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seungfl0wer · 5 months ago

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Seungmin As Your Boyfriend

Contains Smut 🩷

Did I indulge myself with this? Yes. Could have I written a novel? Yes I stopped myself before it got way too long lol.

-🩵

•Definitely shy when yall first start dating, cute little awkward thing he’d be.

•However after getting close he’s never shutting up now.

•Teasing him about how he went from barely talking or making eye contact.

•To this man who openly flirts with you in public.

•A true menace in disguise.

•Playful teasing all the time.

•But it’s a mutual thing.

•You stutter he’s making fun of you.

•He drops something you’re doing it right back.

•It’s honestly one of those things that makes him love you even more.

•Knowing you two can joke around like this, “you’re an asshole but you’re my asshole.”

•Ya’ll adopting a dog at some point too.

•I don’t make the rules.

•You gotta buy a puppy for your puppy right?

•He loves having you lying in his chest so he can sing to you.

•All cuddled up just listing to his beautiful voice.

•He gets so blushy when you compliment his voice too

•Oh god does he. He’ll try and hide his face but you can see it creep to his ears too.

•And if he’s lying on your lap?

•Play with his hair.

•Please. Just do it. This might be his favorite thing in the world.

•Just lying with you, as you play with his fluffy hair.

•This is his happy place, the place where all his stress disappears.

•He’s honestly just so soft for you.

•He’s so attentive and reads you really well.

•He can tell if you’re having a bad day even before telling him.

•He’ll grab your favorite things to make you feel better.

•He remembers a lot of things you’ve said.

•I feel like he’s that kinda guy that just remembers all the little details about what you like or have told him.

•He’ll stare with those big puppy dog eyes full of love.

•He’s honestly very enamored by you.

•How can someone be so perfect?

•Not to mention how can someone so perfect be his?

•Of course he’ll never admit this.

•Not saying he doesn’t do his share of mushy things.

•But he’s seungmin, he has to end the sweet convos with a dumb comment like “cause I’m the perfect boyfriend duh”

•Likes calm dates.

•Like going for coffee or to book stores.

•Will make forts in the living room to watch movies.

•I feel like he’s also one of those people who sends you flowers while you’re at work.

•Likes to write cute notes on them to get you all blushy at work.

•Probably has you in his phone as something like “My Dummy” or something like that.

•In such a loving way though.

•Also probably has the dumbest nicknames for you.

•His nicknames range from something cute like “puppy” to “my little dumpster fire”

•Hand holding always.

•Will pout when you let go “so what if our hands are sweaty”

•Loves PDA when it makes you all blushy.

•He’ll also do the whole “kiss you to shut you up”

•He really enjoys your kisses.

•Also will never admit how much it melts his heart seeing you in his hoodies.

•He’ll snap cute pictures of you in them.

•Has so many ugly photos of you in a locked folder so you can’t delete him.

•So he can “use them for black mail”

•He’s just a kind soul who’s a little rough around the edges but you are too.

•He’ll always make you feel loved and cared for. You’ll also always know what he says is his true feelings.

•He never sugar coats things and is always honest with you.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•This little ass is such a tease.

•Will put his hand on your thigh slowly sliding it up.

•He’ll pull you to his lap, gripping your hips as he pushes himself against you.

•Would definitely send you dirty texts in public to see you get all red.

•Whatever mood he’s in you’re getting a different person in bed.

•Some days he’s more aggressive than others.

•Pushing you up against the wall leaving hickeys all over your neck.

•His hand wrapped around your throat as he teases your sensitiveness.

•When he’s fucking you like this he’s like a dog in heat.

•Multiple rounds until you’re both spent.

•He’d love when you’d scratch his back so deep or bite his shoulder.

•Just a way to show others how good he fucks you.

•He’d definitely be doing the biting back, pulling your hair and spanking you.

•On the other hand he has those lazy days were it’s the most loving sex of your life

•It’s so sensual laying in bed while he’s whispering how much he loves you as he’s thrusting slowly into you.

•Touching your sensitiveness lazily. Just savoring every moment.

•I feel like he’d be a small bit possessive of you.

•So he’d probably say stuff like “You’re all mine” “No one else can make you feel this way”

•He’s more of a talking when it’s rough but the moans and groans he lets out.

•Especially when he’s just lost in you they’re just- beautiful?

•A horn dog honestly.

•Constantly just wants you.

•He’s so damn needy when he’s on tour too.

•Whines about how he needs you cause his hand doesn’t help.

•Aftercare is normally more quiet as he just holds you close kissing you softly.

•Rubbing your body as you both catch your breath.

•A small “you ok?” He’d say and if it’s a yes he just pulls you closer to him.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

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notquitecanon · 1 year ago

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Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

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shikai-the-storyteller · 2 years ago

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Who is Vegetta?

Had to wait until my hands stopped shaking for this one, I love Vegetta so much. He was recently — miraculously — announced for the QSMP, so here's a rundown for English fans of both who he is and his lore.

Vegetta777 is a Spanish Youtuber who is one of, if not THE biggest pillar of the Spanish community. He's been doing content for over 15 years now.

He's the creator of the Karmaland series, which he started when he was around Quackity's age.

I cannot emphasize enough: Vegetta doesn't do series or events or tournaments EVER, so him accepting the invitation is a huge deal. This was his exact commentary on it:

Vegetta: Quackity me invitó hace tiempo y le dije que no suelo entrar a series que yo puedo controlar, pero le he dado ese voto de confianza, además le pregunté como sería la serie porque no quería nada competitivo y quackity me dijo que no me preocupara por nada. [...] Si yo confíe en quackity y él confío en mi para Karmaland pues yo le doy ese voto de confianza para esta serie que está haciendo y además se le veía emocionado al chaval, si te soy sincero, Quackity el hijo de Rubius de cierto modo Translation: Quackity invited me a while ago and I told him that I don't usually enter series that I can't control, but I have given him that vote of confidence, I also asked him how the series would be because I didn't want anything competitive, and Quackity told me not to worry about anything (does this confirm QSMP is an RP server? 🤔) [...] If I trust Quackity and he trusts me for Karmaland, well, I give him that vote of confidence for this series he's doing. And also the boy looked excited, if I'm honest, Quackity's the son of Rubius in a certain way. (🥺💕)

Vegetta is very fond of Quackity after interacting with him in Karmaland 5, and he's spoken multiple times about how much Quackity's impressed him. He also said Quackity will be bigger than him someday :') He's very supportive of the new generation, and he spoke highly of Spreen today too.

Vegetta is one of the most talented Minecraft builders out there, and he's fast

While most of the other Karmaland boys were still living in basic houses, Vegetta built a CASTLE within a super short time

Vegetta loves cats. In Karmaland he had an entire cat rescue with 50+ cats (and yes, he’s named every single one of them). IRL, he shares lots of adorable cat photos and videos.

His skin, like his name, is based on the Dragon Ball character Vegeta. Vegetta777 is basically the yassified version of Vegeta (just like Phil is the yassified version of Uruhara).

In Karmaland 5, Vegetta was a bit of a wizard, and he had a flock of crows / ravens (remind you of anyone?)

Vegetta is sometimes called "the father of Minecraft", so many people (myself included) are ESPECIALLY excited to see him and Phil interact because they have a lot of similarities.

Vegetta is one of the heroes of Karmaland and the unofficial leader of their group. In terms of lore, he's essentially a demigod / minor god, though it's not as direct as Sapo Peta's contact with them.

Vegetta is typically a staunch rule-follower, however, since he's not in control of the series, he said: "I feel like Rubius: 'Let's see what I can do to destroy everything, let's look for all the legal loopholes,' get ready Quackity, I'm the new Rubius!" (LMAO)

Vegetta’s the king of “stay in your own lane” he never gets into drama or gets involved in controversies, he just watches the dumpster fires from the sidelines like the rest of us

He almost never wears a shirt in the series (and honestly? Good for him)

His character is also, canonically, absolutely shredded

It's impossible to talk about Vegetta's lore without also talking about Rubius, so buckle in because this one's a doozy. I can't cover everything without this post becoming longer than it already is, but I'll do my best to summarize what I can:

Starting with Karmaland 4 and continuing into Karmaland 5 and beyond, Rubius and Vegetta have created the world's most torturous slow-burn telenovela-esque love story.

Rubegetta (Rubius x Vegetta) is the most popular Karmaland ship that, to some extent, has become an inside joke between the boys and the community. I'll elaborate on this more in Rubius' post.

To simplify years and years of lore and drama, Rubius and Vegetta love each other, but they are incapable of being in an actual relationship. I've talked about it in depth before, but Vegetta said it best in this metaphor-filled exchange with Sapo Peta and Willy: Sapo Peta: I wanted to ask you about your relationship with that Rubius guy. Vegetta: Oh, yes well Rubius likes to be with me a lot, but at the same time he likes to snack everywhere, and he never finishes eating the morcilla (blood sausage). Sapo Peta: So he rejects you? Vegetta: It's not that he rejects me, it's that it doesn't finish clearing up, you know? We could say that our relationship is like a hamburger. WiIIy: You prepare it and he doesn't eat it. Vegetta: Exactly, he doesn't finish you know?

Or, as another person phrased it:

The fault doesn't just lie with Rubius however; Vegetta himself can be pretty oblivious.

In Karmaland 4, despite the fact Rubius and Vegetta had a kid together and got married, it still didn't resolve anything. As soon as the vows were said and they were married, Rubius revealed it was all just a ploy to get Vegetta's diamonds and immediately asked for a divorce.

You can watch a translated animation of the entire wedding here.

In Karmaland 5, after deciding he'd had enough of Rubius' BS, Vegetta decided to marry someone else (Lolito), but Rubius burst in at the last moment to stop the wedding. We all thought he'd finally confess his love and stop being so emotionally constipated, but instead he proposed to Lolito solely so Vegetta would remain single. (They're a mess, what can I say)

To quote a meme shared by another Spanish fan, Vegetta's reaction to that was basically: “You don’t want me to be with you, and you don’t want me to be with someone else. How miserable do I have to be for you to be happy?”

I do want to emphasize that even though Rubius and Vegetta sometimes have relationship issues / communication issues, it doesn’t diminish their friendship in the slightest. Even after both wedding disasters, they were back to speaking to each other the next week, being flirty and laughing together. Yes, they have issues, but their love for each other remains – despite everything.

(I should also note here that, even while engaged to Lolito, Vegetta was still flirty with Rubius).

Vegetta is very close friends with Luzu, who supported him during the fallout from both failed marriages.

In Karmaland 4, Rubius and Vegetta had a son named Brayan Dobluque (a mix of both their names).

There's too much Rubegetta lore for me to cover everything, but Glay has a massive thread of translated Rubegetta clips I highly recommend watching if you'd like more context.

One clip I recommend is the Meteor date, which is one of the few instances where Rubius is honest vis-à-vis his emotions with Vegetta.

As a whole, their friendship / relationship is a romcom novela for sure, but sometimes they'll catch you off-guard with some romantic BS that'll make your heart ache. They really do love each other; they just don't know how to commit.

Vegetta is bi! (Both real life Vegetta and character Vegetta). Pretty much every single character in Karmaland is on the ‘ol rainbow spectrum somewhere.

Lore aside, I feel like Vegetta, and pretty much all the Karmaland boys in general, have the least machismo (toxic masculinity) I've ever seen. They're all genuinely sweet guys who aren't afraid to be flirty and play gay characters in their queer little telenovela Minecraft series. (With the exception of Willy, who we like to joke is the "token straight friend"). Vegetta's a cool guy, and he's a great addition to the QSMP. I'm excited for you all to meet him!

Other info posts:

Who is Sapo Peta? | Who is Luzu? | Who is Spreen?

#Karmaland #Vegetta #Vegetta777 #QSMP #Quackity #IM SO EXCITED FOR VEGETTA AND PHIL TO MEET AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #I actually don't think Vegetta knows English but I don't even care. Phil barely knows spanish but I still want them to interact #even if they silently build something together That Will Be Enough #also I know I've been real heavy on the text posts lately I don't normally make this many text posts #it feels nice to talk about stuff though it's been a long long time since I've felt this motivated #and happy #QSMP info

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ssspideysense · 7 months ago

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˚⋆｡˚ ❀ little white stick

summary: peter finds something in your trash can.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, established relationship, unplanned pregnancy

wc: 1.8k

He’d never been more intimidated by a piece of plastic.

Peter flipped the white stick in his hand over, and over, and over again. His head was swimming, even after he ripped his mask off to get a better look. A sense of desperation fluttered in his chest. He held the end of the stick and shook it, but this was no magic 8-ball— the message in the window stayed the same, staring back at him.

Pregnant.

He should’ve minded his own business. Probably should’ve pissed behind a dumpster somewhere instead of slipping through your window for his little pit stop, too. And he really should’ve pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize those were your keys jangling at the front door.

Peter flinched in the abrasive bathroom light once he heard you shut the door behind you. The test leapt from his gloved hands and clattered on the tile, now essentially a live stick of dynamite, spitting sparks that lit a fire under his feet.

He heard you pause in the breezeway, your tired and shuffling footsteps falling silent like he tried to be. He bent to scoop up the stick quickly, shoving it back into the little trash can where he found it.

Peter jumped upright again and smacked his head on the underside of the sink with a loud THUNK.

He stumbled back— his foot tipped the can over — he grabbed the towel bar for balance but ripped it right out of the wall instead.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, holding the metal bar in one hand while he scrambled for the pregnancy test kicked beside the toilet.

“Hello? I—I have a gun,” you called out cautiously from down the hall after his chaotic symphony of crashes. You’d always been a terrible liar, really, but he couldn’t blame you for trying.

Groaning, Peter held the loose fixture in one hand, and the test in the other.

He was panicking. But he couldn’t leave you to panic, thinking there was some intruder creeping around your apartment. Swiftly, he shoved the stick underneath his mask on the bathroom counter and yanked the door open.

“Baby, it’s me—“ he paused, looking at you standing there, poised to strike with your elementary spelling bee trophy gripped like a bat in both hands, “—nice form, by the way. Look at those legs.”

And you deflated upon seeing him, letting your arms fall to your sides. “Christ, Pete. A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Were you about to hit me with that?”

“Is that my towel rack?”

You stared at each other for a moment before chuckling quietly in tandem. Both of your hearts raced to their own erratic rhythms in the dark hallway— but for completely different reasons. Peter examined the metal bar in his hand before laying it next to the sink. “I can fix it, I promise.”

“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Parker,” you mused with a heavy sigh.

Peter waited until you turned on your heel before snatching up his mask and the little bomb underneath it. He trailed behind you with a forced air of nonchalance. “Oh, c’mon. I’m a real handy guy to have around. I fix towel racks, open jars, uh… water your plants,” he said, eyeing the droopy flowers on your kitchen windowsill. “Alright, there are better examples, but I whacked my head pretty hard in there, so you’ll just have to use your imagination for now.”

You offered a little huff of a laugh over your shoulder and slipped your shoes off by the front door. “Doing what?”

“Huh?”

The doe-eyed bewilderment on his face made you smile once your gaze met his. “In the bathroom. How’d you whack your head?” You asked.

His grip tightened on his mask. That nervous, almost boyish grin of his paired so well with his airy chuckle. “Uh, y’know. I saw a… bug. On the floor. Pretty gnarly stuff,” he cleared his throat and leaned himself against the kitchen archway with arms crossed over his chest.

You shot him an amused grin as you breezed past him, flicking on the lights. He’d looked a bit ruffled in the dark. Now, in the warm kitchen glow, you could see the nerves ticking away behind his eyes.

“A bug, hm?” You peered at him from the fridge. “Well, thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Must’ve scared you pretty bad.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “well, y’know, not that bad. I mean, yeah, I was pretty startled at first. Pretty, uh… surprised, since I know we’re— you’re really… careful about stuff like that,” he cleared his throat again.

You pulled a water bottle from the fridge and watched him, pinning him to that spot against the wall with just an arch of your brow. “Careful?”

Peter pretended to be busy reading your whiteboard calendar stuck to the wall. “Yeah. I mean, you’re really responsible, and you take care of yourself and your things. But, y’know, these things happen sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe it could be a good thing, actually.”

Slowly, you cracked open the bottle and took a long sip. Peter switched his focus to a little photo of the both of you on the fridge door. You were kissing his cheek, he was beaming at the camera — he remembered that day, a handful of months ago. He’d taken you to an art museum and said some corny line about how you were the most breathtaking piece in every room. It didn’t matter how cliché it was when you smiled so brightly in response.

Maybe it could be a good thing…

“So… did you kill it?”

“What?”

The water bottle crinkled in your hand. “The bug, Pete.”

Oh, right. The bug.

“Oh— uh, no,” he admitted, and that automatic flash of horror that flickered on his face went just as fast as it came, “you startled me when you came home, so it… got away, probably.”

A small hum left your lips. You turned to pour a little of your water into the wilting flower beds behind the sink. “I thought you could sense me with your… special tingle thing,” you said.

Peter ran his unoccupied hand through his messy hair. “Well, I usually can. I guess I was just really focused, or… something…” he mumbled. Focused… or really fucking floored. Either way, his reflexes were not showroom quality at the moment, he had to admit.

“Right,” you replied, shooting him another pointed look. The way he seemed to squirm and fidget told you everything in that moment. Peter was a terrible liar, really, but you couldn’t blame him for trying. A falling sort of feeling fluttered in your stomach, knowing what he knew as he stood before you.

The clock hanging on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. The fridge hummed. You both stared at each other, saying a lot without saying anything.

He loved you. He knew he did. And he knew you loved him, too. He just didn’t know why you didn’t tell him about this— and, better yet, he had no idea how to bring it up.

Peter’s hands wrung around his mask and the truth bomb inside of it. You sucked in a long breath through your nose.

“Are you pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant.”

You both spoke at the same time yet again. You both felt your hearts drop simultaneously.

But Peter’s shoulders fell and a powerful breath escaped him, like releasing a heavy weight. He shifted to lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge of it for balance.

“I came in to use your bathroom really quick and while I was peeing I glanced down and saw— saw this—“ he pulled the stick out from his mask, holding it in the air like some magical item as he rambled, “—and I thought it was fake at first, like, some weird prank, but it looks really real— at least I think it does, I haven’t really seen a whole lot of them in person— but then I realized that’d be a weird prank and you weren’t even home and then you came home and I panicked and—“

“And you ripped my towel rack off,” you cut in.

“And I accidentally grabbed your towel rack, and you tried to assault me with a trophy—“

“I thought you were some weirdo waiting to kidnap me!”

“You need to work on your big girl voice, by the way. They’re supposed to actually believe you have a gun.”

Your unamused glare was betrayed by the hint of a smile on your lips. It was gone with a slight shake of your head, though, brought back to the situation at hand. “You snooped through my stuff?”

Peter paused. “I didn’t… I didn’t snoop . I wasn’t looking for anything. I just saw it,” he said, “it was in the trash.” He watched you avert your gaze and gently wrap your arms around yourself, just a few feet away from him in your quiet kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for this to feel like some sort of confrontation. He had a million questions, and a million emotions, but even in his slight panic and shock Peter could recognize this was strange and difficult for you, as well. “When… when did you take this?”

His voice was softer now, and it almost made everything worse. You sighed, fingers smoothing over your own arms in a self-soothing motion. “The other night,” you replied quietly.

“Okay,” he swallowed, trying to think. Be empathetic, Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clearly stressed, your head rolled back in slight exasperation and a light groan escaped you. “I was going to. I just— do you know how daunting that is? I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

The smallest quiver in your words broke his heart.

Peter was fast. He moved forward, discarding the things in his hands and shifting them to sit on your hips. “Hey,” he soothed, his thumbs kneading gently into the soft skin just under your shirt. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, baby. I get it. It’s a lot to deal with.”

Your gaze was fixed forward, stuck on the black spider emblem on his chest. Peter let his hands gently glide up your sides, to sit over your shoulder blades. He pulled you into his chest and pressed his mouth to the top of your head.

There was so much to say and Peter’s brain refused to cooperate— he enjoyed holding you, though, sighing softly once he felt you finally lean in.

There was a lot to talk about. A lot to think about. But despite the strange mix of vulnerability and anxiety making your chest tight, Peter’s air of sweetness softened the raw feeling.

Obviously, something like this wasn’t on your radar, at least not right now. The ‘what about our future’ discussion was nerve-wracking enough without this sort of… push. But, unfortunately, you couldn’t just ignore it. The gears were already turning and nearly spitting smoke out of your ears when Peter broke up your whirlwind of thoughts.

“… I’m just saying, PJ is a cute nickname for Peter Junior.”

He felt you smile against his chest.

#peter parker x reader #tasm #peter parker #spiderman

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raineandsky · 2 months ago

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#134

The scene the hero arrives to is nothing to brag about—a dumpster set alight, some of its flaming rubbish fluttering about harmlessly. The superhero sent them here on the basis of a villain, though, so they’re going to figure out who set fire to this thing if it’s the last thing they do.

No one seems to be around. Maybe this is one of those startup villains, the ones who want a taste of the criminal life but are too afraid to plunge in the deep end. An easy catch, the hero thinks. Simply wait for a slip-up and throw the sucker in jail.

The hero approaches the literal dumpster fire with the intention of looking for clues. What they don’t expect is for the criminal to leap out at them. They grapple for the hero with a vicious snarl and the hero reacts instinctively, whipping their arm out to dislodge them before throwing them down to the ground.

The criminal rolls away, making an attempt at what is probably a bound back to their feet and failing. A heartfelt, “ow,” leaks out as they carefully pick themself off the pavement.

They’re young, the hero can see that. Black clothes—something of a homemade villain’s outfit. A child who’s gotten a flare for rebellion and wanted to live a little. The hero was never one for inspirational talks, but if they can stop a villain in the making, they might as well try.

“I get the impression you’ve a taste for the low life,” they start carefully, “but this isn’t the way to go. Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of the villainous lifestyle and it isn’t the a good—”

The hero’s words trail off as the kid looks up at them with a scowl. She nudges long hair out of her face, brushing dirt off the shirt the hero has almost definitely seen before. The superhero sent them out for a villain, not for this. Is this a test? Is the superhero mad?

The hero isn’t good with kids as it is, let alone their boss’s daughter.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” the hero snaps. There’s a villain around—it’s dangerous.”

“Damn right it is.” The kid wipes her nose on her sleeve, putting her fists up like she’s genuinely considering a fight. “Wanna guess who the villain is?”

She tries to rush the hero, and it’s here that they realise, ah, she is considering a fight. They sidestep her swing and, as carefully as an attack will allow, toss her on the ground again.

“Does your dad know you’re doing this?” the hero asks sharply.

“He will soon enough,” she spits.

She moves in for another strike. Where she’s aiming for the hero will never guess, but they bat her hand away easily and push her back. “Stop,” they demand bluntly. “You’re going to hurt yourself or, god forbid, someone else.”

“Isn’t that what being a villain is?” The kid laughs, and the hero hates how much it sounds like her father. “Being evil and ruining everything? I thought I was already good at that!”

She leaps in for another punch. The hero, already distracted, doesn’t dodge in time and her fist smashes into their chest.

The hero doesn’t move. The kid’s start of a victorious laugh dies down and she pulls her hand away.

“I hit you,” she points out coldly. “You’re meant to on the floor or something now.”

“You’re good at being evil and ruining everything?”

The kid’s annoyance gets replaced by what the hero can see from a mile away is carefully crafted indifference. “Sure,” she says shortly. “That’s why I thought maybe I’d fit in better here. And I do.”

The hero stares at her for a moment. She raises her fist, but the hero holds a hand up to her and she miraculously listens.

“I’m sorry,” the hero says, although they’re not sure what they’re apologising for. “I’m not fighting you. Go home.”

“You’re a hero!” the kid cries as the hero starts looking for a way to dampen the fire now devouring the poor dumpster. “Act like it!”

“Go home,” they repeat a little sharper, “and stay there. I’ll speak to your dad.”

“He’s meant to find out about this himself,” she snaps.

The hero finds a fire extinguisher, mysteriously tucked under one of the other dumpsters. The kid is pointedly not looking at them when they pull it out. “Don't you worry. I’m not telling him about this. I think he and I need a little chat, that’s all.”

The kid has nothing to say to that. She stamps her foot and huffs momentarily, and then she’s off, abandoning the hero with the physical and metaphorical fire.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #hey friends uh. youre gonna have to bear with me #i just started my new job (hurray!) but that means i am tired and busy A Lot and cant write as much as i did (sucks)#so! im still here and im still writing and reading. itll just be a lil slower. my humblest apologies #i feel like i say that a lot but goddamn this week. gotten home after 6 and its just dinner then shower then bed. for 5 days of the week #rip my social life or sleep schedule or time to write or

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misahyochaeng · 1 month ago

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“You’re too Sweet for Me”

Jihyo x Fem!Reader

Chapter 5-(?)

tw: angst, jihyo x fem!reader, arguments, ceo au, ceo!jihyo, model!reader.

Other chapters here:

—

You reached out instinctively, your hand searching for warmth—her warmth—but all you found was the cool, empty expanse of the bed beside you. Frowning, you opened one eye, squinting at the faint dent in the mattress. It was still warm, like she’d just left.

With a groan, you threw the blanket off and sat up, rubbing your eyes. Your hair stuck out in every direction, and your shirt was hanging off one shoulder, but you couldn’t care less. The sound of faint clattering from the kitchen caught your attention.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you tiptoed across the cold marble floor, shivering as the chill seeped through your skin. You muttered under your breath about how someone like Jihyo probably had heated floors but didn’t bother to turn them on just to spite you.

When you finally stepped into the kitchen, you paused.

There she was.

Jihyo stood at the counter, her back to you, her posture immaculate as always. Even in her silk robe and a messy bun, she somehow looked effortlessly elegant. She was focused, her slender fingers expertly whisking eggs in a bowl, completely unaware of your presence.

You leaned against the archway, blinking blearily at the scene in front of you. It felt strange, seeing her like this—normal, domestic, almost soft.

Then she turned around.

She jumped slightly, startled by your sudden appearance. Her eyes widened as they scanned over you, her lips parting for a moment before curling into a smirk. “Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Look who finally decided to join the living.”You groaned, your voice rough from sleep. “Spare me the commentary.”

“Hard to, considering…” She gestured vaguely at your state, her smirk growing. “You look like you just rolled out of a dumpster.” Your scowl deepened, though you couldn’t muster the energy to snap back properly. “Do you wake up like this, or is it a skill you practice every day?”

“Just being honest,” she replied, shrugging. You shuffled to the counter, grabbing the nearest mug and pouring yourself coffee. “You’re exhausting,” you muttered, taking a sip.

“And you’re charming,” she shot back with an exaggerated sweetness that made you glare at her over the rim of your mug. Her teasing smile faltered for a second as she looked at you, and something flickered in her eyes—something she quickly buried. Clearing her throat, she turned back to the stove, avoiding your gaze.

“By the way, we have lunch with potential investors today,” she said, her tone businesslike now. You groaned again, leaning heavily against the counter. “Can’t you let me enjoy one moment of peace before throwing me into the fire?”

She glanced at you, raising a brow. “You’ve been sleeping peacefully for hours. Some of us have been up since sunrise.”

“Your problem, Miss Park.” you grumbled, setting the mug down.

Jihyo sighed, clearly holding back a remark, and instead turned off the stove. She plated the eggs with crispy bacon,and slid a dish toward you without a word. You stared at the plate, blinking. “Wait. Did you… make this for me?”

“Don’t make it weird,” she snapped, turning back to grab her coffee. You picked up your fork, poking at the eggs as a reluctant warmth settled in your chest. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to be nice to you today,” you said, your voice softer now. Jihyo snorted. “Like I’d expect that.”

The air between you felt different somehow, but you shook it off, chalking it up to the sleep still fogging your brain. For now, you focused on the food in front of you, ignoring the way Jihyo’s gaze lingered on you just a second too long.

When you re-entered the kitchen, your mood was lighter after cleaning up and putting yourself together. Your hair was brushed, your outfit sharp, a stark contrast to your earlier disheveled state. But the sight in front of you stopped you in your tracks.

Jihyo was standing by the sink, sleeves rolled up, drying off a plate. Behind her stood Sana, her manager, with her arms casually wrapped around Jihyo's waist. Her chin rested on Jihyo’s shoulder, and they were laughing about something you couldn’t quite make out. It was intimate—not in a romantic way, necessarily, but enough to make your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You blinked, the moment feeling almost surreal, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “What’s she doing here?” Both of their heads turned toward you, startled. Sana’s gaze locked onto yours, her expression unreadable. Her smile faltered slightly, and she hesitated before slowly pulling away from Jihyo.

Jihyo set the plate down, wiping her hands with a dish towel as she answered matter-of-factly, “Sana will be with us for the day. She’ll monitor how things go, especially during the meetings, and she’ll tag along for our dates.”

“Dates?” you echoed, voice sharper than intended. Your eyes flicked to Sana, who was now leaning casually against the counter, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place—almost smug, almost competitive. It set your teeth on edge. “Yes, dates,” Jihyo replied with a sigh, clearly annoyed. “We discussed this yesterday. Sana is here to make sure everything looks polished and seamless. She’ll be monitoring us.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Right. Monitoring,” you muttered under your breath, avoiding Sana’s piercing gaze. It felt like she was trying to size you up, like this was some kind of unspoken competition you didn’t even know you’d entered.

Sana didn’t say a word, but the way her lips twitched into a faint, knowing smirk made your chest tighten. You wanted to snap back, but there was no real reason to. So you just nodded stiffly, breaking eye contact as you turned away. “Fine. Whatever.” Grabbing your bag, you walked off without another word, your jaw clenched. The weight in your chest grew heavier as you moved. Something about the way Sana had been with Jihyo—it didn’t sit right with you.

You weren’t sure why it mattered so much, but it did.

The day began with a sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, and as it unfolded, it only worsened. Sana was always there—always touching Jihyo, laughing at something she said, leaning in too close. It made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t understand, but you masked it behind passive-aggressive remarks.

“Don’t you think you’re a little too hands-on for a manager?” you muttered during breakfast as Sana’s hand lingered on Jihyo’s shoulder while she passed her a coffee mug. Jihyo froze mid-sip, her sharp gaze cutting through you. “Y/N,” she warned, tone low and clipped.

Sana only chuckled, seemingly unfazed. “I’ve always been close to Jihyo,” she replied sweetly, though her gaze on you felt anything but innocent. Your lip twitched as you stabbed your fork into your plate. “Right. It shows.”

Jihyo groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we not do this now? It’s way too early.” You raised your hands in mock surrender, but the bitterness lingered in your chest.

Even the dates that were supposed to be private between you and Jihyo felt like a performance. Cameras flashed as the two of you stepped out of the car, her hand firmly clasping yours. For the cameras, always for the cameras.

“Smile,” Jihyo whispered through her teeth, keeping her head tilted toward yours. You forced a tight-lipped grin. “I am smiling,” you muttered back.

At the boutique opening, Jihyo was in her element, charming the industry elite, while you stayed in the background. You tried to blend in, but your eyes kept drifting toward Jihyo—and toward Sana, who hovered near her like a shadow. Sana whispered something that made Jihyo laugh, her hand brushing against Jihyo’s arm.

The pit in your stomach grew deeper.

During lunch, it didn’t get better. The table was intimate, but Sana was seated right beside Jihyo, her presence as intrusive as ever. “So, Y/N,” Sana began, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “How are you adjusting to all this? It must be... intimidating being in Jihyo’s world.”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m managing just fine,” you said with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.“Y/N,” Jihyo interjected, her brows furrowing. “Why do you always have to sound so defensive?”Your patience snapped. “Why do you always have to take her side?”

“I’m not taking sides,” Jihyo replied sharply. “You’re just being difficult.” You opened your mouth to retort, but Sana’s smug expression stopped you. You clamped your lips shut, stabbing at your salad instead.

By the time you reached the office for an afternoon meeting, your frustration was at its peak. Sana was always there, always watching, always smiling that infuriatingly sweet smile. You couldn’t stand it anymore when you saw her brush something imaginary off Jihyo’s blazer.

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood abruptly. “I need some air,” you muttered, storming out before anyone could stop you.

You barely made it into the hallway when Jihyo’s voice rang out. “Y/N!” Her heels clicked against the floor as she hurried after you. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you spun around, your voice trembling with anger. “What’s wrong with you?” Jihyo frowned. “What are you even talking about?”

“Sana!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “She’s always there, always in your space, acting like I don’t even exist.”

“She’s my manager,” Jihyo replied, her tone clipped. “That’s literally her job.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Her job.” Jihyo stepped closer, her voice dropping to something almost pleading. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?” you repeated, your chest tightening. “You know what? Forget it. This was a mistake.”

“Y/N—”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No. I’m done.” Turning on your heel, you stormed off, ignoring Jihyo’s calls for you to come back.

The rain poured down as you left the building, soaking you to the bone. Your hair clung to your face, makeup smudging as you trudged down the street. It was like the universe itself was mocking you.

When your phone buzzed in your pocket, you hesitated before pulling it out. You scrolled through your contacts until you found the one name that felt safe: Momo. “Y/N?” she answered on the second ring, her voice soft with concern.

“Can I—” your voice cracked. “Can I stay over for a bit?” Momo didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

When you arrived at her apartment, drenched and shivering, Momo didn’t ask questions. She wrapped you in a blanket, handed you a warm cup of tea, and sat beside you on the couch. Her presence was steady, grounding, exactly what you needed. You vented—about Jihyo, about Sana, about how lost and confused you felt. Momo listened quietly, her hand resting comfortingly on your back. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fix it. She just let you speak.

When your tears finally subsided, Momo gave you a small, encouraging smile. “You’ll figure it out,” she said softly. “But for now, just rest.”

And for the first time that day, you felt like you might.

#wlw #gxg #twice smut #twice x reader #kpop gg #kpop smut #kpop #smut #lesbian #wlw smut #park jihyo #jihyo x fem reader #jihyo x you #jihyo x reader #jihyo angst #jihyo smut #mini series

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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

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Hey hun, Ive got a horrible chest cold AND im on my period at the same time, so as you can imagine I feel like a dumpster shit fire right now. If its possible could you do a little drabble where Eddie is nursing a sick reader. If not i totally understand I know youve got a lot on your plate atm. Thanks hun, love ya ❤️

happy to drop everything to nurse one of our own back to health 🫡. hope this helps make you feel better!

“I’m dying.” You whined from the mounds of blankets you were surrounded by, with a pathetic sniffle.

“You’re not dying.” Eddie refuted, as he measured out your medicine, pouring the bitter syrupy liquid into the cap you’d have to throw back. He was also trying to hide his grin.

It’s not that Eddie liked it when you were sick, but now that the two of you lived together—in a crappy one bedroom apartment that was the best thing in the world because it was yours—he could nurse you back to health, take care of you. And if you just so happened to be extra cuddly whenever you were sick, that was just a plus.

It was domestic.

Eddie loved living with you, even if you left all the bottom cabinet doors open whenever you retrieved something and he’d bust his knee against them, loved that you were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning and the last thing he glimpsed before falling asleep. Loved brushing his teeth in the mirror with you at his side doing the same thing, loved how he had a five minute window to convince you it was a good idea for the two of you to just stay home together instead of parting to go out into the world. Most of all, he loved being able to look up from whatever he was doing, be it planning out future Hellfire sessions or working on a new song or even catching up on his reading, to see you curled into the loveseat, or in the kitchen, hear you humming as you walked down the hall.

Existing around him.

Co-existing with you was something Eddie wanted to do forever. If this was married life, Eddie would be on his knee the second you felt better.

“I’m dying.” You reaffirmed, scowling when Eddie turned around and you caught sight of the yellow–never a good tasting color for medicine–liquid filled measuring cap in Eddie’s large grasp.

“You’re not dying on me, baby. I refuse to let that happen. Now, take your medicine so we can make sure it doesn’t.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, medicine held out to you.

Gingerly, you grasped it and when he reached for the orange juice on your side table, you switched up, “You know what? You’re right. I’m not dying. I feel better already.”

“Drink the medicine,” Eddie smirked, handing you the glass.

“But it’s Prescription.” Your frown deepened, tongue already assaulted by the idea of what it would taste like. Eddie had taken you to the doctor’s yesterday morning and picked up your prescription after so you’d had the pleasure of taking it three times already.

It was a nasty son of bitch.

“Which means you’ll get better faster. Drink.”

You gave him one last glare before downing the medicine like a shot. Your face contorted in disgust and Eddie chuckled as you hurried to take a drink of your orange juice to wash the taste away.

“That’s poison.” You croaked, handing Eddie the juice and empty medicine cup before settling back into your pillows with a pout just as an onslaught of coughs hit you, sending you into a fit you muffled against your inner elbow.

Eddie could hear your chest rattle with them and placed your medicine cup and glass down on the bedside table so he could rub your back.

Once your coughing fit had subsided, you took a couple of shaky breaths before glaring up at him again, “It didn’t work.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and nudged you over, much to your surprise. The bed was littered with your used tissues, some having been coughed into and others containing your snot. Not exactly the place to want to be.

“My poor, sweet, gross baby.” He cooed as he settled in behind you, pulling you right into his chest.

You ignored the gross comment and protested even though you were curling right into him, nose nuzzling against his hoodie covered collar bone, eager for his warmth. Of course you’d gotten sick just as winter settled.

“Eddie! You’re gonna get sick.” A pitiful argument considering you were already settled on him like a cat having found their new lounging spot.

“Oh, I know I am. Who cares? I slept next to you last night and woke up to a hill of your snotty tissues in my face so it’s already in my system. No use in denying myself the love of my life.” You felt his hand drift lower until he was patting your ass cheek. He wasn’t trying to start anything, it was just one of Eddie’s many love gestures. When he’d ask if he could squeeze your ass like it was some sort of stress ball to comfort him—that’s when he was going for it.

“It wouldn’t be in your system if you hadn’t insisted on still sleeping with me last night.” You reminded him and felt him shrug under you in response. You peaked up at him to see him relaxed, one arm propping his head up with the other holding you to him. His eyes were shut and a look of utter content was on his face. It was almost like he’d been the one to take the codeine.

“We didn’t move in together so I can avoid you, this is just some more experience for us. You deal with my morning breath, I deal with having our bed covered in germs when you’re sick.” His hand began to stroke up and down your back and your eyes fluttered shut, the codeine making quick work of your system.

“Why am I the one suffering in both of those scenarios?” You slurred out.

Eddie shook with laughter underneath you, “Shut up and go to sleep. I’ll make you some soup when you wake up, you jerk.”

You did fall asleep. And when you woke up, Eddie insisted on carrying you—because a chest cold apparently meant you couldn’t walk yourself anywhere—to the living room where you watched some television while he did his best to follow a recipe your mother had given him for a homemade soup she’d make whenever you were sick.

And three days later, when you’d made a full recovery, Eddie developed a rattling cough. The ring he’d hidden in a pair of his shoes would just have to wait until you nursed him back to health.

#eddie munson x reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson blurb

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traffic-was-a-b1tch · 8 months ago

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anthem of the heart

(jake kiszka x reader) 18+

summary: you and your best friend move into a new apartment after college, wanting a fresh start in nashville. however, you come to find that your neighbors are musicians. very loud musicians who like to keep you up at night. especially one, who likes to bother you on purpose. you would hate him… if he wasn’t so hot.

warnings for overall series: eventual SMUT!!!, angst, mentions of past abuse (not jake), abuse (not jake), mentions of past sexual assault (not jake), sexual assault (not jake), enemies to lovers, cursing, let me know if I missed any. (i’m still making this series up as I go along so it might change)

warnings for this chapter: bitchy jake (iykyk), slight arguing, let me know if I missed any.

author’s note: heyyy guys! this is my first ever series! i’m super excited to write it and I think its gonna be a fun one lolz. please feel free to give me feedback, requests, comments, etc. enjoy!!!!

• • •

Chapter One:

your pulse beat rapidly. you couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.

you put the last of the moving boxes on the couch and looked at kaylee. your smiles radiated as you took in your new place. the two bedroom, one bath apartment stared back at you.

the walls were painfully white and bare, but the dark blue couch added much needed color to the middle of the living room.

“it’s not much to look at right now”, she started, “but I think we can work with it.”

“let’s hope”, you laughed.

of course you both could work with it. y’all could turn a dumpster fire into a trendy café. you distinctly remembered that your dorm was in a similar condition y’all’s freshman year of college. and let’s just say you had to fix a few nail holes and tear off so much wallpaper when y’all moved out.

“I got it!”, kaylee gasped, “dark blue and white chevron!”

“chevron? are we in 2014?”, you gave her a look.

“oh please, you know I know best. here”, she positioned you to where she was standing by your shoulders, “look now.”

after a few head tilts, you hated to admit it but, you were starting to see her vision.

“hmmm ok fine. but the couch would have to go there”, you pointed, “and the lamp there against the wall.”

she gave your shoulders a squeeze and rested her head in the crook of your neck, “awe you finally trust my artistic eye.”

you shrugged her off with a laugh.

“you know things will be better, right? he’s not here to bother you, and you get a nice fresh start.”, she added hesitantly.

right. one of the main reasons you left your home state after college, your ex. you tried to push him out of your mind, nodding at kaylee.

you tried to focus on the room before you. your mind was starting to race with ideas and approaches, and the place was slowly piecing itself together.

the rising excitement was going to keep you up all night.

or so you thought.

you would have a different enemy tonight.

after hours of planning with kaylee, you finally started to get tired. the long hours of the day suddenly hit you and all you could think about was your mattress. it was on the floor as of now, but it never looked more comfortable.

after doing your skincare, getting in pjs, and brushing your teeth and hair, you laid down on the bare mattress. your eyes were slowly drooping as you started to slip into sleep.

just then you were startled awake with the sound of a guitar.

what in the world?

you waited for a second, thinking it was just your mind playing tricks. then, a second strum of an electric guitar echoed through the wall.

it was followed by a riff, cool and sharp, ripping through the quiet night. then came drums, pounding a dull beat that the guitar followed.

the music was good, great even, but it was too late for it.

you sat up, annoyed and tired, and looked over at kaylee, who had woken up from the same sounds.

“ugh. your first roommate duty.”, she grunted, pointing at the wall the music was coming from.

“no way, kaylee. are you kidding?”

she pointed again at the wall, strictly.

you rolled your eyes, standing up to stretch.

“ooohhh mama”, a man’s raspy voice came in with the music.

you cursed as you walked out into the hallway, not wanting the confrontation but needing sleep. the neighbor’s door reverberated with the vibration of music, making it obvious where the musicians were stationed.

you sighed and knocked at the door.

no response. just music.

“la di da di da oooohhh”, the singer’s voice was clear and distinct, mocking the guitar’s strums.

you knocked louder, growing frustrated.

suddenly, a voice interrupted the flowing sound and one by one the instruments stopped. the music ceased, and you could hear footsteps growing closer.

the door opened slightly, giving you a view of half a man’s face. his dark brown eyes sweeped you up and down, and you abruptly became aware that you were at their door in a big t-shirt and sleep shorts. a little embarrassed, you crossed your arms in front of you.

“can I help you?”, he asked, annoyance dripped from his husky voice.

“um- hi. sorry, me and my best friend just moved in next door.”, you pointed to your door.

his neck craned to see, opening the door a little more. you took in his appearance. the brown hair draped over his shoulders, reaching his upper back, was flowy and dark. he had on a black button up only buttoned to the middle of his torso, exposing his tan chest.

damn. he was attractive.

your eyes traveled further down, spotting an electric guitar hanging on him.

so this was the guitarist.

he looked back at you expectingly, waiting for an explanation.

“anyway, we were just going to come ask if y’all could quiet down just a little bit. it late and we have long days tomorrow and we would just really appreciate it.” you smiled sweetly, sort of wishing he found you attractive the way you found him attractive.

he raised his eyebrows, looked you up and down again, and turned to face some other men in the room. you could only see their heads, but you saw three men standing around instruments in the cramped apartment.

“what do ya say, boys? should we keep it down?”, he murmured, his voice mysterious and yet sweet. the other men laughed half-heartedly from inside, causing the man at the door to chuckle.

he looked back at you.

“look, sweetie. we are a professional band and we need our practice. now, we only can get together at night. so, what do you suppose we do, hm? stop our productive, important practice for you and your little friend to get beauty sleep? I don’t think so. we haven’t gotten any complaints yet, so I think that you just need to go back to your apartment and invest in some earplugs if it bothers you that much.”

you were taken aback, mouth slightly open in shock. you’d have never guessed such rude words would fall out of his beautiful mouth. he looked like a dream, but acted like a nightmare.

“well”, you started, unsure of how to respond, “I guess i’ll be the first to complain.” you lifted your chin up defiantly, not letting him see how much he disappointed you by being rude.

his eyebrows dropped, his face forming a deep glare.

“now then, let’s not be rude here.” he was testing you, seeing how confrontational you would get.

“yes”, you smiled sarcastically, “let’s not. so, practice is cancelled tonight?” you looked behind the man and into the room to see three slightly shocked faces.

one of them, with a seafoam green bass in his hand, broke out into a smile, “well i’m free tomorrow at noon.”

“shut up, sam.”, the man at the door barked, looking back at him.

“oh, give it a rest, jake. you know we can postpone and be fine.”, sam added.

oh, jake was the man at the door.

“yes, jake”, you cooed, “let’s postpone, hm?”

his eyes found yours, surprised and slightly impressed at your tone. his hard mouth slowly let up.

he scoffed, “you playing with fire, baby. be careful.”

your eyebrows raised, testing him to try you. you backed away, eyes never leaving his, and walked the four feet to your door.

the last thing you saw was a glimpse of his eyes following you into your apartment.

the intensity of the encounter haunted you, playing back in your head over and over. you leaned your head back onto the door, waiting for the music to resume. waiting to see if he had the gall to keep playing. still after a minute or two, there was nothing but silence. you sighed, sluggishly walking back to your bed.

then you collapsed, sleep slowly enveloping you into its warm arms.

good, that’s the end of that, you thought.

until you woke up at 3 am, to the sound of a guitar riff.

• • •

eeeeeeeekkkk!!! so excited to start a seriessss. (also please excuse my use of y’all. i’m from the south and it just comes naturally lmao). PLEASE let me know what you would like me to write next, give suggestions, feedback, anything!

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka #daniel wagner #jake gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #danny gvf #gvf smut #gvf fic

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gunnrblze · 7 months ago

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Roommate!Hesh

Hello friends. This is my first actual lil piece of writing I’m posting (in this fandom, on this account lol). I’m debating turning it into a full fledged fic, so if you’re intrigued by that I’d love to know! Not to abase myself or anything, but my writing is quite mid lmfao, I just enjoy my silly thoughts n ideas so here you go :)

•1k+ words, SFW, could possibly be read as some slight stalker-ish behavior if you squint, but nothing actually dark like that! The man is just down bad :(

You weren’t exactly sold on living with a stranger yet. Especially not some army guy, but you had little choice.

Desperately needing a roommate after moving to Santa Monica, a friend mentioning a friend of theirs who has a brother. A brother who happens to be looking for a roommate too.

You trusted your friends judgement enough to pursue the recommendation. Figuring that living with a special forces soldier could either be pleasantly uneventful, or a dumpster fire, based on what you knew of the type.

But David, or Hesh as everyone reportedly calls him, was decent. Clean, respectful, kind when he toured you around the apartment. The near boyish charm that laced itself between his heavy presence may have caught your attention.

But a fling, especially with a new roommate, was not what you needed.

Your room was smaller than his, but having gotten to the apartment second to him, you understood first come first served. You just enjoyed the in-unit washer and dryer and stainless steel appliances, if you were being honest.

The apprehension you had, the hang ups of starting a new chapter, moving in with someone you only just met through a friend of a friend, started to dissipate sooner than anticipated. Instead filled in by a dull surprise.

Hesh worked pretty often, but even when he wasn’t around, it’s as if he were still there.

His section of chores always finished, some of yours even started or done completely for you. You asked him about it after divvying up the household responsibilities, making sure you weren’t confused.

But he insisted it was “no biggie”, he’d just found himself taking the trash out on his way to work. Tidying the kitchen up after he got home in the middle of the night and cooked himself an impossibly late dinner.

Said dinner he left in the fridge the next morning, a sticky note on top explaining that you should finish it up so it doesn’t go bad.

Leftovers usually kept for days though, didn’t they?

His boots by the front door, the smell of his aftershave somehow lingering everywhere throughout the apartment, his hat left in the bathroom and the goddamned coasters that he insisted be used around the living room.

When he wasn’t there, it felt like he was. A ghost permeating the walls. His broad frame, tall and wide, voice deep, green eyes that somehow always landed on you when he was near. They weren’t quite unsettling eyes, they were penetrating. As if he could see what lie inside you, too.

But when he was there, it felt almost arresting. Interrupting. You barely knew him, only lived with him for a few weeks.

But you weren’t sure whether you could tell if it even felt that way anymore.

Anything he bought, you were free to use or eat. Was he just that nice? Your old roommates wouldn’t let you touch their things with a 10 foot pole. But what was his seemed to be yours in a way, too.

You chalked it up to him being an eldest child. But you weren’t merely being treated like a younger sibling.

Your Netflix subscription ended and you didnt want to spend the money to renew it, but it didn’t matter because Hesh had Netflix too. Which meant you had it.

Hesh had every kind of household tool one could need in his toolbox, which meant that you had them now too.

Except you couldn’t use them. Because he’d fix whatever you needed. Hang up any picture frame of yours on your wall as you started to decorate your space. And you merely let him, somehow unable to insist that you could indeed, handle it.

It was only natural when he’d asked if you wanted breakfast one morning, explaining that he made too much food. Too much of your favorite food. Or when he not so subtly watched how you made your tea, filing it away in his brain so he could bring you a cup one day when you were sick in bed.

And then some cough drops. And soup. And cold medicine.

Maybe you felt a bit like a guest at a bed and breakfast, or maybe he was just raised decently.

When the washing machine broke, he took a look at it before you could even bring it up to him, was he listening to you in the laundry room? Hard to say. Fixed it so you could do your loads of laundry.

But not before letting you borrow a t-shirt of his, since all your clothes were dirty, of course. You’d obviously have to wash the one you had on, too.

You thought you were surely screwed when your car broke down outside of work one day. But when you texted Hesh and asked if he knew of a good mechanic. he was, naturally, already in the area just running errands.

So he took a look at your car while you stood to the side and watched. Making a point not to watch his biceps flex around the ring of his t-shirt sleeve, or the way he brushed the sweat off his forehead.

Surely you were paying attention to his explanation of the drive belt in your car being too wore out, and not the way his fatigues stretched over the meat of his thighs.

Why was he in his work uniform if he was just running errands? You didn’t think about it very much.

Your job had been stressing you so much, and it appeared something like second nature for him to wrap you into a hug, rubbing his hand up and down your back, murmuring things that seemed too dulcet for a roommate of hardly even a month to soothe you with. Even though it helped.

He was always there, his magnetism suffocating. But not in the way that two hands might feel around your neck. But in the way the sunshine feels beating down on you. The way you feel tipsy before feeling fully drunk, charged but blissful.

Pleasantly inescapable.

You didn’t really stop to fully question his comforts though, not when he made you a cup of tea and put a movie on in the living room, sitting a bit too close to you.

Not that you minded of course, considering you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

And what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t pick you up and tote you off to your bedroom? He knew you were half awake, and you knew he knew, but it didn’t matter.

With one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your back, your face that didn’t need to be pressed to his chest, it just didn’t matter.

Because what kind of roommate would he be if he didn’t lay you in your bed and cover you up, setting your alarms on your phone so you’d wake up the following morning?

How did he know your passcode? How did he know exactly what alarms you set?

It didn’t really matter to you after he kissed your head goodnight.

#david hesh walker #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #call of duty #cod #hesh walker #cod hesh #hesh hivemind🍯#cod fic #hesh walker x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty ghosts fic #gunnrblze writes #gunnrblze rambles

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