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winterrrnight · 2 months

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unravel

PAIRING: frat!soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe has had his eyes set on the girl who isn't falling for his charms the way every girl seems to do.

WARNINGS: college!au; reader is hard to get, an ambivert, reserved; rafe is just frat!rafe in the start but slowly develops into extremely soft!rafe; a lot of comfort; rafe calls reader princess; intentional lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this was initially just a little concept on rafe pining for a hard to get reader, but it got longer than the usual word count of my concepts so it's now a little fic! i hope this is extremely comforting cause I swear we all need this 💞🥹 just wanna say I'm here for every single one of you 💗💗

please reblog if you liked reading this! feedback is always highly appreciated 🌻

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rafe’s heard it all; hot, sexy, handsome, charming, and boy, does he eat it up each time. he knows he is a 10 out of 10, and when each girl in college is always on her knees for him, it doesn’t help but only boosts his ego.

but when you come around, it is all so different.

you don’t give into his charms the way everyone else seems to give. you aren’t running after him like a lost puppy, you aren’t pining for him, and that sets rafe off.

and that’s exactly why he needs you.

he catches you any moment he can; before class, after class, in the cafeteria, in the huge lawn, outside your dorms; any moment he sees you, he’s coming over to you, and never being able to keep his mouth shut.

“so princess…”

“shut up.”

that’s basically how all your conversations go. you roll your eyes at him each time and just walk away, but he has a smirk pulling on his lips all the damn time, always walking right next to you.

it’s like he’s forgotten about all the other girls in college. the ones who are willingly ready to take him, to give him attention every second of every day; but here he wants you, who doesn’t even make eye contact with him for more than two seconds without you rolling your eyes at him.

he always looks at you as the reserved kind of person. you aren’t seen around with a big group of friends, but just two or three close ones. you aren’t always talking, but you are quite open with your close friends. it’s hard to gather much information about you from around, and he believes that if it was the other way round, information about him would be so easily accessible. oh, and it does not help that your instagram is private and you still haven’t accepted his request.

if anything, that intrigues him even more. he wants to get close to you, to find out more about you, to unravel every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

it’s a nice spring afternoon, and rafe had quite few classes as compared to usual. he decides to head to the library – a place whose exact location he didn’t even know until 5 months into college – to finish this goddamned essay that’s been hanging on his head for the past week now.

as he walks inside, the vexed look on his face is instantly replaced by a quite simpered one when he spots you. he’s already making his way to you, around 20 different one liners in his head he can kick start the conversation with to see that irritated look on your face which he adores with his whole heart. but the coy smile leaves just the next second when he gets a clear look at you.

you’re crying.

your head hangs low as you’re quietly sobbing so absolutely no one else can hear you; but then the library is quite empty. your eyes are shut tight as tears roll down your hot cheeks, and rafe feels his heart physically break.

break in such a way that if you hear carefully, you can hear it shattering.

a frown etches his lips and a deep furrow forms in his brows as he slowly makes his way to you.

“princess…” he mutters softly, keeping a gentle hand on your shoulder. you’re startled at the sudden touch which causes you to gasp and makes you look up, your blurry eyes coming in contact with his warm, blue ones.

“not now rafe…” you whisper, shifting your shoulder which causes rafe’s hand to drop. you move a hand to your face to wipe off your tears, sniffling silently.

“hey talk to me…” he whispers softly, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. he doesn’t touch you in any way, just keeps a soft gaze at you and notices how you still keep your head down, trying your best to not sob as much as you were earlier. he makes a quick note of how your fingers are pulling onto each other, pinching and squeezing the flesh of them.

rafe knows for sure he’s never experienced anything sadder than watching tears roll down your pretty face. he knows it’s the last thing he wants to see. and he knows he wants to be the one who makes sure a tear never falls down your face ever again.

“listen princess…” he whispers, leaning just a bit closer to you, “you can trust me okay? you really can,” he gently places a hand over your snaked fingers, causing you to stop your fidgeting. his hand is warm, and as he gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb, you can slowly feel your tears dying down.

rafe gently holds one of your hand and brings it up to his chest, placing it right above his heart. you look up to him, your glassy eyes slightly widened at his action. “just feel it okay?” he whispers. “try to match your breathing with it.” you feel the rhythmic thumping of his heart under your palm, and your expression softens as your eyes flutter shut, your breathing starting to match with his.

“good… good…” he whispers gently, moving his other hand to gently wipe your cheeks. his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees you don’t move away, but ever so subtly lean more into his touch.

“talk whenever you feel like, I’m not putting you in any hurry…” he mumbles, his thumb now gently skimming your cheek in a periodic manner, his palm resting against your cheek, and your face nuzzling against the warmth of his hand.

you nod at his words, just letting his soothing words, touch and presence take all over your senses, before you slowly collect your thoughts to talk to him.

if rafe would’ve earlier known that the way to your heart wasn’t dropping a snarky one liner each time he sees you, but to provide you a safe and comforting space to open up in, he would’ve done it way sooner.

because he’s finally doing what he wanted.

unraveling every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom

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bellaxgiornata · 10 days

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As Luck Would Have It [1/2]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.5k [Part Two]

Warnings/tags: Humor, fluff, and a charming, teasing Matty

Summary: Stressed out while working on a dead-end case at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Matt isn't too thrilled when Foggy interrupts and asks him for a favor. Despite his annoyance at another task being added to his list of things to do, Matt is shocked when the potential client Foggy asks him to call turns out to be a wrong number. What's even more surprising is how much Matt enjoys chatting with the woman on the other end of the line.

a/n: This is going to be a short, two part piece. It's light and fluffy so I hope y'all enjoy it! Feedback/reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwllf @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1

Matt’s fingers slid across his braille reader, his brows furrowed together in deep concentration as he focused on reading the digital document displayed on his laptop. This entire case had been draining him lately, only managing to aggravate him as he continually hit legal wall after legal wall trying to figure out how to help their client. What made things worse was that he knew what was really happening behind the scenes in this case that he, Foggy, and Karen had been working on, but he also knew that Matt Murdock wasn't supposed to know about any of that.

With a vexed grunt he raised a hand from off his braille reader, running it through his hair in agitation as he blew out a frustrated breath. Tired of reading the same thing over and over with no new way forward, Matt pushed his chair back from the desk in annoyance. The desk lurched a few inches across the floor at the force as Matt grit his teeth together.

He wished he could use the information he'd uncovered last night as Daredevil. That would have solved all of his problems and easily saved their client. But of course, none of that evidence was remotely admissible in court. So while he knew where the truth lay in this entire case, he was still currently helpless to use the law in his fight for justice. Though he was certainly determined to keep picking through detail after detail in search of something he could use to his client’s benefit.

The sound of footsteps approaching his office door caught Matt’s attention and his head shifted to the side. Matt pushed all thoughts of his frustrating case out of his mind as he focused on the noise. Barely a second later the sound of Foggy’s unmistakable heartbeat registered in his ears just before two knocks sounded against his door.

“What do you need, Fog?” Matt called out.

He heard the door handle twist, the door to his office opening as Foggy stepped inside. Matt didn’t have to exert much effort studying him to notice how stressed Foggy currently was. His blood pressure was quite clearly elevated this morning along with his cortisol levels–he could practically smell the stress in the faint bit of sweat on Foggy’s forehead. So apparently Matt wasn't the only one having a shitty day at the firm today. At least he wasn't alone in that.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy began hesitantly, stopping just inside his office before shifting his weight back and forth along his feet almost nervously. “I know you're busy running yourself into the ground for the Richmond case, and I know how frustrating it's been to keep hitting a deadend. But…” he trailed off for a moment, Matt catching the faint waver in his tone. “I was actually hoping to ask you for a favor this morning.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses at Foggy. Leaning back in his desk chair, he lowered his hands down onto his lap and attempted to keep the annoyed fidgeting of his fingers hidden from his friend. The last thing Matt wanted right now was another task added to his agenda for the day. All he wanted was to make headway on this case before it drove him insane.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, trying to keep the edge from his tone.

Matt heard Foggy take a few more steps forward into his office, stopping just in front of his desk. The sound of something like a small slip of paper faintly rustled between Foggy’s fingers as he stood there.

“Elliott got a call a bit ago from someone by the name of Edgar Philips who was potentially interested in hiring us,” Foggy began to explain, setting the paper down onto Matt's desk before sliding it across the surface towards him. “And the case sounded… interesting to say the least. But the thing is, Karen is out today dealing with the Rodriguez building permit thing, and I'm about to head over to the courthouse. So I was…sort of hoping you could call them back and handle the consultation? Somehow fit them in today?”

Matt could hear the way the muscles in Foggy’s face had contracted, sounding like he'd almost grimaced when he had asked for the favor. His heart rate had accelerated just a bit, meaning Fog was clearly anxious that Matt would decline to help take on even more work today. Truthfully he wanted to decline calling this possible client because he was already swamped with the Richmond case, but maybe taking a few minutes to focus on something else would benefit him. Maybe stepping away for a bit before coming back to things with a fresh mind would help him see things a little differently. Clearly he wasn’t making any progress this morning doing what he had been doing.

With an exasperated sigh, Matt slid his hand across his desk to where he’d heard Foggy set the slip of paper. His fingers felt around the wooden surface for a second before he found it.

“Yeah, I'll make the call,” Matt told him, pulling the paper towards himself.

Foggy let out a relieved breath, the sound of his entire body relaxing impossible for Matt's ears to miss. At least he could make Fog's day a little better.

“Great, seriously! Thank you, buddy,” Foggy said in a rush. “You have no idea how helpful that is right now. I've already got so much to do today, I really didn't know how I was going to fit that call in. And you know how bad the reception can be at the courthouse.” Foggy laughed good-naturedly, his mood already lifting. “But hey, before I go, did you need me to read that phone number off for you? Or dial it even?”

Matt's fingers ran over the indentation of Elliott's pen marks on the paper. Despite how scatterbrained their new secretary often tended to be, he at least appreciated that the man had a heavy hand when he took notes from the calls he answered. It at least made things easier for Matt to read without too much extra assistance–something he loathed having to ask for if he didn’t need to.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I can make the numbers out just fine. Don't worry about me, Fog. Just go take care of what you need to. I'll deal with this Edgar Philips.”

Foggy’s hands clapped loudly together, Matt picking up on the sounds of his feet as he already began to back out of his office.

“Thank you, Matt, you're a life saver!” he exclaimed. “You know, more than you usually are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt said with a grin. “Can you just shut the door again on your way out, though?”

“Can do!” Foggy replied.

Matt swore he heard the air shift as Foggy sent him a salute. Chuckling lightly at his best friend's ability to lighten the mood, he heard the sound of his office door closing before he heard the muffled sound of Foggy’s footsteps as he began making his exit from the office.

For a minute Matt sat in his chair, listening as Foggy said a brief goodbye to Elliott before leaving. Then the usual ‘silence’ of their office returned. Though it was never truly quiet to Matt because he could still hear the hum of the lights in the building, the almost constant tapping of Elliott's fingers on his keyboard in the room over, and even the incessant buzzing of a fly that had been trapped in the office since yesterday afternoon.

Foul mood slowly returning, Matt's fingers ran over the pen marks on the slip of paper still in his hands. Glancing down towards it, he wondered what the interesting case that Foggy had mentioned was actually supposed to be about. To Matt, interesting just translated to complicated, which was the last thing he needed right now. Though whatever it was, he figured getting the call out of the way would be the best course of action for now. Afterwards he’d be free to continue working on the Richmond case for the rest of the day, hopefully without any further interruptions or distractions.

Shifting in his chair, he slipped his cell phone from out of his dress pants pocket, the electronic hum of it louder now that it wasn’t muffled by fabric. He raised it to his mouth before speaking a few voice commands into it, then he took a second to recite the number he’d been given from off the paper. Sitting back in his chair, Matt listened to the familiar dial tone as he held the phone to his ear, but surprisingly it only managed to ring twice before someone had quickly answered.

“Seriously, Lindsey, I said I’d call afterwards,” a distinctly annoyed and hushed female voice came over the line. “There’s nothing of interest for me to report yet and now you’re just making me even more nervous. At this point my armpits are going to be as sweaty as my hands.”

Sitting forward in his chair, Matt rested his elbows along the top of his desk. A small grin slipped onto his mouth as he tossed the little slip of paper somewhere among the mess of papers before himself. He hadn’t expected that to be the response to his call, but now the person on the other end of the line had captured his undivided attention.

“Maybe you should try using more deodorant then,” Matt cheekily suggested.

A surprised gasp met his ear, the sound making his smile widen further. Clearly whoever he'd gotten ahold of had just now realized they were in fact not speaking with Lindsey.

“Oh, shit,” came your clearly embarrassed and still hushed voice as the realization that you were speaking to someone else settled in. “I'm sorry, I totally thought you were my friend calling back. I didn't check the caller ID because I didn't want my ringtone to make any more of a nuisance than it already had been making because it's so loud. I swear I don't ever hear it if I don't have the volume up so high. But now I am incredibly regretting the decision to not just have taken the two seconds to look and check the number first.”

There was a pause where you loudly cleared your throat over the line. Matt found himself still grinning at the word vomit that seemed to keep coming from you with no end in sight, his irritation at having to make this call quickly vanishing. His left hand began to absently fiddle with a pen from his desk as he listened to you ramble on further.

“Clearly you're not Lindsey and now I'm absolutely mortified,” you continued in a rush. “But for the record, I am wearing deodorant. A lot of it actually. I'm just nervous and it makes me extra sweaty, alright? I don't like job interviews. They terrify me.” Your voice dropped to an even quieter tone as you continued on, Matt not remotely interested in stopping you because you had easily become the most fascinating part of his day. “And I dislike when you have to sit and wait in those stiff plastic chairs while the secretary keeps shooting you random smiles from their desk like you're not about to vomit all over the floor from nerves. I swear they make you sit outside the office for at least ten minutes like it's some sort of extra secret test before the actual interview takes place. Are they supposed to be judging how I sit and do nothing? Or how I handle intentionally being asked to show up at a certain time but am purposely made to sit and wait? I swear, it’s done on purpose.”

“So what I'm gathering from all of that,” Matt finally began when you had paused to take a breath, still grinning as he spoke, “is that you are not the Edgar Philips I am looking for, nor were you the one who most likely tried contacting the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page earlier this morning on his behalf. Am I correct in that assumption?”

There was a very long pause on your end of the line after he'd spoken. Matt waited patiently for you to respond though, his left hand still leisurely flipping the pen back and forth between his fingers.

“Did you say…law firm?” you hesitantly asked.

“Yes, I did,” Matt replied.

“So you're a…?”

“Lawyer, yes. One of the partners, actually,” he answered easily. “And one who must have somehow gotten the wrong number it appears, judging by your response.”

“Yeah, I uh–” you cleared your throat again, “–I definitely didn't call your office today. And I am certainly not Edgar Philips.”

“Ahh well, my apologies,” Matt said, setting his pen back down on his desk before sitting back in his chair. “I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, especially at such an inconvenient time as right before a job interview. I suppose I shouldn’t further distract you.”

There was a small part of Matt that almost felt reluctant to end the call already, dreading having to ask Elliott for help with the clearly incorrect phone number so he could get in touch with the actual Mr. Philips before going back to that irritating Richmond case. You'd been an amusing distraction this morning at least.

“Actually you've somehow managed to calm my nerves,” you replied. “Apparently embarrassing myself with a stranger has now made me feel less like vomiting.”

“Any less sweaty?” Matt teased, unable to help himself.

You laughed lightly over the line, the sound a pleasant one that seemed to ease the tension from Matt’s own body. Something about your voice and your way of immediately speaking to him as if you'd known him for longer than two minutes had drawn him in.

“Maybe a fraction less, thank you for that,” you answered. “You uh, you have a calming voice, whichever part of Nelson, Murdock, and Page you are.”

Matt's brows quickly shot up onto his forehead in surprise. No one had told him that before.

“I do?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back. “You know, if you ever need money, you'd be great at calling people and talking to them until they relax before they have to do something they're nervous about–like going to a job interview. Or maybe even attending events with them to keep them calm or something. You know what I’m saying?”

Matt couldn't resist the laugh that slipped out of his mouth, his head tilting to the side. “Is that an actual thing that exists? Because it almost sounds like you're just describing a male escort,” he pointed out.

“ No !” your harsh whisper came over the line, the embarrassment in it causing Matt to chuckle again. “Oh no, that's not–no I didn't mean it like that! I swear! Is that even legal in New York City? Though I suppose maybe you don't live here since this is a wrong number and all... But no! That’s not what I meant!”

Matt relaxed further back in his chair, finding that he'd been enjoying this unexpected conversation with you this morning far more than he could’ve thought. He truly didn't want to end the call even though he knew he would need to soon. Though he found himself wishing for an excuse to talk to you again already.

“I do live in New York City actually,” he answered. “And male escorts aren't supposed to be getting paid for their time in the way that you're currently thinking about, so yes, they are actually quite legal.”

“I imagine as a lawyer that owns your own law firm, though,” you began, “you don't exactly need a side hustle as a male escort. And that–that’s a joke, by the way,” you quickly clarified. “You know what? Just forget I said that, I'm just nervous for this interview. I'm rambling.”

“You are, but I'm enjoying it,” he told you. “But our law firm tends to take on lots of cases pro bono, so truthfully, I could probably use a side hustle. I'll keep your vote of confidence as a male escort in mind if I ever struggle to continue paying my bills.”

The bark of laughter followed by your soft curse under your breath had Matt’s cheeks hurting from how wide his smile had grown.

“Despite how entertaining this call has been, I should really go,” you said. “I imagine they should be calling me back soon and I probably shouldn’t be sitting here looking like I’m having so much fun on the phone judging by the frown the secretary just gave me. I’ve never had one frown at me before and I’d really not like to mess up my chances here. I kind of really want this job so I can actually do something with my degree.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, but either way, I wish you luck,” Matt replied. “I should probably get back to work myself, but I’ll admit that you’ve been a pleasant distraction from a case I’ve been struggling with myself, so thank you.”

“Then I wish you luck as well, stranger,” you replied. “I hope you make some progress on your case.”

“I suppose if I don’t, there’s always other viable career options for me that I’ve recently had my eyes opened to,” Matt teased.

He enjoyed the sound of your laugh over the line one last time before you told him goodbye. Almost reluctantly Matt ended the call, lowering his phone down onto his desk. His smile faltered as he once more overheard the sound of Elliott’s fingers typing on his computer. With a defeated sigh he pushed his chair back, rising up to his feet and accepting the fact that he’d need to ask Elliott for help dialing Mr. Philips correctly.

“Matt, this is–” Foggy began but quickly stopped himself.

Matt sat back in his chair, a triumphant smile spread wide across his mouth as he continued to listen to both Karen and Foggy rifling through the documents he’d had printed out early this morning. The three of them were currently sitting in the conference room while Matt proudly sat back, enjoying the sound of the pair of them getting excited over what he’d discovered yesterday afternoon. Apparently taking a step away from the case for a little bit had been just the thing he needed to do to come back at it with a different angle.

“Dude, this is exactly what we needed for that Richmond case!” Foggy finally exclaimed, his head darting up towards Matt. “You’re brilliant!”

“Ahh, well,” Matt said with a smug smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Just doing my job, Fog.”

“This must have taken a lot of creative thinking,” Karen muttered, still flipping through the papers. “Hell, Matt, I think you just saved this whole case.”

Matt had been about to respond, tempted to make another cocky comment, but the sound of his phone receiving a text cut him off. Brows furrowing together slightly, he slipped his hand into his pants pocket and pulled his phone out. Holding it up to his ear and muttering out a command, he slid back his chair from the conference table before rising up to his feet and walking a few steps away from Foggy and Karen.

He frowned slightly at the number the automated voice began to read off in his ear almost immediately. It wasn’t one he had recognized. Why would a strange number be texting him? Though when he heard that same automated voice begin to read out the text message he’d received, a small smile easily slipped onto his face.

“Just wanted to let you know that I was offered the job already this morning,” the automated voice read into Matt’s ear. “Apparently you’re my good luck charm, stranger. So thanks for the chat. Hope you made some progress on your case, too.”

For a moment Matt just stood there in shock, holding the phone to his ear and grinning like a fool. He hadn’t expected to ever hear from you again, and he certainly hadn't anticipated the burst of pride at your news. And apparently you’d also been his good luck charm because after he'd dealt with the real Edgar Philips, he finally made a break on the case that had stumped him for weeks.

Without a second thought, Matt turned around to face both Karen and Foggy, lowering his phone to his side. “Hey, I’ve got to respond to this message,” he told them. “Do you mind if I handle this back in my office now?”

“No, no,” Foggy answered distractedly, the air shifting as he clearly waved Matt off. “Go do your thing, buddy. We've got plenty to focus on at the moment.”

Trying to fight back the growing smile on his mouth as he maneuvered his way back over towards where he'd been sitting, Matt picked up his cane that had been resting against the table. As he navigated his way out of the conference room and back to the privacy of his office, he already began thinking up a response to your message. And he also wondered how strange it would be if he called instead of texted you back.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—Just Like Silk

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is a rigid person. She wears the same type of clothes everyday, eats the same thing every morning, and always wears her hair in braids. You find something exhilrating about undoing all those things—undoing her.

Warnings: the intimacy is real

Masterlist || Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: just a little something as I cry over my other wips 🫶 Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 💘

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday will never be the type of person to say the words, 'I love you,' even if she feels them. They could build in her chest and claw at the back of her throat, but they will never make it past her lips.

The words themselves are incomprehensible. It carries too much and nothing at the same time, and Wednesday may never be ready to release them into the air where she can't monitor them.

Love is flexible, and Wednesday is a very rigid person.

The day starts the same way it always does. She wakes up at exactly 6:15AM, dresses in her monochrome clothing, and braids her hair neatly. After ensuring her bangs are brushed four times, she wakes Enid up before leaving for the cafeteria.

The cafeteria is usually empty at this hour, with many students still sleeping and dreading their day. It's something Wednesday likes to soak in the quiet morning hours. She gets a tray and grabs the same thing she does every morning: a slice of toast with jam, much too sweet, and orange juice that will undoubtedly taste horrid after brushing her teeth.

Wednesday's about to leave when her eye catches a small cup of fruit. It's filled with slices of strawberries and grapes, seemingly the last one, as the other cups are filled with apples and bananas.

Wednesday clenches her jaw, her hands tightening on the tray slightly. She begrudgingly grabs it, places it in the top left corner of her tray, and briskly walks to an empty table. She can already hear the miserable moans of students who are already awake and feels herself relax at it.

As she grabs the little packet of salt and rips it open, someone slumps beside her on her left.

"G'morning," you mumble sleepily as you fight back a yawn and rub your right eyelid delicately.

"You've been up early." Wednesday skips the greeting as she sprinkles the salt on her toast. "Why?"

You smile lazily at her and rest your temple against your hand on the table. You point at the fruit cup on her tray, and Wednesday makes no movement to suggest you can or cannot take it, but you do.

"Because if I'm not, you'll have grabbed the fruit cup for nothing," you tell her as you pop a slice of strawberry in your mouth.

"Are you suggesting that I'm grabbing it for you?" Wednesday's tone is threatening, and her eyes are narrowed at you.

"I would hope you are," you pop a grape into your mouth. "I'll be upset if you're grabbing fruit cups for other people. That's a terrible thing to do to your girlfriend."

The words do something to Wednesday, making her both miserable and filled with pride.

All of this was new to Wednesday, but if she was honest, the beginning of you didn't disrupt her life. Yes, there had been times she was vexed because of you and what you made her feel, but you didn't disrupt her rigidity.

Wednesday had still woken up at the same time, did the same things in the morning, and ate the same foods.

Until recently, it seemed.

Usually, you weren't up until just before the bell rang, often forgoing breakfast for sleep. Then suddenly, you showed up one day, five minutes after Wednesday sat down. You didn't have much of an appetite in the morning, but you looked on in envy at one of the students eating a fruit cup with strawberries and grapes as they typically were the first to be gone.

And Wednesday had watched you stare at the fruit cup.

"You think too highly of yourself," Wednesday's narrowed eyes relaxed. "I'm merely taking it to deprive others—"

You shoved a grape into her mouth, smiling innocently as Wednesday looked murderous.

"You should eat some fruit in the morning, ma diable. It's good for you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You've been disruptive lately, and you know it.

It's hard not to push Wednesday's boundaries, knowing she'll let you in it. She may grumble and threaten your life, but she quietly does. She may never tell you she loves you but, quite frankly, this was better.

You had woken up early one day on a whim, and it had nothing to do with disrupting Wednesday and all to do with the fact you simply missed her. And then the next day, when you showed up early again, Wednesday had been waiting for you with a fruit cup. There was no promise you'd be there early again, but Wednesday had done it, and that could only mean that she hoped you would be there.

So, sacrificing some sleep for your murderous girlfriend, who always saved you the best fruit cup, was well worth it.

And now, on a Thursday evening with it pouring outside, you were about to be disruptive again.

You watched as Wednesday typed stoically, her hands never hesitating. She worked methodically, the story endlessly pouring from her mind and her hands working in tandem.

When Wednesday returns the carriage, you see your opportunity.

"Wednesday," you call softly from her bed, grabbing her attention as she looks at you without moving her head.

"What?" Wednesday looks back at her paper.

"It's raining."

"Stellar observation."

You smile at her. "It's raining, so come keep me company."

"We are in each other's company, are we not?"

"Come actively keep me company."

Wednesday furrowed her brows, her lips pursed in displeasure. She turned fully to you, and you knew it could go either way. "You know I write every day for an hour," Wednesday reminded you.

You nodded. "I know, and tomorrow you'll have an hour, and the next day after that, and the next day after that." Sitting up, you look at her more clearly. "But today is the only Thursday evening with thunderous rain and my shifting desire for you to keep me company."

"Are you saying you won't want my company the next time it rains on a Thursday evening?" Wednesday's looked even more displeased and threatening.

"I suppose we'll only know the next rainy Thursday," you nonchalantly retorted.

It was silent as Wednesday debated it; your breath caught in your chest. When she sighed, you smiled wider. Wednesday stood up and walked over to her bed, sitting at the edge rigidly.

"What do you want to do?" Wednesday asked to deflect how weirdly awkward she felt right now. "I've had enough of beating you at scrabble, so not that."

You chuckled without answering as you leaned over towards her, lifting your hand gently to grab her braid and dragging your hand down softly until it reached the end.

"Wednesday, I've never seen you with your hair down," you commented.

Wednesday remained rigid.

"Yes," her voice was stiff. "I only take them out before bed."

You hummed, playing with her braid.

"Wednesday," you called softly again, and Wednesday almost wanted to command you to stop saying her name like that. Except, she can't. She enjoys the way you say it.

"Can I undo your braids?"

The rain thumps against the window roughly, and Wednesday was glad it covered how harshly her own heartbeat was against her chest. It beat with a mission to break her rib cage.

"You can say no," you told her softly.

Wednesday closed her eyes. As much as the word 'no' was in her vocabulary, she nodded once stiffly. You pulled at her, and she let you guide her to sit further on the bed. You sat facing her side as you softly grabbed a braid, gently removing the black elastic at the end.

Wednesday braids her hair so often that it stays in its form without the elastic. But as you start to weave your fingers through the strands of her hair, gently undoing the work she'd done this morning, something starts clawing at the back of her throat.

You looked at Wednesday as her hair fell like water through your fingers. Her eyes were closed with concentration, and every time she swallowed, you could see it.

It was silent as you worked on the second braid, dragging your fingers through her dark hair. When it was in their neat braids, they were contained and distinguished. But undone, they were wild waves and slipped through your fingers unless you endeavored to tame them.

You continued to run your fingers through her hair, even after the braids were undone, watching as the strands slipped from you.

"Your hair is just like silk," you said just seconds before there was a crack of thunder.

Wednesday didn't comment. Her hands were tightly gripped in her lap to the point where her knuckles were white.

You brush her hair over her shoulder, the waves cascading down her back like beads of water. Your hand slid against her jaw as you cupped the back of her neck.

You pulled and pulled at her, and she let you until you were sharing the same air.

"Wednesday," you murmur, your lips brushing against hers. Wednesday visibly swallowed, her eyes opened and intently looked at you, but you're looking at her lips.

You kiss her tenderly, then. It would've been more chaste if Wednesday hadn't insisted on pressing against your lips more firmly and lingered. When you pulled back, your thumb caressed the bottom of her lip.

"Wednesday," you said her name, and Wednesday didn't think you knew how disruptive it also was in the way you said her name. "Your lips are soft just like silk, too."

"I see this has been your agenda all long as of late," Wednesday's voice is quiet as she basks in your scent and cold fingers. You had such terrible circulation, and she's obsessed with it. "You're suave at being disruptive."

Wednesday bit your bottom lip before her tongue smoothed it over.

"Just like silk."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

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satocidal · 7 months

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𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ Error 404! Lovesick<3 — Gojo Satoru

Warnings: mentions of blood, death idk, fluff

A/n: divider cred— @/heavenlydevine

Satoru typically yearns for you and every single touch. In some sense to say, he’s touch starved maybe— in all others, he’s absolutely in love with you. With every morning kiss, every good night whisper, every breakfast he’d burnt for you, every fate he’d saved his money for—all and none, he felt sick at his heart.

You swallowed hard, the wounds were deep.

“Sorry,�� he muttered—the smile bashful, you simply stared, beyond pissed.

Not a single word escaped you as you cleaned everything, every single wound—heart aching with each of his whimpers and whines.

“He did a great job, for reference,” your eyes panned onto the underclassman in the corner, a guilty smile of his own—as if any of this was amusing.

Maybe your anger was, to them.

A vexed look you passed onto him, a certain fear of both the men incensed the air.

An attempt was all it was, Kento knew of those angry glances and cowered winces when you tended to Satoru, so simply, small attempts he made as a mutual friend—as his supposed ‘Wingman’ that Satoru had deemed him, to save him from the worse part of a mission going bad.

“I did,” Satoru beamed, “the technique Suguru and I were-” words cut short, too short, he looked down- embarrassed.

“Y/n,” Kento’s voice reached you quick, a small smile playing on his lips, “Don’t be too hard on him, at least today,”

A severed nod from you, Satoru but his lips, wincing from the cut upon it.

“Babe, listen I didn’t even-”

“-shut up,” you snapped, eyes boring into his—he loved the way you embraced each other, he always did love these moments.

He knew how it racked your heart, his body covered half in blood, he wasn’t even usually sure if it was his or not—he knew just the way you trembled when you dealt with him, he knew the way you wanted to slap him silly when he hugged you despite your clean clothes—but he knew that he loved you, and for you, he’d do it all the time, over and over.

A thick finger caressed your cheek, the tear rolling down your face wiped away, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have so many cuts,” you mused, “so many injuries Satoru, why? Why do you even bother?”

“For you, always,”

You bit back your words, all so harsh, for a boy as sweet as him, often you felt deceiving, as if you didn’t deserve him.

“I’m sorry angel I just,” a sharp inhale, “I’m sorry, I just love you so much and I can’t…it’s like, my duty to protect you right?”

A sharp exhale, yours.

“Satoru Gojo,” a smile finally adorned your lips, never one to be able to resist, especially when he’d remind you of his love, “you’re an idiot—you’re simply alive because Nanami tries to protect you in missions and here,”

“Your idiot though,”

And right outside, he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Kento loved every bit of your conversation with his senior, every bit of you and him.

All of this work is entirely original and my own, please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

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vtoriacore · 9 months

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✧ never the first

note: wow i can't go long without writing for vil at all. i wanted him to suffer today, can't say i'm sorry when i'm still feeling petty BECAUSE HIS BDAY CARDS DIDNT COME THIS YEAR. anyways sorry vil, love you really but also suffer <3

synopsis: he viewed you as more than a friend, and it was tearing him apart from the inside; couldn't you see him as more?

reblogs much appreciated, mwah 💞💓

Envy, not an emotion Vil was used to feeling in regards to someone else. Sure, he could begrudgingly admit that he did feel searing jealously whenever Neige was up on stage start to finish, playing roles fitting for someone of his 'cute' and 'innocent' stature (industry's words, not his own) but envy? No, never envy. He was never envious of his one-sided rival, never had been and never will be. Which is something he'd thought up until now, thinking over how you talk to Neige so casually and without a care in the world as if you'd known him your entire life. Why did Neige get to have your attention like this, spoken to like a treasure, when you were so formal with Vil, as if he were just another commodity?

Always a 'good morning, Vil.' but never a 'morning hun!', always a 'goodbye' but never a 'see ya later dear!', always a 'how are you today?' but never an 'aww what's got you so down sweetie?' and always-

"Roi du Poison!" why couldn't you dote on him like that?

"There has been a little emergency back at the dorm, you see-" why didn't you gift him any of your endearing nicknames?

"We aren't sure if the potion is dangerous yet and the freshman-" why couldn't you see the longing in his eyes every time you were together?

"Roi du Poison! By the Seven, are you listening? Undoubtedly so, your thoughts are always deeply beautiful and assuredly just as important but this is no time to be occupied in this manner!"

Ah, how vexing. Or perhaps he should feel grateful at the fact Rook, the blabbering (not that he minded) man he is, came over to distract him from his thoughts? Not that it was working very well, because even now as he's being whisked away in order to deal with the fool who potentially contaminated the Pomefiore labs with a dangerous substance, all he can think about is that sweet smile you'd direct at Neige and how it contrasts with the formal one you always direct at him. Did he really intimidate you this much? Or did you not wish to pursue anything more than aquaintanceship with him? Even thinking the word stung, and he desperately wished it didn't.

"How did this mess happen?" he asked as he observed the unsightly scene, but didn't process it. Really, how could this mess have happened? How could he have gotten so deeply involved with you when you viewed him as nothing but a friend, or maybe even less?

"I- I'm sorry housewarden! It was an honest mistake- I added too much rosemary oil and-" and he never did think that you'd be anything more than a friend initially. So why? Why did he allow his heart to tear open at its seams when you aren't the one there to mend it, when you aren't the one to stitch the fragile felt, when you aren't the one to weave every thread of his love together into something you could both admire? Why couldn't you be the one?

"Take utmost precaution in the future. Come. I'll instruct you on how to properly dispose of the potion's residue with magic. Rook, please ensure no passing students are in the vicinity," he didn't allow his voice to tremble, despite the thrashing storm of emotions passing through him in waves, eroding at his steel, or perhaps iron with how fast it was crumbling, will. But he knew this endeavour was fruitless. It isn't like he could focus on anything but the raging thoughts, sharper than ever, ringing in his head; was he not enough for you? Did he lack something fundamental you were looking for? Could you not find anything within him to build something beautiful up?

"Thank you housewarden! I'll make sure to be more careful in the future," he didn't respond, not when his underclassman waited for a response and not when Rook came back to assess the situation, not when he himself couldn't even assess what it is he was missing that made you want Neige and not him.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst x yuu #twst x y/n #twst x reader angst #twst angst #twst vil x reader #twst vil

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mothspore · 2 years

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hello hello some scarian for the soul

i’ve recently started really liking vex scar so here he is, slaying as always

they are so silly /pos

(fun fact this is a tumblr exclusive art piece)

(roleplay accounts please don’t reblog!! likes are okay but not reblogs /nm)

#scarian #hermitshipping #gtwscar #gtws fanart #grian #grian fanart #hermitcraft #1k

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hopepetal · 11 months

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Part One | Part Two (you are here!)

Read part one on ao3!

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

On his first day of being more than just a guy, Impulse slept in.

He’d always been a light sleeper, so it was surprising that he hadn’t at least woken when the others had started getting up and coming out of their tents, but Impulse just chalked it up to being tired. Maybe summoning demons took a lot of energy. He wouldn’t know– he never finished reading that book from the library. Not that he needed it anymore, with a real demon in his head.

It was a nice day out. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Impulse could hear more. It seemed that allowing the demon into his head had given him enhanced senses. It was more than a little disorienting at first, but he figured it would get easier with time. Almost like sword fighting, in a way. Daunting at first, but easier as he trained and worked at it.

As he made his way toward the picnic table they all ate at, Impulse was greeted by Scar and Mumbo, who had clearly just woken up as well. He settled in across from Scar after grabbing some food– Pearl had made some sort of oatmeal for herself and decided that was what the rest of the knights would be having as well, judging by the quantity. She didn’t have to prepare food for the rest of them, and Impulse had said as much on many occasions, but she had shrugged and said that she might as well, since she was up the earliest. It wasn’t as though she did it every day, either.

Scar grinned at Impulse as he sat down, leaning back from his half finished food. “Well, look who decided to wake up! Any later and we’d have started to call you Grian!”

Mumbo glanced up, dark eyes wide. “That’s not true, really,” he clarified, and Impulse chuckled.

“Nah, I get it. I’m a little surprised myself,” Impulse admitted, stirring his oatmeal absentmindedly, “but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Indeed there is, my good man!” Scar stood up, doing a big stretch before plopping right back down on the bench. “Ahh, that felt good.” He glanced over at Mumbo, who was hunched over his bowl. “You should stretch more,” he advised, “it’s good for you.”

Scar wiggled his eyebrows, his smile growing. “Then why don't you ask Impulse for a spar? If you're so fit and healthy, you could take him on, right?”

Mumbo’s cheeks flushed a pale pink. “I do stretch,” he protested, “I’m very fit and very healthy!”

Mumbo dropped his spoon. “Oh– well, I– you see, um…”

Impulse laughed. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Scar. I’d be willing to spar with you, if you would like.”

Sighing, Mumbo looked up at Impulse. “Well, I suppose… would you like to spar with me? Later today?”

Impulse nodded, grinning widely. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mumbo. How about we spar in a bit, so it’s not too hot for us?”

Mumbo shot a glare at Scar, but it was light hearted. “Sounds lovely, Impulse. I guess I better go get ready, then.” He stood, picking up his empty bowl and reaching down to scoop up his dropped spoon. “I’ll see you in a bit!” he called as he walked away, Scar and Impulse watching him go.

Scar turned back to Impulse, who had continued eating his oatmeal. “Well, I can’t wait to see how that turns out. That is, if I’m able to watch.” He scooped some oatmeal into his mouth, taking a moment to eat before continuing. “Cub wanted to meet up with me at some point today, and I was going to head over after I finished eating. If it doesn’t take too long, maybe I’ll get back in time to watch the fight.”

Impulse nodded, humming softly. “He wanted to check in about the, uh…?” He glanced up at Scar, who nodded. “Yeah. How have you been?” he asked tentatively, watching for Scar’s reaction.

Scar shrugged, seeming unbothered. “I’m alright. It’s been… not difficult, I guess, but I just…” He sighed. “It’s been rough. I still get a little spooked when using vex magic. A lot of anxiety in general, I guess, but I’ve been working on it.” He gave Impulse a small smile. “Takin’ it day by day, y’know? That’s all you can do.”

“That’s all you can do,” Impulse echoed, nodding his head. “I’m glad to hear you’re at least doing alright. We’re here for you if you need anything, alright? You’re not… alone.” He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. Did he truly believe the words he was saying, or were they just empty comforts?

Scar seemed to take it well, though, and his smile became more genuine. “Thanks, Impulse. You too, okay? Ya got any issues, you come to one of us. Or all of us! Whichever you want to do.”

Impulse laughed. “I’m good, but thank you. Say hi to Cub for me, alright?”

Scar stood up with his empty bowl and nodded. “I will! If I don’t make it back in time, have fun beating Mumbo!”

“Oh, have some faith!” Impulse called after Scar, and then he was alone.

It was only then that he realized Scar hadn’t had Jellie with him. Maybe she was out hunting or something. Did magical familiar cats do that? He’d have to ask Scar later.

Impulse finished his oatmeal in relative peace and quiet, before taking his bowl and spoon to go wash and place on the drying rack. As he was doing so, a familiar voice whispered to him, startling him enough to make him nearly drop what he was holding.

Hello.

“Void’s name– hi! Uh, good morning…?” Impulse greeted, carefully placing his bowl and spoon on the drying rack. “Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting you. Have you been there this whole time?”

Mhm! You have some lovely friends, the demon commented, but I don’t think it would be wise for me to really be around… some of them.

For a moment, it was as if Impulse was looking through his own memories– a misty image of Scar sitting across from him during breakfast appeared in his head. It was more than a little disorienting, and Impulse blinked several times. “Huh… what did Scar do?” he asked, confused. “He’s a really nice guy, he’s friendly and good with people.”

The demon hummed thoughtfully, as if trying to come up with the right words. Let's just say we magic folk don’t always get along. You understand, right? I’m a demon, so obviously assumptions would be drawn, and then it just gets so messy.

Impulse thought about it for a moment, before slowly nodding. “Yeah, I get that. I don’t really like keeping secrets from my friends, though.”

Have they not done the same, though? The demon asked innocently, I mean, secrets are a natural part of life. You don’t have to tell everyone everything.

Impulse pressed his lips together. “...yeah, actually. You’re right.” He thought about it for a few moments, before shaking this head. “I don’t want to think badly of them. They have their reasons.”

Just as you have yours! I’m sure they’d understand.

Impulse glanced up at the sky. “I should probably go get ready for my spar with Mumbo. Thanks for the, uh, chat? I guess?”

I’ll be here! Have fun, be careful!

Impulse didn’t rush getting ready, but didn’t dilly dally either. Soon, he was ready, and headed out to the sparring area to greet Mumbo.

“Hi, Impulse,” Mumbo greeted him with a nervous air, “I was just finishing up with my um, my stretches. You know, Scar taught me a few really good ones, if you’d like to– oh, goodness, can you tell I’m a little bit nervous?”

Impulse simply laughed, shaking his head. “It's been a while since we sparred,” he noted with an easy smile as he stretched. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me again.”

Mumbo laughed anxiously. “Yes, well, constantly losing wasn't too good for my pride. But I'm ready now, and raring to go!” He let out a weak cheer. “Who knows! Maybe I'll even win this time!” He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as Impulse.

“Maybe!” Impulse cheerily agreed, “I've noticed you've been practicing!” He picked up his sword, spinning it in his hand once. “Alright, get ready,” he warned Mumbo, shifting into a battle stance. He waited for the other knight to ready up before making the first move.

Mumbo had improved, that was for sure. Not that Impulse hadn't been expecting that– he'd seen how hard the man was working. It made him proud, seeing how far Mumbo had come. “Good!” he shouted as Mumbo blocked a particularly tricky attack, a wide grin on his face. The other knight only responded with a panicked noise, though the slight smile on his face told Impulse he was alright.

“This is–” Mumbo got out breathlessly– “much harder… than you make it… seem!” He parried Impulse, keeping a semi-defensive grip on his sword. It had been something Impulse had worked on with Mumbo before. Because he was so tall, there weren’t as many opportunities for him to use the most defensive grip possible. With a bit of tweaking, however, they had found a stance and a grip that worked the best for him, and continued to work on that with every spar.

Impulse blocked one of Mumbo’s attacks with a laugh. “You’re doing great! Just stay focused, and don’t overthink it. Remember the basics!”

Mumbo nodded, his eyes shining with determination. Impulse was reminded of why he loved helping out the other knights with their swordplay so much during spars like these. It was honestly incredible to see how each individual person uniquely used their skills and strengths to wield the same weapon. It filled him with genuine pride to see how his friends slowly began to flourish in something they weren’t naturally talented in.

It also reminded Impulse of his own journey. The highs and lows of it all, the trial and error, the relentless drills and training and repetition that brought him to where he was today. He was good at what he did; one of the best, even. And it always brought him joy to see others follow the same path he had.

Mumbo was tiring much more quickly than Impulse was, which he had expected. While Mumbo had been training more and working on honing his swordplay, endurance was another issue entirely. The kind of strength needed for endurance wasn’t just something that could be learnt overnight– no, endurance was something that had to be built up towards over your life, with constant practice and training. Impulse always took care to watch his friends during sparring matches, making sure they weren’t going to overwork themselves or get injured. He was good at spotting the point at which exertion turned to exhaustion and easing up on the attacks.

Or so he thought.

With a strength that hardly felt his own, Impulse struck at Mumbo, knocking him to the ground. The tip of his sword just barely brushed against Mumbo’s pale skin, like scissors against paper. For a moment, they remained like that, Mumbo’s gasps for air the only sound breaking the silence as he stared up at Impulse.

Then, whatever had come over Impulse let go, and he stumbled back from Mumbo with a soft huff. “Oh my gosh. Mumbo, I am so sorry, I don’t know why– I didn’t mean to hit you as hard as I did. Are you alright?”

Mumbo let out a shaky laugh, carefully picking himself up and brushing himself off. “I’m alright, mate. Little shaken up, but fine.” He looked up at Impulse with a nervous smile. “It’s fine! Really! Accidents happen all the time! Oh, gosh. I think that signals the end of the spar though.” He laughed awkwardly as he picked up his sword– he’d dropped it when he’d fallen. “I don’t think I could've lasted much longer, honestly. I was getting pretty tired.”

Impulse looked Mumbo over quickly, making sure there weren’t any injuries. “Yeah, I… you did really well, though,” he finished lamely. “I can’t believe I did that, I usually only get that heated in my matches against Pearl,” he admitted, somewhat ashamed. “You aren’t hurt?” he asked, just in case he’d missed anything in his quick check.

“Just a bruised pride!” Mumbo said, “and maybe an actual bruise or two, but nothing bad.”

Impulse sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re alright. That won’t happen again, I swear.”

Mumbo waved him off. “Ahh, don’t worry. Like I said, accidents happen. Especially when we play with very sharp, very dangerous toys.”

“These are training swords, Mumbo,” Impulse reminded, “but yes, that’s true.” He took another moment to relax, the thrill of battle still singing in his veins. “I’m going to go take a quick walk to cool down. Good job today. You’re really improving, and I’m glad to see it.”

Mumbo nodded, smiling. “Um, thank you! Thank you very much. I’m gonna- I’m going to go check on Grian. See if he’s awake and all.”

With that, the two parted ways, and Impulse was left wondering what exactly had happened.

I know.

“Was it you?” he asked the demon, trying to keep any sort of accusation out of his tone. “I didn’t– that didn’t feel like me.”

Well, it kind of was? the demon admitted, but it wasn’t on purpose. I know you’ve already noticed the whole enhanced senses thing, but now that we’re bound, I’m also giving you strength. I didn’t really think to tell you about it, but I’m really very sorry. I thought you would be able to control it.

Impulse sighed. “I… I don’t blame you, it’s my fault for not expecting something like this. I just… I don’t want to hurt my friends. Thank you for telling me about this now, though.”

Accidents happen.

“Yeah. They do.”

The rest of the day felt much less jovial and carefree than the previous one. Whether the mood had been dampened by the accident during training, or Impulse was just worrying too much, things seemed to be a little more dull.

Scar returned from Cub’s to learn of the spar, of which he teased Mumbo relentlessly for losing. Soon after, Grian appeared, claiming nightmares to be the reason as to why he’d slept in so late.

“It’s weird,” Grian complained to the gathered knights over lunch, which was really his breakfast, “I’ve never really been one to have nightmares, but they just wouldn’t stop last night.”

“Sounds like you’re just making up excuses for sleeping in,” Pearl commented, to which Grian rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep earlier! It works for me!”

“Well, sorry I don’t want to hit the hay before the sun’s even gone down,” Grian snarked, and the two began their usual light hearted bickering.

Later in the day, Impulse pulled Scar aside. “Hey. I was wondering where Jellie was? I didn’t see her with you this morning. Does she go out hunting, or something?”

The familiar perked up at the sound of Scar’s voice and bounded over, before stopping just a few feet away. She gazed warily at Impulse, and Scar frowned. “Well, that’s weird. Jellie, c’mere!” he repeated, and Jellie somewhat reluctantly followed his orders, jumping into his arms and curling up as she usually did. Scar looked back up at Impulse, smiling. “Here she is! The beautiful lady herself!”

Scar shook his head. “I just hadn’t summoned her. She’s somewhere around here, I think… but she doesn’t really go hunting? Not unless she acts on her animal instincts, because she’s a spirit and doesn’t need food.” He looked around. “Oh, there she is– Jellie! C’mere, pretty girl!”

Impulse laughed. “Alright, thank you Scar. How was Cub, by the way?”

“Oh, he was great. He says hi to you, too.” Scar rocked Jellie in his arms like one would a baby. She seemed to be okay with this– as okay as a cat could be with something, at least. “We just talked about some stuff, the usual. Magic this and that, y’know?”

“Sounds like a blast,” Impulse commented, to which Scar nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s so cool! Cub just knows all these cool things, and he’s so smart–”

Aaand Scar was rambling again. Impulse did his best to pay attention to everything the other knight was saying, but got lost somewhere along the lines of “...and then these big chompies came up from the ground!” which, in his opinion, was a perfectly valid place to get lost at. He had no idea what “big chompies” even were.

That night, the knights set up a campfire to sit around and chat. Although it was a lovely night, with a clear sky and warm air, Impulse found himself growing… not exactly restless, not exactly tired, but something akin to a mix of both. He excused himself for the night, and figured that going to bed a little earlier than usual would be good for him. Pearl was usually right about things like that.

Impulse fell asleep, and dreamed of twisting bridges high in the sky.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic

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jeonghaniehaee · 4 months

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svt reblogs

master post

reblogs consist of various fics i’ve found that i personally enjoy and hope you do too 🦢

read at ur own risk! some works are 18+ and not meant for younger audiences

there will be some bias towards other members mainly cause i personally read theirs more

order will go: name/link + author, synopsis, and my notes

please support the writers by reblogging their works! everyone in general would appreciate 🕯️

seungcheol:

dad of the year @/wondernus

seungcheol accidentally reveals he has a daughter on a first date and doesn't know how to tell you that his daughter is a dog

notes: i loved this one so much it was just so 💕💞💘💗💓💖

your cherry flavored kisses @/hannyoontify

as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

notes: omg sosososo cute 🥹 i loved this one oh so much you can’t believe it

hello tutorial @/97-liners

it’s your final year of college, and you’ve been elected president of your sorority. this is all great and fine, but as the semester goes on, you find yourself having repeated run-ins with the president of the fraternity next door in a series of unfortunate coincidences (that might not actually be coincidences, as you come to discover).

in which you’re trying to deal with your crush on seungcheol in a normal way, but the meddling kids are making it harder than it needs to be.

notes: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS LIKE ALMOST ONE OF MY FAVORITE FICS OF ALL TIME I LOVE IT OH SO MUCH!! please read this it’s actually perfect ive reread it so much just cause of how much i love it. THIS FIC IS THE EPITOME OF MY LIFE. THIS WRITER DESERVES AN OSCAR AND EVERY SINGLE AWARD IN THE WORLD

boyfriend texts @/lololololchips

notes:so cute and sweet ☹️🫶

fifteen to forever @/gyuswhore

Fifteen was the age you had met Choi Seungcheol at a school hockey game. Forever was the age you would find yourself spending with him.

notes:THIS FIC IS ACTUALLY SOO SWEET I LOVED IT SO MUCH. must read fr💯💯

jeonghan:

nothing new @/luvhhannie

no one would’ve thought that unspoken feelings would’ve been the best for you and jeonghan

notes: hanahaki is such a painfully good au and this fic just perfectly captures it!! i would recommend it wholeheartedly

to live again @/viastro

it’s been years since your last milestone birthday; a time when everything still felt right in the world with youth and ambition. now that you’re older and times have changed, would you dare take a chance to save someone else in the past at the cost of your own future?

notes: oh. my. GOD. this fic is oh sosososo good and i loved the slow burn too. i never expected to have such a lasting impression on a fic but this one is just *chefs kiss* i love it so much, it’s definitely somewhere at the top of my fav fics

ode to you @/lovelyhan

if there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. he can be crass. he can be secretive. he can be nothing short of vexing. but in the end, he's everything you need him to be. or: 25 lives in which you find and don't find jeonghan.

notes: this story was so cute and i love how it was created 🥹 i really liked it and i hope yall will too cause this is a great read, and every single life was so good

proud @/blue-jisungs

hi this is a req ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ i am SUCH a strong believer that jeonghan babies u no matter what or when. even in front of his members n theyre js like erm get a room?

notes: this is super cute and fluffy, also scoups 😭😭 so funny

my heart is beating for two @/seuonji

you’re a worker at the daycare and of course, your main priority is the safety of the kids. how’d you deal with an unfamiliar face trying to pick up one of the kids one day?

jeonghan becomes fond of the daycare worker he met the other day, seems like fate is on his side through this journey, or is it?

jeonghan becomes fond of the daycare worker he met the other day. they finally exchanged numbers! how does it go on from there?

notes: all three parts are all sososo good and i loved reading each one. this story is so cute and i just loved reading it and i reallly recommend it🥹

daisies @/viastro

the best type of revenge is to hurt the person that means the most to them. aka, in which jeonghan is in charge of making you fall in love with him, just to break your heart.

notes: OMG THIS IS SO GOOD!! i really enjoyed this and i loved reading the whole thing 🫶🫶🫶

beef @/wondernus

in which yoon jeonghan (the random guy you gamed with) found your twitter account, prompting the largest and ugliest twitter beef you've ever been in.

notes: this is so. incredibly. funny. i literally never knew i needed this fic in my life its just so good 😭

the selfish dilemma @/joonsytip

It was love at first sight ever since you laid eyes on Jeonghan. To him, you are the annoying co-worker who keeps asking him out. No one is new to your courting agenda which only pisses off Jeonghan but what happens when you stop, all at once....

notes: this series is incredibly good and i loved. reading it. i really recommend cause it was a great fic and it still stands as a great one

love café @/chocosvt

while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not.

notes: LOVE CAFE ACTUALLY MAKES MY HEAD SPIN I LOVE IT SO MUCH. THIS WRITER WROTE IT PERFECTLY I ACTUALLY ADORE IT SO MUCH!! PLEASE READ I LOVED IT 🙏 JUST EVERYTHING AHHH, IF YOU DONT LISTEN TO ANYTHING ELSE I SAY LISTEN TO THIS LOVE CAFE IS GREAT

the long way @/trblsvt

it was just like any other shoot. go in, pose, drink water, don't get food on the clothes, and don't joke around with the staff. easy. except it wasn't that easy.

notes: i loved this one so much it was a perfect read and it’s just 😭🫶

the christmas boyfriend @/rubyreduji

when you tell your mom the little white lie that you have a boyfriend, you don’t expect it to evolve into bringing your friend with benefits home for christmas. what can go wrong?

notes: this is actually one of my TOP favorites of all time and of jeonghan fics. if it’s not even first, that is. i loved this so stinking much it’s not even comprehensible. PLEASE im begging you read this. i loved it so much. even if you aren’t reading this at christmas time, it is still a perfect fic and i absolutely love it. one of my first (maybe also my last 🤭) top fics

iris beauty @/wonunuu

you and mina have been best friends for as long as you remember. after your parents passed from a horrible car accident, mina’s parents kindly took you in, tending and caring for you as their own. at such a young age, you have learned the meaning of debt as this is your constant feeling towards your best friend and her parents. to compensate, you have showed them undoubtable loyalty, respect, love and kindness, just as they have showed you; you do everything they tell you without question. so when your best friend asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she has been talking to online, your loyalty and trust are tested when you unintentionally develop feelings for him.

notes: this smau is genuinely so good and one i will read over and over again no matter how long it is. the storyline is mapped out PERFECTLY and i mightve read this all in one sitting…

how many times does it take to get smarter?

how many chances are too many chances? @/veethefreeelf

Jeonghan and you start a fwb relationship after years of being best friends. He only has two rules: no feelings and no kissing. Who’s going to break the rules first?

It’s been 6 months since the night you and Jeonghan went your separate ways. You’re sure he has moved on and you… are working on moving on. Nothing can go wrong, right?

notes: AHHHHHHHHH THE ENDING IS SO CUTE OMGGGGGGGG HAHAHAHAGAGAHAHAHHQHQHQJAHA. PLEASE READ IWHQHQGAGQGQH SO GOOOOOD

joshua:

isohel @/toruro

fairytales can be rather misleading, can't they? when you and your mother are ripped away from your life at the castle, you spend over a decade resenting the royalty. so naturally, when you find prince joshua at your doorstep, you’re more than eager to shut the door on him. but as your life takes twists and turns, you happen to find yourself in the arms of a man you never thought you'd have to see again.

notes: THIS MODERN ROYALTY AU IS JUST. PERFECTION. i believe this is a must read for all carats🫡 i loved it so much!!

untitled @/som1ig

you waited for him, and he still came, unbeknownst all odds

notes: ong this is so sweet and i loved reading this. it’s so good 🫶 (short but sweet)

you were beautiful @/viastro

a modernized cinderella au. in which you and joshua meet through your love for boba popsicles, but end up living out your very own complicated, mess filled, cinderella story.

notes: ONE IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND EACH MOMENT MADE ME WANT MORE. the angsty parts.. the fluff.. this one is defff a top read!! i recommend it to all (even non-joshua stans but idk if i trust u if u arent one even in the slightest 🤨)

so beautiful @/blue-jisungs

whipped prince!joshua

notes: AGAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA IM TOO HAPPY OMGGGG JOSHUA IS PORTRAYED SO GOOD AS A BF OMG AHAHAHHAHAHH AGHHHHHHHHH🙏🙏

jun:

hoshi:

wonwoo:

gamer bf! wonwoo hc @/blue-jisungs

notes: ngl i thought it would be how he would be like a discord mod bf.. (💀) but in reality it was vv cute and nice 🙌

for the books @/trblsvt

wonwoo's students seemed intent on matching him up with a fellow teacher. he didn't really want to stop them, it was too funny for him to break up their fun. plus, he didn't mind the certain someone he was being "set up" with.

notes:this one is a good one!! very nice and the students are 💯 top tier

take it easy (slowly carve out my heart) @/savventeen

wonwoo's assignment: become your husband and bide his time until given the command to kill you. a simple mission, really — one that shouldn't have been hard. except, he never accounted for the fact that he might actually fall in love with you. too bad he's the perfect little soldier.

notes: in my own words, “this made me truly sob. made me wrench my heart out. this is amazing angst. this is the only kind of amazing angst i want to read now ♾️♾️♾️”

to my youth @/viastro

in a world where everyone finds out who loves them within a 10 meter radius through the app love alarm, confessing your feelings without the use of the app is no longer considered normal. however, you refuse to download it in hopes that you’ll be able to fall in love without being dependent on love alarm.

notes:ngl in general ALL of viastro’s smaus deserve to be read fr.. like this one is so cute!! wonwoo in some of the moments just make me 😍😍 also the angst was fr sooo good

woozi:

dokyeom:

mingyu:

minghao:

seungkwan:

vernon:

dino:

multiple:

camp half-blood @/som1ig

the camp half blood is a greek demigod training facility located on the north shore of long island. this series is about thirteen of its residents.

notes: i was SUCH A PJO FAN that these fics like actually cured me. i love every single one!! another must read fr 🤭

svt reaction to having a gf that’s cold on the outside, sweet and caring on the inside @/haecien

notes: this one is so cute! i loved each one and i thought it fit them well too 💕

thoughts ??? @/hanggarae

one shot smau’s about svt being horrifically down abysmal in chronological order

notes: naw these are all super funny and great to read and support when you want to have a good laugh 💯

bf texts from maknae line when they’re on tour @/holdinbacksecrets

notes:overall just vv comforting texts between reader and maknae line 🫶

it’s complicated @/lovelyhan

one commoner, two princes, and three tales far too complicated to comprehend.

notes: currently only the dino and joshua one are uploaded (waiting SO painfully for the jeonghan one) but even though them being long might make you not want to read them, every single word was chosen perfectly and both stories just blew me away i loved them so much, definitely in my top 10 fics

you still sleep with plushies (vocal team) @/blue-jisungs

notes:what can i say these hcs are just really cute

untitled @/nonranghaes

jihan finds you bundled up

notes: LMAO this one is just overall cute and some parts are def funny too

take a pic! @/cheolism

text messages of u asking ur boyfie (hyung line) for a pic <3

notes: these texts are soo funny and the pictures are chosen with care, i legit could tell, AND YOU COULDNT HAVE STARTED WITH THOSE CHEOL PICS LIKE WHAT 😫

inflection point @/lovelyhan

you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in an exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

things make a turn for the worse (or the better?) when jeonghan leaves you with the most insufferable person on earth. but maybe a few weeks alone is exactly what you and seungcheol needed after all.

after reconciling with your first love, all seems well in your relationship thus far. but when you notice jeonghan distancing himself from you and seungcheol, you're determined to get to the bottom of it.

notes: AHAHAHHAHAHHHHHAHHHHHH INFLECTION POINT IS SO. GOOD. I RECOMMEND EVERYONE READ IT CAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! the story is great, the story writing is even better, and it is just overall a superior fic 🙏

svt when you call them a new pet name @/lovingseventeen

notes:i actually adore this fic so much it is so cute and it’s just 🤧🥹

“saw this and it made me think of you” @/babyleostuff

notes:this one is GENUINELY so funny like how’d you find all these pictures 😭😭🫶

teasing you over your crush on them - hhu, vu, pu @/hanniehaee

notes: i loved each one and especially the style they were wrote in 🤧🫶

accidentally ditching you on your bday - hhu, vu, pu @/hanniehaee

notes: THE ANGST IS ACTUALLY SOOOOO GOOD OMG. idk if yall knew this but i used to be a diehard straight angst fan and this really reawakened that part of me. i loved how it went and the part 2 was definitely great also. (p.s. the first time i read i cried, and it’s been a while since ive cried cause on angst so i loved the pain🙏)

amortentia @/http-mianhae

love stories at hogwarts with 13 particular people

notes: currently, only 95 line is there, but each fic is perfect. it’s a hogwarts au love story, and i especially love each one. every single one is perfect and captures everything oh sosososo well. i’m really excited for future updates !!!

svt hospital @/taeyegu

four different departments, four different love stories, all in one hospital; hospitalplaylist!au

notes: omg.. this sooo cute and super funny!! i loved each one and they genuinely made me smile and laugh

have something to add? send in a request and i’ll put it in 📦

want me to make a different groups recommendation list? add in an ask too 💌

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venuslcver · 2 months

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RELENTLESS ⋆

pairing: pushyex!rafe x kook!reader

synopsis: you run into your ex, rafe cameron.

tw: feminine described character, ex-lovers, hands described as slim, pining, profanity, alcohol consumption, toxic love (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

the olive color palm of mia, your close friend, waved vigorously afront of your, now, crimson stained cheeks. eyes lowered while your slim fingers fiddle with your skimpy-sized skirt.

"hello!" "are you even listening?"

now realizing that you had completely zoned out, only in your attempt to avoid a particle douchebag of an ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron. you knew that you shouldn't have come to the country club for brunch, but with mia being convincing enough, you caved. raising your head a sufficient amount you finally replied, "uhh yeah. what made you think i wasn't?"

Mia began to mimicking you, "uhh i don't know... maybe the fact that you weren't even looking at me or responding back"

"yeah shit, that's my bad. i'm sorry", moving around restlessly in the, usually, comfortable seats at the country club. the sharp eyes of rafe cameron exerted daggers into you shamelessly. the corner of your slightly raised gaze caught him boldly looking up and down your slumped-over figure before licking his lips. making no attempt to be subtle, though that's how he had always been. from the first day he locked his eye on you, he knew he wanted you, and there was only so much pushing him away before you caved.

"hey, you ok?"

too anxiety ridden to resist looking down at your skirt, while your knee began to bounce viciously, you responded, "y-yeah, i think i just need to use the restroom. will you excuse me?"

"absolutely. want me to come with you?", mia offered.

"no... no i'll be fine"

you heard mumbling come from mia that wasn't audible, walking away from the small outdoor table that you were sitting at, strutting towards the bathroom. you clocked that you would have to walk right past rafe if you wanted to escape to the bathroom, for even a small, malleable amount of peace. though, rafe saw you walking past him as a challenge. taking the chance, he angled himself to be right in your view, stretched to reveal his rather shredded abs.

you tried to not gawk at him, but fuck he was even more fit than when you two were together.

not wanting to visibly see his ego inflate, you began to walk with even more haste than before, only staying in his vicinity long enough to hear a chuckle leave his mouth.

after taking a few moments to yourself, and gathering yourself, you began walking back towards the table when a voice spoke up, "i saw you checking me out"

rafe cameron

letting a vexing scoff leave your plush lips, you turned around to face rafe's large figure, "and i saw you checking me out"

catching on to your rather agitated tone, rafe responded, "you know if we tried this again, i wouldn't mind you looking at me anytime."

seeing him bring a finger to point in between you two made you angrier, "nice try but i would rather die"

bending down, now splaying his large hand on your right shoulder, rubbing his thumb against your collar bone, he spoke, face coming closer to you, "oh come on baby... you can't keep this act up for much longer."

"shoot me" you thought to yourself

rafe had always been your weakness, and him touching you, well made you a puddle. you knew exactly what he was saying but you found that acting dumb might help you out.

"and what act do you happen to be speaking of?"

a laugh escaped his mouth while the wheels in his head spun, his hot breath now fanning your face, eyeing your lips before speaking, "the one that possesses you to act like you don't want me fuck you senseless"

mouth wide open from his language in front of a few retired old people who came to the outer banks for relaxation. not wanting to add fuel to the fire you completely ignored what he said.

"i gotta go, mia is probably wondering where i am" "it's good seeing you rafe"

bold-faced lie

feeling his fingers effortlessly wrap around your forearm, you lightly pull away, "come on, don't make a scene"

seeing his mouth start to open, you interrupted, "please"

hearing you beg, caused a moment of weakness for rafe, letting go of your arm, he watched you walk away.

"i'll get her" he thought

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe smut #⋆ rafe cameron fic ⋆#pushyex!rafe

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clowninguhround · 3 months

Text

I'm a clown, I'm a God, I'm whatever you need 𓆩♡𓆪I'm a corruptor, heaven doesn't want me and hell doesn't need me 𓆩♡𓆪

Greetings! You can call me Creature or Vex or Cazador or Uriel or Sisyphus or Azriel any variation of my username. I am very pro rq, pro para (duh), pro concent always and complex contact. Chrono 17, it/that/God/clown/jester/pet. Cisdepressed, cisaddict, otherkin, cisSH, cisclown, cisharm(ful), cishypersexual. Certified, corpse, bunny, and total dumbass.

The ID'S I reblog are the ones I'm currently hoarding, some I plan on transitioning to and some I'm not, please feel free to inquire!! Also feel free to ask for flags or terms to coin, I love doing it!

I currently identify as:

Body:

Trans severe SH (less), Dumbgender, Transweight, Transdead, Trans nephilim, Perma constricted/ dilated pupils, Musicbloodic, Transmultivoice, Ichorblood, Transfangs, Trans candycane flavored, Trans raspy voice, Cis-tmasc

Mind:

Trans severe echolalia (more), Transrecoveringaddict, Transmushroomaddict, Transcotards delusion, Trans (non chrono) age, Translingual, translucid dreamer, Trans MAD, Iter OSDD1-a, Transdiscalcula diagnosis, Transposessed

Being:

permatired, transparasocial, transgod, transalternate, transage (kidult), transsongkin, transmedicaltrauma, transtoxic, Transpyromantic, Trans zooanthropy, Trans OC, Transsuccubis

Considering: citrus flavored, Trans tics

No DNI just be nice to me and other beings please please please

My qpp, my divine light, my favorite toy @ghost-in-the-graveyard

In a consang relationship with my papa @haygale

Taken anon sign-offs: 💚🪦🕊🥀☁️Blur⏳️❄️🐦‍⬛🫀☀️⭐️🐛🎀🩹Void Gore🪷

Nitty gritty below <3

Paras: 🧸/(auto)💤/ 🍬🍭/ 💊/(auto)🪦🦴/(auto) 😇🪽/ 🎵

I would love to talk about any of this, I'm super open to talking. Just be sure to make sfw interactions clear to me, sometimes I get over excited.

Transharmed/transharmful are very welcome to talk with me, I'll help you out <3 obsession is what I thrive on, parasocial relationships are encouraged and I'll join any fult that wants me

Bye bye lovers <3

#paraphile safe #pro fiction #pro transid #paraphile community #paraphiles please interact #🍸#🧸#🧃#transid safe #proship #rq 🌈🍓#paraphilia #big 3 #radqueer #anti conformity #pro consang #pro para #anti anti #angel blabber

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satocidal · 7 months

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 404! Lovesick! — Yuuji Itadori

A/n: thank you to @myrand0mfand0mbl0g for requesting it, hope it did what you wanted justice baby 😭

warnings: mentions of blood and death, fluff

Yuuji typically yearns for you and every single touch. In some sense to say, he’s touch starved maybe— in all others, he’s absolutely in love with you. With every morning kiss, every good night whisper, every breakfast he’d burnt for you, every fate he’d saved his money for—all and none, he felt sick at his heart.

You swallowed hard, the wounds were deep.

“Sorry,” he muttered—the smile bashful, you simply stared, beyond pissed.

Not a single word escaped you as you cleaned everything, every single wound—heart aching with each of his whimpers and whines.

“He did a great job, for reference,” your eyes panned onto the older man that stood in the far corner of the room—Nanami Kento, the one you trusted to save Yuuji from most harm.

A vexed look you passed onto him, a certain fear of both the men incensed the air.

An attempt was all it was, Kento knew of those angry glances and cowered winces when you tended to Yuuji, so simply small attempts he made as the boy’s mentor to save him from the worse part of a mission going bad.

“I did,” Yuuji beamed, “the technique Todo and I were-” words cut short, too short, he looked down- embarrassed.

“Y/n,” Kento’s voice reached you quick, a small smile playing on his lips, “Don’t be too hard on him, at least today,”

A severed nod from you, a gulp from Yuuji.

“Babe, listen I didn’t even-”

“-shut up,” you snapped, eyes boring into his—he loved the way you embraced each other, he always did love these moments.

A thick finger caressed your cheek, the tear rolling down your face wiped away, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have so many cuts,” you mused, “so many injuries Yuuji, why? Why do you even bother?”

“For you, always,”

You bit back your words, all so harsh, for a boy as sweet as him, often you felt deceiving, as if you didn’t deserve him.

“I’m sorry angel I just,” a sharp inhale, “I’m sorry, I just love you so much and I can’t…it’s like, my duty to protect you right?”

A sharp exhale, yours.

“Yuuji Itadori,” a smile finally adorned your lips, never one to be able to resist, especially when he’d remind you of his love, “you’re an idiot—you’re simply alive because Nanami protects you in missions and here,”

“Your idiot though,”

And right outside, he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Kento loved every bit of your conversation with his student, every bit of you and him.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!!

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞

summary: saturdays bring you a serene daze, especially when you share it with steve; your boyfriend who needs to be reassured, you decide, but you don't care — you'll idly love on him anytime.

— or: lazy days where you usually do nothing makes you do something, though something malicious. in other words, you and steve have lazy sex to keep your feet on the ground.

warnings: slight angst, fluff, short, too much deep words, post s4, slightly insecure steve, doubts, steve being a sappy boyfriend. smut (18+ mdni), fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink.

a/n: the title seriously has no connection to the story. a gift for you lovelies after i hit 8k. enjoy and don't forget to reblog mwah mwah

Saturdays bring you to a serene daze.

It’s one out of two days you get to relax — free of school, free of stress, and the putrid hatred that burns in your chest when you see the same annoying faces for five days straight. It’s a day you use to simply do nothing.

With your boyfriend, Steve Harrington.

Dolce far niente, as he calls your shared Saturdays — the sweetness of doing nothing.

Staying in his safe haven, laying in the soft duvet, of tangled limbs and petal silk skin that melt into one another; it’s ataraxy, the beauteous threshold belabors all the vexing tension of the cursed town you’re both trapped in. Naught but the sun that glows through, his soft breaths that tickle your ear and his feather kisses that makes your heart deliquesce in his palm, and his idle utterances of devotion.

Yeah, it’s enough to keep you doing nothing but to be in his arms.

But he calls it your room now, too. Having moved in with him months ago because, well, it's as if his parents had wordlessly abandoned him. Living alone in a place full of empty bedrooms that lacked the vitality that other homes had made him... lonely. So when he invited you to move in with him and you said yes without doubt, he made some room in his cabinets and watched as you hung your clothes beside his.

Steve emerges from the bathroom with a towel in his head, rumpling his wet hair. The other towel hangs loosely around his hips, v-line prominent and taunting. When his feet stomp lightly on the rug, you turn away from your deceitful reflection, comb halfway down your damp locks as you meet his eyes.

“As much as I love you,” he flips the towel over his shoulder, hands in his hips, weight shifting on his left leg as his lips purse in feigned annoyance. His mom look, as you so teasingly called it — you’ve seen it way too many times, especially when he’s with the kids. “You took up all the hot water, babe,”

You giggle, placing the comb down and pushing yourself away from the mirror. “I’m sorry. Just felt so relaxing,” you push his wet hair out of his forehead. “I told you to join me, Stevie.”

“But I was eating,” he pouts, letting you take the towel from his shoulder and squeeze his dripping locks. “I couldn’t just leave my waffles to shower, (y/n),”

“Yes you can,” you tug hard on his hair, enough to pull his head down. Steve playfully glowers at you. “Wait… did you choose waffles over me?”

He pales a little. “No,”

“Yes you did!”

“I didn’t!—ow,” he takes your wrist in his open hand, closing his fingers around the soft skin. Steve laughs almost timidly at you, finds the shock from your parted lips amusing. “I’ll choose waffles over you, honeybee. I was just very hungry,”

Your hand dampens from the towel, watching his flattened curls plump. His eyes follow yours, despite not meeting each other. “‘Y always gotta keep that mouth full, huh?”

Lovestruck, like he always was whenever he’s got his eye on you, he tilts his head and digs his lips on the lines of your palm. You look at him, eyelashes fluttering. “And my mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it,” he whispers.

Cheeks aflame and heartbeats rise. Although his cheeky remarks tend to be… ubiquitous, it always ends with you lifting in the air and a kiss that brings you back to the ground. Steve is, no doubt, poetic when it comes to proclaiming his love despite his prosaic life. He couldn’t help it — he’s got you, he said, you deserved to know that you’re loved.

You chuckle. “Can this mouth give me a kiss, then?”

Obedient, he leans down to capture your lips in a quick but doting kiss, breaking with a soft wet click of exchanged spit.

Steve takes the towel from you, letting your hands rest on his waist as your eyes wander. While he silently lets his hair dry, you count every single mole on his face, the sepia glow of his faint freckles accompanied by the rivulets of shower drops down his cheeks, his curled eyelashes and his ample cupid’s bow that you can’t help but trace with a curious finger.

He puckers and you giggle, tracing the wet pinkness of his lips before you move on to press a chaste kiss to the button of his nose. Hands wander up to trace the dips of his collarbone, down to his thick chest that adorned the mousy tush of curls, radiant from the warm sun that shines his body alight; they explore every pudge of his stomach, to the grotesque, salmon scars on his sides from the interdimensional monsters that cause anything but peace.

Your hands still in observance, every uncanny ridge in the tendrils of healing flesh, the holes that shrink each day from the sharp teeth of the demobats. Steve sees your scrutiny, and a wave of insecurity drowns him as he swims beneath the undertow, head hitting the coral reef and arms injured.

“Hey,” he takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head up, but your hands linger on his scars. “Why’re you staring, huh?”

“Can’t I appreciate the beauty of my boyfriend?” you quip, fully resting your palms on them. He tries not to flinch but does anyway, though more out of surprise; you’ve only ever touched him above the scars. And if you did touch his waist (during hugs or kisses), it’d been over his shirt. Out of respect—he wasn’t entirely comfortable with you seeing them, or staring at them, but you couldn’t let it go on any longer.

Steve blushes, a twinge of pink coating his tan skin, his shyness making him refuse to meet your appreciative eyes. “You’re pretty,” you tell him, convince him. “And your scars are… really, really, hot,”

“Yeah?” he rubs your chin with his thumb. “Do you usually have a thing for beat up guys or are you just messed up?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, hands steering to his back to squeeze lightly on the thick flesh covering his spine. “I just have a thing for you, ‘s all.”

“Flirt,”

You snort. “Okay, Mr. My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. I’m the flirt, sure.”

The idea that you might kiss him again is stuck in his brain. And he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since before any other kiss; his mind surges through fierce divulgence, that that feeling of wanting to kiss you over and over again was driving him criminally insane. The notion of it continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites him to an unorthodox degree.

Steve stares at the rosy cordiform of your upper lip, mouth twitching to take it in his mouth.

Mind foggy, the perception of you finally touching his scars for the first time no longer scares him. You were never one to judge, anyway.

The air is thick, the residue steam from his previous shower seeps through the ajar door and the moisture of laziness sticks on your touching skins. It is Saturday, after all, what are you both doing standing in front of the bathroom instead of laying down doing other things?

“God,” Steve murmurs. You move your head back, tracing the dip of his spine with a finger, eyebrows pulled together with your lips tugged in an upside down smile. “I’m so in love with you,”

Your eyes widen. “Thank you?”

He laughs, like a soft, harmonious siren in your ear. “Do you always have to say ‘thank you’ whenever I say that?”

“Yes,” you lean closer, pressing your chest against his, droplets melting into your shirt, creating wet spots that make the color darker. “I don’t know what else to say!”

Steve’s eyebrows raise, eyes softening, taking your hands in his and grasping them tightly with his thumb slipping between the bumps of your knuckles. “Say you’re in love with me too!”

It’s desperate, almost. He kind of thinks you’re not in love with him, or not as in love as he is with you — if it had been the latter, he’ll definitely argue, or write an essay about how much he loves you more than you love him.

But anyway, the way you say ‘thank you’ floods the dam of his doubts. Loving someone is different from being in love with someone; Steve knows you love him, he just kind of needs reassurance.

“Aw, honey,” you bring your joint hands beneath your chin, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I’m in love with you, too,”

He wonders if you would have told him that if he didn’t playfully tell you to. Stupid thoughts. But you look like you meant it — it’s a cathartic waft on him, seeing the luster of candor in your eyes that look up at him. Steve’s body itches more for your touch, scars flaring for a kiss of aid, and he wants to hear you say it again.

And so: “Say it again,” his index drags across your jawline, the rest of his fingers still laced with yours into a fist. “Wan’ hear you say it again, please?”

You laugh, untangling your hands with his to wrap a finger around his lovelocks, and you say it again. “I’m in love with you, Harrington,”

He winces, eyes scrunched, driving his face away from you. “Say my name,”

“Steve,”

“Babe,” Steve untwines his hands from yours, only to splay his palms across your cheeks and cradles your head, tilting you up that the back of your neck aches. “You’re killing me here,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh breathlessly, placing your hands on top of his. “Might I cure you with a kiss, sir?”

Steve’s eyes flit between yours — wide, curious, two brown enamel buttons, sick, and in love; he nods no longer than a millisecond later, thumbs rough against the soft skin of your cheeks. “Okay,”

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him again, like two petal roses conjoined from the summer breeze of August; soft, sultry of hot breath and slick mouths, moans muffled.

Eager for more, Steve tilts your head to the side, slanting his lips with yours, mouth opened only to lock it together on top of your mouth, his satisfied hum that lets itself escape from the back of his throat takes you back to earlier this morning when he’d hummed his way to the kitchen to cook you breakfast —

You can still taste it, by the way: scrambled eggs and beans, with semi-burnt toast and your mixture of coffee that he claims was now his favorite, because he kissed it off your mouth before he drank your coffee. To save you the hard work from making a new one, he said, before he kissed your lips swollen.

Like now.

He’s hungry, like he’d been famished after you broke the kiss for a simple bathroom break. He swore he actually would have continued kissing you even as you sat on the toilet bowl. Steve would have knelt, just so he’d keep his lips pressed against yours. But he had to stop, eventually, you couldn’t breathe and neither did he, but only because he’s got the wind knocked out of him at the sight of you.

Lips breaking from wet snaps, his hand journeys down to cup your neck before he’s tracing the shape of your shoulders, pressing against your collarbone. Then he moves them down your arms to squeeze at the plump flesh of your biceps, down to your forearms. Steve’s finger traces the insides of your elbow, the hairs on your skin tickling his palm.

You let your own hands venture back around his waist, blunt nails scraping the lumpy cicatrix. Steve sighs against your lips, shivering, his head cocking to the side for a split second before they go back to kissing you.

“Steve,” you breathe out, hands swimming their way to his back to scratch your nails on his skin. You say his name with tender keenness, an acute bump swelling out his towel that pokes on your thigh. He hums, fully leaving your mouth to mushroom kisses across your head.

The dulcet susurration of his name was enough to make the blood rush down to his soft cock, the noises from the back of your throat had bordered from contentment to craveful. Steve removes his hands from your forearms, bending his knees so that he’d wrap his arms around your waist, pushing you close to his chest, hands splayed on your shoulder blades.

He inhales you, consumes you, wishes you’d melt against him so he’d keep you within him forever; lapses into a navel-gazing covetation, a sommelier that keeps feeding you everything he has and everything he wants to give you. The pathological urge to get to know you more, despite the fact that he knows every single molecule that keeps you whole, drives him insane.

Steve wears your initial on a chain around his neck, the pendant singeing his skin, burning his tawny skin until the golden letter melts on the space between his collarbone. He harbors it with pride.

“Baby,” you call him again, bringing his feet down to the ground. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” his mouth hovers over yours again, opening his eyes. “Fuck, yes, please. Didn’t have to ask, honey.”

In a swift motion, Steve’s being spun around and pushed, his soul gravitating from his body when he falls down to the bed, back meeting the soft covers. His hair bounces, no longer dripping but still damp, cold around his head.

You’ve got your lip tucked between your teeth and a cute smile on your face when you crawl on top of him, stopping until you’re kneeling on top of him, legs on either side of his torso with the swell of your ass abrades on his covered shaft.

“Getting aggro there, babe,” he jokes, his palms feeling up your sides, slipping them beneath your shirt to palm at your breasts, rolling your slowly hardening nipples between his fingers.

“I’ll show you aggro,” your eyebrows connect, head tilting back while your jaw slackens, grinding against him as he continues to fondle with you. “I’m gonna be straight forward and say I wanna suck you off right now, Steve,”

He laughs. “Go ahead, babe.”

You haul his hands from beneath your shirt, bringing them up to playfully snap your teeth on his fingers. Steve chuckles, watching you scoot back until you’re floating from his thighs, untucking his towel until they loosen, throwing them to the side.

While his towel stays beneath him, his cock springs up, aching pink tip bobbing down to his navel, a bead of precum falling down to the tush of curls above his length.

A sudden flush of puddle surrounding your tongue, you swallow thickly. Never had you thought the sight of a cock would entice you so much; cocks weren’t meant to be pretty, but Steve had a huge, thick, and pretty cock — an embodiment of pleasure and inebriation, of sweet nectar blessed upon the parched as they seep through the thin slit of his head; of the fat girth to silence your mouth to prevent all sins spat out between your lips.

The pit of fire in your eyes starves him. And when you finally let a trembling hand wrap around his veiny shaft, oh does he let out the most angelic sound of relief that rings inside your ears to wrap around your brain and tickle it.

You move backward, until you’re resting between his legs that part itselves to give you more access as you lay on your stomach. Your head hovers, mouth pursed to let a glob of spit fall down to his tip, falling down to his shaft and onto your thumb. Amalgamated with his precum, you use the gathered slick to lube him up, gyrating your wrists until his dick’s wet enough.

“Christ,” he lifts his head, an uncomfy ache on his spinal cord, but anything to see you. Your hand bobs, moving up and down his throbbing shaft. You look mesmerized, and what he finds so amusing is that you’re not even looking at his face; though, with the treacly feeling of your hand squeezing around him felt good. “Oh, fuck,”

The ink of his words blotch when it’s thrown out the window, all senses hazed and wrapped around you and just you, and the feeling of you and the touch of you. It’s spirituous, an unhealthy addiction, but alas — he can never get enough.

Neither did you.

Your mouth parts, wrapping your lips around his pulsating head. Steve groans, his head falling back, a hand that presses on his forehead and the other gathers your hair in a loose ponytail with his fingers as a tie, giving you more access.

When you suck, using your hand to give the rest of him the attention your mouth isn’t giving, he can’t fight back his whimpers. “Yeah, yeah fuckin- fucking suck my dick like that. Quit teasin’ me though, ‘s not funny,”

You playfully roll your eyes, lips still suctioned on his gummy helmet. You’re lapping your tongue on every inch of his spongy tip, pressing it flat on his slit, where the translucent liquid of his seed lathers on the middle of your tongue. Steve fights the urge to tug on your hair, or maybe push you deeper until he feels your throat close around him and your nose on his pubes.

“S-shit, y-yeah. Just like that- ohhhhh,”

When you pull back with a loud pop, you hope he doesn’t see how you embarrassingly gathered all the air in your lungs before you went and pushed his cock in your mouth in one go, but he was too distracted with the sudden overwhelming feeling of your mouth around him.

His tip’s right in your throat, blocking the airway, but you’ve done this more than a normal person should that you’ve learned how to breathe through your nose. Steve moans a bit louder, almost a mewl that mimicked yours when you’re in his place. You shake your head a little, nose right on the tush of curls above his cock, tongue flat beneath his shaft.

Finally, his grip tightens on your hair, his musk clouding your mind. You take his fat girth in your mouth with pride, heavy on your tongue and tangy on your taste buds. Your other hand that doesn’t grip tight on his thigh comes down to paw with his sack; the hot, loose skin being squeezed in your hand, and his hips jolt.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Steve bucks up into your mouth, the lewd sound of you gagging around him makes his lips twitch into a smile, feeling your cold spit dribble down to him and your neck. A wave of heat shoots down to your throbbing pussy, feeling the silk of your underwear dampen, ‘till your thighs go sticky and your knees turn foible.

You bob your head around his length, sucking your cheeks in, pressing your tongue up to append pressure, gagging, and you scrape your teeth ever so lightly on his loose skin the way he loves it. His low noises, borderline smutty, ring around the silence of the room.

Your cunt throbs, and when you fully lay down and use his cock as leverage to keep your head up, your ass raises, keeping your hand from his thigh to wedge it between your body and the bed to slip your fingers beneath your panties and rub your clit slowly.

Steve, whose eyes are on the verge of shutting, with his jaw slacked and his cheeks flared as well as his rising chest, sees what you’ve done, and fucks himself up in your mouth again.

You moan around him when your fingers move fast, harsh circles around your swell clit, grinding against your hand; your head moves faster on him too, oscillating on his cock, pulling back fully to see a tendril connection of your saliva to his dick. Steve lifts his head.

Before he could say anything, your lips trail heat from his length right down to his sack. Removing your hand, you take one of his balls into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his neck, gyrating your wrist on the base of him.

You roll your tongue on the loose skin, his balls growing wet with saliva that continues to pour heavily from your mouth; your fingers lose control, like a drunken hand rubbing you raw, yet you seem to know what you’re doing perfectly when it came to Steve’s dick — squeezing below his tip, moving fast on his length and a cheeky swipe on his small opening.

It felt incredibly gratifying to have your mouth full and your hands occupied simply to pleasure him, knowing you’re the receiving end of his saccharine mewls was enough to satisfy your needs yet it also wasn’t; you wanted more. You’re greedy, you’re yearning, and you’ve got every right to be so.

Steve is yours, after all.

Your hips jolt and rise from your jagged circles, you're pulling away from his sack with a loud pop before you try to take both of his balls into your mouth, suckling on the sticky skin.

The sounds of his moans are harmonized by your muffled whimpers and the slick sound of your hand jerking him off, coalesced with the gags and the heavy breaths from your ball-sucking, and the slight squelchy noise emitted from your pussy.

“Fuck, ‘y rubbing that pretty little clit, hm?” Steve musters up enough energy to prop himself to his elbows, caressing the sweat from your head, running his hand from your hair. You moan, your back arched, panties dampening and a small puddle forms beneath him from your saliva. “Dirty girl. Keep rubbing that clit for me, yeah? K-keep my balls in your mouth- shit- be all filthy for me.”

But luckily for you, Steve’s feeling generous. So despite his order, he’s leaning forward, the top of your head meeting his belly, suddenly feeling his warm hand squeeze the fat flesh of your ass, pulling one to the side. He pushes you closer, your body bending in an awkward fold, until his palm presses right on top of the wet patch of your panties.

It’s an ache you know will make your back hurt like hell, but when Steve pushes your panties to the side and slaps your hand away to rub fast figure-eights on your engorged clit, hand moving side to side, his arm almost a blur from his speed.

You break away from him to moan loudly, one of his arms hooking beneath your head as the other rubs your clit ‘till it burns pleasurably. You wrap a hand around his bicep, resting your temple on his hairy chest, trying to match his pace as you continue jerking him off.

“S-Steve,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, squeezing around his base that makes him moan. His palm slaps against your folds, rubbing it against your sticky folds. Your blunt nails are a vice on the tight grip you have on his bicep, the hand on top of your head pulling lightly on your hair. “Oh- fuck- fuck! Steve. That feels s-so— so good,”

“Yeah?” he cocks his head to the side. “Like it when I rub your clit while you jerk me off? Like it when daddy gives your cunt some attention, hm?”

Your legs raise, feet rocking, sweat forming in the heels of your feet. With a hand lazily pumping his throbbing length, you bury your lips on his supple flesh, eyes clenched shut to cry out his name like a hymn. Your thighs jolt, feeling the burn of his palm swim pleasures up from the lower half of your body to every single cell of your being.

“God, baby,” you nip lightly on his arm. “Wan’ wan you inside me, please. Please, please, please,”

When you look up at him, his mouth twitches to a smile and pulls his hand away. You fall to your back beside him, legs spread but your chest heaves heavily. Steve immediately slots himself on top of you, hooking his hand beneath your knee and lifts it so that your heel presses on the bottom of his spine.

He helps you take your shirt off in one go, almost ripping it from its seams. Steve dips down to take one nipple into his mouth as soon as the shirt’s gone; a hand on your waist and the other gripping the base of his cock and slapping his tip on your clit.

Lazily grasping his bicep, he presses his chest against yours. “I’m going in, yeah?” He kisses your cheek. “Think you can handle it, huh, baby?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, fuck, I always do. Just- push it in, please?”

In one, single and slow thrust, Steve pushes inside. Your walls open, though tight around his length, your thighs rubbing against the gnarly damage on his skin, but your heels dig hard on his back, like it’ll help him go deeper. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt; until his heavy sack rests against your puckered hole, where he sees a light bulge on your lower belly.

And every single time Steve’s fucking you, there’s an overwhelming hurt on your lower body. It’s a pain you consider yourself used to, that sting expected once his head’s engulfed by your small hole. And he knows this, too, falling still against your chest when he sees the joint eyebrows on your forehead.

He kisses your forehead in quick, gentle pecks, hooking his arms in the pit of your biceps, propping himself up by his knees. When the affliction droops into a ripple of bliss, you sway your head to press your lips against his shoulder.

Taking this as a signal, Steve starts to move, slowly. The slow drag of his cock cleaves you open, a heavy feeling of rapture that bathes on your nerves brings you to seventh heaven. You moan lowly in his ear, a quiet squelch from below making your toes curl.

“You okay?” he pushes your hair aside, digging his nose on the slope of your neck, sucking gently.

You run your hands through his unkempt hair, pulling on the nape of his neck. The coarse shrub of dark curls above his dick rubs against your blushing nub, your legs trembling as they remain hooked around his back. When he pulls back, leaving just the gorged mushroom of his head, Steve thrusts in suddenly, hitting right at your cervix that makes you mewl.

He cups your jaw. “Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, yes, I’m okay.”

Steve sighs deeply into your flesh, fucking you slow. Too slow to be considered fucking– no, no he’s making love to you. When everything else falls, and you feel like you’re both lifting into the air and suddenly you’re making love in this lewd abyss of eternal devotion; when everything burns beautifully like runes carved into your skins, showing up slowly at each slow thrust he makes.

He takes your head into his hands, your own hooked beneath his armpits, pulling at the lump of flesh– thick and warm, neverending, compelling you to scratch and tug.

You feel his warmth in your cunt, his veins pressing up against every inch of your gummy heat. You let your eyes fall shut, head digging back, moaning when his balls slap against your ass.

And fuck, when Steve looks down at you, it’s like staring at a patron saint; he revels in your parted mouth of elation, your sweet pussy an arcadia to his aching cock that he continues to piston into you, knocking the air out of your lungs like a pistolwhip.

Your back arches, one of his hands travelling down to keep you against his chest so that he can continue hitting that sweet spot of yours that makes you cry prettily.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he says softly. “Look at you, taking me so well. Doing so good, hm? Kept you waiting for too long when I was in the shower? Just wanted me, yeah?”

When you whimper, he sees a tear threatening to fall right at the corner of your eyes, your weeping cunt making his movements faster– easier. “Steve!”

“I know, I know,” he pushes the astray, sweaty hair off your forehead, panting against your salty skin after he presses a soothing kiss. “‘s always too much for my baby, isn’t it? Too big for you?”

You shake your head. “No. No no, you’re– fuck– you keep me really full, Stevie. Love it so much…”

“You like it when I make love to you?” he bucks up harder, a loud, obscene and hollow squelch coming from your joint limbs. Your eyes open, though heavy as they glance down to see the glistening slick on the base of his cock that you see every time he pulls out. You clench around him, almost milking him from what he’s worth, trapping him inside you. “Oh, honey, I felt that. Like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes,” you lazily kiss his cheekbone, dragging your blunt nails on his back, painting his sepia skin pink. “Ohhh, shit,”

Steve kisses the tear off your eye, the salty liquid lathering all over the pad of his tongue. “You can cry, baby. ‘s okay. Come and cry for me, yeah?”

His eyes are sympathetic and proud; so doting and sickly sweet. Your toes curl, the coil twists tightly, and his heart pounds wildly against yours that makes your chest clench. You let tears fall down your cheeks, Steve kissing the tip of your nose every time you sniffle.

“M gonna cum,” you moan. “Please, baby, I wanna cum,”

“Me too, honey,” he lets his hips roll leniently, his belly just rubbing against yours, your nipples chafed from his chest hair. “Cum with me, yeah? Gonna take care of my sweet little angel. Fuck, god, I love you,”

When he shoots his warm seed inside your cunt, your orgasm coating his cock like alabaster paint, you both moan quietly into each other’s ears. You clench and clench around his cock, Steve grunting from the sensitivity. And after a couple more thrusts, he pulls out.

A lewd shlick is heard when he does so, watching as your joint spent seeps out of your heaving pussy. Steve groans, can’t help but bend down to place his tongue flat from your hole up to your clit.

You wince. “Steve. Sen- Sensitive,”

He pulls back. “I’m sorry, baby,” he chuckles, kissing your knee. “Couldn't help it.”

Ever the romantic, Steve bends back down to press his lips against yours, the sweet but with a salty twange taste of your orgasms coating your mouth when he shoves his tongue in. His palms press up to your knees and close them together, moving them to the side until he’s laying on top of your thigh.

You place your palms on his cheeks, pulling back. He smiles fondly down at you.

“I love you,” you say.

“I know,”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you ewok looking bitch,”

Steve gasps. “What’d I ever do to you?!”

You laugh, bringing your arms to his chest, and he can't help but mimic that same harmony of glee. Steve kisses your arm, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your sore muscle.

“Nothing,” you jest, tucking his hair behind his ear. “‘M just a bit tired,”

“Well, lucky for us, it’s Saturday,” he takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckle. “Dolce far niente, babe. We are not gonna do jack shit today but make love and sleep.”

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things smut

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gothhabiba · 2 years

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Would you be willing to elaborate a little on what identity politics means to you (or reblog the post if you have in the past cause tumblrs horrible search isn’t turning it up)? It’s something that has vexed me throughout my studies cause just when I think I have a handle on a working definition someone whose opinion I trust (you in this instance) says it’s wrong lol

The usage of the phrase that you're likely familiar with--the way that people often use it to-day, and the usage that I to some extent criticised in the post you're referring to--is one that basically aligns with a concept of "identitarian essentialism" or "identitarian deference." To adhere to "identity politics" is to believe that being in possession of a marginalised "identity"--being a woman, being Black, being gay--will automatically lead to a radical political consciousness, or can even stand in for developing a radical political consciousness; to reference a leader's 'identities' in lieu of debating their policies, and to fight to get people of certain 'identities' in positions of power rather than to change power structures themselves; to believe that a person of a given marginalised "identity" must always be listened to or obeyed in regards to a subject relating to that "identity" (as though people of the same identity never disagree). "Identity politics" is "listen to x voices" and black / rainbow capitalism and girlbossing and "we need more trans people in the military" &c.

But that isn't where we started out at all. The first instances of the phrase "identity politics" date to the 1970s (or possibly the '60s)--though, as is typical with terms suggestive of social or political frameworks, the ideas expressed in the term are arguably older.

The first known specific usage of the term is in 1977, in the Combahee River Collective Statement. Here, it refers to the political knowledge that can come out of “identity” (in particular, gender, class, and race), and to the necessity of reckoning with the full complexity of “sexual politics” as they interact with race and class in Black women’s lives in order to produce a truly radical politics:

Our politics initially sprang from the shared belief that Black women are inherently valuable, that our liberation is a necessity not as an adjunct to somebody else’s may because of our need as human persons for autonomy [...]. [N]o other ostensibly progressive movement has ever considered our specific oppression as a priority or worked seriously for the ending of that oppression. […] Our politics evolve from a healthy love for ourselves, our sisters and our community which allows us to continue our struggle and work.

This focusing upon our own oppression is embodied in the concept of identity politics. We believe that the most profound and potentially most radical politics come directly out of our own identity, as opposed to working to end somebody else’s oppression. In the case of Black women this is a particularly repugnant, dangerous, threatening, and therefore revolutionary concept because it is obvious from looking at all the political movements that have preceded us that anyone is more worthy of liberation than ourselves. […]

We believe that sexual politics under patriarchy is as pervasive in Black women’s lives as are the politics of class and race. We also often find it difficult to separate race from class from sex oppression because in our lives they are most often experienced simultaneously.

So the politics of "identity" do not work against a materialist analysis of class structure--they are brought up as something in addition to "pure" class politics that must be paid attention to if a materialist understanding of the factors affecting our lives is to be reached. The Combahee River Collective Statement is explicitly anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist; it was written in order to articulate a political connection between race, gender, and class-based oppression in response to environments (white, middle-class feminist organisations, Black nationalist organisations, socialist organisations) in which e.g. feminism and socialism were assumed to be in conflict. "Identity politics" asserted that race and gender mattered at all in class politics--it asserted that Black women had a right to articulate their own political position, vision, and strategy, rather than allowing white women or Black men or other communists to do it for them.

Howard Wiarda connects the early history of "identity politics" to political movements composed not only of people of colour, feminists, or LGBT people, but also "radicalized students," "Greens," and "Marxists"--"all these groups and even the term 'identity politics' itself were identified with left-wing or radical causes," with the through-line being the concept that "one's identity as a woman, a minority, an environmentalist, a homosexual, a young person, or any marginalized person made one particularly susceptible to violence, ostracism, and oppression" and that that oppression would need to be specifically countered. You'll note that several of these groups are not things that we would consider to be 'innate' to a person!

In the 1980s and 1990s, opposition to "identity politics" came from conservatives, liberals (who focused on pluralism and a non-specific sort of 'equality'), and Marxists (who lamented that they were distracting from pure 'class-based' politics). The concept of a political "identity" à la "environmentalist" seems to have withdrawn from the scene by this point, with critics focusing on identities that they claimed their opponents viewed as innate (such as "ethnicity" or gender). Marxist Eric Hobsbawm, speaking in 1996, makes what will be to us common claims: that identity politics are exclusionary ("collective identities are defined negatively; that is to say against others"); that they only allow people to hold one identity at a time ("identity politics assumes that one among the many identities we all have is the one that determines, or at least dominates our politics"--note how antithetical this is to the C.R.C.'s statement!); that they are essentialist ("Most identity groups are not based on objective physical similarities or differences, although all of them would like to claim that they are ‘natural’ rather than socially constructed"); that they are dangerous and lead to the breakdown of 'real' leftism ("the danger of disintegrating into a pure alliance of minorities is unusually great on the Left [...] without any obvious way of formulating a common interest across sectional boundaries"); that "minorities" cynically manipulate them for their own gain ("it may actually pay to classify yourself as low caste or belonging to an aboriginal tribal group, in order to enjoy the extra access to jobs guaranteed to such groups").

Let us assume that the identitarian / "sectarian" point of view that Hobsbawm criticized did actually exist in the 1990s under the banner of "identity politics"--if so, what had changed since the 1970s? Why does the term "identity politics" signify something different for Hobsbawm than it had for the C.R.C.? Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor connects this shift to the fact that racial position has become slightly less tethered to class position:

Any concept, once it is released into the world, can take on new meanings when confronted with new problems. Identity politics has become so untethered from its original usage that it has lost much of its original explanatory power. In its earliest iteration, Black feminism was assumed to be radical because the class position of Black women, overwhelmingly, was at the bottom of society. But the civil-rights revolution and concerted efforts by the political establishment created a different reality for a small number of African-Americans. Today, there is a small but influential Black political class—a Black élite and what could be described as the aspirational Black middle class—whose members continue to be constrained by racial discrimination and inequality but who hold the promise that a better life is possible in the United States. They stand in contrast to the Black poor and working class, who live in veritable police states, with low-wage work, poor health care, substandard and expensive housing, and an acute sense of insecurity.

But, while the positions that critics of identity politics take issue with may exist in certain circles--may even exist under the self-described banner of "identity politics"--I don't think that that gets all of said critics off the hook for their portrayal of idpol (as though identitarian essentialism is inherent to it), or validates their arguments about what will solve the problem they identify (namely, a return to a halcyon past of Enlightenment universalism without attention to "identity" that, these writers hold, prevailed before 1970). In 1997, Robin D. G. Kelley wrote that "a handful of self-proclaimed spokespersons on the Left" claim that

"The Left" has lost touch with its Enlightenment roots, the source of its universalism and radical humanism, and instead has been hijacked by a "multicultural left" wedded to "identity politics" which has led us all into a cul-de-sac of ethnic particularism, race consciousness, sexual politics, and radical feminism.

Much of the blame is assigned to women, gays and lesbians, and colored people for fracturing the American Left, abandoning honest class struggle, and alienating white men who could be allies but aren't because of the terrible treatment meted out to them by the Loud Minority. Universal categories such as class have fallen before the narrow, particularistic mantras of radical chic: race, gender, sexuality, and disability. Indeed, in their view class is not just another identity, it transcends identity. If the "Left" wants to save itself, we must abandon our ever shrinking identity niches for the realm of majoritarian thinking. After all, we're told, the majority of Americans are white and heterosexual and have little interest in radical feminism, minority discourse, and struggles centered on sexual identity.

Kelley cedes that "in some circles [identity politics] has tended to limit discussions of power to cultural politics"--however, "the 'Enlightenment train' will not lead us out" of this problem:

These people assume that the universal humanism they find so endearing and radical can be easily separated from the historical context of its making; indeed, that it is precisely what can undo the racism and modern imperialism it helped to justify. The racialism of the West, slavery, imperialism, the destruction of indigenous cultures in the name of "progress," are treated as aberrations, coincidences, or not treated [at] all. They insist that these historical developments do not render the Enlightenment's radical universalism any less "radical," and those who take up this critique are simply rejecting Enlightenment philosophers because they're "dead white males."

So criticisms that relate "identity" with certain philosophies or epistemologies (here, Enlightenment humanism) and with material histories (of slavery, imperialism, land theft and genocide) are automatically assumed to be nothing more than identitarian reductionism--people are assumed to be objecting to Enlightenment philosophy merely because its original theorists held the wrong "identities"--despite the fact that that's clearly a gross misreading of the arguments actually being made. Criticisms of "identity politics" seriously overreach when they cease to criticise actual identitarian essentialism, reductionism, and deference where they appear, and instead complain that any challenge to their ideas and any mention of race, gender, or sexuality must automatically be identitarian reductionism. More than anything else this is a silencing move--they are uncomfortable with how loud "minorities" have gotten and would rather not bother to engage with any of the vast body of scholarship that analyses gender, race, sexuality, and disability through the lens of materialist or Marxist politics, or that traces the connections between race (and slavery, colonialism, land grabbing), gender, and class.

Returning to the idea that (racial, gendered, sexual) "identities" are parochial, while "class" is universal--Kelley continues:

The implications [of the arguments of the neo-Enlightenment Left] are frightening: the only people who can speak the language of universalism are white men [...] and women and colored people who have transcended or rejected the politics of identity. Moreover, they either don't understand or refuse to acknowledge that class is lived through race and gender. There is no universal class identity, just as there is no universal racial or gender or sexual identity. The idea that race, gender, and sexuality are particular whereas class is universal not only presumes that class struggle is some sort of race and gender-neutral terrain but takes for granted that movements focused on race, gender, or sexuality necessarily undermine class unity and, by definition, cannot be emancipatory for the whole.

Thus these critics presume that race and gender do not shape "universal" issues, assume that movements centering black women must only be of use to black women, ignore what "identity"-based movements have to teach them, and ignore the various ways in which these movements' goals, if accomplished, would benefit their more "universal" goals.

This situation--where only [heterosexual, abled, &c. &c.] white men are free of the odour of "identity" and so only they (and those who agree to attempt to approximate them) are able to lead "class-based" Leftist movements and articulate Leftist positions--seems remarkably similar to the situation that the C.R.C. was reacting to. Per Barbara Smith:

“By ‘identity politics,’ we meant simply this: we have a right as Black women in the nineteen-seventies to formulate our own political agendas. [...] We can obviously create a politics that is absolutely aligned with our own experiences as Black women—in other words, with our identities. That’s what we meant by ‘identity politics,’ that we have a right. And, trust me, very few people agreed that we did have that right in the nineteen-seventies. So we asserted it anyway.”

So many critics of identity politics reduced it to its crudest arguments, ignored it insights, failed to read the writings of its original prononents or only read them to misinterpret and smear them (it cannot be overstated how explicitly the C.R.C.'s statement disavows essentialism and parochialism in arguing that gender and race must be paid attention to to achieve class liberation--read the Kelley article for more on this), and seemed to assume that black feminists were somehow automatically incapable of being concerned with "universalist" or "humanist" concerns merely because they were black feminists (or, worse, black lesbian feminists). Ironically, it seems that these critics are allowing the racism baked into Enlightenment universalist humanism (wherein e.g. black people were outside the realm of the "universal" and "human")--racism which they deny exists or really matters--to poison their politics. (These critics also misunderstood or misrepresented the past--Kelley points to a long history of solidarity between Left and "identity-based" movements, even before 1970.)

These days, you're unlikely to find anyone professing "identity politics" as a part of their self-described political agenda--it's almost always a criticism levelled against someone else's politics, and it means something more like "identitarian essentialism." And the slurring of "identity politics" has not gotten any less racist since the 1990s, or any less based on "caricature, stereotypes, omissions," or "innuendo" (Kelley). Any person of colour who talks about race and class online likely knows what it's like to be accused of subscribing to "identity politics" (or, called an "ethnic nationalist," told they're "ignorant of" or "obviously new to" class analysis, &c. &c.) for the mere mention of race or gender in a leftist context, no matter how obviously grounded in materialist analysis.

Again, "identity politics" is a banner under which some identitarian or essentialist arguments did genuinely occur, and the phrase is still often used to describe tendencies that are legitimately harmful (no one is really arguing with this). And, to be clear, there is a distinction between people who offer legitimate and useful critiques of what they call "identity politics"--by which they mean identitarian deference or identitarian essentialism as they appear in liberal politics--and those who misrepresent the work of specific writers and activists, often black feminists, who used the term "identity politics" (Eric Hobsbawm and Todd Gitlin are sort of low-hanging fruit in this latter category).

The fact that the political landscape is changing such that being a professionally or politically élite member of a given marginalised "identity" group is becoming more possible, and such that it's more profitable (? or at least, possible) to emphasise one's marginalised "identities" when in such a position, means that identitarian reductionism (and criticisms of it using the language of "identity politics") aren't going away any time soon. Personally, I think it's far more specific, accurate, and useful to criticise "identitarian deference" or "identitarian reductionism" or "essentialism" or whatever it is that you actually mean at the time--it saves us from having to distinguish every time whether by "identity politics" we mean attention to how class is lived through race and gender (as the C.R.C. had used it), or a liberal co-optation of the same phrase in the name of multicultural pluralism (the type that e.g. Adolph Reed criticises). But, as with anything else, reading about it just requires sensitivity to discovering how the phrase is being used by a particular writer.

Readings:

Arguments against certain anti-idpol positions:

Robin D. G. Kelley, "Identity Politics and Class Struggle" (I really recommend reading the whole thing)

Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, "Until Black Women Are Free, None of Us Will Be Free"

Mychal Denzel Smith, "What Liberals Get Wrong About Identity Politics"

Out of the Woods, "A Hostile Environment"

Mike Harman, "Identity Crisis: Leftist Anti-Wokeness is Bullshit" (responds to Adolph Reed's critiques of identity politics)

A post from @quoms circa 5 years ago on how anti-idpol arguments often themselves subscribe to idpol

Me (circa 5 years ago) on how (white) leftists use criticism of identity politics as an acceptable way to silence the concerns of people of colour, or to claim that we are uniquely ill-suited to analysing and articulating our own condition

Arguments against identitarian deference (though throughout the body of my text I kind of assumed we were up to speed on this):

Olúfẹ́mi Táíwò, "Being-in-the-Room Privilege: Elite Capture and Epistemic Difference"

"Who is Oakland"

Kenan Malik, "Not All Politics is Identity Politics" (makes the common argument that identity politics started out helpful and even necessary in the '60s, and later devolved such that "contemporary" identity politics, "in practice," are identity reductionist)

Salar Mohandesi, "Identity Crisis" (similarly argues that the C.R.C.'s insights came to be "exploited by those with politics diametrically opposed" to theirs)

Asad Haider, "White Purity" (attacks identitarian deference & the assumption of common viewpoint based on identity, considers "identity politics" to be a form of liberal multiculturalism)