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youssefguedira · 2 years

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surprise! more zelda au but this time less sad and in the og not-100-years-later timeline

Yusuf fastens the buttons on his tunic one by one, runs his fingers over the delicate silver embroidery on the sleeves, pulls on the white gloves with their swirling golden patterns on the back of his left hand. It’s the afternoon of his birthday, and he hasn’t spoken to another person in hours.

Not since the guard had arrived this morning, with a folded piece of paper in his hand and the message that Nicolò would not be on duty today, but that he’d left a message for Yusuf. When he’d opened it, three dried flowers, almost perfectly preserved, had fallen onto his lap. The note had read, I don’t know if these have any kind of scientific value, but I thought you’d like them. Happy birthday, Yusuf. I’ll see you later.

Nicolò’s absence shouldn’t have unsettled as much as it has, but Yusuf has been feeling off-centre all day. A year ago, he wouldn’t have blinked at being by himself for this long - ever since his mother died, he has trained alone, eaten alone, worked alone. But he’s gotten too used to having Nicolò around, and now he doesn’t know what to do without him.

He can't stop thinking, either, about what he'd overheard Nicolò saying to Andromache less than two weeks ago, after Yusuf had spent hours in the freezing water of the Spring of Courage with absolutely no results, to the point where he’d barely eaten all day and almost passed out from exhaustion. I don’t know what to do, Andy. I care about him too much to watch him keep hurting himself like this.

He glances over to his desk, where the flowers are resting now, placed carefully on top of a blank page in his sketchbook, then back to himself in the mirror. Wonders if he looks as unsettled as he feels. It’s less than an hour until the ball starts - Andromache, Quynh, Nile and Sebastien have been here for a week. Tomorrow, everything changes, but tonight, he’s been instructed by his father to act as if everything’s fine.

When it’s time, he’s led from his room by one of his father’s aides and a guard to a small antechamber attached to the main ballroom. The man barely looks at him, just tells him to wait. Behind the door to the ballroom, he can already hear people talking. He tries, and fails, not to fidget too much with his gloves.

The door he’d entered through swings open again, and Nicolò walks through, lighting up when he sees Yusuf. Something in Yusuf’s chest finally settles.

Nicolò’s in his blue and red ceremonial guard’s uniform, sword strapped to his back in a more decorated sheath than the plain one he favors, his hair tied neatly back. His brown gloves are embroidered with the same pattern as Yusuf’s, but on his right hand instead. He smiles, looking Yusuf up and down. “You look good.”

“So do you,” Yusuf says.

“Did you get my note?” Nicolò asks, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. “I asked Taloh-”

“I did,” Yusuf responds. “The flowers were beautiful. Thank you.”

Nicolò’s smile widens at that. Yusuf’s heart skips a beat, and he doesn’t know why. “I missed you today,” he says before he can stop himself.

“I missed you too,” Nicolò says, and the look he gives Yusuf is painfully soft. Yusuf doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he has to do something. But before he can, his father’s aide returns.

"It’s time,” he says, before leaving again.

Nicolò offers his hand. “Ready?” he asks. Yusuf isn’t, but he takes it anyway.

--------------------

Most of the ball is a blur. Nicolò is with him for almost all of it, save the odd moment, and when he isn’t, Andromache or Nile or Quynh or Sebastien are. But even though he’s not by himself, there’s only so many people he can talk to and smile at before he needs a break.

He slips out of a side door when he’s certain the attention is somewhere else. Outside the ballroom, it’s near silent, and it’s late enough that the hallway is lit only by moonlight. He finds a small alcove that’ll hide him from anyone passing by, leans back against the wall, and just breathes for a moment. He doesn’t mind people, but he knows they’re all expecting more of him than he can give, and he’s tired.

It’s not long before he hears footsteps, and sighs. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to stay away long.

But it’s not one of his father’s men - it’s Nicolò. “Yusuf, you-”

“I know,” Yusuf interrupts. It’s not fair, maybe, but he’s tired of having his every move monitored. “I shouldn’t be out here by myself. But the castle is well guarded, so if that’s why you’re out here, you should go back inside.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Nicolò looks almost hurt. “I’m here because you left, and I was worried. And because I am your friend, Yusuf, and I care about you.”

I care about him too much to watch him keep hurting himself like this. Yusuf hasn’t asked about it, but now he can’t stop himself. “I was awake, when we were visiting Andromache the last time.”

Nicolò blinks. “What?”

“I’d spent too long in the Spring the day before, and then I slipped away from you to go visit the Divine Beast. You found me hours later at the camp with Andromache. You thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t.” Yusuf can see the exact moment Nicolò realises what he means, but he keeps going. “You told Andromache you cared about me too much-”

“To watch you keep hurting yourself,” Nicolò finishes quietly. He’s silent for a moment, then- “What do you want me to say, Yusuf?”

“Did you mean it?” Yusuf asks, because - he’s not sure, really, only that this feels like something new and fragile and he has to know.

Nicolò doesn’t look at him for a long time, long enough that Yusuf worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe he never should have brought it up.

“Of course I did,” Nicolò says finally, quiet enough that it’s barely even a whisper.

Yusuf moves closer without really thinking about it. “You sent me flowers.” He sees it all in a different light now - the flowers and Nicolò’s perpetual habit of finding him things he thought might interest him, the times Nicolò would sit with him while he worked and remind him to eat before he even realised he was hungry, the way Nicolò would always be there when Yusuf needed him. He almost can’t believe he didn’t see it before.

Nicolò finally looks at him. “I did,” he says, and steps forward so there’s barely an inch of space left between them, and Yusuf can’t really remember how to breathe anymore. Nicolò cups his jaw in both hands, his thumb just brushing Yusuf’s cheekbone, pauses for just a second. Yusuf could step away if he wanted to, should really go back to the ball because surely someone else must have noticed his absence. He doesn’t move. Closes his eyes instead, and Nicolò kisses him, achingly gentle. Yusuf’s hands settle on Nicolò’s hips, keeping him close.

Even when they separate, Nicolò stays there, resting his forehead against Yusuf’s. This is dangerous, they both know it. Yusuf doesn’t know what will happen if his father discovers this, only that it will not be good.

“You’re thinking too much,” Nicolò says softly. Yusuf can hear him smiling, and opens his eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Yusuf says. He doesn’t want to think about any of that now. It can wait.

“Are you sure?” Nicolò asks. He knows Yusuf far too well, but Yusuf nods anyway.

Nicolò smiles, and kisses him again.

#this one i think is comprehensible to non zelda people #because i left out the Major Lore sections so this is a very stripped down version of this scene #and after there's a whole wider thing that references yusufs semi prophetic dreams but i need to leave some things for the actual longfic #i want to write someday. not yet but Someday #but yeah. have a lot of feelings about nicolo acts of service di genova in this au. bringing yusuf food when hes working. making sure he #rests even when hes training. bringing him things he might find interesting just to make him smile #something something yusuf is viewed as either a divine figure or a means to an end and nicolo is one of the few people to care for him just #as a person rather than a legend or in terms of what he expects of yusuf. yeah #2 ficlets in one day. who am i #i have a third which is heavily self indulgent lore stuff but the concept is very everything to me #neon writes #the zelda au which lives only in my head #the old guard #kaysanova #this was posted purely bc of shini's tags on the one i posted earlier! thank you im glad you enjoy this au! <3

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end-otw-racism · 1 year

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End OTW Racism: A Call To Action

A fan protest against the lack of action from the OTW on addressing issues of harassment and racism on AO3 and within the organization

This is a Call To Action for Fans of Color and Allies

AO3 has acknowledged that they have a harassment & racism problem that its parent organization, the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), needs to address. Currently, people can use AO3 to harass others through fanworks, comments, and tags. Just a few examples include: racist Untamed “spitefic” that used anti-Indigenous slurs and was written specifically to lash out at fans of color; a Transformer fic that used its Black-coded character to reenact George Floyd’s murder in July 2020; someone naming a fandom scholar who criticized their Nazi omegaverse fic in the tags of the fic specifically to incite harassment to the scholar; writers using racial slurs against commenters who pointed out racism in their hockey fic; and so much more.

In June 2020, after the murder of George Floyd, the OTW committed to addressing these issues. It has been nearly three years and they have not yet implemented any of the changes they promised, other than a blocking/muting tool that was already in development before 2020. We need to hold the OTW accountable to their own promises. (See the section further down on “Why Are We Doing This” for even more detail.)

As fans, together, we are powerful. We are organizing to protest the lack of action on promises made by the Organization for Transformative works to deal with issues of racism and harassment on their platform, Archive of Our Own.

We call on fans to do any or all of the following actions any time between May 17 to 31, 2023 to send a message to AO3 and OTW that we will hold them to their promises.

On AO3

Change the title of ten (or more!) of your most recent or most popular fanworks to include ‘End Racism in the OTW’ in the beginning, and provide a link to this post in your summary or first/top creator’s note

Post a new fanwork any time between May 17th to 31st with “End Racism in the OTW” either as the title or at the beginning of the title. The fanwork does not have to be long - it can be a 100-word fic, a quick sketch, a podfic of a ficlet, a 20-second vid/edit, a short piece of meta, etc. In the summary or first/top creator’s note, provide a link to this post

If updating any WIPs with a new chapter, add ‘End Racism in the OTW’ to the title and provide a link back to this post in your summary or first/top author’s note

Update your AO3 icon using the profile pic graphic in our Social Media Toolkit

Plan to maintain these changes until May 31, 2023, or longer if you wish

Send a message to the OTW asking for an update on their 2020 commitments!

For Readers: leave encouraging comments on fanworks with the "End Racism in the OTW" title to show your support of this initiative.

On tumblr

Reblog this Call to Action with the tag #End OTW Racism

Update your profile pics and banners using the graphics in our Social Media Toolkit

Follow this account for updates and signal boost our posts

On Twitter

Follow @/EndOTWRacism (remove the backslash) and signal boost our pinned tweet

Update your profile pics and banners using our graphics, and change your display name to include #EndOTWRacism

Use sample tweets and graphics from our Social Media Toolkit to tweet about your fanworks, and use the hashtag #EndOTWRacism

Help us make this a long-term campaign - sign up to help with other anti-racism projects and future actions!

What Do We Want?

Since their June 2020 statement, OTW has been working on updating their Terms of Service (TOS) to address racist and bigoted harassment, but with little transparency and only the vaguest of updates. It has been three years since their commitment to this update - we want to see the results of their work implemented in the next 6-12 months. Their TOS updates and complementary policies should include:

Harassment policies that can be regularly updated to address both on-site harassment and off-site coordinated harassment of AO3 users, with updated protocols for the Policy & Abuse Team to ensure consistent and informed resolutions of abuse claims

A content policy on abusive (extremely racist and extremely bigoted) content; by abusive, we are talking about fanworks that are intentionally used to spread hate and harassment, not those that accidentally invoke racist or other bigoted stereotypes

These points are not particularly new and are not our own innovation; please refer to Stitch's article written over two years ago, asking for several of these very things.

OTW has also already committed to various process-based actions for longer-term works towards centering antiracism, including hiring a Diversity Consultant. The last update that OTW published said that the consultant would be hired within the next five years (after already having had three years to work on it since their original commitment). That is not soon enough. We want to see the following process-based actions implemented:

Hiring a Diversity Consultant within the next 3-6 months

Committing to a policy of transparency on this topic, with quarterly updates on the progress of these projects including challenges and their plan for overcoming those challenges. These quarterly updates should be published on OTW News page and newsletters, not solely discussed in Board meetings

Why Are We Doing This?

16 years ago, Astolat famously published her manifesto calling for a fandom Archive of One’s Own. In that time, AO3 has grown to be a central pillar of fandom, likely far outstripping its founders’ original vision. It is more than just an archive now; it is a central hub of the modern fannish experience. AO3 and the OTW must continue to grow and evolve with fandom over time to remain a healthy and functioning pillar of fandom. To that end, there are several areas in which the organization, as it admits itself, is lacking.

In June 2020, in the wake of the George Floyd protests and the uprising of the Black Lives Matter Movement, The OTW published a “This Week in Fandom” referencing the works of Dr. Rukmini Pande and Stitch, among others in which they discussed ‘making change for a better society’ through ‘conversations about race and racism’. In response, Dr. Pande and Stitch submitted a letter to the OTW calling for a more formal public statement than an offhand reference in a News Roundup that only served to call for thoughts and discussion without any indication the organization intended to do anything, policy wise, to address the issues being raised.

Eventually, the organization did remove the references to the works of Dr. Pande and Stitch and then made an official statement on the issue of racism within the organization and AO3. In it, they identified several things they would be prioritizing to combat harassment and benefit users. Some of those have been implemented (notably those that were already under development). However as of this writing, little else has been done especially in regards to:

Improving admin tools for the Policy & Abuse team

Reassessing the current mandatory archive warnings with the possibility of implementing others

And, most importantly, reviewing the Terms of Service (TOS) to allow the Policy & Abuse team to address harassment that is currently not covered by the existing TOS

By their own admission, the current tools and policies of the OTW are not sufficient to deal with issues of harassment and racism.

Several people who were involved in the founding of the OTW, including previous OTW Board members and staff on the original OTW Content Policy Committee, acknowledge that the founding of the OTW in 2008 and early board iterations failed us as a fandom by not doing enough, and by not even considering the way racism is perpetuated in fannish spaces, despite a long history of racism in fandom.

It has been nearly three years since the original commitment by the organization with little visible, measurable progress on these three crucial issues and a complete lack of transparency on where they are in regards to even beginning to deal with these issues. In fact, in Q&As, it was heavily implied by a member of the board that those calling for OTW to deal with issues of racism (which OTW had already acknowledged as a problem!) were not really fans but outside agitators.

This has cast significant doubt on the organization's sincerity and commitment to their stated goals, and on their position as leaders of a central fan tent-pole. Fans of color are not outsiders. They are right here, members of our community, and they are being harassed and targeted and driven out while space and platforms are being given to racists.

We, as fans of color and our allies, find the current state of fandom and current actions (and lack thereof) unacceptable. Fandom is our space, all of ours. We, as a fandom, have a right to a racism-free space and have a duty to our fellow fans to create that space. Unlike so much of the world, this is a space we can control and make better. It is a space we must make better. To read even more about this movement, visit our FAQs.

#fandom #ao3 #otw #EndOTWRacism #End OTW Racism #racism in fandom #organization for transformative works #archive of our own #antiracism #otw board

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azullumi · 4 months

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trying different types of kissing with scaramouche?💔 like forehead, neck kisses, hand or anything at all....

“say yes to heaven” ; wanderer/scaramouche

summary — ultimately, he really does just want to be loved, behind the many layers of him to hide all that yearning and longing. but how can he say it when love, for him, was a synonym to forgiveness; alternatively, different kisses with him, with each one signifying a progressing relationship.

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; could imagine this with either but i wrote this with wanderer in mind

tags — established relationship, fluff, a little bit of angst, not proofread, 1.1k ; ficlet

note — i needed an excuse to write a fic that is just all about kissing him and also comforting him (but still, i hope u like this nonnieee!!)

i. hand

You hold his hand and press small kisses on his knuckles, a little bit ticklish it was for him but he doesn’t retract. The feeling of it makes something in his chest ache with an unfamiliar sensation, and he knows it’s not his heart because he never had any.

You kiss the back of his hand, an intimate gesture, like devotion, like he was something—or someone—that should be adored.

“I am no god.” He was no deity to be worshiped so why are you so gentle to him? He wasn’t made of glass nor is he fragile; he was born from ashes of a burned home, he was carved out of war and winter storms and everything that you could ever pray against, he was a symphony composed of nothing but bad luck and conflicting melodies—he was not the kind people would choose to be around, much less adore.

And as if you bear a part of him in your mind, you understood what he was trying to say, could hear the questions that tormented him, could see the conflicted look on him as he looks at you with a gaze that seems to scrutinize your being when only he is looking for an answer. He tries to look for a crack, a gap in your expression, so that he can look through it and see what you’re really thinking.

“You don’t have to be one to be loved.” You press one last kiss on his hand just as you finished speaking, looking up to him. Indigo blue orbs met yours in a gentle gaze, eyes filled with affection only for the other to drown in. If he could put all that he was feeling, all that he was asking and seeking an answer to, into a simple word, it all condenses to: why?

“Do you still have doubts?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. He opens his mouth only to close it again, looking for the words that he should say but chose to be silent instead. And you smile—not a beaming grin nor a subtle paint on your features, but something gentle and comforting as if you’re assuring him: it’s okay, I understand you. I know you.

“You’re not unloveable.”

Loving him wasn’t the hardest thing to do, it came to you naturally as if breathing but the man thinks otherwise. A burnt child who loves the fire will only hear the fact that he is loveable, people just choose not to.

“How do you know that?” You know him well enough to hear the way his voice trembles at the effort to allow himself to be vulnerable. Long was the fall of the tall and formidable walls that he built around him.

“You’re not unloveable.” You repeat, taking hold of his fingers to kiss his hand once more. “Am I not enough proof of that?”

ii. forehead and cheeks

You cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, an unspoken language of tenderness in which he took a long time to understand. When love and affection has finally been given to him after decades of yearning, he’s unsure of how to hold it in his hands—does he gently hold it with both? Every bit overwhelms him to the bone, the gratifying yet intense feeling seeps through his being and settles inside of him in a way that it slowly consumes the crevices of his mind, until all that is left of him is nothing but a starved man who only longs for the feeling of your skin against his own.

There was a flicker of warmth in his expression and he closed his eyes as he relished in your kindness, your hands cradling his cheeks with warmth that coaxed his entire existence, your lips pressing against his forehead softly. Then, you started to pepper his face with small kisses and the man could only surrender to your touch, a dance of vulnerability and intimacy as he crumbled into your hold.

No one has ever come this close to him (a closeness that was a stranger to the pages of his past, a tender note composed solely for him), no one and nothing.

You spoke, murmuring against his skin and close to his lips: “Sunshine.” Humor weaves through your tone, teasing the absurdity of the mismatched title and the man who wears it with subtle grace.

“Don’t call me that.” He snarks yet no bite. It’s ironically funny how you use that nickname on him despite him being the complete contrast of it; he stands as the living paradox of the word itself.

The sound of laughter bubbles up in your throat and you answer, “Why not? It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?”

What else should you call the man who grasps the warmth and tender light in his chest only the sun could give? To be with him was to sit in the autumn sunlight, to sleep in the comfort of your sheets when the rain patters against your window, to walk barefoot on the sand even if it feels like shards of glasses against your sole, to be with him was to simply exist; you’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul and he has never met anyone who had the stars in their eyes, and while you had the universe etched on the palm of your hands, he has your name engraved on his.

iii. lips

Your lips ghost against his own, albeit in a tantalizing manner, teasing and quite slow—but he wasn’t a patient man.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” He whispers and you don't waver at his straightforwardness, having been used to this note. There was no hostility in his tone, just pure and raw desperation and desire to feel you.

You could imagine the eye roll he would give you had he not had his eyes closed at the moment, could imagine the frown on his expression while he spoke and could imagine it faltering soon when you finally kissed him, slow as if to savor the softness of his lips and how it reminds you of spring; he could not properly express the warmth on his chest at the thought of how you love him when he still tasted of heartache and war.

You part from him but remained close, foreheads pressed against one another, breathing heavily, and looking into each other’s eyes. You wanted to tell him that you will find him in every lifetime, but the silence between you two was enough to convey such strong affections that you could hear him respond: And I will love you in each one.

(And he somehow finds himself thinking at the same, this is what he deserves. He’d do these, these vulnerable moments where he lays himself bare for you to touch and hold even if you’ll see the scars and cracks on his skin, the falling and getting hurt despite the fear, the burning and constant searching for something, he’ll do it all over again—if it’s you.)

If someone were to ask him what forgiveness tastes like, he would utter your name—everything that he has ever longed for came in the form of you. And he fears that this longing will last forever even while you’re here, that this longing will grow even when he crumbles to dust, that this longing will outlive this body and weave life into the earth that swallows your existence.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader #wanderer scaramouche #genshin wanderer #genshin impact wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer genshin #azul.writes

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amywritesthings · 3 months

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chocolate-covered silver. / a levi ackerman valentine's ficlet.

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) word count: 1.8k summary: Happy Valentine's Day readers. Why not celebrate with some Levi Ackerman smut? note: set in the universe of silver underground

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, levi's pov, explicit language, secret relationship, gifts, eating desserts, sexual tension, oral (f!receiving), touch-starved idiots credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

He could kill Hange for this.

A nice gesture, they said — as if he doesn’t already wait on James hand and foot whenever the other Scouts aren’t looking.

She’ll love it, they promised — but not without adding a probably after the sourpuss scowl started forming on his face.

He’s been her close friend for over a decade.

He’s been in her bed for a fraction of that.

So why does walking to her quarters with a tiny bouquet of hand-picked flowers and imported chocolate from Wall Sina feel like such a death march?

“I’m only trying to help you out,” Hange quipped last week, interrupting his perfectly-happy afternoon tea. “Is it not a day people celebrate in the Underground City?”

“We don’t celebrate stupid shit in the Underground,” Levi corrects, fingertips locked around the mouth of his cup. “And besides, it’s a married couple’s holiday.”

“Not always,” Hange argues, finger lifting in a contrarian manner. “People who date celebrate.”

“That’s not us.”

He’s not technically wrong.

You’re not dating, but he doesn’t know what the hell this is.

Hange’s smile only widens at that. “Friends celebrate, too.”

“Then where’s my flowers, shithead?” Levi retorts.

That earns a bark of a laugh from the Section Commander. “If you want me to go pick you some flowers to put in your stallion’s hair, Levi, make no mistake — I will run out there right now.”

“That’s a present for my horse, not for me.”

Hange waggles their brows, leaning over the table and ruining his peace. “Gives you ample opportunity to pick some flowers for our hardworking Lieutenant, too.”

He told them to go away.

Now, six days later, he’s here.

He’s showing up like a dumbass at her doorstep trying not to run the other way before you know.

Are you going to think he’s an idiot for partaking in holidays that mean nothing to them?

The only gift he’d ever given you was that damned necklace you never take off. It was the only thing he could afford back then, down there, while they fought for their lives.

Although they may be still in the fight for their lives here, too, he can afford much, much more for you now.

He will buy you a thousand silver necklaces if you want them.

Clearing his throat, the Captain takes a moment to collect his resolve before tapping a knuckle against the wooden door frame.

You shuffle behind it. You must have been going over presentation plans Erwin sent over.

He debates on putting the flowers behind his back or—

“Levi?”

Shit.

Too late.

He stares at you when you open the door, blinking twice. You mirror the movements, blinking between the box and the bunch of flowers in either hand.

Mistake.

Mistake, mistake, mistake—

“Are those…?” you start, trying to hide your amusement.

Levi scowls and holds out the bouquet. “Yeah, it’s stupid.”

“I was gonna say ‘handpicked’,” you reply with a snort, taking the flowers gently from his hand. Levi can feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he waits with a forced stoicism. “What’s the occasion?”

He stops breathing altogether when you lean down to smell the aroma of the bouquet. The way your face melts from stress to enjoy the moment, the scent, has him weak in the knees.

For someone that’s been labeled humanity’s strongest, you sure have a way of making his knees buckle from nothing.

“It’s… Valentine’s Day up here,” he carefully states, hating every syllable of it.

“Valentine’s Day?” you repeat, holding the flowers close to your chest. You step back, allowing him access to your quarters. Levi doesn’t hesitate to enter.

“Some holiday where people celebrate—”

“—lovers?” you finish for him, and the captain feels like he’s trudged in quicksand. “I know. Hange mentioned it to me the other week.”

Fucking Hange.

“Funny that they did,” Levi grumbles, before turning on a heel. You close your door as he extends his arm with his second gift. “You’re supposed to spend the day with someone special to you. Someone — well, it can be a friend —”

“Oh, we’re friends?” you tease him as you take the box of chocolates.

You’re going to kill him.

“James.”

“What? It’s nice to reaffirm — oh, shit.”

He stops in his tracks, painfully aware that you’ve gasped. His eyes slide to the now-opened box full of exquisite chocolate, throat now tight with uncertainty.

Maybe you hate it.

He really shouldn’t have listened to Hange.

“This is real chocolate,” you whisper, and that uncertainty melts into something so very warm.

“As opposed to fake chocolate?” he asks to keep his wits about him. To see you scowl.

“You know what I mean, Ackerman,” you snip, and he fights every muscle in his face to keep a smile at bay. “Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.”

He steps confidently across the bedroom floor boards to pluck a piece of chocolate out of the box, holding it up towards your lips.

“Open.”

He knows that shift in your gaze when your eyes meet.

Yeah, Valentine’s Day is known for stuff like that, too.

(He can show you.)

Obediently you part your lips, widening your mouth so he can fit the chocolate right between your teeth. It catches, and you use your tongue to pull it into your mouth.

The pleasure is instantaneous. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the real-time image burning the back of his mind, and he can’t hold back anymore.

“Is it good?” he asks, placing his hands on your hips.

“Better than good.” You hold out a piece for him. “Open.”

He hesitates when the little ball comes to his lips, but eventually he opens his mouth. You’re not wrong — it’s delicious. They don’t make anything like this underground.

It’s a luxury, though he had intended only for you to enjoy them.

Of course you’d include him.

“See what I’m talking about?” you ask with an excitement that’s damn adorable.

“It’s fine,” Levi answers, knowing the indignance that’s bound to flutter over your face. He huffs a breathless laugh before swallowing the chocolate down. “Come here.”

Lifting one hand to your chin, he pulls you in with nonexistent resistance. Your lips brush against his, at first slow then sensual.

He wants to tell you.

(Your lips taste like chocolate, but you taste better.)

But he’d rather show you.

He glides forward, using the hand on your hip to steer.

You easily comply with his steps forward, guiding you back to your bed. His plan must be in the back of your mind as he kisses you like it’s his last, but he can feel it — the way your lips curve in that knowing smile.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, voice velvety with want. It drives him insane.

“Celebrating you,” Levi mumbles in return, pushing your body backwards.

You easily fall to the bed and he drops with you, knee to the mattress. Levi crawls down, down, to the edge of the mattress with his hands preoccupied with the zipper of your casual trousers.

You don’t ask what he’s doing — all you do is giggle when he impatiently tugs the fabric down.

“As a lover or a friend?” you tease once your legs are freed.

Levi doesn’t answer.

Not verbally, anyway.

He wraps an arm around your hips, keeping you in place as he swats your legs wider. Your breath hitches from surprise — good, you’re too mouthy right now and he intends to remind you.

Friend, lover, it doesn’t matter.

It’s all synonymous to him.

You’re everything.

His past, his present —

And if he can bury his face into your pussy for the rest of his days, then it’s one hell of a future he can get behind.

The squeak of surprise rips from your lungs faster than you can stop the noise, and Levi is wholly satisfied by the sound. His tongue drags along your slit, coating his mouth with the taste of you mixed with the chocolate still lingering on his taste buds, and he groans.

This.

This is the only thing he needs for this dumb fucking holiday.

“Le—”

You can’t even finish his two-syllable name. You squirm, curse, arch, as he laps once, twice, before paying special attention to your clit.

Yeah, you won’t think straight now.

He knows you.

When his eyes flicker up from his work, he sees the way you struggle to watch him with that flushed face; how your chest heaves in that cotton shirt; how you want to encourage him, beg him, but your mind’s blank whenever his tongue swirls that precious clit of yours.

With his eyes, he says everything he needs to:

This is what I want. This is my gift from you.

Then he sucks lightly on your clit, rhythmic and calculated, and you have to slam your hand over your mouth to avoid screaming.

Good.

Fight to keep this a secret.

Because if it was his choice, he often thinks about ruining this — the image of a captain and a lieutenant, platonic and brave, like you’re not riding him in the middle of the night after a hard day of exploration and failures.

Like he’s not finger fucking you in the hallways as a reward after dealing with the higher ups in meetings upon meetings upon meetings.

Like you’re still two teenagers sneaking around, an underground flipped upside-down.

He hums and the vibrations make your legs shake. He has to keep from grinning, too focused on getting you to the edge by his mouth and his mouth alone.

You grow quiet when you’re almost there.

It’s been dead silent for several seconds.

He works overtime, arms locked around your hips to keep you in his orbit, as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue side to side when—

That devastating sob.

The way your body arches like a woman possessed.

Thighs slam into his ears, making him feel dizzy, but he doesn’t stop.

Not until you whimper and tug and push at his hair to go away, and even then—

One last lick, for doing such a good job.

“You’re a menace,” you finally breathe, letting go of your mouth as your palm rests on your sweat-beaded forehead instead.

Levi lazily kisses down your inner thighs as you come back to planet Earth, proud of just how fast it took this time to get you there. He’s getting better at this, every single day.

Soon enough you won’t last a minute.

He’s determined for it.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not sorry about it,” he murmurs, lips shiny and red from his efforts.

You laugh, and his heart swells.

“I think I like this holiday.”

Yeah.

Levi thinks he can get behind this holiday, too.

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luveline · 2 years

Text

single dad!eddie x fem!reader drabbles

you meet eddie and his daughter roan. ficlets about falling in love and becoming a family (these are vaguely non-sequential/chronological, can be read in any order but the first three might be a good place to start)

all in once place <- this masterlist doesn't get updated all the time so any new ficlets will be at the top of this tag NOTE this link works on desktop, and on IOS, but doesn't work on android mobile. It used to, but I think it's a tumblr glitch.

eddie meets you for the first time, roan has a meltdown

eddie tries to get roan to stop clinging to you

eddie loses roan at the store, you find her

eddie asks you to pick roan up from daycare

eddie and roan awe at how pretty you look for a date

eddie takes you and roan for coffee, you look like her mom

eddie calls you sweetheart so much that roan copies him

roan loves you so much she hides your shoes

roan won’t let you and eddie cuddle

roan defends your honour when eddie play fights with you

eddie asks you over late at the night, roan finds you

eddie and you cut a date short to go take care of roan

roan colours eddie’s tattoos

eddie asks you to be his girlfriend

eddie and you comfort roan after a nightmare

eddie and you make breakfast, roan joins for cuddles

eddie and you get roan ready for bed

eddie gets more than he bargains for when he calls ‘babe’

eddie finds you and roan awake in the middle of the night

roan has her first major tantrum in front of you

roan draws a family portrait

eddie asks roan permission to propose to you

roan thinks the impending proposal is proof of momership

eddie and roan move in (the first night and morning)

eddie (and roan) propose

roan calls you mom for the first time (alternative ver.)

you and eddie fight and roan fixes it

roan finds you crying and eddie fixes it

roan gets stuck in the pumk-min

eddie gets sick and roan misses your hugs

roan has a bad day

roan gets jealous when you hug other kids

you pick a sick roan up from school for the first time

roan cries when you get back from a work conference

roan is terrified of mall santa

you and eddie get some time alone

you cry because you’re so happy to love them

#eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #for navigation #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

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toorurs · 18 days

Text

a polished stone swept to the shore

synopsis: a night sky full of stars and questions. aventurine can't help but wonder what significance he has to you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content and warnings: insecure!aventurine, hurt/comfort, bit of aventurines backstory | ficlet

authors note: dropping this in the night where aventurine realeases jsjejjwwj. also im not really content with how this turned out due to the ending being quite short and rushed.

tags: @azullumi

“what am i to you?

the words nip into the tense atmosphere, ascending into the air like a plump balloon, floating around until a gust of wind blows by and lets it drift away into the distant sky that is draped in the misty blanket of clouds.

“what am i to you?” can be interpreted as two different things. the meaning varies from one to another, depending on how one perceives the question.

“you’ll wait for me won’t you?” a question where every letter plays a significant role. but still, they take over the same role, the letters are equal to one another. fragile, delicate, unsure words that are drowning in uncertainty, that’ll eventually be unable to float above the surface. instead they’re being led to his blood, infusing it with the ugliness of insecurity.

(but to aventurine it’s a familiar emotion, one he’s been acquainted with ever since he was a child - it’s not a novel feeling. after all, it has always been like this. every time, when he felt a tad of excitement he mistook it as the adrenaline rushing and pumping through his blood, only to be hit with the realization that it was uneasiness - it has always been uneasiness. his hand that trembles under the duvet grips the bed sheets tightly, clutching at the sateen fabric with his fingertips, as he awaits your answer.)

“what am i to you” also translates into “why do you love me? how come you love me? what significant role do i play to be held like this?” puzzlement is the noun that depicts these questions well. he doesn’t understand but at the same time he does. when you love someone, you’d learn and get to know all of their flaws, all of their struggles and problems, all of their wretchedness and misfortune.

absurd to think that someone who was blessed by a sheer amount of luck experiences misfortune. he’s the blessed one, his luck is a protective charm that keeps him at a distance, but at the same it is also a curse. his good fortune, the good luck that accompanies him is like a blade, a sharp weapon that leaves scars and inflicts pain, to none other than himself. it's his protective charm, the one that preserves him from the cruel world - although everything he wanted to protect was his family.

he doesn’t understand why it was him, why he had to be gifted with this so-called fortune. he loathes it for making him the sole survivor of his nation, he resents it because he survived every tragedy that fell upon him like the rain. the rain that fell on the day of his birth, the gift of the god, or rather her tears? but he can’t help but love his luck, the only fragments, the only remnants he has left of his beloved parents, sister and kakavasha.

but then again, was his luck the one that made the two of you cross paths?

was it a mere coincidence that he fell in love with you and you reciprocated those feelings? but how come?

aventurine wishes to understand.

aventurine isn't the sun. he's not the one that spreads warmth over the people, he isn’t the one who was tasked to make their hearts pump in joy. he doesn't fulfill any of the criteria to be considered a star that shines brighter among the others. even if he were, he’d be all alone, surrounded by his own warmth, a coat draped over his body. aventurine isn't the one that people yearn for when they feel upset.

aventurine isn't a god. he doesn't possess any powers that'd be considered out of this world. he's not the one people stride after and look up to, not the one people plead and pray to when in need. he isn't able to take away the wounds of others, rather, he's the one who inflicts them. scarring their frail skin and putting it in a painful condition, staining dirt.

aventurine is simply just the gem. but, without the sage green crystal he wouldn't even be considered as aventurine. he wouldn't be the gambler that is bound to the shackles of the ipc. he wouldn't be the final victor then, the one that has each and every move precisely planned out. those are the traits that make him aventurine. without them he'd just be a rock then, a mere pebble to be kicked around. abused and tormented by others, used as nothing else but a stepping stone. cheap, worthless, useless, like the loser he is.

he doesn't understand what you see in a hollow shell like him.

“what you mean to me, you ask? your voice resembles the rain outside that is currently kissing the glass of the windowpane and platters against the big windows. It’s a comforting sound that soothes him and lulls him into a peaceful slumber.

“mhm.” aventurine hums in agreement and tries to stay as quiet as possible, fearing that he might break this dainty moment if he were to utter a sound too loud.

“well.” you say in an amused tone. “if you really wanna know, you're like a prince, prince charming kind of?” your voice cracks a bit at the last part, its sweet aventurine thinks.

“oh yeah? how come?” aventurine tries to sound confident, masking his curiosity with certainty.

“well you know. i’m like the damsel in distress and you’re the knight whom i wait for. you know in those fairytales, when they wait for an eternity for someone to rescue them and immediately fall in love head over heels with their savior who never gave up on them even after so many failed attempts from others and himself, right?” you ask him.

(aventurine isn't too well acquainted with fairy tales. he never got to read them when growing up, he never had the chance nor the opportunity to do so.)

“yeah of course.” aventurine plays it off smoothly, fearing that you might question or judge him and his past. (he knows you wouldn’t but he can’t help to think so.)

“well, there you got your answer!” you giggle.

your words translate into: i’d always wait for you, even if it meant to wait for an eternity. but they also translate into: you’re determined to have me, to know me, to love me and so do i.

aventurine isnt the sun, neither a god. the man that you had lying beside you was the man of your dreams - or rather your fairytales.

e/n: it's 1 am and i have a math exam tmrw which i havent learned for, instead i wrote this 😔😔 © TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine imagines #aventurine x gn reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #aventurine x you #toorurs #—stellaronhvnters.

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dystopicjumpsuit · 8 days

Note

Hi DJ! If you’re still doing the ficlet requests, can I get 24 (cuddles of reassurance) with Wolffe? Maybe fem!reader is having a hard time with sex and feels embarrassed/overwhelmed? (If that’s too explicit/uncomy feel free to ignore :))

Just a Little Bit More

A/N: Thank you so much for this request, Alli! I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I feel like so much of the smut we see in fanfiction AND in published fiction/media in general is so idealized that even when it has elements of realism, it can present a distorted idea of what sex and intimacy can really be like. I’m certainly guilty of writing somewhat idealized smut, though I do try to maintain at least some semblance of realism (unless Sev is involved; all bets are off with that man). While there’s nothing wrong with having that fantasy, I think it’s healthy and important to also show the reality that it isn’t always easy or flawless, even with a caring, experienced partner who takes our pleasure seriously and does everything “right.”

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.3K of straight smut with some cuddles

Warnings and tags: cuddles; hurt comfort; language; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; nipple play; light/playful spanking; body worship; sex toys; fingering; exhibitionism; voyeurism; creampie; difficulty with orgasm. AKA, the return of SMUTKEA.

Summary: Wolffe is the best you’ve ever had. That doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Fruit de La Créativité by Grès (raspberry & leather)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Wolffe gazed up into your eyes as you rolled your hips slowly, searching for the perfect angle. You knew you could find it: you’d done it before, countless times. His strong, warm hands glided up your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer, thrusting deeper, guiding you closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel it building inside you, the tension gathering slowly.

Too slowly.

He smoothed one hand up your side, grazing along your rib cage until he cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb. He knew exactly how much pressure you liked, and the way he touched you was perfect.

God, he’s so hot. Just focus on how hot he is.

Sweat glistened on your skin. The room hadn’t been this hot when he’d pulled you into bed, but after an hour and a half of vigorous activity, you were both slick with perspiration, saliva, arousal, and lube. He’d mapped your body with kisses, gliding his lips and tongue across your skin as he devoured you, bringing you right to the edge until you begged him to fuck you.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist as he eased into you, a tormented groan rumbling from his lips as he felt your heat envelope him. Gods, he felt amazing, and when he started to move, you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before you came.

It took longer than you expected, and after a while, you realized something needed to change.

“Take me from behind,” you’d murmured, knowing how much he loved the way your ass pressed into his hips in that position.

“God, yes,” he’d replied, pulling out and rolling you over with enthusiasm.

You loved the way he handled you in bed. He was so fucking strong. He could toss you around so easily—it was hot as hell, but the best thing about it was the care he took to make sure you were comfortable and he didn’t accidentally hurt you. He lifted your hips up and positioned you exactly the way he wanted you. You heard a small click as he closed the bottle of lube, and then you felt his slickened fingers glide over your cunt as he ensured you were ready to take him from the new angle.

“Maker, that ass is gorgeous,” he said, squeezing your cheeks before giving you a playful smack.

Your mischievous giggle turned into a breathless moan as he sank into you, reaching deeper, stretching you wider, as his hand slid down your body to tease your clit. You loved the way he touched you, the way he caged you in with his body, making you feel incredibly safe and protected. And of course, you loved his cock. He knew exactly how to use it to ensure he gave you as much pleasure as he took—or more.

And still, your orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. He shifted, and for a moment, his body rested heavily on you before he resumed his rhythm.

He’s getting tired. Fuck. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. I need to give him a break.

“Want me to be on top?” you offered, hoping that yet another angle would be the one that finally pushed you past whatever mental block was keeping you from your release.

He paused, his hands resting on your hips. “Is that what you want?”

“Sure,” you replied. “If you do?”

He trailed his fingers down your spine before slowly withdrawing from your body. You turned to watch as he rolled onto his back and kicked the blankets off the bed. He reached for you with that sexy smirk that you loved so much, and you knew without question that he still wanted you.

He’s such a good man. Gods, he deserves the world.

“Hop on, darlin’,” he invited.

You crawled toward him with a smile, pausing a moment to kneel between his thighs. You traced your fingertips up his legs and over his balls, then ghosted a line up the underside of his cock. You glanced up to see his eyes fixed on you with an intense expression. Holding his gaze, you dropped lower and flicked your tongue over his tip, then slid his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over him. You could taste yourself on his skin—salty, tangy, unspeakably erotic. His hips flexed beneath you, and you heard his breath grow ragged.

He caressed your head gently, stroking his hand over your hair and jaw before coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”

You gave him one last defiant, flirtatious little suck before you released him, then you began to crawl up to him, kissing a trail up his abdomen and chest. You straddled his hips, kissing and licking your way up his throat, and as you reached his lips, you whispered, “You taste like pussy.”

“Then I must be delicious,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

His tongue slid into your mouth as his cock thrust into your cunt, and for a moment you were overwhelmed with the sensations of him filling you. A fresh wave of arousal had flooded you as you’d pleasured him with your mouth, and he slipped into you easily, rocking into you with his powerful thighs. You braced your fists against the mattress on either side of his head, pressing down to meet his thrusts as you rode him hard and fast, chasing your pleasure with a desperation that started to border on frantic as release continued to elude you.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna fill you up. You feel so goddamn good. Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

I’m trying, damn it!

“You feel incredible,” you replied breathlessly, and it was true, so why was this so kriffing difficult?

Your hips were starting to get sore from how long you’d been at it, so you shifted positions, bringing your knees higher and setting a slower pace to try to buy yourself enough time that you’d have the energy to make it to the finish line. Wolffe adjusted instantly, not even needing a verbal cue to understand the message your body sent. You found the angle that pressed his cock against the perfect place inside you, and you focused on trying to get as much stimulation there as you possibly could, cutting out all extraneous movement.

The longer it took, the more anxious and desperate you became. You tried to shut down the voice in your head that whispered, “He’s getting bored,” because you knew it was a lie. All you had to do was look into his beautiful, mismatched eyes to see how much he wanted you. And you were so close. So fucking close, if you could just get out of your own head long enough to let go.

You traced your fingertips across his cheekbone and along his jaw, grazing your thumb across his lips. You pressed gently, parting his lips to brush your thumb against his tongue, and then you leaned down and kissed him deeply, trying to lose yourself in the sensation of his lips and tongue against your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as you broke from the kiss and returned your hand to brace against the mattress. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Please stop talking. You couldn’t say it out loud; what kind of an asshole says something like that in response to a compliment?

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered instead. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was true; he was amazing. Unquestionably the best you’d ever had. In the time you’d been together, he’d learned your body completely, identifying every spot that made you shiver, testing different approaches until he knew exactly how and where you liked to be touched, kissed, caressed. He knew where to use his teeth, and where to use his breath; he knew when you wanted him to be tender, and when you craved roughness.

He knew you.

He knew you better than anyone ever had, and that made your current predicament even more maddening. Because sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you came so fast that your orgasm surprised both of you. But most of the time, it took more work. A lot more. And sometimes, like this one, you would get so close to the edge that you were only seconds away, only to feel the wave of pleasure ebb and be replaced with frustration and exhaustion.

Please, please, please. Just a little bit more.

Your wrists ached. Your knuckles were raw from grinding them into the sheets. You shifted your weight and lifted one hand off the mattress, stretching your fingers and trying to get the blood flowing to them. He glanced at your hand, then back up into your eyes.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Just… keep going,” you said desperately. “I’m so close—I’m so fucking close, and I just can’t—I can’t—”

Abrupt tears stung your eyes, and you buried your face against his neck to hide them, kissing his chest to try to distract him from your distress.

He wrapped his arms around your body, still rocking into you at the pace you’d set. “Do you want to take a break?”

“No, I want you to come,” you snapped, disappointment sharpening your tone more than you intended.

He stilled immediately. You felt his hand slide up your back to stroke your hair softly.

“Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Look at me.”

You shook your head and burrowed your face obstinately into the nook where his neck met his shoulder.

“Talk to me, little one,” he urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The dam cracked and then burst.

“I’m so fucking tired,” you sobbed. “And I can tell you’re getting tired, and I just want it to be good for you, and every time I think I’m getting there, I lose it!”

Mortification swept through you that you were making a scene during such an intimate moment, and you tried to stifle your sobs, but it was too late. You felt him go soft inside you, and then he slipped from your body.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he rolled the both of you onto your sides, pulling you close against his body. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Holding you tightly with one arm, he began to run his hand lightly over your back, comforting you with his touch as he kissed your forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated. “You just got tired. It’s all right, love. It happens.”

“It’s so frustrating,” you confessed. “So many times, I thought I was there, and then something would distract me, and it was just gone.”

“Was it something I did?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It was just… I don’t know. A noise? Or a weird thought that popped into my head at a bad time?” You paused, feeling a little guilty as you remembered that, in fact, you had gotten annoyed at an ill-timed remark from him. “And then the longer it took, the more it stressed me out about how long it was taking, until I was stressing so much about it that that’s all I could think about.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder and began to glide it up and down your arm in long, languid strokes. “Why were you worried about taking too long?”

You paused, unaccountably hesitant to admit the truth. He waited patiently, still caressing your arm, until at last you replied, “I was worried you were getting tired. Or bored. Or—I don’t know…”

His hand stilled in its progress, then slid around your back as he pulled you even closer to him. “I would never get bored with you.”

“But—”

“I love you,” he cut you off firmly. “I love being with you. I love fuckin’ you. You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and kriffin’ amazing in the sack. Do you have any idea how lucky I am? Most men only dream of finding a girl like you, but I got you for real. How the hell would I ever be stupid enough to get bored with someone as goddamn perfect as you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You lay in his arms, clinging tightly to him as the tears finally stopped trickling from your eyes. You shuddered quietly.

“Yeah?” you asked in a tiny whisper.

He rolled you onto your back and moved to lie on top of you so he could look into your eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said with a charming smirk.

He pressed his lips to your sternum as his hand slid lazily up your body to play with your breast. The weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress as you cradled his chest between your thighs. You took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, releasing the guilt and stress and self-recrimination you’d built up in your body.

He kissed you again, and again, then he began to work his way across your chest until he drew your nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue over your skin as he sucked gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt a spark of renewed arousal, but with it came a surge of anxiety that rose insistently in your mind.

“Wolffe,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can. I really am exhausted.”

He looked up at you as he continued to tease your breast. At last, he released your nipple from his lips, giving you a devilish smile.

“What if we tried something else?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into an answering smile when he looked at you like that. “What did you have in mind?”

He pushed himself up off of you and leaned over to rummage through your nightstand until he retrieved a vibrator—the one you’d once jokingly called “Old Faithful” for its uncanny ability to get you off like clockwork.

“I want you to fuck yourself with this,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

Your breath stuttered to a halt, your eyes widening and your heart beginning to pound at the idea. Your gaze flicked from the toy to his eyes and back again.

“Wh—what about you?” you stammered.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he replied. He switched on the vibrator and traced it down your abdomen, making you twitch as its buzz tickled your skin. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the toy from him. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way works best for you.”

You thought about trying to pose for him, to put on a show, but you knew instinctively that wasn’t what he was after. If he’d wanted to watch a counterfeit, staged orgasm, he would have just found a holoporn. No. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to see your genuine pleasure.

“All right,” you whispered.

You took the toy from him, and he moved off of your body to lie next to you, observing you closely. You adjusted the settings to your preferred speed and pattern, then took a deep breath and began.

The instant you touched the vibrator to your clit, your entire body tensed, and you gasped quietly. You glanced at Wolffe and found his gaze riveted to your pussy, his one good pupil dilated so wide you could barely see the amber ring of his iris around its inky depths. You felt a little self-conscious until you saw the way his lips parted slightly as his breath became heavy.

You pushed yourself back into the pillow and closed your eyes as you adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing it exactly as you needed it. With your free hand, you began to play with your breast, caressing and squeezing and rolling your nipple between your fingertips. You felt the warmth of his hand as it settled onto your leg and then slid up your thigh. Your opposite leg curled up to brace your foot against the bed, opening your stance wider as you moved the vibrator exactly the way you needed it.

“Fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His fingers grazed lightly over your pussy, but quickly withdrew.

“You can touch me,” you gasped.

He didn’t move immediately, and you continued to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, feeling the tension gather in your body and begin to tighten in on your center. Then his fingertips brushed over your cunt again, and you felt his lips and tongue descend on your hip. He didn’t try to take control, just touched you softly, kissing and licking and watching as you played with yourself.

You adjusted your position again, bringing your leg against his body, and you felt his slick, rigid cock press hard against you. You whimpered, so turned on you couldn’t even form words, and in response, he ground his erection against you. He kissed across your pelvis until he reached your belly, pressing his face into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

“Kriff, me too,” he growled.

His fingertip grazed into you, and your body jerked as you gasped sharply. He froze, and without thinking, you moved your hand away from your breast to grab his wrist and push him deeper. With an urgent grunt, he began to move his finger, stroking exactly where he knew you needed him.

Abruptly, your hips arched off the bed, and you let out an inhuman wail. If your brain had been functioning, you might have also heard Wolffe’s rough groan, but at the moment, you were aware of nothing but blinding, shattering pleasure as your body finally found the release it had been denied for so many hours. You jerked the vibrator away as the intensity suddenly became too much, and your body convulsed again and again until at last you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Wolffe covered you with frantic kisses, crawling up your body until he reached your face. His body hovered over you as his tongue brushed between your lips and flooded your mouth with his taste. Your arms wrapped around his torso as your legs tightened around his hips, and you pulled him into you. His cock slid easily, and he thrust hard and fast, fucking you through the last tremors of your orgasm.

He came within seconds, flooding you with heat as he thrust hard, one last time, burying his cock as deep as he could inside your body. He stayed there, his entire body taut, until at last he exhaled a hard breath and relaxed onto you. His lips broke away from yours, and he rested his forehead against the pillow next to your head.

“Fuck,” he panted, the word hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You stroked your hands up and down his back, digging your nails lightly into his skin. He groaned and slumped heavily against your body. You loved the weight of him on top of you, but before long, you began to wheeze quietly as you struggled to draw breath. He heard the shift and immediately rolled off of you, pulling you against himself as he came to rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his chest.

He laughed quietly. “Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Worth the wait?” you asked.

“Worth everything,” he murmured, drawing you even closer. “Everything, and more. You always have been.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts!Want more Wolffe? Here’s a tiny little fluffy ficlet.

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#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars #the clone wars #fem reader #x reader #dystopicjumpsuit writes #flashing gif

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wileys-russo · 7 months

Text

handyman II l.williamson x reader

just a cute little ficlet based on this request here. handyman II l.williamson

"-love do you have to stop at every single display room?" leah sighed with a tired smile as you collapsed on yet another sofa you had no intention of buying. "lee it's all a part of the experience! come, sit with me." you patted the brown leather with a beaming grin that leah just couldn't say no to as she wandered over and sat beside you.

"now. imagine this is our home-" you started, gesturing to the made up room around you as leah hummed, watching you with a fond smile. "-that's my desk. i put it by the window so that when i work from home i can see outside and people watch." you started, gesturing for leah to continue.

"okay uhh, that's all our photo albums on the bookshelf there. we spent a weekend together making them, they have all of our trips together, special times in our life, dates, our wedding, our kids first moments and experiences." leah smiled softly as you gave her a look of surprise, the blonde not having mentioned children before with you, let alone so casually.

"we mounted the tv to the wall because the kids kept kicking a ball in the house and knocking it over, because someone lets them do it when im not home to tell them off." you teased, leahs happy grin in return making your heart warm at the thought of one day starting a family with her.

"babe this is really fun and all but if we don't shift it the paint warehouse will close and it's not open again until Tuesday." leah checked the time, patting your knee and standing, pulling you with her.

she kept a close eye on you as the two of you made your way through the rest of ikea, grabbing what you needed as leah subtly removed the random things you threw in that she knew you didn't, holding your hand and gently tugging you away as you continued to try and stop at every single room.

"no i think it's that one." you disagreed with your blonde lover who sighed, her patience wearing thin as she paused to calm herself. "it's that one baby, look at the label and the numbers-" she showed you the tag on her phone.

"no because thats a nine, and thats a six!" you argued with her, leah pinching the bridge of her nose. "fine! we'll get the one you want and when it's wrong you can return it on monday while i'm at training." leah decided, her thin veil of tolerance breaking.

you wanted to tell her off for the snide comment, but found yourself far too distracted by her muscles as she grabbed the last flat pack you needed and slid it onto the trolley, opting to roll her sleeves up to her shoulders earlier in the day.

leah impatiently turned around to tell you to hurry up as she wheeled off the trolley and noticed you weren't by her side, but seeing the way your eyes had lightly glazed over and were fixated on her arms a small smirk made its way to her face.

"when you're done drooling over me baby girl i think there's a mop a few aisles back to clean it up." leah teased, snapping you out of it as you hurried to catch up with her, punching her lightly as she stole a kiss, bad mood melted away.

that didn't last very long though.

"babe oh my god just read the instructions!" you groaned, dragging your hand down your face as your girlfriend shook her head stubbornly. "i don't need them, i'm telling you its missing a piece!" leah crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at the half built coffee table.

"you're so fucking stubborn leah honestly." you grumbled to yourself, snatching the instructions off the floor where she'd tossed them aside, the comment not lost on your girlfriends ears who scowled at you over her shoulder.

"my god leah." you inhaled sharply, squeezing your eyes shut after they'd scanned the paper in your hands. "what?" she huffed, scowl still built into her features. "you've put the fucking top on the wrong way and the base is backwards." you held out the instructions toward her.

"what!" leah scoffed in disbelief, snatching them off of you, face paling as she realised you were correct. "just fix it. i'm going to start putting everything else away in the kitchen." you rolled your eyes, storming out of the room.

leah gave you your space for a few hours, focusing all of her energy into building as much furniture she could, now making sure to actually use the instructions.

the two of you had been bickering relentlessly all weekend over the tiniest of things and though you both knew none of the small tiffs meant anything, those few hours without them were much needed.

the two of you had just bought your very first home together.

you'd lived together for a couple of years, renting and falling even more head over heels for one another. but you'd moved in with leah and as much as she made sure to assure you the place was for both of you, it never quite felt that way.

so with leah extending her arsenal contract for a further three seasons and you running your own business, you'd sat down together and made the decision to buy a place that would be for both of you.

the day you finally got the keys leah carried you bridal style over the threshhold as you smacked her shoulder with a laugh, dropping you down as the two of you ran around the eerily empty house playing tag, giggling like giddy school children.

in typical fashion the very first night you moved in you'd had the absolute bare minimum, the moving truck with the majority of your belongings not due till the next day.

so you'd eaten pizza on the floor and slept in the living room on a cheap blow up mattress, spending the evening playing card games using the pizza boxes as a makeshift table while you watched a movie on leah's laptop.

not the most conventionally convenient first night and with the mattress all but deflating by the time you woke up it was far from the greatest nights sleep, and yet it was perfect.

"hello gorgeous. shall we call it a day?" leah murmured gently, hugging you from behind and softly kissing your neck as you busied yourself unpacking boxes in your bedroom, closing a drawer with a tired sigh and a nod.

"sorry for being cranky." you mumbled into her shoulder, turning around and hugging her properly. "sorry for being so stubborn." leah mumbled into your hair as she placed a kiss there tenderly making you smile.

"we've still not done any groceries!" you groaned in realization of the one errand you'd both neglected to remember today, so busy in your hurrying about from one place to another you realised neither of you had really eaten a proper meal all day.

"well we've got plates and glasses and cutlery now. so even a takeout can be eaten like a proper fancy meal!" leah joked, pecking your lips a few times before letting you go and pulling out her phone, collapsing on the bed.

you curled up into her side, head resting on her shoulder as the two of you browsed your options, leah claiming she didn't mind what you ordered but here she was shooting down almost all your suggestions.

"oh my god leah you choose then!" you laughed, sitting up with a shake of your head as the blonde grabbed the back of your jumper and pulled you back down into her hold. "i don't mind!" the girl assured yet again as you rolled your eyes.

"you say this and yet every single thing i've suggested you can come up with a reason not to order it. so what do you really want love?" your hands grabbed her face gently, thumbs stroking her sharp jawline with an amused smile.

"pizza." leah admitted with a sheepish grin and a pout. "we had pizza two days ago!" you smiled with a shake of your head. "i love pizza and pizza loves me." was all your girlfriend answered with a shrug before attacking your face with kisses, only pulling away to go and order your usual.

"-no a bit more to the left." you hummed, arms crossed as leahs shook, holding up the heavy photo frame which was filled with pictures of the two of you, the thing easily weighed half of her and it was huge.

"baby. with the most peace and love if you don't hurry up and decide where i'm mounting this i am going to shove it up your-" leah started and forced a smile, straining to hold it up as you again directed her to shuffle right then left, then up then down.

"wait stop right there! perfect." you smiled happily with a clap, ignoring her recent comment as leah sighed in relief, placing it carefully down against the wall on the floor as she moved to grab the hooks and nails.

"make sure its straight when you nail it in!" you chatsized, taking a seat on your lounge which had finally arrived, burying your head in your phone. "i'll nail you in a fucking minute." leah mumbled under her breath, you too busy browsing online for some prints for your guest room to hear her.

"baby its crooked." you moaned as leah finally finished, the defenders head slumping against the wall in defeat. "only joking." you grinned, kissing her cheek and smacking her bum as you sauntered past. "i could just...." leah made a strangling motion with her hands behind your back.

"i could hide a body, i've watched enough crime podcasts." the blonde continued under her breath as she packed up her tools. "are you plotting my murder again?" you smiled knowingly, tilting your head as you leaned in the door frame watching her.

"yes i am." leah rolled her eyes, snatching your drink from your hand and chugging it as your jaw dropped. "leah!" you smacked her chest as she sighed happily, handing you back the empty glass and sloppily kissing your cheek in thanks.

"i'd not say no to a sandwich either love." the captain grinned with a wink before disappearing into your bedroom to finish building the side tables she'd started earlier before you demanded her assistance with several other things.

"what am i now then? your little house wife?" you scoffed, following after her, the taller girl smiling cheekily as she swung a hammer around in her hand. "yeah. yeah you are!" leah nodded before squatting down to continue building.

"put a ring on it and maybe we'll talk titles then williamson." you teased, the older girls cheeks flushing red as you smiled and left the room. changing into an old pair of overalls you tied your hair up and grabbed a can of paint, moving into the spare room to continue where you'd left off yesterday.

you'd finished another entire wall by the time leah appeared, having finished the side tables and your tv stand after much swearing and yelling which you'd left her to, not wanting to push her any further despite how easy you knew it would be to wind the blonde up.

"sweets do you know where-" you didn't hear the rest of her sentence, too fixated on the tool belt strapped around her waist, her shorts rolled up and only in her sports bra as of course a heat wave had decided to roll in over the weekend.

"baby? did you hear me?" leah asked somewhat impatiently, tapping her foot and raising an eyebrow as you shook your head wordlessly, eyes roaming her body hungrily. "how do you not know-" leah started though she stopped when she realised what it was which was distracting you.

"now see i wouldn't have pegged you for a girl with a little handyman fantasy." leah smiled cockily, sauntering over as your arms hung limp by your sides. "that makes two of us. but you in a tool belt...baby it's doing things to me." you admitted with a nod of approval.

"would you like me to do things to you my girl?" leah breathed out with a grin, hands grabbing at your hips as her eyes flittered down to lock with yours. no more words needed the taller girl connected your lips.

unlike normal she didn't rush anything, the kiss was slow and sensual and she poured into it every ounce of affection and love she held for you, though as time passed and you seperated momentarily to catch your breath it grew messier.

your head span, feeling as though it was filled with cotton, in a drunken haze off the taste of leahs lips on yours and the way her tongue moved around in your mouth, teeth nipping teasingly at your bottom lip as she suddenly pushed you into the wall causing you to let out a small moan.

however it only took a millisecond before your brain switched back on and you shoved her away, leahs eyebrows creasing into a frown as you gasped, tensing as you felt something wet drip down the back of your neck.

leah opened her mouth to ask what happened but as you took a step forward the blonde swiftly covered her smile with her hand, biting down on her lip with a guilty look sent your way.

for behind you on the still dripping wet wall of paint was now a you sized smudge, the eggshell white now caked in your hair, neck and all down the back of you.

"we could tell people a bird took a shit on you? that's quite good luck!" leah joked, a pause passing between the two of you as your eyes narrowed and she took off, you hastily chasing after her.

you caught her in the kitchen, eyes locked as you circled one another around the island bench in the middle. "now baby really that was your fault." leah shook her head as you scoffed and lunged at her but she easily side stepped you, backing away out of the room as you advanced on her.

"come give me a hug then babe." you smiled, taking further steps toward her as leah looked around for an escape, darting past you and out the back door as you chased after her.

much faster than your girlfriend would ever give you credit for you tackled her onto the grass as she paused to try and evaluate her next steps, landing on top of her with a grin.

"you look a bit pale darling." you teased, grabbing your paintbrush you'd stashed from your back pocket, gently smacking her cheeks with it and painting her face as leah squealed but kept her mouth shut as to not invite any of the paint into it.

you rolled off of her and laid on your back, clutching at your stomach as your laughter echoed around the backyard. though now it was your turn to squeal as leah sat on top of you, wiping her face all over your overalls as you tried to push her off but she swiftly pinned your wrists to the grass.

"no leah its on your lips!" you laughed as the blonde dipped her head to kiss you. "i know!" she scowled playfully, gently kissing both your cheeks and your forehead leaving marks all over your own face.

"shower time?" leah grinned, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and letting go of your hands as you hit her on the shoulder. "only if you keep the tool belt on." you smirked now making her throw her head back in laughter.

"you know baby i think that can be arranged."

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #engwnt #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso

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annwrites · 10 days

Text

exactly what he needs, pt. 1 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | pt 2

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (going to be multi-chapter)

— summary: nate asks you for private tutoring, using the excuse that no one can find out, due to who his father is—the über perfectionist & king of east highland. you agree, since you've tutored others, and do so through a school program, at that. as such, he'll be no different than the rest who've needed your help. as time goes on, though, and the gifts, phone calls, and texts begin to pile up, as well as him driving you to and from school, and his near-constant insistence on "hanging out", you wonder if nate ever really needed academic help in the first place., or if it was all a ruse for something more troubling to take place.

— tags: homework, studying, tutoring, nate lusting after/fantasizing about you & wanting to make you wholly his

— tw: misogyny, lying, dollification, sexualization

— word count: 4,144

— a/n: this is going to be part of a series, as indicated above. this post will serve as part 1. i promise it will get juicier going forward, i just needed to lay some groundwork for the reader & nate.

After McKay's party and Maddy's fucking another guy in his pool for all to see—completely humiliating and emasculating him—Nate was done with her. No, beyond done. He'd wasted how much time, money, and effort on her? All for her to turn out to be the whore he'd always known her to be.

She was always too loud. Too attention-seeking. Too selfish and spoiled. The kind of girl who used the excuse of being "brutally honest" and a refusal to "take any shit" just to be a bitch to whoever she pleased. And she always got away with it, too.

Well, not this time. Not with him. She was going to learn what being on her own finally felt like.

Besides, she'd never been his type. Not really.

She was nice to look at, sure, and he'd thought her loyal. How fucking stupid he'd been to do so. But that was all she'd had going for her in the end.

And then there had been Cassie—one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made had been hooking up with her. He'd thought her different than who she turned out to be. She pretended to be so pure and wide-eyed, when in reality she was fucking psychotic and obsessed with him. He couldn't stomach that level of desperation from a girl.

The night she had completely lost it in his bedroom, screaming about how "crazy" she was had been the last straw.

And the fact she'd so easily betrayed Maddy? Who knew how long before she did the same to him. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.

Nate leans back, barely paying attention to what Ms. Clark is teaching the class at-present. His attention is instead focused on you.

You, who's been there since Nate was five-years-old and in kindergarten. You, who's always been quiet and soft-spoken, reserved and smart, sweet and shy, and who has no reputation whatsoever to speak of—he'd even gone so far as to check for you on SlutPages, and you'd been, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. You were the very definition of innocent.

You, who didn't dress like a slut or go out of your way to get attention. Hell, you didn't even go to parties or football games. Not that he'd ever seen you at either, at least.

He may've looked for you in the stands last Friday night, for whatever reason, despite knowing you wouldn't be there. But he had hoped, even for a moment.

Personality-wise? You were perfect for him. Exactly what he needed; had needed all along. He could kick himself for not seeing it sooner. But better late than never that he did so now.

The way you dressed? He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It suited you well-enough, sure, but he liked to imagine you in cute babydoll dresses, with your hair down and softly curled, a pair of ballet flats on your feet, as opposed to your usual sweaters or blouses, with plaid or high-waisted skirts, your hair typically in a high-ponytail or bun.

He saw your potential, your beauty. Your potential beauty, even.

He knew he needed an excuse to talk to you again after all these years, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so—the beginning of middle-school perhaps? He knew you tutored, so he chose the subject you seemed most passionate about—history—and his plan was set.

He spends the remainder of class watching and admiring you. Your delicate handwriting, the soft look in your eyes, your dainty hands, slim shoulders, and your perfect posture. He becomes so engrossed that he jolts when the bell rings, signaling the end of class, ripped from his daydreams of walking down the halls, your hand in his, soft feminine dresses hanging from your frame, your hair falling in soft waves down your back as every guy sees that you're his now.

As every guy realizes that they can look, but never touch, as he presses kiss after kiss to your pink lips, your soft body pressed between his and the lockers, you quietly giggling as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he walks you to your next class.

Ever-polite, you wait until nearly everyone else has rushed out of the classroom before you follow suit.

Nate's already standing behind you and notes how cute it is—your complete obliviousness to his presence. It was refreshing, actually, for a girl not to be throwing herself at him for once.

"Y/N," he says, softly.

You jump, nearly dropping your books. Before you can speak, wondering why he's wanting your attention in the first place—as the two of you never speak—he reaches out, gently taking your books from your arms. He then nods his head toward the door. "I'll walk you to your locker. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Completely bewildered, you simply head in the direction of the door and go to your locker. You fumble with the dial for a moment, screwing up the combination the first time, but thankfully getting it on the second.

You take your books from him, placing them all back where they belong before turning to him. "Thank you"

He immediately likes how polite you are. "Welcome," he replies.

As you ready your materials for your next class, you speak again. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He leans his side against the locker next to yours. How had he never noticed that you were just a few rows down from his own before?

"Before I tell you, I need you to promise me it stays between us. I don't want other people finding out."

It was both a truth and a lie. The lie being that it was, more than anything else, a test. A test to see if even this early on, you'd simply make yourself agreeable to him, if you'd keep a secret simply because he asked you to.

He wants to know how much you'll prod before just caving and giving him what he wants.

You look at him, then. "I..." You trail off for a moment. The first time he speaks to you in how many years and that's the first thing he says to you?

He smirks in understanding of your hesitation. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I'm not about to ask you to hold drugs for me or something."

A bit of reassurance—that much he could offer without issue.

"Okay, I promise."

He fills with satisfaction. Already he can tell you're easily submissive. He hopes for as much, at least.

"I'm uh...I'm not doing too well in history. I got a D on the last test, and I'm close to failing the class as a whole. I was wondering if you'd be willing to tutor me?"

You turn fully toward him, then, filling with understanding. He's ashamed.

You give him a kind, sympathetic look and he adores you all the more for it.

"You don't need to be embarrassed about asking for help, Nate. It's why the school has a tutoring program. You're doing the right thing for yourself." You remove a flyer for said program from your locker, placing your heart-shaped magnet back where it goes. "Here, there's a list of resources and tutors for—"

He immediately cuts you off, shaking his head, placing the flyer back under that same magnet. Because of course you have pastel-colored magnets of hearts and clouds and flowers on the inside of your locker.

He looks at you. "I asked you for a reason. It needs to be kept a secret for a reason. I mean, you know who my dad is: King-Asshole-of-East-Highland. If he found out that I'm almost failing one of my classes, and much more asking for outside help, instead of just taking care of the problem myself..."

He shakes his head again, hoping the my-dad-is-too-tough-on-me-and-expects-nothing-less-than-perfection routine has worked.

You shift from one foot to the other, unable to understand how anyone could see their child taking the steps to actually get help as a bad thing, as a failing, or short-coming. But Cal Jacobs did seem to be nothing if not perfect. Perfect image, perfect job, perfect business, family, home—you name it.

"Why me?" You ask, genuinely curious. There's a whole roster of tutors signed up with the school, not to mention a couple teachers who also offer academic help after-hours a few times a week.

"I've known you my entire life. I trust you to keep this just between the two of us."

Simple enough answer, you think.

You close your locker then. "What subject?"

"History."

Your favorite one, at least. You'd never been the best at math. Had he said it instead, he'd be finding someone else, whether he liked it or not. You'd just get him worse grades in the end, if nothing else.

"Ok, we could um...we could meet at the library. They have study rooms for—"

He interrupts you again. "No, it needs to be your place, if that's ok. I don't want to risk anyone seeing me getting help in public."

Once again, a truth and a lie. More than anything he just wanted—no, needed—to get you alone and all to himself.

"Oh." You hesitate for a moment, but don't really have an excuse as to why you can't do it at your house. So, you relent. "That's fine, I guess. When did you want to start?"

"Today, if that's cool with you."

That soon, you think.

You nod. "Today is fine." Your brows furrow. "Do you know where I live? If not, I could give you my address?"

He smirks. "Or I could just drive us there. I have my truck. You won't have to take the bus."

Won't that arouse suspicion among his friends? The two of you suddenly being seen together? "Your friends won't ask questions?"

He'd not thought of that. Stupid. He simply shrugs, pretending not to care. "If they do, I'll just tell them to mind their own business."

You raise a brow for a moment, doubting they will, but suppose it doesn't really matter to you either way. It's his secret that he's desperate to keep, not yours.

The bell rings, letting you know you have two minutes to get to your next class. "Ok, I'll see you after school then."

"See you then," he replies with a smile.

Once school has let out for the day, you nearly go to get on the bus, then remember just before walking up the first step, that you're being driven home by Nate today.

It's strange to think about: you, with Nate Jacobs, in his truck.

Even when you were little the two of you had never exactly been friends. But you suppose that can always change. Not that you're sure that you want it to.

It seems like wherever Nate goes, drama follows. First with Maddy and whatever had happened weeks ago at McKay's party. Something had happened the night of the fair—something bad—but no one would talk about it. And then he'd apparently gotten with Cassie, which was...a recipe for disaster, to put it plainly.

You don't like drama. Don't like the people who seem to thrive on it. And he certainly seems to be one of them. Someone who's always in the middle of it, at least.

Then you tell yourself you're just being silly. You're going to be tutoring him, that's all. You doubt it will ever even build up to friendship.

Once you've made it into the parking lot proper, you begin to scan it, looking down row after row of vehicles until you see Nate watching you, a smirk on his face as he leans back against the front of his Dodge pickup.

You wait as a car passes, then finally come to stand in front of him, suddenly feeling nervous.

"You ready?" He asks.

As he looks down at you, you only just now realize how much of a disparity there is between your heights. You look up at his towering form, suddenly incredibly self-conscious of how short you are. Somehow it makes you feel childlike...

Meanwhile, Nate absolutely eats it up. It'd be all too easy to toss you around on a bed like a ragdoll, he thinks.

Finally, you nod.

You both walk around to the passenger side, but before you can ask him—your brows now furrowed—what he's doing, he opens the door for you to get in. "Oh, thank you," you say, climbing into the oversized truck.

Who needs vehicles these big...

"Welcome," he says, shutting the door.

As you buckle yourself in, setting your backpack at your feet, you watch as he walks around the front of the truck to get in and internally cringe, wanting to try and climb down into the floorboards to hide, when you see Cassie staring directly at you. If looks could kill, you would've been dead instantly.

You want to get out and tell her it's not what she thinks it is, but you're broken from your staring straight back at her when Nate closes his door and the truck revs to life. After buckling himself in, he looks at you, noticing you've now gone pale.

No way you considered him opening your door as him having already gone too far.

"Everything okay?"

You look at him. "Cassie is staring at us. I think she might think that we're-"

He puts the truck into gear, pulling out of the lot. "Who gives a damn what she thinks."

Once the two of you are on the road, you clear your throat. "Do you know where I live?"

In truth, he doesn't. "No, sorry, you'll have to give me directions."

And you do, until, finally, he pulls into your front driveway.

You're not sure why your stomach is full of butterflies. Perhaps because no one comes over to your house. Ever. You're almost always here alone. Your dad is the only parent you have left—your mother having signed over full-custody of you to him when you were too young to even remember her, and he's always away for work—so hosting company isn't exactly a regular thing.

The house is clean, and you'd also recently been grocery shopping, so it isn't as if you have anything to worry about.

The two of you exit his truck and you make your way to the front door, quickly unlocking it.

Once you've both entered the house, you watch nervously as he takes in the living room.

Your house isn't anything special. It has all the necessities for living and comfort, but it isn't like something out of a magazine.

You tell yourself you're fine with that.

You silently slip off your shoes and Nate does the same, following your lead. You then step onto the plush carpet and turn back to him, still standing before the door. "I'm going to go change and then we can start. The dining room is this way," you say, nodding your head to the right.

You walk through the entryway, into the aforementioned room. You set your backpack down on a chair, then walk straight ahead, through the kitchen, and into your bedroom around the corner.

It's only a moment, but while you change, Nate snoops.

He notices how little your house seems to be lived-in. How neat and tidy and damn-near spotless it is.

And that the two of you are alone.

He silently unzips your backpack, quickly rifling through it. A couple textbooks, some fantasy novel, and your binder. He wants to go through every folder, but refrains, knowing he doesn't have the time and it's too big of a risk. He's fairly certain he won't find anything interesting in it anyway.

Finally, he sits, pulling his history book and tonight's homework out of his own.

When you finally enter the dining room again, Nate looks up. He isn't sure what kind of outfit he'd been expecting, but sweatpants and a light-purple t-shirt hadn't been it.

He wishes you'd worn something that shows off the beautiful body you have instead. Not...that.

He mentally shrugs. You're in your home, trying to be comfortable. He actually really likes that you hadn't put on something meant to impress him.

You aren't fake. Another thing he really likes about you. Not that he's making a mental checklist, or anything.

He sees you eye the other side of the table, but before you can take another step toward it, he pushes out the chair next to him with his foot.

You stop for a moment, then decide sitting next to him is fine, too. So you take the seat he's offered you and notice he's already pulled out his history book and the worksheet you'd both been given for homework as well.

You'd already done yours during your free period.

You slide the book over to yourself and flip it open to the chapter your class is currently working through.

"You're in luck, because the period of history we're going over right now is actually my favorite."

He rests an arm on the wooden dining table, turning toward you. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

You raise a brow. "You don't even know what time period we're working through?" You ask with a smile.

He grins in response. "To be completely honest, I don't really give a shit about history. I know, I know. The whole, if you forget, you're going to repeat it shit. I guess I just don't believe any of that."

"I don't think it's that serious. But if you hope to pass and get past junior year, having the credit for this core class is imperative. And it's the Dark Ages, by the way. Also known as the medieval period."

He snickers. "Imperative, huh?"

You withdraw into yourself. He's making fun of you.

He quickly notices the smile disappear from your face and realizes how he'd sounded. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mock you. It's just... Nobody talks the way you do. Not at East Highland, at least."

You pretend to take interest in the book sitting before you. "And what way is that?"

"I don't know. Intelligently, I guess." He says it with a shrug.

You give a small smile at that, and he knows he's off the hook.

He sets the worksheet Ms. Clark has given for homework between the two of you.

"Do you know all of this?"

You look at him and nod. "I already got mine done."

"Of course you did. So," he looks down at it. "What is the name of the English civil war fought between the years of 1455-1487?"

He looks at you then.

You glance down to the book. "I don't know, what was the name of it?"

He shakes his head, a playful look on his face as he begins to skim through the pages. He looks up to you, then. "I could just Google all of this."

You lean back in your seat. "You could. But the point of reading the material and studying it, is so you have a chance of actually remembering it when there's a test. Hopefully for even longer, like, once you've graduated as well."

He shrugs again. "It's not all bad, I guess. Also gives me an excuse to talk to you."

He was putting his motives right out in the open now. But instead of you seeing this study session, this request for tutoring as exactly that—a motive to get close to you and make you his—you blush.

You don't know what to say in response, so you just give him the answer. "It's the War of the Roses."

He stares at you for a moment longer, then writes down what you've said.

He leans back. "So, why is this your favorite period of history?"

You look at him. "I guess the romanticism of it, even if it wasn't an entirely romantic time period. Civil war, the plague, men beheading their wives... Did you know most high-fantasy takes its inspiration from medieval Europe?"

He shakes his head, content to continue listening to you talk about something you're passionate about. He likes the way you light up when you do so.

You grow quiet. "Sorry, that sounded stupid."

He shakes his head, resting his arm on the back of your seat. "I don't think so. I may not care for history, but I think it's sweet that you do. I mean, I'm into football. But I'm sure that, just because you're not into it, you'd never call me being on the team stupid."

You look at him. "No, I wouldn't."

He looks over the next question. "Have you ever been to any of our games?"

You shake your head. "Sports aren't really my thing."

"Not everybody comes for the actual game. Some just come to have a good time; get out of the house." He looks at you. "We have another game next Friday. Think you'd be interested?"

He can just imagine it now: you in the stands, your hair in pigtails, wearing one of his old jerseys, cheering him on. And then you running into his arms as he scores the winning touchdown, wrapping your legs around his middle as he lifts you, you bringing your lips down to his.

You telling him how proud you are of him.

You shrug, now feeling awkward at wanting to tell him no. So you don't. "Maybe."

Better than a no, he thinks. He has nearly two-weeks to convince you into a yes.

Once Nate has completed his worksheet and you've checked it for any wrong answers—he'd surprisingly only had a couple—he packs up his things to head home.

You walk him to the door. "You did really good today. Only two wrong answers."

He slips on his shoes. "Well, I have a good teacher."

You smile, letting out a small laugh. "We'll see just how good after our next test."

He clears his throat. "So uh, I was thinking, maybe I could pick you up tomorrow morning? I could start driving you to and from school as a whole. I'm sure my truck beats riding a bus twice every day."

You blanch. "N-no, it's fine, really. I don't mind. And not that you have to continue doing it, but driving me home is more than enough. I don't want to be any trouble."

He shakes his head. "No trouble. It's on my way, really. I'd like to."

He dislikes your hesitancy, even if he understands it. He knows he's coming on too strong right now, but he feels like he can't fucking help himself.

After sitting there with you for the past hour, listening to your voice, smelling your sweet scent, you blushing and laughing at the things he said—not to mention him having to excuse himself to the bathroom at one point to get the erection you'd given him to go back down—he knew he needed more of you. Afternoon study sessions weren't going to be nearly enough.

He leans against the doorway, refusing to leave until you've given him what he wants—how little do you know that's soon to be your future as a whole. Him not stopping until you've caved to him. "Listen, I'm the one who's the burden here. I know tutoring is a thing you do anyway, but not like this. I really appreciate it; you have no idea how much. This is just some small way of me trying to say thank you. Of trying to repay you."

You shift from one foot to the other. "Only if you're sure..."

"Positive."

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. "We should probably exchange numbers, just incase something comes up one morning and one of us is sick, or a I get a flat, or whatever. Or if one of us has to leave school early."

You nod. "Ok."

After you give him your number, he shoots you a text. A simple 'hi'.

You smile at him. "I got it."

He puts his phone back away, determining that today was full of small victories, bringing him a step closer to making you his. "I can pick you up a little after seven. That work for you?"

You nod, your stomach now full of butterflies again. Not because of some crush you'd suddenly developed in the last hour. No. You were worried about vile rumors being spread around the school.

You getting into his truck today, you were sure, had probably already bred one or two of the vicious things.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

You nod. "That's fine."

He gives you a smile. "See you then."

"See you," you reply as he leaves.

You watch from the front door as he drives away.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x y/n #euphoria x reader #nate jacobs imagine

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shares-a-vest · 7 days

Text

Just a Shirt (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.9k | Rated: T | cw: Mild descriptions of Steve's s4 injuries (mostly the scar on his neck), Hospital mention, Brief mention of nightmares

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Post s4 Fix-it (Everyone Lives), Hellfire, Fluff and Angst (Happy Ending), Love Confessions, Injury, Cuddling

Eddie makes Steve a customised Hellfire shirt, just for him. Based off this ficlet/headcanon. But the BIGGEST thank you goes to @tangerinesteve (formally babydollbaron) for their incredible tags below. They gave me the biggest and softest brainworms. I hope I did your wonderful ideas justice!

“Here-p,” Eddie mumbles, pushing a too-neatly folded shirt into Steve’s hands.

“Uh, thanks,” his boyfriend hums, quirking a brow in confusion.

Eddie shrugs the whole thing off for good measure because it’s just a shirt – that’s all it is.

... But not really.

Like, at all.

He looks away, avoiding Steve’s gaze. While their relationship isn’t too new for gifts, it might be too fresh for a t-shirt that screams, ‘You are part of me and I can see that you are in pain and I think I can fix it. Nay, I need to make you comfortable’.

Yeah… it’s perhaps a little too premature for something that says all that.

So Eddie looks at the floor, his beige sock blending into the similarly-coloured carpet that lines Steve’s bedroom. His foot really only looks like an actual foot and not a patch of carpet thanks to the hole in his sock that is currently exposing his pinky toe.

It’s just a shirt, he desperately reminds himself as he catches Steve unfurling it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s just a shirt.

A customised Hellfire shirt he made especially for Steve.

One that is two sizes too big, made of the softest cotton and led to an emptying of his wallet to obtain. A Hellfire shirt that has short sleeves and a loose, scooped neck Eddie fashioned himself after borrowing a sewing book from the library. A neckline he sewed on Mrs Pemberton’s machine after crossing the trailer park and answering a slew of questions from an all too inquisitive Max Mayfield.

It’s a Hellfire shirt in its logo only – despite what his friends might think. Or the fuss all his pea-brained lost little sheepie buddies kicked up along the way.

They have been a total nightmare these past few weeks, scheming and plotting and sabotaging like a little hoard of gremlins. But Eddie supposes he can really only blame himself.

He should have never said anything, never asked Gareth for the original master copy of the Hellfire logo he knows his best friend keeps filed away in secret on the rare occasions they let in new members. Or to get new t-shirts printed in instances of spilled beverage-based stain emergencies. But then Gareth of course squealed to Jeff, who teased Eddie mercilessly before blabbing to Freak, who, well… Freaked about the possibility of a jock joining Hellfire.

The shock. The horror! Oh, the humanity!

And then came what was nothing short of a campaign via Dustin, Mike and Will, all collectively working to not only prevent Eddie from something he wasn’t even going to do in the first place but to also create a drama so seismic that rumours got around the whole of Hawkins that one Eddie Munson would no longer be running his little ‘demonic’ social club.

Or at least that’s what Wayne said Ernie at the plant had told him that his son had said.

The only thing is, Eddie feels more than a little sorry for Lucas Sinclair, a kid now sulking around, utterly crestfallen that his favourite Laundry Basket Friend isn’t also secretly a full-blown nerd.

It’s just that Eddie wanted to give Steve a nice, soft, comfy shirt he had hoped he would look at just like he is right now.

Besides, Steve had admitted that he liked the Hellfire logo months back when they first started dating. Told Eddie it was, “So creative, man”, after expressing some mild disappointment that he hadn’t shown up for their first date wearing it.

He smiles at the memory, Steve’s eyes lighting up as soon as he hopped into the Beemer, far too eager to head off to Benny’s Diner that he hadn’t even bothered to let Steve chivalrously walk up to the front stoop of the new and improved Casa de Munson.

“Eddie…” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper and sounding just as soft as the too-important shirt in his grip.

“Don’t worry,” he snorts, “I’m not making you join or anything it’s just… You said you haven’t been sleeping well…”

He gestures with his hand, searching for the right words. Better words that won’t sound so monumental and weighted as Steve’s eyes trail right along the shirt’s scooped neckline.

The hem is probably a little flimsy, but hopefully, Steve won’t fucking claw at it like the old Tigers gym shirt he almost tore in two a few weeks back after bolting upright in a sweat after a nightmare. That is what did it – really set Eddie on his mission. Seeing Steve’s sniffles turn to tears and how he tried to hide them away, shrugging Eddie off before rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

He had come back a few minutes later, eyes red as he hugged his arms across himself, appearing small and frightened but acting cold as ice.

“Yeah…” Steve nods before mouthing what appears to be the word, “soft”, as he balls the fabric between his fingers.

“Hell, I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Eddie continues to ramble, “Just… tossing and turning. Also your… Y’know…”

He gestures to his own neck, referring to the still-reddened scar around Steve’s. One that Eddie knows leaves his throat scratchy and hoarse at the slightest provocation. A mark that nosey townspeople gawk at when Steve is at work, leaving him all embarrassed and well, not like Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington at all.

And Steve hadn’t even told Eddie about that part. Nope. He found out from Robin, who swung by the mechanic one afternoon, inconsolable about her best friend spending their shift at Family Video hidden away in Keith Anderson’s stinky loser palace of an office.

“Mhmm,” Steve nods, pursing his lips.

Eddie knows he isn’t mad – it’s just something his boyfriend doesn’t talk about. That he doesn’t like talking about.

He needn’t ramble anymore, really – fill the silence between them or attempt to explain himself because, in a flash, Steve slips off his tight-fitting navy polo and replaces it with his new Hellfire shirt.

And Eddie can’t help but beam at a job well done.

It hangs nicely. Loose enough to sleep in, but not billowing so much to swallow that physique entirely. The neckline sits just where he had hoped too, much lower than the regular Hellfire shirts, scooped below Steve’s collar bones so that even if it stretches in his sleep, it couldn’t possibly pull and tug at his scar.

It’s perfect.

Exactly what he wanted to give Steve, who looks down at the devilish, very metal logo – a sight that is sure to scare off his snooty parents for good if they ever see it.

Before he knows it, Steve lunges for him and Eddie feels his cheeks squish against his boyfriend’s hands as he is kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed some more.

Kisses that last for long enough and grow softer with every peck that Eddie soon feels his legs buckling and he forgets altogether what they are even doing up here, in Steve’s bedroom, in the middle of the day on a warm summer afternoon.

It’s just the he –

“ – I love you,” Steve smiles when he comes up for air and –

His eyes blow wide in an instant.

And Eddie is sure his own do too – maybe even pop right out of his goddamn skull with an audible gasp in there somewhere as well as they both fully realise what has just been said.

Steve loves him?

Just the same as he loves Steve. So much that he is blurting it out now, in the middle of his bedroom on a warm, mid-summer afternoon – perhaps months too early when they are probably, most likely still in the honeymoon phase.

All because of one perfect t-shirt.

Steve’s brow pinches together and his jaw goes slack as he looks away.

“I…” he trails off, drumming his fingers on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Stevie...” he tuts, smiling back at him.

He steps closer still, closing any remaining space between them as he loops his arms around his partner’s middle and squeezes him tight.

Eddie backs them a step back, then another. Then another until he is at a safe enough distance to rock Steve back and collapse onto the bed.

They fall with a conjoined, “Hmphf” – one that knocks the wind out of Eddie’s already breathless lungs and has Steve momentarily distracted away from whatever inner turmoil he had going on a moment ago. As he lands on top of his boyfriend, Eddie gets a feel of the shirt, now warmed by Steve’s permanently hot body temperature. A feeling that makes it seem even softer.

Like it is already worn in and loved.

He wants to ball a handful of it up in his fist and never let go.

But Eddie forces himself to sit upright, settling down in a straddled position to hover over Steve’s clothed form. He smiles down at the sight beneath him, his giddiness short-lived and quickly fading as a big, brown and now glistening set of panicked eyes return.

“Stevie,” he whispers, running his hand up Steve’s torso.

He ghosts his fingers with a featherlight touch over the printed logo, an illustration he had first scribbled on the back of his math book in his junior year.

Eddie leans forward and takes Steve’s hands, clasping them tight and one by one, he brings them to rest above his head where his super-soft signature swoop is sticking every which way, mussed by the bedspread.

He can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight – momentarily giving into the greedy feeling he gets when he thinks about how this Steve is the one he gets all to himself.

But Steve frowns, those expressive brows looking positively pained now as if only one thing could possibly soften them.

“I love you too,” Eddie says, freeing a hand to delicately pluck at Steve’s loosened neckline, “Obviously.”

“You do?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods as a visible relief washes through Steve’s eyes, leaving his brows to soften up so much he wonders if his boyfriend might now cry.

And before he can say or do anything more, Steve bolts upright, once again leaving Eddie feeling winded and more than a lot flushed this time as he wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his neck, snuffling close like the world’s cuddliest puppy.

They stay like this for a long while, simply breathing in sync as they hold each other. And soon Steve begins to sink, his body going lax as his head slips down onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I really wanna sleep,” he hums as tears seep through Eddie’s own plain black t-shirt.

“You wanna try now?” Eddie offers, pulling back enough to give an encouraging little smile.

Steve nods, refusing to let him go as they lower down together as one, his eyes fluttering shut when his head meets the bedspread.

“Wanna get all cozy under the covers?” Eddie continues, nudging at the bedding.

He really doesn’t want to move too much more – not when Steve looks like this.

Relaxed.

Loved.

Comfortable and wrapped up in a softness Eddie would like to keep him cocooned in forever.

But as he always does, Steve moves for them and rolls to the side. He snuggles in close, burrowing his head between the crook of Eddie’s neck and the mattress all protected and safe. Eddie palms around for the blanket and haphazardly wraps what sliver of it is free around them, shielding his partner a little more for good measure.

It’s good like this.

Calm. Warm.

Soft.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #healing steddie #stranger things s4 #lily writes a fic #fluff and angst #cw injury #steddie fanfiction

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