is still dead. It continues to sort of feel like at some point I will wake up and that won’t be true, that he’ll be back, like he’s just on a trip right now. And I think that’s… a normal part of the grieving process, but it’s hard because it feels disrespectful, almost.

I only did 8 days of inktober this year. I had another ten sketched out already in my notebook, and now I wonder what to do with those. Some of them were good! (Some weren’t). I was older than Liam by a month or so, but for some reason I want to be able to go to him now, and show him those sketches, and say, I do art too! Aren’t you proud of me?

Death is a horrible and unnatural thing. It was never supposed to happen to us. We grieve because we were not made to lose people. We were made to love them forever. Grief is our body trying desperately to reconcile with a reality it was never made for. That is why it feels this way. We were not made for a life like this. We were made to hold one another in our arms. We were made to love each other. We were made for more.

I want to tell him that. That he was made for more than he got. I hope someday I can.

When tumblr started having polls, I always voted the Liam option, and in part that was because I love Liam and I would’ve chosen him regardless. But in part it was with the thought that, if he were to ever snoop on our community here, I wanted Liam to see that he had people in his corner. I don’t regret that. I’m sad it’s all I could do.

I was thinking about it earlier. About One Direction. I tried to slice it so many ways and I came to the conclusion that Liam and Louis are the ones that I think were the heart. I think 1D could’ve come back together to tour, make music, and so on, as long as it had at least those two. 1D could never exist without Liam. It just couldn’t. He loved them too much.

Obviously, I haven’t turned my queue back on. I haven’t felt right reblogging current day stuff about the boys. It feels like turning that back on will indicate being ready to move on, to some extent. And okay, I’ll never be ready so there’s that. But. The idea of turning it back on doesn’t feel right. Not yet.

That being said, I started last month preparing for Christmas. For the 25 days of fic rec I do, and the advent fic. And of course cards. I had decided just a week before Everything Happened that I couldn’t afford to do physical cards this year. And I feel ten times more guilty about that decision now, because it feels like surely people NEED that! But I am also trying to be realistic with myself; so many wonderful people have offered to help financially, and any other time I think I would’ve taken them up on that, but right now the emotional and mental weight of doing physical cards might also be too heavy.

Which, again, makes me feel like I’m letting people down when they need me. If I could, I would send all of you personalized letters every day. It is so hard to reckon with the knowledge that I am only human and must take care of myself.

But I will do the fic recs. that’s easy; I’ve already finished the post graphics.

And I will do the advent fic (I might change my plot— the original one didn’t have a lot of Liam, but i think I need him there more).

And I will make some sort of digital cards for sure. It occurred to me this year that I never put my paper dolls online anywhere and I sort of wonder why not. At least maybe this will be a treat for anyone too wary of sending a stranger online their address— all of you can print th paper dolls for yourselves. I’ll make plenty of outfits.

So. That’s my plan, I suppose. I’ve cried writing this more than I’ve cried all week, I think because it’s easy to think that I am past the worst of the grieving right up until I have to look head on at the facts again.

I miss him. I miss him. How could this happen.

[hemi-demi]

Did you have much fic writing experience before you started your AO3? I refuse to believe you've only been at this for two years or so

Not fic writing, no! It's Too Cold was my first fic I ever wrote (that I remember, anyway). I'll have been writing for two years this October.

I've always had a tangential relationship to writing in some way, but not often prose. I've had brushes of it since I was a kid, a lot of maladaptive daydreaming stories and a bit of character RP with friends (on AOL instant messenger, God that was ages ago), but I had maybe written like two creepypasta things I never shared with anyone and have an abandoned comic idea somewhere. That was pretty much it, I was very much an art kid growing up.

But I think the bulk of my writing experience comes from two places: game dev and my day job.

For about 10-ish years, I've been a solo game developer where I just make little things for me and my friends to play. Usually game jams where I have to build things in 72 hours by myself. I had to write a surprising amount for those projects; outlining story progression, writing dialogue, adding flavor text, etc. I think that had a major influence in my work because I am very particular about my dialogue, and I often consider game design when I pace my stories.

I also do more technical writing for my day job designing very boring corporate training content. That's a very different way of writing where it has to sound conversational, but informative. That job sucks, but can be satisfying to try and convey complex information in a way that's easier to digest, so I don't hate that part so much.

And the rest of the gaps I just kinda fill in with reading and practice. Reading others work helped to fill in the gaps of what I was lacking in prose (frankly, this is still a weaker point for me, I need to read more and work this muscle harder), and I've just been writing constantly since I started.

So, while this is my first time in fic and fandom, I'm not entirely starting from scratch either. The experience just comes from wildly different sources and I'm doing my best to fill in the gaps of my knowledge whenever I write these two idiots kissing, lol.

[tyrian-witch]

Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

“So, you’re like, new here?”

You’re not sure why Steve suddenly decides to strike up small talk with you at this moment or why he’s asking such a stupid question as that when you’re certain he knows damn well he hasn’t acknowledged your existence till now.

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

Woah! Long first chapter incoming! Took me a good while to finish it but I did say I’d take my time with this fic, didn’t I? I’m doing anything but writing my term paper for art history lol, but hey! Here it is at last! Hope you enjoy! :D

Warnings: my crappy writing, language, use of y/n, brief mentions of paranoia, brief mentions of scars and a pinch of a blood reference, reader not knowing how to deal with being asked stupid questions, mentions of violence and the use of a gun, courtesy of a shady woman in an overcoat.

masterlist • series masterlist • previous part

~~~

November 6th, 1983 - Hawkins, Indiana

When you leave The Hawk, the night is dark and chilly as the cold air bites your face. You’ve been working at the theatre since the summer, and despite the job being kind of slow from time to time, it definitely keeps you busy.

You normally take day shifts, but lately, with school being demanding, you’ve decided to work nights.

You say goodbye to your co-worker, Kat, waving at her with a skeleton gloved hand.

She waves back and smiles. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

You pick up your skateboard and begin to make your way home. The only thing that accompanies you on your journey is the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft thrumming of the orange street lights. Zipping along the way, you find that it’s peaceful.

This is when you feel the most alone in the world. It’s your favourite thing; skateboarding when the sleepy town of Hawkins is quiet and there’s almost no cars or people around. Maybe this is what it’s like when the world comes to an end one day. Nothing ever happens and it’s peaceful this way - you don’t need to share the road or sidewalks with anyone - it’s just you and your thoughts.

Maybe it’s just because you’re a loner at heart.

This moment of peace doesn’t last too long, however, when a prickly feeling creeps in. You can’t help but feel that, somehow, you’re being watched. Despite the uneasiness it brings you, you shrug it off - you try to, at least - and place your headphones on over your black toque. You’re glad you remembered to bring it with you today, otherwise your ears would have been thawed out by now.

Slowing down for a moment, you press play on your Walk-Man, followed by the sounds of Maria Callas drowning out the ambiance of the chill November evening - her operatic voice rings through for the remainder of your journey. It seems to ease the strange feeling from before, but because you’re a tad bit paranoid, you adjust the volume and lower it enough just so you can hear the outside world. It’s best to listen to opera on full volume, but right now, you need to be vigilant, just in case.

Curse your paranoia.

The strenuous ride feels as if it stretches on forever, but really, you eventually get closer and closer to home and you’re comforted by the fact that you’ll get to collapse in bed the second you get there.

Well… not unless you eat something first.

The feeling of being watched slowly subsides when you make it to your neighbourhood, surrounded by houses with their lights on, sprinklers watering the front lawns and it brings you a sense of safety.

What were you worried about again?

When you feel it’s safe to turn the volume back up, Maria Callas’ voice crescendos as you near your house. You always had a soft spot for opera, and she is no exception. Looking at you first glance, no one would probably guess you like opera music, let alone listen to Maria Callas of all people, but you figure your style has something to do with that misconception. You know what they say though: Never judge a book by its cover or some crap.

Her voice continues to crescendo when you step foot inside before finally coming to a dramatic halt. Shutting the door with your back, you exhale as you lean against it and kick off your shoes. Your entrance signals to your aunt that you've made it home and she comes to greet you when you fix your slip-on Vans nicely on the shoe rack.

"Hi, honey," she greets you, smiling, "are you hungry? I made meatloaf for dinner, there's some left over in the kitchen."

You nod, composing yourself from your exhaustion and slide off your headphones to lay rest around your neck. "Yeah, I could eat."

She examines your face for any injuries, eyes landing on the scar you obtained on your chin a month ago. You had slipped and fallen into a boulder while skateboarding, immediately rewarded with a bleeding gash - you made it the rest of your way home like a champ, but when Marsha had seen your face that day, she was hysterical. Out of being (over)protective, she had tried to ban you from skateboarding, but you managed to convince her otherwise.

Since then, she’s been constantly checking for any new injuries while giving your board the evil eye.

When she sees that your face is unscathed, minus the aforementioned scar and the faint, barely-there one on the bridge of your nose (a story for another day), she nods in approval.

“Glad you’ve made it safely.”

You hum in amusement and shake your head. “Yes, I am very much alive and well. Now what was it you said about dinner?”

~~~

Safe to say, you harffed down the meatloaf like a starved woman. It's not particularly your favorite meal, but you'd eat just about anything when you’re insatiably hungry. Also, you couldn't tell your aunt you disliked meatloaf after all this time of eating it since you moved in. She doesn't need to know.

You have no issues with being blatantly honest about a lot of things, but sometimes, once in a while, you hold your tongue - not for the sake of pleasing the other person, but rather, it was okay to be quiet about some things.

Besides, what’s the point when you’re just starving right now? You’ll eat just about anything on any given day, even if you don’t like it all that much, but you were taught to not let your food go to waste at a very young age. Most kids are always picky, treating their parents like they’re some kind of damn restaurant and forcing them to accommodate to their every bratty demand.

Not you, though. If you ever pulled that when you were little, you certainly would have gotten an earful, or worse: a good old fashioned spanking.

Nonetheless, even if meatloaf isn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to you, you still eat it because why waste it when the hands that prepared it for you took the time and love to make it?

Naturally, you’re a grateful person, so when you finish your plate after practically inhaling its contents, you thank your aunt and take care of your dishes - another thing you were taught at a young age, and rightfully so - it’s shaped you to be self sufficient, which you’re glad about. You’d be surprised at the kids your age who didn’t know how to do a simple chore.

When you trudge up the stairs with your skateboard tucked under your arm and your backpack slung over your shoulder, you pass by Barb's room as you overhear her talking on the phone, presumably with Nancy Wheeler, her best friend.

"Nance, come on, you can't be serious," she says, rolling her eyes at her friend's blatant obliviousness. "What do you mean ‘you don’t think so?’"

You peek through the crack of her door, curious about this conversation. Despite keeping to yourself, you can't help but be just a little bit curious about some things. So what? It’s just part of your nature.

“Nance,” she laughs this time. “It’s so obvious he likes you.”

You quirk a brow at this, intrigued.

The door creaks a bit when you lean a little close, the sound causing Barb’s head to turn in your direction. With your eyes wide, you mouth a quiet ‘sorry’ and smile with a grimace.

“Uh-huh. What? Oh, no Y/N just got home right now,” she covers the receiver with one hand and says, “Nancy says hi.”

Oh. “Tell her I say hey.”

You’ve hung out with Nancy a few times at school. Perhaps enough times to consider her a friend. Well… sort of anyways.

You don’t normally hang around Barb or her often, mostly because you prefer to stick to yourself, but whenever you do decide to pass time with them, you’re mostly quiet. You prefer to listen rather then talk, only speaking when you feel like it. Regardless, your voice is rather commanding, what with your silent nature and all.

You’re rather stand-offish, and your aloof behaviour is the common denominator as to why you don’t have many friends - not that you mind, you’ve never been the greatest at making friends, let alone keep ‘em.

Your aloofness has been a great concern to your aunt and uncle since you moved here, the couple always trying to encourage you to spend more time with people from school rather than stay holed up in your room. Barb had tried a few times before as well to coax you out of your shell, but eventually realized that you’re not one to be persuaded, but rather, you’ll do things on your own terms.

At least she gets it.

Though their irrational concern can become a bit much, a part of you appreciates the way your relatives care - but you still like your space anyways.

Nancy’s nice enough, though, you decide.

At the same time, you don’t know her all that well, but based on the time you’ve spent with her, you’ve come to know that she is intelligent, studious (much like Barb) and maybe a bit preppy. Maybe a little too much for your liking, but nonetheless, she does well.

Still, she’s not bad. She’s okay.

If anything, she’s kind enough to you. You’re not sure how to respond to her kindness, not because you’re shy, you simply just don’t know what to do with her treatment.

Once you've made it to your room, you shut the door behind you and make a beeline for your closet, shivering when you change into your pyjamas.

"Holy sh-" you inhale a sharp breath through chattering teeth, cold air tickling your bare skin and bones as you slip on your sleeping pants. You shudder when you crawl under the covers, grabbing your elephant plushie in the process and curl up in the fetal position.

You lay there, sinking into warmth as the light from your lamp illuminates your room with a soft glow. You'd ready yourself for bed in a little while, but right now, this was the perfect recovery from the chilly night.

~~~

Normally, you end up crying yourself to sleep just about every night. You have been since you moved in during June, but some nights, you’re lucky enough not to cry. Last night was one of those nights; too freezing and shivery to shed a tear, but you still held on to Dumbo Jr., the stuffed elephant, while you slept.

On nights when you cry - or when you don't - he's always been there to protcect you in some way, though it seems you’re protecting him more - grasping him in your clutches like a lifeline, the only thing you can call yours and guard with your life. He's just that special.

For once, you have a dreamless, tearless sleep, the comfort and safety of your twin bed sucking you further into a cloud of nothingness while you slumber.

It’s good.

So good, in fact, you end up almost being late for school the next morning.

Barb is the first to try to wake you, gently shaking your shoulders with a soft yet urgent ‘wake up,’ only to be met with a grumbled ‘go away.’

The redhead sighs, knowing if you don't get up now, you'll be late and she'll end up leaving you behind to go study in the library before class starts. She always likes to squeeze in some extra study time before school, and you have a chance now if you get up, but the moment 7:30 becomes 8:00, you're screwed.

So when the clock does just that, you finally wake, thanks to Marsha calling your name from the bottom of the steps - or rather, she yells your name in hopes you’ll actually hear her.

Inhaling sharply, your eyes squint open, not quite registering where you are or what day it is. You pick up your Casio watch from your nightstand, eyes widening when the clock reads 8:03 am.

Sonuvabitch! That's 3 more minutes lost now!

Scrambling out of bed, you end up falling face first into the carpet, followed by a soft thud and a pained 'ah-ha-howww'. You curse yourself for oversleeping again when you make it back on your feet and begin scrounging through your closet for something decent to wear.

Settling on a pair of black jeans, a graphic t-shirt and your usual faded dark denim jacket with stitched in angel wings, you nod to yourself in approval.

You run back and forth while you brush your teeth, simultaneously shoving the necessary books in your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. Making haste to run downstairs, you do a 180 and remember to grab your skateboard, cursing quietly under your breath as your feet pad rapidly up and down the wooden steps.

You stride in the kitchen to snatch a piece of French toast from the stack Marsha whipped up, haphazardly drizzling syrup on it and stuffing it between your teeth while attempting to tigthen your black bandana over your head. Ever the multitasker you are.

"Honey, you're going to be late!" the woman stresses as you make your way out of the kitchen.

You let out a muffled 'I know!' as you lace up your Chuck Taylors, one foot propped up on a chair while trying your best not to let the piece of toast slip from your clamped teeth. It's a bit soggy now with a puddle of saliva threating to slip past your watery mouth, but you suck it back in and finally get a good bite out of it.

"I’m working again tonight," you remind her in between mouthfuls. "Will probably miss dinner."

Then as an afterthought, you add, “M’sorry.”

“I can have Barb pick you up tonight,” your aunt offers, “you know how I feel about you being out there so late, especially when it’s dark.”

“It’s okay, I made it back in one piece last night, didn’t I?”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s no trouble-”

“Y/N.”

“Really, Aunt Marsha, I’ll be fine. See you tonight?”

The woman sighs, knowing it’s no use trying to convince you to accept a little help. “Okay… just be careful on that thing please,” she points to your skateboard board and eyes it wearily.

“No promises,” you sing playfully before you see her unamused expression. “Okay, okay, I will be.”

“Could you at least wear a helmet-”

“Nope!” You cut her off mid sentence as you make a dash to get out quickly, shutting the door as to not hear her begin her protests.

~~~

Regretfully, you wished you had had some coffee before you left.

The lack of caffeine that usually fuelled your system was bound to make you feel as if you were suffering withdrawal symptoms, but you just need to make it through the day.

Or the week, really.

Checking your watch, you see you have 10 minutes left to spare before classes start, so you push with one foot against the asphalt with more force, effectively speeding up as you zip down the streets.

I cannot be late, I cannot be late, I cannot be late-

Your mind is going a thousand miles per second through the anxiety of being late, heart pounding and ringing in your ears.

You’re quick at least. The wind whips past you, black bandana flowing in the breeze in the midst of your gliding. With the time limit you have, the rush is still amazing and you love it.

When both the high school and middle school comes into view, you see a group of young middle-schoolers on their bikes, recognizing it’s The Party, with Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair by Michael Wheeler’s side. You met them sometime after your arrival in Hawkins.

It was a day where you didn’t want to leave your room but somehow, Barb had managed to coax you to go spend some time with her and her best friend Nancy. You never knew Nancy had a brother, so meeting him was a bit of a startle when you set foot into the Wheeler home. Where there was Micheal Wheeler, there too, was Dustin, Lucas and Will Byers.

They each remind you of your late younger brother, Will especially. He’s the sweetest, and you’re embarrassed to admit how you almost fell to your knees the first time you met him; seeing him was almost like a punch to the gut.

So when you notice he’s missing from the group this morning, not biking by their side, you’re left wondering if the boy is alright. Surely, he should be.

You smile when they see you and wave, so you make your way over to them as you begin crossing through the intersecting parking lot between the high school and middle school.

When you finally get closer to them you say, “Sup, nerds?” in lieu of a greeting. “How’s the Party? And where’s Will?”

For a moment, they boys share a look between each other before meeting your eyes. Something about it gives you a strange feeling, as if something was just a bit off. Lucas is the first to speak.

“He probably just went to class early again," he shrugs.

Dustin chimes in, saying, “Yeah, he’s always paranoid Gursky’s gonna give him another pop quiz.”

You snort at their reply before smiling, squinting your eyes from the sun as to not be blinded. “Well,” you say, “when you do see him, tell him I was finally able to snag him the Poltergeist poster. Been meaning to give it to him since I got it and I was gonna stop by yesterday but didn’t.”

“How come?” Mike asks you, also squinting his eyes from the sun.

“Worked late. Too beat up to do anything else after, but hey. I hope your campaign went well.”

Once in a while, when you’re not busy working or battling copious amounts of homework, you stop by to hang out with the boys and watch their D&D campaigns take place. You’ve noticed, that out of the boys who have older siblings, with Nancy as Mike’s older sister and Jonathan Byers as Will’s older brother, you’re the most present older kid.

Not only do you spend time with them and watch their games, but you also feel close enough to the boys that you’d guard them with your life. You think it has to something to do with your trauma - granted, it does.

You’re always there to give them advice when you can, telling them to stick up for themselves in a world full of normal people. They don’t know just how much you care about them, so instead of directly telling them, you show it through your quality time spent with them.

“It was insane!” Dustin says, giving you his gummy smile when he speaks.

“Yeah and we played for ten hours,” Mike says casually, which shouldn’t be surprising, but it leaves you baffled anyways.

“Ten hours?!”

The boys nod in unison, smiling at your incredulous reaction but they know you’re secretly fond about it regardless. You’re the only older kid who actually shows interest in their games and it truly makes them happy.

"Yeah? Well why don't you tell me all about it later then? Class is gonna start soon, so."

"Oh we will," Lucas assures you with a cheeky grin.

"All right then, see ya guys. And remember!" You send them a look with a raised fist levelled to the side of your face. “Take care of yourselves, 'kay?"

They all nod, sending you off with a wave and a mix of goodbyes as you depart from them.

~~~

As you make your way through the halls of Hawkins High, you spot Barb and Nancy at the lockers, chatting amongst themselves as you near your locker that is right next to Nancy’s. You begin unlocking yours to save your skateboard while the brunette continues on with whatever she's talking about, twisting and turning her own lock.

“We just… made out a couple times.”

You raise an eyebrow at Nancy, a smirk playing at your lips as a silent way of saying 'oh?'

“‘We just… made out a couple times’,” Barb mimics her with a dreamy tone, rolling her eyes.

Your cousin's antics makes you chuckle, eyeing the exchange from the corner of your eye in pure amusement.

“Nance, seriously,” she says, “you’re gonna be so cool now, it’s ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.” Her blue eyes shine as she denies this, smiling like some kind of fool.

You can’t help but laugh and murmur, “Look at her, it’s written all over her face.”

Nancy gives you an incredulous expression, mouth open to say something before Barb cuts in again.

“You better still hang out with us, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nancy’s face turns to one of confusion before the redhead continues.

“If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol-”

Your brows pinch together at the mention of the couple and Nancy voices your nonverbal distaste. “Oh, that’s gross! Okay, I’m telling you it was a one-time…”

Barb’s eyebrows shoot up.

“…two-time thing.”

As Nancy neatly places her textbooks in her locker, your eyes land on a folded piece of paper - she sees it too and picks it up, revealing a message inside that reads:

Meet Me.

Bathroom

- Steve

Oh.

Oh that’s just… huh.

You’ve never interacted with Steve Harrington before since you started school, but of course, you’ve seen him around plenty. You’re both in Miss Click’s English class and you’ve quietly observed him from a distance to know enough that he’s your typical grade-a jock; rich, with a douchebag car and all, an American cliche, if you will.

Now he’s about to meet up with Nancy in the school washroom of all places?

Yeah, real damn classy, for sure.

Barb smirks, her teasing expression never faltering. “You were saying?”

Nancy bites back a smile, clearly aware of what was to come in the next few minutes. You, however, find that the very thought of meeting up in the school washroom is rather displeasing.

“Oh how romantic,” you remark sarcastically, rolling your eyes and closing your locker shut a little too hard.

Nancy ducks her head down before she meets your gaze. “He’s not bad,” she says, peering at you through her lashes. "He's actually kinda sweet."

You scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

With that, you turn on your heel, bidding the two goodbye all the while you shake away the disgusting thought of meeting up in such a non-discreet setting.

Who does that?

Steve Harrington and Nancy apparently.

~~~

Tucked away in the corner of the dark classroom, with the only light coming from the projector screen, you prop your feet to lay rest on the empty seat in front of your desk while you stare out the window. Miss Click is droning on about some novel you've all been reading, but you completely disassociate, mind elsewhere as a million thoughts flood through.

Why wasn't Will with the boys? He’s okay, right?

Kaminsky's test is tomorrow.

Why the hell is Nancy letting some asshole whisk her away into the school freaking bathroom?

You really can’t get over that one for some reason.

What's the date today? The seventh?

Shit. The seventh.

If today’s the seventh, then that means tomorrow’s the eighth, which means it’s-

The class door flings open, effectively breaking you from your train of thought when the intruder barges in a little sheepishly.

Steve.

Of course.

Of course he’s late, and you know exactly why.

Miss Click gives him a pointed look through her lenses and he apologizes for being late before she carries on with her lecture. Steve huffs quietly as he runs a hand through his famous - or perhaps, infamous - hair and paces his way to the back of the class in search of a place to sit. He just so happens to choose the semi-occupied seat in front you where your feet are resting. He looks to you, brown eyes a little wide in an urgent need to sit down and asks in a hushed whisper, "Is someone sitting here?"

You bite the inside of your cheek as you make eye contact with him and say nothing, removing your feet from the chair before he claims it and finally takes a seat.

"Thank you," he says hurriedly before his back is turned to you.

You roll your eyes before you slump in your own chair, absently writing notes from the lecture being given while occasionally glaring and burning holes in the back of Steve's head.

Asshole, you think to yourself.

You're surprised when he turns in his chair to face you. His eyes briefly glance down at your page before meeting your face. "What's the date today?" he whispers.

Seriously?

"The seventh," you tell him plainly.

'Kay, thanks!"

You think that's the last of any interaction you'll have with him, so you go back to writing down the lecture notes from the projector screen ahead.

Not even a few minutes later, however, he turns back around again and gently taps his pencil on your desk to get your attention and smiles when you meet his eyes. Your face holds disinterest but you think he's plain dumb to notice.

"Mathers, right?"

Your nose scrunches a bit and you nod slowly. “Yeah. Y/N Mathers.”

“So, you’re like, new here?”

You’re not sure why Steve suddenly decides to strike up small talk with you at this moment or why he’s asking such a stupid question as that when you’re certain he knows damn well he hasn’t acknowledged your existence till now.

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

He nods thoughtfully, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he asks another question. “Where ya from?”

“…Philly.”

“Oh, shit. Philadelphia, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You look back down at your notes and mull over the words you’ve written, all chicken scratchy and practically unintelligible - you hope he stops with his lame questions so you don’t have to talk. Hell, you didn’t even get to drink your coffee this morning.

It’s clear you do not feel like talking, but he sure does.

“How long ya been here for?”

The muscles in your jaw flexes lightly before you sigh inwardly, looking back to find he’s already looking at you, waiting for answer.

“Since June,” you mumble so the teacher doesn’t overhear you both talking in the middle of class.

“Huh. And I haven’t seen you around since then?” He raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding awkwardly as your gaze falls back and forth between what you’re writing and how Miss Click is moving around the classroom as she continues with her lesson. You’re doing anything but try to give Steve Harrington your time of day, but yet, he persists.

“Do you get out much?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

"Don't feel like it."

"Why's that?"

“Boy, you sure ask a lotta questions, don’t you?” You finally look at him again, annoyance written all over your face when you snap back. It’s not harsh, but it’s enough for him to reel back a little.

He raises his hands in surrender with a smirk and chuckles. “Yeesh. Sue a guy for being curious.”

“Mr. Harrington, is there something you’d like share with the class?” Miss Click’s voice calls from the front of the room and it takes everything in you not to snicker when Steve gets the attention called to him.

Ha, busted.

For a moment, his brown eyes go wide upon hearing his name and it’s your turn to smirk. His head whips around to face the teacher but he plays off the slight embarrassment well, speaking nonchalantly when he says, “Nope, all good here.”

A few of the students giggle at his response and you swear you see Miss Click roll her eyes at the situation before she carries on.

Steve turns back around to face you one more time, sending you that stupid smirk your way and you deadpan once again. “Good talk.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh when his attention is finally off of you. Now you remember why you don’t bother much with other people - they ask too many questions and expect you to answer when you really don’t feel like talking - it takes ‘em a good minute to get the hint, especially Steve Harrington of all people.

Why he decided to talk to you is beyond you, and it’s true - he asks too many damn questions for his own good.

~~~

Safe to say, you’ve made it through another night of work, and with that, your stomach is a-rumblin’. The food from the school cafeteria isn’t always it, but you didn’t have much of choice earlier today. Again, you curse yourself for sleeping in, otherwise you would have had more time to make your own lunch.

You’re not sure if you can hold off your hunger until you make it home, so you weigh the pros and cons if you decide to stop and grab a bite at Benny’s.

Pros: you’d get a good burger with fries and a shake.

Cons: you’d be spending money.

Considering this, you tell yourself ‘screw it!’ and make the journey to the famous burger joint.

You’re alone with your thoughts as you skateboard down the dimly lit streets, too many things on your mind and although you’ve been alone with your thoughts countless times before, you’d rather not listen to yourself think for once.

You press the play button on your Walk-Man and let the music fill your ears, and it’s different from last nights choice of genre. You listen to just about anything, even the old stuff. So when Flanagan and Allen start signing in that old, classic-y voice, you smile.

It’s just like the old Disney films, you think, but at the same time, their voices are a little bit creepy. You don’t mind it too much, though.

On the farm, ev'ry Friday

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along

I get up early and sing this little song

You hum along to the eerie tune in the dark of night, getting nearer and nearer to where you want to be. Unbeknownst to you, trouble will unwind in a matter of minutes and you will have wished you had just gone straight home instead. Of course, when you’re hungry, you don’t think straight. How can you? You’re not even a person when you don’t have your coffee, so how can you be a person without your food?

When the burger joint comes into view, you stop to get off your board and you walk the rest of the way. The light inside is on still, so you might have just made it on time before closing.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, but you stop for a moment when you see Benny talking to a woman in an overcoat. You don’t know what it is, but seeing her gives you an odd sensation, as if something bad is about to wrong. She looks like government, and usually, government folk are almost always shady.

It’s seems totally normal at first; they’re talking but you’re not sure what about - not that it matters, but when he turns his back on her for a split second, she pulls out her gun. The moment he turns back around, the smile he had on his face is gone in an instant when a bullet flies through his temple and his body falls to the ground, out of your sight. You don’t think he even had time to properly react.

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run, run

The woman must have used a silencer because there was no bang! and it sent a chill down your spine because of how cold it was.

She just murdered Benny Hammond in cold blood.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun

You were just gonna grab some food, that’s all.

He'll get by without his rabbit pie

Oh fuck.

You gotta go now.

You stumble backwards on your feet with a sharp gasp at what your eyes had just witnessed; now your heart is beating and it’s ringing in your ears, overpowering the sounds of your music. You swear you think the woman heard you because her head turns in the direction of the sound, but you’re quick to hide behind some garbage cans that are off to the side of the building.

You think you have never felt such fear in your life before.

So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The song is a warning to you now and fight or flight mode kicks in. The darkness of the night shrouds you in its shadows - you’re certain if you leave now, you won’t be seen. Besides, you’re supposed to make it back home in one piece, otherwise your aunt would probably kill you.

So before the shady woman gets a chance to investigate, you run into the woods.

~~~

You run for what feels like a long time - you’re gasping for air with your lungs feeling like they’re on fire and you can’t get the image of Benny Hammond being shot down out of your head.

It was supposed to be a normal night. You were just gonna stop for a good old burger and some fries and a melon milkshake, then go straight home and call it a night.

But no.

(You probably weren't meant to spend your money anyways.)

Now you’re running for your life, not knowing if you might end up like Benny tonight.

It doesn’t help that it’s raining and your clothes are drenched too. The rain water weighs down your dark denim jacket while you run, and if you don’t stop now, you’ll collapse.

You let out a sharp gasp when you do slow down, one hand clutching your stomach and the other still holding your skateboard. Your heart is thrashing wildly in your chest and your ears are ringing again.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out, swallowing the air down your throat.

For a moment, you’re steadying your breathing, staying as still as possible when suddenly the sound of a twig snapping rectifies your posture, putting you back on full alert.

You swallow again with a gulp and listen for any more sounds. Another twig cracks and it’s close by.

“Who’s there?!” You call out, cursing yourself when your voice wobbles a little. “I’ve got a weapon and I ain’t afraid to use it!”

The weapon in question is your skateboard. Really, it’s all you have, unless you include your fists. However, your heart rate spikes when you hear a response, but it wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Will!” Someone shouts. It sounds like a child.

“Byers!” Another child? No.

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” another voice shouts over the booming sounds of the stormy rain.

No fucking way. You’d know his voice anywhere.

“Dustin!?” You call out, not at all believing your ears.

“Y/N?”

Okay, now you’re definitely losing it. Was that Dustin and The Party talking just now? You catch a flicker of light through the gaps between the tall trees and stumble towards it. “Is that you, guys?”

There’s no answer for a second and you think you’ve lost the boys until one of them shines a flashlight in your face. “Ah, shit!” You hiss, blocking the beams from your eyes.

They all jump back in unison with a startled cry, but when they see it’s you, they sigh in relief. But then they realize it’s you.

“What are you doing out here?” Mike is the first to interrogate you. He keeps his flashlight pointed at you and you can barely see him through your squinting eyes.

“Was out to grab a bite, what are you guys doing here?”

“Why are you out in the woods-”

“Hey, I answered your question, now you gotta answer mine. What’re you guys doin’ out here?”

You’re confused because they’re not supposed to be out here in the dark in the rain. They should all be at home right now instead of out here, where a potential threat lies you’re not sure how far away.

When they don’t answer, you ask again. “I said, what the hell-”

“We’re looking for Will-”

“Dustin!”

“I’m sorry! I can’t lie to her! We can’t lie to her!”

The ringing in your ears seems to increase, the whining pitch crescendoing louder than Maria Callas’ operatic singing voice ever could and you’re not sure if you even heard what the boy just said.

“Wh…what? What do you… what do you mean?”

“Will’s missing,” Lucas says grimly, “so we voted to come out and search for him.”

No.

No, that can’t be.

How is that possible, how did he just go missing? This town is the most mundane town there is where nothing ever happens! How is it possible that a twelve year old just suddenly vanishes?

“Guys, I really think we should turn back,” Dustin vocalizes with worry when the rainfall comes down a little heavier.

“Seriously Dustin?” Lucas says, agitation clear in his tone. “You wanna be a baby, then go home already!”

“I’m just being realistic, Lucas!”

“No, you’re just being a big sissy!”

You wipe a hand down your face as the two get into a bickering match as you all walk through the dark woods. It’s stupid for them to fight right now, but you definitely agree with Dustin that it’s best to go back.

“Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

Dustin’s question makes your heart nearly drop for a second and it only worsens when he says, “And we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anything?”

Shit.

He has a point. But what could have happened? How did he even end up in the woods?

Then you remember Benny and how that woman murdered him, so silently and deadly.

What if…

What if she has something to do with it?

Mike, meanwhile, keeps an ear out for anything that may be rustling in the bushes and he urges his friend to shut up.

“I’m just saying, does that seem smart to you?”

“Dustin, shut up,” you say this time through gritted teeth.

A branch snaps nearby and you spin in the direction of the noise, flashlight illuminating the space of the would-be-culprit who made said noise.

“Do you guys hear that?” Mike asks, outstretching his arms in front of the two boys to stop them from walking. You take your place next to Mike to keep them behind you.

A thunder clap and another crack and snap of leaves has you all spinning around again. This time, you’re met face to face with a child. It’s not Will, however - it’s a little girl.

She’s shivering from the rain, doe eyes wide and large in fear like a fawn, large yellow t-shirt practically weighing down her thin frame and she almost has no hair.

You’re not sure why the woods is a place of choice to be lingering tonight, but when you notice the t-shirt she’s wearing is from none other than Benny’s Burgers, that tells you everything you need to know.

She was running, too.

~~~

➢ next part coming soon-ish

[ghcstao3]

OMG I NEED YOU TO WRITE THE NEIGHBOURS GHOSTSOAP FIC PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE PLEASE PL

(part 1)

-

Ghost wakes up to the sound of someone knocking on his front door—to which he feels the need to frown at, because he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

When he grumpily swings open the door to find John on the other side, his irritation subsides, just a little.

“Mornin’!” John greets, his grin far too bright for—Ghost lifts his wrist and squints down at his watch—nine in the morning. “Brought you something. Or, well. My Mam made them so I could bring you—“

Ghost raises a tired hand to wag his finger and point at the container in John’s hands, asking in lazy movements, “What is it?”

“Oh!” John blinks. He thrusts the container into Ghost’s unoccupied hand, and somehow his smile grows tenfold. “Tattie scones. Wasn’t sure what you might like, so. Went with something simple.”

Ghost squints at John a moment, before swallowing a yawn as he offers a mumbled thank you and pries open the lid. He holds it out to John, but he just shakes his head.

“I have my own. Just wanted to apologize for the noise.”

Ghost nods, stuffs a scone in his mouth, closes the lid. He then steps aside and gestures for John to enter the flat because he supposes it’s courtesy, and if he’s making tea for one he may as well offer for another.

John follows with a shrug.

“Tea?” Ghost asks. Then pauses, considering, before he scrunches his nose and signs instead, “Coffee?”

John barks a laugh, shaking his head again. “I won’t force you to make coffee if you hate it. Just water, if that’s okay?”

Ghost obliges, traversing his kitchen as John sits politely at the island. He feels eyes on his back all the while he fetches the water and puts on a kettle, but for once Ghost doesn’t feel unnerved by the sensation. In fact, dare he say he feels almost… comforted.

They sit in silence a while as the water boils and even a while after, nothing more than the shriek of the kettle to break it, and Ghost’s quiet compliments to John’s mother for the scones.

After a few tentative sips of tea and a refill for John, Ghost ventures to begin signing a question that had plagued him since meeting his neighbour.

He only mouthes the words as he signs, rediscovering that comfort in silent communication that he’d had to abandon in his retirement if only for not having anyone left to share it with.

“How did you…” Ghost pauses, wincing slightly as he questions, “…have you always been deaf?”

John’s smile has since dimmed considerably, though it’s no less friendly. He only uses sign for about half of what he says, and if Ghost could guess, it’s likely a clashing mix of habits.

“Not always,” John says. “I was in the military. Specialized in demolitions, got too close to an explosion, though my hearing was already shite by then. Had to retire early, but so is life, I guess.”

Ghost smiles weakly. “We’re not so different, then.”

John’s eyebrows knit together with curiosity, so Ghost takes the invitation to continue. Normally, he doesn’t think he’d ever be so open with a near complete stranger—but sharing that background, somehow it seems… easier.

He knows Price would be a right smug bastard about this if he knew.

“Also military. Retired from injury. Knee is fucked.”

John snorts. “I’m sure that’s one way of putting it.”

Ghost shrugs. They fall back into comfortable, companionable silence until John announces he should go, he does have work to attend to.

“What do you do?” Ghost can’t help but wonder.

“Boring office stuff from home,” John tells him. “Art commissions on the side, if I’m up to it. You?”

Ghost huffs. “Working on it,” he mutters. He doesn’t particularly care for John knowing about that.

The man seems to understand anyway, but says nothing of it. He just thanks Ghost again for the company, Ghost thanks him for the scones, and they bid each other a good rest of their day.

It’s weird—as Ghost hears John’s door shut across the hall, he finds he already misses his presence.

Maybe he should dig up some of his mum’s old recipes and return the favour. It’s definitely not an excuse, or anything like that, just… friendly neighbour activities.

Yeah. That’s all it is.

[siconetribal]

Beyond the Bookshelves (2)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: When you're forced to work in pairs/groups when you don't want to work in pairs/groups, work life, slice of life

Summary: You're a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You've been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have loved this story so much already, I did not expect so man tag requests! I'll do my best to live up to your expectations in this story that is pretty much writing itself. If I missed anyone who asked to be tagged, please let me know!

Please comment/like/reblog. If you'd like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know!

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

The walk back to the library was longer than usual, but that was because you were now burdened with a task that was nearly impossible to complete with what was at your disposal. Not only was there so little provided, the personnel allotted was the complete opposite of what was necessary. It would have been laughable had it not been so pathetic. You, someone who normally worked with a set number of others, (most of which were virtual) was now forced into a group with two other members whom you have never even properly spoken to.

Loki probably hates me, he has to hate me. The man-person-god-prince-whatever-he-is has never even uttered a word to me until today! You thought back to the very first time you ever met the silent and brooding raven haired Asgardian.

It started off just like any other day, quiet and peaceful. It was just you, the books, and the sun. Though it was a state-of-the-art facility, the library was given a more soothing design with wooden shelving and tables, soft carpeting, comfortable seating of chairs and sofas, table lamps, and desks for laptops and computers to promote productivity and security. There were a few high-tech things, such as the book trolley being robotic and the security measures equal to the rest of the complex; but overall it evoked a sense of tradition.

You were leading the robot trolley filled with books through the shelves, returning items to their proper place, when you heard the chime at the door. Peeking your head out of the aisle, you were awestruck by the handsome young man whom you have never seen before, slowly walking in and looking around in what you could only describe as pure wonder. There was a sparkle of life in those blue eyes and the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. Setting the book in hand back on the trolley, you stepped out and gave a big smile.

“Hello, my name is Y/N. I’m the librarian. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You cheerily greeted him, but only received silence in return as he walked further into the room without even a passing glance. There’s no way he didn’t hear me, right? I didn’t shout, but I wasn’t quiet either. He seems to be really excited about the library, so maybe he was too busy looking around? She opened her mouth to let him know she was here to assist if he needed anything, but he was nowhere to be seen. “I guess he really was just that eager.” You muttered to yourself as you finished your task and made your way to the main desk.

Who is he, anyway? He looks oddly familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it. You dug through your memories, trying to find a name to the face. When it was clear that it was not something that would come to you right away, he let it be for now and tried your best to see if the newcomer was still here. Had it not been for the occasional sightings, you would have sworn your mind was playing tricks on you. When he finally settled on a few books, you waited for him to come to the desk to check out.

“Excuse me, sir!” You shouted after him as he went straight towards the door. His nose was already buried in one book, and two more were under his arm. It was too late. The alarm at the door began ringing, and a female computer voice came through the speakers.

“Please return the books to the library or check them out at the main desk. I repeat, please return the books to the library or check them out at the main desk.” You watched his head snap up and look around for the source of the disembodied voice when holographic floating arrows directed his attention towards you. You gave a slight wave and put on your best welcoming smile once more. He looked down at the books he held briefly before making his way over to the desk.

“I guess you didn’t hear me, I was trying to get your attention before you left. It’s fine, people make that mistake most of them the time when they're busy. May I please see the books?” He held out your hands, but he deposited the stack on to the desk and pushed it towards you. Ok, you pulled them closer. “Your ID as well, please.” You held out your hand once more and the man simply stared at you, bewildered, with scrunched eyebrows and a growing frown. Lifting your lanyard up, you pointed to your pass holder, which held your ID. “Your ID card, the one that gives you access to the various parts of this facility.” The continued silence was deafening as one of his hands slipped into one of his pockets and he pulled out his ID and placed it on the table. “Uh, thank you,” you mumble as you pick up the piece of plastic and tapped it against a panel to the right of your monitor. Loki? You stared at the name for a moment, the gears slowly turning in your head as you scanned the books one by one before handing them and his ID back to him. “You have two weeks to return or extend your borrow time. Please do not damage them or return them late, you will incur some fees if so. Thank you, I hope you enjoy them. If you need any,” you began to strike up conversation once more, but he took the books and left without a word, leaving you to awkwardly watch.

“Talk about intimidating! I had no idea they brought him here!” You let out a heavy sigh and plopped back into your chair. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him without those big gold horns! Did he really just ignore me, though? Maybe he’s shy? I don’t recall ever hearing him speak, though,” you muttered to yourself, swinging left to right. “He must’ve proven that he’s not dangerous if he’s allowed to be part of the Avenger’s team.” You shrugged and let the topic slide for now. You would give him time to grow accustomed to you…or so you thought.

The encounters that followed were nearly identical to the first. He would come in and completely ignore you, read for hours, check out books, and leave. Not a word came from his lips, and he only ever looked at you with you were not sure whether it was disdain or disgust. At some point, you completely gave up on speaking to him and simply took note of the books he liked. When he would go searching for something of interest, you would set a book that you believed he would enjoy beside the sofa he usually sat. It was clear she chose well, since he would always read and check it out. With all this in mind, you had come to the conclusion he cannot speak for some reason, and you were a rude stranger constantly chattering on to him. Not wanting to spoil his time in the library, you quickly adapted and remained silent in return. 

You dryly laughed at the memories that dropped on you like bricks. You were clearly thinking too highly of yourself, since today you had heard him speak quite clearly. Why would someone remain quiet for so long? After all attempts made to strike up conversation? There was only one valid solution: he hated you. The reason, you were not sure, but it was the only thing that made sense, and that meant you only had one Asgardian to rely on for assistance in your assignment.

Thor can only do so much since he is a main team member and one that is sent out on multiple missions globally. You pinched the bridge of your nose. Even if they forced Loki to assist, he’ll also be sent on various missions as well. I’ll have to wait for them to return every single time because those take priority over what I need to do. Then there’s training for the missions, training to keep working well as a team, meeting, and the press! The work is never going to get done! You wanted to rip your hair out from frustration as you roughly tousled it about and let out a loud groan of frustration once inside your sanctuary, the library. “And this is all if they say yes to helping me out. I doubt Fury is going to demand it, and Agent Hill isn’t going to go out of her way to persuade them. Just forget it, Y/N, fix the report and file it. Then just go on with your day just like you always do.”

“Thor, Loki, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” Agent Hill greeted the brothers that came into her office.

“Of course we would come. It is not often that you call for anyone other than Stark or Rogers.” Thor gave an amicable smile, while Loki simply took a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “What is it that you wish to discuss with us?” Thor took the seat beside his brother.

“I won’t take much of your time, it is a new assignment that only the two of you can assist us with.” She took her seat once more and faced the two of them. “Director Fury has given a task to our Resources Management department, the lead of which works here at HQ with us. She is the Librarian. I’m sure you have seen her most of all.” She looked towards the younger prince.

Loki kept a passive outwardly expression while his mind quickly tried to pull out the information of this librarian. He was no stranger to meeting a multitude of people, but he was not foolish enough to assume he would be able to memorize everyone’s name and face. He was a prince of Asgard, the only people he needed to know of in detail ere dignitaries and other royals. This librarian was hardly someone he would have considered amongst the two categories.

“So what if I have?” He coolly questioned, unsure of what the agent was trying to get at with all of this. Is this the reason she requested an audience with us the week before? What task could they have possibly given such a department that requires our assistance? I am not some scribe! He wanted to snap at Hill, but he held his tongue. Though he was an Avenger now, he was still not fully trusted by anyone. He knew even Thor had his reservations, but they knew how the Mind Stone worked. They knew he was not lying, but they were clear in stating they did not know him and this chance was only given because of his brother, Thor.

“Well, it will make things easier for us. She needs assistance in translating all of our texts into English. The department needs to create digital copies of all our books and paper resources so that we can access them anywhere and any time. We do not have the means to simply assign large groups to this task, because it would lead to suffering in on ground missions and recon. The both of you have the ability of AllSpeak which can translate anything you say to English. When you are available, please assist the Librarian in translating the various texts to help speed up the process.”

“This is a side request?” Thor asked, wanting to clarify the priority of this.

“Yes, we do not wish for this to hinder any missions you are needed for. We are requesting you head to the library when you have the time to speak with her and set up a tentative schedule so that she can report back to Director Fury by the end of this month. By that time, she will have the necessary equipment as well. If he approves, then we can move forward in starting this task.”

“You want us to dictate books to her? So she can type it up? Do you not have programs that can instantly translate for you?” Loki frowned, crossing his arms in disapproval at this waste of time.

“Though there are plenty of translation software programs out there, none of them are a hundred percent accurate. They may translate directly word for word, which could destroy the concept of the passages. It may attempt to try to understand the concept, but get it completely wrong. Both of you will be able to read the text and understand the context of it, which will help her type a more accurate translation.” Thor loudly hummed as he considered the task. It was not something he was rather fond of, however he wanted to be of assistance if this would help the organization.

“I am to deployed on a mission with Rogers and Stark in a couple of days. I am not certain how long we will be away. Is it possible to extend the time of meeting with the Librarian?” 

“I am to head out with the spider and bird tomorrow evening and return in four days.” Loki added.

“Very well, I will have her look into your schedules and reach out to the both of you.  If it cannot be done together, I will have her meet with you separately. Your missions will always be a priority, and she is well aware of that. Thank you for your assistance, I’ll inform her of this development.” Agent Hill stood from her seat and the two brothers followed, stepping out of her office and making their way towards the common room.

“Have you actually met this Librarian, brother?” Thor was the one to break the silence.

“I have not the faintest clue on whom they are referring to. No one speaks to me in this sterile place, how am I supposed to meet anyone?” He scoffed. Who would want to talk to a monster such as me? “It doesn’t matter, we will meet this woman at some point and better understand this waste of time that we are being dragged into. If you’ll excuse me, I have a debriefing to sit through.” He turned down the hall on their left, leaving Thor with the harsh words of his reality.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @kats72 @kneelingformyloki