#hello i love the garbage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingkaisen · 4 months ago

Note

hello. just recently started reading your dad!gojo fics and i am obsessed with them. i saw you mention taking requests for it, so i thought i would send something in. feel free to change any details.

i would like to request a scenario about megumi finally feeling maternal love. i noticed he's always afraid y/n and gojo will change their minds about adopting him and he always compares himself to yuji.

could i request some bonding time between megumi and the reader? maybe he opens up about his worries and feelings. i was thinking the reader could defend him when someone being rude to him as well, but any direction you go in, i will love. i just really am asking for bonding time between mother and son.

MY SON || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: After you & Satoru adopt Yuji and Megumi, Megumi can’t help but fear that you both will abandon him.

♡ — CONTENT: general angst with comfort, satoru being a great family man, mentions of depression, not eating, very brief mention of wanting to die, & happy ending. you & satoru have a biological child as well.

♡ — WORD COUNT: 4K

♡ — AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic is part of my Dad!Gojo series, but reading the other parts isn’t necessary.

Megumi’s eyes snapped open. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and neck as he was greeted by the darkness of his bedroom.

Another nightmare.

His fourth one this week.

They weren’t about curses or haunting memories of his past battles, not at all. But, what he did dream about was equally as terrifying; his belongings tossed out on the streets in garbage bags.

“We don’t need two adopted teenagers,�� you’d say, glaring at him with utter resentment.

“We have Yuji. He’s the perfect son,” Satoru would add on.

Just like that, he’d return to his old, familiar title of an orphan. Just like that, he’d have to wonder what it felt like to be loved by a mother and father instead of experiencing it himself. Just like that.

He tried to shove the memory of those dreams away because that was all they happened to be. Dreams. A manifestation of his horrid fears. They weren’t real, right? Not some twisted form of foresight?

Megumi rolled over onto his side. The digital clock on his nightstand flickered to 3:47 A.M.

His left pajama pant leg was rolled up to his knee, and the neck of his blue t-shirt was damp with sweat — all signs of a rough slumber, though he had hardly slept at all.

He pulled the messy sheets and comforter over his body, but there was no chance of him falling back asleep. He never did after his nightmares, and it was evident based on the dark circles forming underneath his blue eyes. He’d just lie awake, and let his mind wander . . .

It wasn’t a dream.

It would soon become his reality.

He knew it.

He wasn’t your biological kid like his little sister, Maya. He wasn’t even half as energetic or enthusiastic as Yuji. That boy constantly showered you both with appreciation. Beyond that, Yuji's sudden appearance in your life was the main reason you and Gojo considered adopting Megumi in the first place, despite you both having known Megumi for years prior.

Why did you never consider adopting him before you met Yuji? Why?

It could only mean that his suspicions were correct. You and Gojo didn’t want him. You wanted Yuji and didn’t want to hurt Megumi’s feelings. So, you ended up adopting two teenagers instead of one.

And it was only a matter of time before you and Gojo would get fed up with him.

He should leave first instead of waiting for the day in which you both decide you’re better off without some moody sorcerer bringing the rest of the family down during board game nights and movie marathons.

He’d do it.

He’d pack his bags and leave.

No one would notice.

No one would care.

He was unwanted.

He wasn’t your son.

He was stowaway.

—

It was edging closer to 9:00 A.M., and there was an empty spot at the breakfast nook in the gourmet kitchen.

The table was packed to the brim with servings of toast, meat, eggs, and rice. Satoru took a bite of his egg, watching Maya spread jam on her piece of toasted bread as best as she could, all while Yuji gobbled down his food as if someone was going to snatch it from him.

“Slow down,” you approached, coffee in hand, ruffling your boy’s messy hair.

“Huh?” Yuji paused with a mouth full of food. He swallowed, then said, “Oh, sorry. Everything’s just really great!”

You took a sip of your coffee, frowning upon seeing that Megumi wasn’t at the breakfast nook.

“Did Megumi oversleep?” You locked eyes with Satoru.

“I’m pretty sure he’s awake,” Satoru said, grabbing a napkin before gently wiping strawberry jam off of his adorable daughter’s face. Speaking to the young girl, he mumbled, “careful now, Muffin.”

You took a tentative sip of your warm beverage. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

—

Three gentle knocks sounded from Megumi’s bedroom door.

“Megumi?” You called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”

There was a beat of silence, then, he weakly replied, “Not hungry.”

“Can I come in?”

Megumi sighed, but even so, he said yes, and you entered your son’s room to see him still in bed, curled up underneath his covers, the majority of his body hidden underneath the thick fabric.

“You barely touched your dinner last night,” you said, leaning against the frame of his door. “You’ve barely come out of your room at all. Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

You read enough books about raising teenagers to spot false tales. Even so, you didn’t press him, even when an enormous lump of worry started to form in your throat.

“Alright. Food’s here when you want it.” You grabbed his door handle, closing it slowly, awaiting his response, but one never came.

—

Two hours had passed. This time, when someone knocked on Megumi’s door, it was in the form of a rather silly tune, and that person did not wait for permission to enter. Megumi knew exactly who it was without emerging from underneath his comforter.

“Fushigubro!” Yuji peeled the layers of covers back and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Wanna see if Nobara’s free later? Maybe we can all catch a movie or something.”

Megumi didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the covers Yuji removed, and rehid himself as if the covers served as some sort of protective shield.

“You seem kinda tired,” Yuji tilted his head a bit. “Did you stay up late?”

“Go away, Yuji.”

“Why? You’ve been ducking me all week!” Much like the conversation between you and Megumi earlier, Yuji, too, waited for a response that never came.

With a heavy sigh, he started to leave his brother’s room. “Alright, your loss. Some pretty great stuff is coming out this weekend.” It was one, last, desperate attempt. An attempt that failed. With another sigh, Yuji mumbled, “See you later.”

—

The pitter-patter of small feet could be heard approaching Megumi’s door around noon. For Maya, Megumi at least built up both the patience and energy to turn over onto his side, facing the door as the little girl opened it and ran into his bedroom.

“Meg-mi! Come on, let’s play! Let’s play!”

He gathered all the energy he could muster to say, as kindly as he could, “Not right now.”

“But we always play,” Maya frowned.

“Maybe later.”

“Pleaseee?” She tapped her feet.

“Go away.”

Those words hurt her. Maya was almost five years old, and though she was one of the kindest kids one would ever meet, she was still incredibly sensitive. It was no surprise to see the young girl’s eyes widen with sadness and her bottom lip start to quiver. Megumi, who was the coolest person in the world to her, had never spoken to her in such a way. It hurt.

Her little sniffles grew louder as she left his bedroom.

—

By the time Maya made her way from Megumi’s room to the living room, she was practically drowning in her own tears. Through blurred vision, she sought out the hazy figure sitting on the couch, her arms outstretched.

“What’s wrong, Muffin? C’mere.” Satoru scooped her up, sitting her on his lap. “What happened?”

Hearing the commotion, you stepped into the living room, your eyebrows knitted together in great concern.

“Meg-mi didn’t wanna play,” she sniffled. “He-he said to go away!”

“I’ll play with you, sweetheart. We can play whatever you want until lunch is ready, hm?” Satoru wiped her tears away with the end of his sleeve. “Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Okay,” she spoke with a little mumble. “Does Meg-mi hate me? ‘Cause he’s my brother . . . and brothers aren’t s‘posed to hate you.”

“No, no, he doesn’t hate you. I think he might just be a little sick right now,” Satoru paused. “Sometimes people want a little peace and quiet when they’re not feeling well.”

“And soup.”

“That’s right, and soup,” Satoru gave her a soft smile.

“How about I make you something special for lunch, Maya?” You suddenly caught the young girl’s attention, faking a bright smile with the hopes of cheering her up. “What do you want to eat?”

“I . . . umm . . . uh . . . sandwiches!”

“Sandwiches it is. Mommy’s gonna make you the biggest sandwich ever,” you promised.

“Let’s go play,” Satoru said to Maya.

She hopped off of his lap, running as fast as her tiny feet would carry her to the backdoor, where she and her dad would spend the next hour playing together in the enchanting backyard.

—

Beautiful sandwiches were stuffed to the brim with meat, veggies, and sauces — every sandwich customized to each specific family member’s liking. They were cut in half, resting on plates with apple slices served on the side.

Satoru and Maya would be inside soon to gobble their sandwiches down. Yuji wasn’t home, and would perhaps grab lunch with his friend, so you stored his sandwich away in a Tupperware container, popping it in the fridge for later.

You held on to Megumi’s plate. He had skipped breakfast. He hadn’t left his room all day.

Approaching his bedroom, his lunch in hand, you noted that his door was open. This little fact would have made you smile under ordinary circumstances, but today, it snapped your heart into pieces.

You knew well that Maya never remembered to shut doors. Therefore, it was easy to gather that she left it open earlier when she asked Megumi to play, and if it was still open, then that meant your son couldn’t even find the strength or desire to close it himself.

You stepped into his room as quietly as you could. You eyed the lump underneath the covers, hoping Megumi would emerge, but at best, you were only able to see the very top of his head. Even his black hair wasn’t as spiky today.

The plate clanked against Megumi’s nightstand as you sat it down. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the covers, in sync with his slow breathing, you would have assumed he was dead.

It was motherly instinct that made your hand reach out, wanting to touch his shoulder or pull him in for a hug or even just pat his arm — anything. But you didn’t. You didn’t touch him at all. You only turned around and left, hoping that when you returned, it would be to collect an empty plate that needed to be washed.

—

The afternoon sun had warmed the big family home, casting gentle orange sun rays through the windows with drawn curtains, natural light filtering in.

A half-cold mug of tea sat on the coffee table in your den, right beside a closed novel you grabbed off of the bookshelf to read, but you had no desire to do so right now. Not when you could only think about your son.

It was time to check on him again.

His room, unlike the rest of the house, was dark. Chilly. His blackout curtains left the sunlight no chance of entering his space.

Megumi himself was in a slightly different position than he was when you stepped into his room earlier to give him his sandwich. He was still under the covers, still hidden, breathing slowly, but the shape of him indicated he was curled up into a ball.

The sandwich.

The plate was sitting on his nightstand. Not a piece of the sandwich had been nibbled on, not even a crumb. The untouched apple slices were starting to turn brown around the edges.

“Megumi . . .”

He shifted a bit but didn’t respond. Earlier in the day, he would have at least mumbled something, but now, he no longer bothered with doing that either. It was as if he was worsening by the hour.

You were on the verge of tears. What was wrong with him? What was going on with your boy?

—

Satoru joined you in the living room fifteen minutes later. During that time, you weren’t aware of your own endless pacing until your husband wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, halting your footsteps.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

“I’m really worried about Megumi,” you wasted no time pouring out your grievances, resting the back of your head against your husband’s chest. “He won’t eat. I thought it was my cooking at first, but he won’t take a bite, Satoru. He won’t leave his bed, he’s barely sleeping . . . if he was sick, I think he’d tell us. And it’s not like him to hurt Maya’s feelings.”

“I think he’s depressed. It’s rare when a sorcerer isn’t depressed.”

“None of his latest missions have been too . . . traumatizing,” You turned around in Gojo’s arms, looking up into his eyes. “Why would he suddenly start to act this way now?”

“Sometimes that’s just how it works. All we can do is continue to give these kids the world, and hope that it balances out the shitty job that comes with being a sorcerer,” Satoru planted a kiss on your forehead. “Want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no. “I want to do it. But I have a gut feeling he’s depressed about something else. I just know it.”

The white-haired man cradled your head, guiding it towards his chest. His other arm was still wrapped around your waist, and for a moment, he simply held you.

—

“Megumi?”

You stood at Megumi’s bedside. He didn’t answer at first, but you called his name again; this time, in a more pressing manner.

“Megumi.”

“Hm?” He mumbled. It was so low, that your ears almost didn’t catch it.

“Is it too lame for a teenager to spend a Saturday evening with their mother?” You questioned.

With a slow, exhausted tone, Megumi said, “It’s not personal, Yuji just likes hanging out with Nobara-”

“No, I mean- sorry. You misunderstood me. I’m not asking you about Yuji. I’m asking you if you’d like to spend time with me. Just you and me.”

For a brief moment in time, Megumi didn’t respond, nor did the covers rise and fall with the movements of his body. The teenager was holding his breath.

Suddenly, he pulled the covers down. For the first time in what felt like ages, you could see his face. It both sparked internal fireworks of joy and snapped your heart into pieces. You were happy to finally see him, but the sight of his pale skin, eye bags, and absolute misery glistening within his eyes broke you.

For Megumi, hearing your offer to spend time alone with him was confusing.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I want to have some quality time with you, silly. There’s a new cafe, just opened up down the street. I checked out their menu online and I really think you’d enjoy it,” you smiled at him. “Best black coffee in town, so I’ve heard.”

“Satoru must be busy,” Megumi mumbled, “If you’re asking me to go with you.”

“Satoru is napping with Maya and doing absolutely nothing with his life right now. I could go with him, but I want to go with you.”

It was no understatement to say that Megumi’s mind was often unkind to him. Right now, a thousand different thoughts were flooding in: Was this some sort of tactic to get him out of the house, leave him stranded somewhere, and tell him to never return? Or was it more so a Last Good Day sort of method, where you’d give him special treatment to lessen the incoming blow: hey kid, we don’t want you around anymore.

What if this was something else entirely?

What if this determined whether you’d love him as a son?

If he said no, if he continued to sulk in bed, would that make you despise him? Send him back to the unwelcoming school grounds run by, as Satoru called them, “conservative fools?” Reduce him to nothing more than an orphan once again?

But, maybe, just maybe, if he said yes . . . if he said yes, he could prevent that from happening. Maybe.

—

“Isn’t this nice?”

The quaint cafe was so new, Megumi could still smell the fresh paint, though it was faint. Beige and brown tones were broken up with green plants placed nearest the entrance, and the late afternoon sun only made the atmosphere that much more cozy.

Megumi stared down at the hot black coffee in his mug. “Did you really want to spend time with me, or did you just make that up?”

Your eyes snapped away from the menu in your hand. “Of course I want to spend time with you. Why are you having such a hard time believing that?” You wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but noting how he wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection, you sought against it. “Megumi, what’s going on? Please talk to me. I’m trying to hide how worried I am, but I-”

“Well, well, well, you look like shit,” an unfamiliar voice started to speak — or, rather, unfamiliar to you, as Megumi’s face twisted into one of discomfort as a teenage boy approached your table. “Surprised to see you out of the infirmary for once, Megumi. You sure that coffee isn’t too hot for you? I bet you-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” You put your menu down on the table, folding your hands. You gave the sorcerer student a threatening smile. “Please don’t speak that way to my son.”

“Son?” The black-haired bully started to chuckle. “Are you-”

“Yes. Son. Now walk away.”

“Who do you-”

“Walk away.”

There was no cursed energy involved, no cursed speech, yelling, or anything of the sort, and therefore, the stranger couldn’t determine what about your presence made him turn on his heel and head in the other direction. Perhaps, it was just plain old fear.

“I oughta put him in the infirmary,” you frowned, turning your eyes away from the retreating bully and back towards Megumi. “Who was that?”

“Just some jerk. Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Though he was an expert when it came to neutral and emotionless facial expressions, you tried to read him, and noted that, shockingly, a small, amused smile tried to tug on Megumi’s lips.

“What?” A confused grin appeared on your face.

“Nothing,” he took a sip of his coffee. “Um, thank you, by the way.”

“Of course.” Your smile fell into a more serious expression. “But back to what we were talking about. Why do you think I wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I’m just not as fun to be around as everyone else. Yuji, for example.”

The look on your face changed into one that was all too familiar. It was the look you gave him whenever he came back from a mission covered in bruises — the look of love and worry.

“Megumi, I need you to understand that Satoru and I adore everything about you. You are a joy to be around. You have this . . . this comforting and kind presence. We love your quietness just as much as we love Yuji’s hyperness. It just worries us when you shut us out completely. You won’t leave your bed, you won’t touch your food-”

“I know, I know,” Megumi took another sip of his coffee, avoiding your gaze.

“Please tell me why. I want to help.”

Megumi’s leg started to shake. He scratched at the skin surrounding his thumbnail.

“I just think you and Satoru will wake up someday. . .” he paused, taking a small breath. Right now, he wished he could die. “Wake up and realize you don’t want me around.”

Half of you expected some sort of punchline or fit of laughter to indicate that this was some kind of joke, but it never came. Your son only stared holes into the table.

“What? Why would you think something as ridiculous as that?” Your frown deepened. “Do you feel as if we don’t treat you well, or?”

“It’s nothing like that. I think you treat me better than I deserve,” Megumi scratched the back of his neck, though it wasn’t itchy. “But, I met Satoru when I was six. I met you the second you two started dating just one year later. I’ve been in your lives for years now, but you didn’t bother adopting me until you met Yuji last year. Don’t get me wrong, you and Satoru were teenagers when we met and he was nothing more than my teacher until recently, but I can’t help but think that I’m only here now because you would’ve felt too guilty had you adopted Yuji, and not me.”

The instrumental tunes playing softly within the cafe filled the silence as you took a moment to process Megumi’s words.

It was only for a couple of seconds, but to Megumi, it was enough time for him to start mentally preparing for the realization that, perhaps, he would be sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Megumi, even when Satoru and I were just a few years older than you are now, we still tried our best to care for you as often as we could. I know it was nothing more than a warm meal every now and then or a new shirt for your birthday, but we still loved you.” Megumi looked up at you at long last, and you continued, “We should’ve adopted you sooner. You were always so independent and mature, so I guess we didn’t realize how much it would’ve meant to you. I’m sorry. But please don’t ever think we only adopted you because we wanted to adopt Yuji. Once we opened our minds to the idea of adoption in general, we adopted you because making you our son officially was a no-brainer. In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.”

In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.

Our very first kid.

We love you.

Those words were on a constant loop within Megumi’s mind like a broken record. The corners of his lips twitched, along with his eyebrows, and though his eyes were watery, it wasn’t from misery.

“I’m not used to anything like this . . . to people sticking around,” he couldn’t help but let one single tear fall.

“I know, hun. But you better get used it, because we’re not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching out, you touched Megumi’s hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “C’mon, let’s order. And don’t you dare try to order the cheapest thing. Order something you actually want.”

The teenager nodded, discreetly wiping away another tear, and together, you both got up and headed for the counter.

—

Dining on cafe food was an enjoyable experience. Megumi didn’t finish his plate, but he ate around half of it — it was better than nothing.

After returning home, you rested your head in Satoru’s lap as you recounted the details of the late afternoon. You both stayed that way, doing nothing but softly and lovingly chatting with one another — and exchanging a few kisses — until evening fell. Yuji came home with 3D glasses on his head, a cup of soda in hand, and the scent of buttery popcorn all over his clothes. By then, Satoru was tucking his little girl into bed while Yuji rambled on to you about the movie he saw, all before taking a shower and preparing for bed himself.

A few hours later, every member of the Gojo household was fast asleep — except for you. Your back was pressed against the headboard of your enormous king-sized bed — bigger than a traditional king-sized, truth be told — and Satoru’s arm was draped across your lap as he slept on his stomach. You flipped another page of your novel.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in your doorway, visible thanks to the warm light of your touch-controlled lamp.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked.

Megumi shook his head, “another nightmare.”

Of course, your comforting words weren’t enough to undo the depression itself. However, the fact that Megumi was coming to you instead of lying awake, alone with his horrid thoughts, was progress. Great progress.

“Why don’t you try sleeping in here?” You offered a smile. “Would you be comfortable with that?”

Megumi nodded. He left briefly to grab his pillow and a blanket from his room, but when he returned and tossed it down on the floor, you frowned.

“No, no, no,” you objected. “I’d kick Satoru out of this bed before I let you sleep on the floor. There's plenty of room at the foot of the bed.”

Though he was hesitant at first, Megumi eventually crawled over your silk comforter with his blanket and pillow. It was true. The bed was big enough for him to lay across the bottom of it horizontally and not touch Satoru, who was well over six feet tall.

Soon enough, Megumi started to sleep.

But said sleep wasn’t peaceful.

Looking up from the pages of your book, you noticed Megumi was tossing and turning. His blanket was no longer draped over his body but knocked onto the floor.

That was enough for you to shove your bookmark into your novel. It thumped lightly when you closed it before placing it on your nightstand. You moved Satoru’s heavy arm off of your lap — he groaned, but he didn’t fully awaken.

Quietly, slowly, you approached your restless son. God, how the sight of him suffering made your heart ache. Grabbing the fuzzy blanket off of the floor, you tossed it back over him. Then, as gently as you could, you raised the boy’s head, sat down, and guided his head to your lap.

Your soft fingers alternated between stroking his forehead and his hair. Your motherly touch was soothing. Unfamiliar. Healing.

“Everything’s alright, Megumi,” you whispered. “We love you.”

Megumi’s thrashing started to calm down. In his sleep, he released a deep breath, and the muscles of his face started to relax with every gentle brush of your fingers.

For the first time in quite a while, your son slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

— Next Part.

🏷️: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk angst #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader angst #satoru gojo angst #tw eating issues #tw depression #x reader #jjk x reader angst

1K notes · View notes

4-the-l0ve-0f-art · 5 months ago

Text

Reverse isekai... Caleb... Cat... Part 2 Link Ao3 Link

Caleb loved you more than anything in this world.

Or at least, that's what you would've liked to imagine if he was real. But he isn't. And you're not in a pixelated little world called Linkon City and none of your hopes and dreams about having a happily ever after with your military husband and childhood best friend were coming true.

You stared at the fanfic left open on the phone screen, wishing to see your husband in your dreams to ease the ache of loving someone you could never have while in your loneliest moments.

If only he could be real. If only he could become real from Astra knows what power and fall in love all over again. With you this time instead of the MC who seemed to resemble anything but you. If only. Too much to ask for, yes, you know.

No, he wasn't real, and no, he wasn't there to fall in love with you as you did with him. And you had your own life to live and work to do and tough times to get through on your own tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

So, leaving you no other choice, you drifted off to sleep as the delusion shattering ache in your heart seeped in.

It was raining. You opened up your umbrella next to the entrance of your workplace, greeting your coworkers goodbye. You were tired. Your brain was fried from working since morning and you felt like the walking dead.

The thoughts of cooking something up for dinner made you feel like flopping down on the sidewalk you were walking on and passing out. You had the free will to do that, of course, but the rain pitter pattering along with your dragged steps only reminded you of all the cleaning you would have to do after practicing your so-called free will.

The street lights turned on and you continued onward, just a block away from your home.

As you walked by an alleyway, your heart almost jumped out of your chest at the sound of metal clashing onto the ground. You froze, holding your breath as you turned around.

You waited.

One beat. Two beats.

Nothing.

And then, there it was again, the sound of something thuding around.

Without thinking, you made your way towards the source of the sound, your heart bearing in your ears. A dumpster came into view.

Something, or someone, seemed to be struggling inside. You called out.

“Hello..? Is anyone in there..?” Your voice trembled.

No reply.

You slowly got close to the dumpster and opened the cover with shaking hands.

Widened blue-pink eyes with a pair of black ears and tail stared up at you through the piles of garbage.

“What the fuck?”

The cat jumped out of your hold as soon as you entered your home, shaking off water from its fur and scampering away from you as fast as it could while you were struggling to put down the wet umbrella.

“Okay, rude? I bring you home with me to avoid the guilty conscience that would follow tomorrow if I found you dead from the cold somewhere and you pay me off by drenching my floorboards!”

You let out a frustrated sigh.

He silently watched you from a corner of the room as you made your way to the kitchen island to wash off your hands.

“Make yourself at home, I guess..” You mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

I have a cat in my apartment. What now?

First and foremost, it was bathtime. You were NOT about to let a stinky ass wet fur ball run around your home.

You tried to pick him up again but he bolted around the living room, paw pads making skittering noises in the process.

After about 10 minutes of running around, you gave up, standing defeated. You called out to him as a last resort.

“I just want to give you a bath. Please.”

“Mreow!” He protested, sitting on top of the kitchen island.

“Fine. Whatever. Live with the stink all you want. I'm tired and you're taking up my gaming time.” You rolled your eyes.

Maybe leaving him alone for a while will ease him a little.. You hoped.

And so, you turned around and sat down on the couch with the TV remote in hand, ready to open YouTube and rewatch the same goddamn trailer for the 100th time.

[Love and Deepspace | Caleb's Trailer]

He didn't know how he ended up here. One moment he was feeling immense, needle pricking pain across his entire body, the next he was in a dumpster. With paws instead of hands. And the world seemed thrice as large and intimidating.

Well, At least I have shelter from the rain for now.. Though I feel like a wet rat.

He watched the girl settle down on the couch.

I wonder how long I can stay here. I need to figure things out..

Then, he heard something that caught his eye.

“What, you don't recognize me?”

He stared at the video playing on the TV screen.

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind hearted boy from your childhood?”

His ears perked up, all pointy, and his eyes widened.

That's me.

He watched as the figure on the screen bit an apple as lightning flashed in the background.

That. Is. Me. On the TV.

A/N: Interest check? Very self indulgent... Kinda, sorta, really wanna turn this into a one-shot fic maybe... Haha.. Ha.. But I'll have to play through all the content released in the past few months.. 😭

Wrote this half asleep someone bonk me to sleep please

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads #reverse isekai

2K notes · View notes

iboozi · 18 days ago

Text

Songs of Us | Everybody Here Wants You | jjk

↺ pairing: jeongguk / reader (somewhat strangers to lovers)

↺ summary: Everybody wants you, but you only want him

↺ warnings: smut (in a bathroom sorry), unprotected sex (stay safe), oral (f. receiving),

↺ w/c: 8.5k

A/N: Hello... uh... welcome to the second instalment of the Songs of Us series!!! This took 3 weeks to write because I had to keep changing so much, but here it is! My poor wrists are cramped up writing this. And I finally figured out how to do the em dash on mac 😼 so it's over for everyone (jk). I do have other song ideas but I'm always welcome to more! Pls! Enjoy! And I listened to Everybody here wants you by Jeff Buckley on REPEAT whilst editing so this song is stuck in my head. Also I wanted to make this enemies to lovers but something about a lover boy just gets me everytime. I'm drawn to needy guys (not really irl) ! I'll try it again next time 😔

p.s thankyouthankyou to @tranquilreign for encouraging me to keep going!💗 you got this as well!!!

-Zoobi out 🪩

masterlist

Everybody here wants you

Jeon Jeongguk was seething.

Well — not exactly seething. More like… mildly agitated. The moment just before water reaches boiling point. The kind of emotional turmoil that wouldn’t result in a few holes punched into drywall but did warrant a deep sigh and a stare out the window that would have others questioning his behaviour.

It wasn’t common for him to feel such freakishly intense emotions – on a Friday night, no less – but alas, he was a growing boy (pushing 30) who was yet to have a hold on his emotions.

In all honesty, he was a well-regulated person. He was said to be a man of structure (Jimin’s words, not his) and often showed high levels of self-restraint. He did his morning exercise, ate balanced meals nine times out of ten, and even spared time to read self-help books every evening. But tonight? All of that had been thrown right out the window and stuffed down the garbage chute.

Why?

Because of a girl.

And no, he wasn’t rejected by her. Quite the opposite actually. She was too nice. Painfully, bewilderingly, disarmingly nice.

You see, upon meeting this girl, Jeongguk had been confoundingly starstruck. No, really — his mouth had literally fallen open.

He had tried to say something – anything – but all he could let out was a sound that was vaguely similar to the sputtering of a dying car engine. You, of course, had smiled. Not with pity and certainly no mockery either. You gave a smile that radiated warmth and signalled that Jeongguk hadn’t actually embarrassed himself.

But a nudge and a snicker from Jimin beside him snapped him back to the reality that they were being watched by a few friends, and that he, in fact, did lose some composure in that moment. He couldn’t do anything but flush a soft pink and scratch the back of his head as he muttered a quiet,

“Uh-hey… nice to meet you,” as if the universe were witnessing his struggle and had decided to put him in a far more awkward situation.

The universe, in that case, seemed to be Jimin who found Jeongguk tripping over his words much more comical than his mouth falling open. His laughter echoed throughout the bar, much louder than necessary, drawing the attention of a few nearby onlookers who most definitely didn’t need to see Jeongguk socially run himself into the ground. He could’ve sworn he heard someone whisper, “Is that Jeongguk? Didn’t he sing karaoke here the other day? With like a hundred people?”

Jimin — the absolute traitor — was no help whatsoever. He was too busy trying not to keel over onto the ground, an apparent sign that he loved to see Jeongguk suffer. If anything was better than getting under Jeongguk’s skin, it was seeing him fumble and trip over his words in front of a girl. At least Jimin was a true friend.

But that wasn’t all.

The worst part was that Jimin was holding onto your arm as he tried to keep his balance. His arm was curled gently around your forearm, and you, being the kind-hearted person you were, your free hand was gripping onto his bicep to keep him steady.

And even though Jimin was holding onto you for support, there was a level of intimacy behind his hold.

Jeongguk wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle his best friend or sprint out the door without looking back.

He couldn’t help it - his gaze kept drifting back to you. Your focus wasn’t on Jeongguk anymore – no it was now on Jimin. Jimin, whom you were looking at like he was some kind of circus act.

Your hand was still wrapped loosely around his arm, fingers brushing Jimin’s hidden tattoos, but Jeongguk swore that he could feel the heat from your touch like it was something tangible. It certainly didn’t help that you were laughing along with Jimin, making Jeongguk feel like an outsider in his own group of friends.

Even Namjoon at the back was stifling his laughter – a man notoriously known for fumbling things. The goddamn audacity of Jimin, ruining Jeongguk’s chance at normality, whilst simultaneously sweeping in and bonding with you like old pals – which, Jeongguk supposed, you were.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk had muttered beneath his breath, voice laced with frustration, “you’re making it worse.”

But of course, Jimin didn’t hear. He didn’t really acknowledge Jeongguk’s visible awkwardness, as he knew Jeongguk would eventually warm up with a few drinks — or at least thought Jeongguk was grown enough to do so.

As a matter of fact, Jeongguk hadn’t warmed up with a few drinks.

Instead, his beer sat untouched in front of him, condensation dripping slowly down the side, as if it were taunting him.

You were still talking to Jimin. Still laughing. And still pulling the attention of everyone in the room without meaning to. Jeongguk had caught at least four guys taking a double take as you waltzed past everyone to the restroom.

And Jeongguk? He was just there. Stuck in his own head. Watching the way you floated through the room with such grace that it felt illegal to look at you for too long.

And yeah, maybe it was a bit — no, it was very — stupid of him as he just sat in the corner of the booth, fidgeting with the bracelets on his wrist,a storm brewing behind his eyes.

But as if the universe were playing some big cruel joke on him, a song he knew too well started playing from the speakers behind him.

“Twenty-nine pearls in your kiss

A singing smile,

Coffee smell and lilac skin

Your flame in me…”

Jeongguk was frozen. He knew that song. Of course he did. His scratched-up vinyl was somewhere under his bed, tucked away with the rest of his albums he liked to pull out on nights when his emotions got the best of him. If anyone were to find his collection, Jeongguk would just laugh and offer to put one on. But this specific song was a bit more worn, corners a bit more frayed, because Jeongguk had simply used the vinyl so much that it was begging to be put back and given rest.

Now, like a memory brandished in front of him, it was playing in public, in real time. The words reverberated in his skull as you threw your head back to laugh at something Jimin said. The delicate curve of your neck matched the lift of your smile, pulling at something deep in Jeongguk’s chest. It hit Jeongguk – this wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be classified as infatuation.

Because this was a full-body ache.

Years of hearing about you and your travels across the world, what jobs you had bounced between, the languages you spoke like they were your mother tongue. The little anecdotes Jimin would filter into every conversation added up over the years – like the time you roamed the streets of Prague lost in the city lights with nothing but a dying phone battery in one hand and heels in the other. Or when you somehow managed to charm a cranky police officer in Tokyo, speaking perfect Japanese without hesitation. All these stories, all these mentions of you over the years had turned you into a slowly building myth in Jeongguk’s mind. You were a legend in his group.

A soft, golden legend. Who was now sitting in front of him, laughing. Just existing in the same vicinity as him. So real and so devastatingly beautiful.

Jeongguk didn’t even know what to focus on, his gaze hyper- fixated on your figure. Your dress, delicate straps sloping down your shoulders. Your necklace, sitting perfectly in the hollow of your neck. Every detail was so meticulously curated, from your hair down to your nails, that all Jeongguk could do was stare. He smiled when you smiled. Laughed when you made jokes. Offered to refill your drink, which you kindly accepted. Even Namjoon had noticed Jeongguk’s attention solely directed to you, but a few nudges from him wouldn’t even deter Jeongguk from continuing to shine the spotlight on you.

“I’ll be waiting right here to show you

How our love will blow it all away…”

The lyrics hit too close to home. God had a sick sense of humour.

Frankly speaking, Jeongguk hadn’t expected to be put in this situation. Hadn’t expected to be looked at the way you did – not when Jimin showed your pictures and certainly not when he mentioned you were tagging along for the night.

You were Jimin’s friend. Jimin’s closest friend. The kind who whispered secrets under the covers. The kind who knew what each other was thinking before anything was verbalised. The kind that walked into the room and became the air that everyone breathed. And the kind that never lingered for too long, always hooking the attention of people, leading them in a trail of passports and postcards and “Goodbye don’t miss me!” notes.

And even though Jeongguk knew this when you looked at him – before the embarrassment, and before Jimin began his normal routine of making jokes at Jeongguk – it wasn’t dismissive. There was curiosity in your gaze. A sort of gentleness that Jeongguk hadn’t had the opportunity to really see. Ever.

And call it cliché, but he felt seen. Not in the normal performative way that others viewed him in — the golden boy title — but something more subdued. Like the world had halted and you had suddenly found yourself at the same frequency he was vibrating on.

That was the part that hurt.

He couldn’t even decide if there was more jealousy to be channelled towards Jimin – for grasping and attaining your attention so easily – or himself, for knowing how you could look at him.

And God, the way the song resounded through the bar.

“I know everybody here wants you,

I know everybody here thinks he needs you…”

Everyone did want you. Jeongguk could sense it in the way people's eyes lingered on you from across the room like you were some kind of celestial being. The way their eyes lit up as you voiced conversations. He was insane for thinking that he even had a sliver of a chance with you – he was too structured, too soft-spoken, and had a deep fear of too much.

So he sat there, quietly tracing the rim of his glass, unnoticed by the rest, while the music filled the void of what he wanted to say and what he inevitably never would.

And as your winding, overly animated exchange with Jimin came to an end, your eyes scanned the booth before landing on Jeongguk. You tentatively offered him a small smile, and Jeongguk’s heart flipped in his chest – a sharp, stabbing pain that he would gladly experience a hundred more times, just for you to give that tender smile of yours to him.

“Everything okay?” you asked calmly, cheeks flushed from the combination of the hot air and alcohol.

The question wasn’t for others to hear. Wasn’t dramatic and wasn’t loud.

And Jeongguk - poor, deteriorating Jeongguk - nodded frantically.

“Yeah. Just, uh… you know… thinking.”

You tilted your head to the side, bangs untucking from behind your ears and falling ever so carefully down your forehead.

“Dangerous pastime, I’ve heard. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He gave a breathy laugh.

“Are—“

Jimin stood up abruptly, thighs knocking into the table, causing Jeongguk’s drink to slosh over its rim.

“Jeonggukie. We gotta go, dude. She’s blowing up my phone again.”

Jimin was already halfway to the door, coat in hand, and evidently in his own world. Jeongguk didn’t move, fingers still absentmindedly circling the glass’ rim. Only when Jimin interrupted with a loud “Jeongguk!” did he jolt out of his daydream — nightdream? It was well past the hours he would be awake, and Jeongguk was feeling the effects of it.

“I swear to God, Jimin,” he muttered, running a hand down his face, his words drowned out by Jimin’s boisterous antics. The said person was already making his way back over to the booth to pull Jeongguk up, barely giving him a moment to recover.

Jimin looked at you, a sheepish grin plastered on his face, and laughed out,

“Sorry, Jeongguk’s just a little—” He gestured his hand vaguely to Jeongguk and the pure awkwardness radiating off him. “Well, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Jimin winked at him, who could only glare in return and yank his arm out of Jimin’s hold.

Jeongguk wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way the entire bar seemed to blur around you, but as he reached down for his jacket, the weight of his emotions was heavier than ever. His body was stiff, the physical manifestation of every feeling he couldn’t quite place. But you?

You were just there — your warmth, your presence, the way your gaze lingered on him with that unspoken curiosity, and Jeongguk found himself paralysed.

The moment you were so close to sharing was gone, dissipated in the door Jimin had left open.

And the perpetrator was already at the door again, texting away like he had zero notion for the turmoil his best friend was experiencing. It was a good thing that Jeongguk had learned over many torturous years how to silently communicate his frustration to Jimin, because right now it was at an all-time high.

Jeongguk wanted to say something to you – anything - but, like always, his words failed him when he needed them the most.

So when he looked back at you to catch one last glance, he found you staring at him – not Namjoon, who was engaging in conversation with you – the smile from earlier lingering on your face. Jeongguk grinned back but couldn’t quite place what your smile meant. Pity? Or… something else? And that goddamn ridiculous song followed him out the door, mocking him for the predicament he was in.

He had barely taken two steps toward his bike, which Jimin was resting against when he heard the unmistakable whisper of your voice. It travelled through the air and struck a chord, freezing him, breath caught in his throat and the tension that was slowly leaving came back in full force.

He turned around, eyes scanning the street barely lit by the overhead lamps. His gaze found yours — heart skipping a beat as he saw you standing there, a few feet away, shuffling in the cold.

You were staring at him — so calmly, so composed — but there was something in the way you looked at him that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was your drawn-out gaze that lasted just a few seconds too long, or the soft tilt of your head. It was different… but a good different.

“Jeongguk,” you said again, softer this time, like you were testing the air between you. “You left your phone behind.”

His first instinct was to pat the pockets of his jeans, then his jacket. Then he looked up at you, eyes wide with surprise. He smiled that awkward smile of his, like he’d just been caught cheating in an exam and walked over to you. Your gaze, full of amusement, was locked onto Jeongguk’s figure as he made his way over to you, and he swore he felt you look him up and down — but he didn’t want to feed into the delusion.

He muttered a small thanks as you handed his phone back to him, but his eyes never left yours. The streetlights shining overhead seemed to illuminate you — a visage kissed by light, highlighting the gentle features of your face: your delicately sloping nose, the little freckles on your cheeks and the way your hair cascaded over your shoulder like a scarf, woven from midnight and dreams. In Jeongguk’s eyes, you were oneiric, someone spoken of only in myths and tales.

You took a few steps closer, feet directly opposite Jeongguk’s, a smile playing on your lips — mischief mingled with something else. Something caring.

“You looked like you were overwhelmed in there,” you teased, voice but tinged with a softness that made Jeongguk’s chest tighten.

He let out something between a laugh and a cough, surprised to be caught. Usually he was able to place an impressive façade, but maybe it just wasn’t as good as he thought it was. He fiddled with his jacket, pulling the sleeves over his hands, pretending his skin wasn’t warm to the touch — feverishly red.

“Yeah…I-I’m fine,” he said, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. He was anything but fine.

You watched him with a steady gaze and hummed softly, as if trying to figure him out.

“Are you sure?” you asked, stepping closer. “I don’t want to assume, but it… it didn’t seem like that.”

Jeongguk’s heart thudded against his ribcage — from panic, but something he was yet to identify. How could you have such an impact on him after only just meeting?

"I…" He paused, swallowing the build-up of spit in his throat "I don’t know. I’ve just—" He let out a small, frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "I guess I was just nervous.”

You blinked, eyes softening in understanding.

“Nervous about what?”

Jeongguk gestured vaguely toward the bar.

"Being around people. Making conversations. I get all... tangled up in my head and forget how to just relax." He laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh — more self-deprecating, if he was being honest. "I probably just needed another drink.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes boring holes into Jeongguk.

Y’know,” you started, voice closer to a whisper, “Jimin didn’t tell me that about you.”

Jeongguk balked, eyes widening in sudden surprise.

“He talked about me?”

You laughed, ripples of joy escaping your lips, getting lost in the night breeze, and looked up at Jeongguk with a big smile on your face.

“Of course he has.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He figured he should’ve expected it. If Jimin talked endlessly about you to everyone, then surely he’d talk about Jeongguk as well, right?

All the awful stories that had accumulated over the years on drunken nights, the occasional nights fuelled by pure adrenaline, and the nights he would rather not bring up rushed back into Jeongguk’s head. He fought the urge to groan. Goddamnit, Jimin.

You shrugged, the playful glint in your eye never fading. “I know a lot more about you than you think, Jeonggukie. Jimin just doesn’t keep his mouth shut.”

You paused, taking in his bewildered expression.

“And I know you know about me too.”

That was the last straw—the final piece of décor on the cake. Jeongguk hung his head in embarrassment. All that, and he still managed to fuck up his first impression.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the silence wrap around you both—and the awkwardness around Jeongguk. There was something serene in the air between you, a quiet understanding that perhaps you weren’t really strangers.

And then you moved—just barely, but enough to close the space between you two, causing your shoes to brush the tips of his.

Jeongguk froze.

Gone was the laughter in your eyes. But it wasn’t replaced with mockery. It was curiosity. Raw curiosity, almost like you were inviting him to say something he’d been festering on all night.

Then your voice, soft and harmonious:

“Maybe next time… try saying hi before your nervous system gives up.”

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, the first genuine one of the day—lifting some of the weight he had been unconsciously carrying.

You smiled at him like you meant it and ever so carefully inched your hand out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

Jeongguk stood still, phone still clutched in his hand, grip tighter than ever, and nodded slowly. Your hand slowly made its way down and rested on his jaw a few seconds too long—long enough for Jeongguk to get nervous, red tainting the tips of his ears. Thank God it was dark.

“Okay,” he breathed out shakily. “Next time.”

You took a step back, hands clasped behind your back, eyes still on his. “I’ll keep you to that, Jeongguk.”

Then you turned, hair catching the light like strands of spun gold, and made your way back to the bar—leaving behind the soft smell of jasmine and a boy who could finally breathe.

Art exhibitions were one of Jeongguk’s favourite places to be. At first, he only came because Namjoon would plead him to come — to which he would, begrudgingly — but overtime he had come to find peace in the simplicity of the experience and was constantly finding new ones to go to (with Jimin as well).

The gallery was picturesque, with soft, warm lighting — strangely reminding Jeongguk of the night with you outside the bar – with the shadows across the walls where canvases breathed tales in splashes of watercolour and acrylic. The air had the subtle after-scent of paint and polished wood, mingled with faint undertones of perfumes and freshly opened bottles of wines.

Jeongguk was lingering near a large painting – an explosive composition of blues and reds, very much paying a homage to the inner disarray he had been experiencing over the last few weeks.

First, hearing from Jimin that you were on a flight to god knows where less than twelve hours after your initial meeting quickly dampened his giddy mood. He was hoping to see you again — even just for a quick coffee— but was now stuck resorting to stalking to your Instagram.

He couldn’t even do that properly, considering your account was strictly private and Jeongguk felt that he wasn’t at that level of status with you. He couldn’t even stalk from Jimin’s phone because he knew that his best friend wouldn’t keep his gob shut and would relay the information back to you in less than two minutes. So he was stuck with his memories. Which was quite poor, considering how tired he was on that darned night, but your face and the lingering smell of you was enough —for now.

What made this indescribable feeling of yearning worse was the fact that Jimin didn’t even know when you’d be back. Seriously. What was he even useful for? Despite all the claims of knowing you the best, he never once thought to figure out your spontaneity — or at least tried to make rough estimations based on patterns. If Jeongguk ever tried to slip your name in a conversation (very discreetly—at least he thought so), Jimin would just laugh to himself and mutter some incoherent words before going back to typing furiously on his phone. Literally. That’s all he would do.

It was frustrating to Jeongguk to no end, but he learnt to keep his mouth shut and instead wallow in the idea of what could be (which really wasn’t looking like much)

So, he figured he would distract himself with what he knew best. And no, it wasn’t the gym—even though it came a close second—but it was the tranquillity of these small art galleries, the ones that were tucked away in the quietest streets, waiting for travellers to settle inside and welcome a new world

He always liked being the one to pursue things, not the one being sought for.

Thus, he stood in a quiet corner of the room, hands tucked into his pockets, body stiff and mind racing with thoughts. He told himself that this was a casual event, but he couldn’t help but put on his best dress shoes—and yes, he might’ve gelled his hair a bit and put on his best black shirt, but it made him feel good. He needed this boost of confidence considering how pathetic he had felt lately and dressing up to have somewhat done the trick.

But it still didn’t stop the unease running through him. It was unsettling – he wasn’t one to feel nervous in a place he found comfort, but there was something about the air that made tonight’s exhibition a bit more… lonely.

Perhaps it was the fact that Namjoon and Jimin had ditched him for their dates—he didn’t even know that it was allowed in friend group meetups, but… it wasn’t like he had one anyway.

And like someone had just replaced the tonearm on a continuous vinyl, the very song that Jeongguk had been trying to avoid filtered through the speakers once more and wandered over to his ears.

…it had to be a joke. Right? No way this song was following him around like it had a warrant on him. Seriously. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this torture, and frankly, he didn’t have the mental strength to think about it.

Jeongguk didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t take his hand out of his pockets. Just stared at the painting like he was trying to be absorbed by it, disappear amongst the weird, colourful swirls and blend in to hide from whatever divine intervention was going on around him, just preying on him in his most pitiful moments.

“I know everybody here wants you…”

He tightened his jaw, muscles fluttering in annoyance.

It was decided. The universe had a sick, personal vendetta against him. How the hell did this song play everytime his thoughts drifted to you? Sure he might’ve thought of you more often than he’d like to admit, but he was trying to distract himself, goddamnit!

He huffed. Not even the multitude of colours in front of him could tug his attention from you.

It wasn’t really about the song. Not really. It was more so to do with what it meant to him.

The night outside the bar.

The way you caressed his hair even though he wanted it to lay like that.

The way you whispered his name like it was a secret between the two of you

The way you saw him.

And then— the way you left as quickly as you came.

He barely got to say his goodbye. You were there one minute, and suddenly he had blinked, and you were gone. All that was left was the feeling of your fingertips grazing his skin and the filtered story that Jimin showed you with a geotag somewhere oceans away.

Jeongguk exhaled slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t in love or anything he was past the stage of teenage limerence.

…Right?

A soft clack of heels pulled him from the drifting seas of his mind.

He didn’t react at first. Footsteps were common in galleries, voices humming like bees in fields of sunflowers. But there was something different about the rhythm. It made the hairs on his neck stand straight up. There was delicacy behind the footfalls nearing him.

He turned.

And nearly forgot how to fucking breathe.

You.

Long black dress, tan coat slung over your shoulder, and your hair just effortlessly pooling down your back like ink in water.

“And our eyes are locked in downcast love…”

Your eyes met his, the twinkle in them almost blinding him before he could pretend to look away and be interested in anything else.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The song, of course, droned on in the background like a cruel soundtrack to his unbecoming.

You tilted your head, lips lifting into a knowing smile, like you were fully aware of the effect you had on Jeongguk, even by just standing there. Just by simultaneously coexisting in front of him.

“Jeongguk.”

He swore you said his name like it was yours.

“You’re here,” was all he managed. His words were barely spoken, drifting like mist and condensing on the painting next to him. Honestly, it felt a bit pathetic—what he said—but you smiled wider, nonetheless.

“Jimin slipped it into conversation,” you replied, stepping closer. He could see the glitter you lined your eyes with. “Told me you’ve been moping around in galleries like a sad little poet.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” you laughed a little. “Even told me that you wore your ‘special’ shoes tonight.”

Jeongguk looked down, half expecting his brogues to start sinking into the ground out of sheer humiliation.

You stopped beside him, nudging him softly. “I like them.”

His laugh was disbelieving—the kind that crinkled the skin around his eyes and displayed the little freckle under his lip.

“Didn’t think you were gonna be back anytime soon,” he said quietly, hoping in the way he phrased it.

You shrugged. “Only for a little while. Maybe longer.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d spent months thinking about all the things he might’ve said if you were ever in his presence again, but now that you really were—so achingly near, close enough to smell that jasmine scent again—his brain had fried itself and was devoid of any thoughts.

But you, as always, were the lighthouse in a storm.

“Hi,” you simply said. This wasn’t a greeting. It was a reset.

Jeongguk swallowed nervously.

“Hi.”

Joy bloomed in the creases by your eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

He smiled at you sheepishly.

You turned your attention to the painting he’d been staring at before—the chaotic mix of colours that had once mirrored his internal disarray. He glanced at it and noticed how the mess seemed to fade towards the edge into two distinct lines of tranquillity. Huh.

“It’s pretty intense,” you said, studying the canvas.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk replied. “S’pose that makes sense, though.”

You glanced at him. “Because you’re feeling like it?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “You kinda… do that to me.”

Your smile wavered for a millisecond—not in a bad way. In a breath-caught kind of way. A quiet pause before your expression softened.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because you—”

The ringing of your name being called across the gallery ceased the little conversation you were having.

You sighed, eyebrows furrowing, and looked over.

Jeongguk reluctantly tore his gaze from your face and followed yours over to see a man striding over. He was tall. Well-dressed. And very clearly knew you, the way he sauntered over, arms wide open in welcome. His coat flared slightly as he walked to your corner and had that laid-back, easy grin that made Jeongguk’s eye twitch in irritation.

Without hesitation, you stepped towards him, situating yourself into his arms that wrapped all the way around you. It was déjà vu—the way the hug looked so familiar to him. It was too close. And too long.

Jeongguk stood motionless.

His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, fingers alternating between being clenched into fists or flexing involuntarily with nerves… or something more. He tried to understand what the hell was happening in front of him—and what you were on the verge of saying—but he was all too distracted by the lack of space between you and that stranger.

When you finally pulled away, the guy leaned in to say something close to your ear. Jeongguk didn't miss the way your eyes flickered briefly back to him and away, like it never happened. You faltered.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you told him quickly, that ever-present softness in your voice still lingering, but dimmed. “I’ll catch you later, Jeonggukie, okay?”

He nodded. Tried to smile, but it came out more like a wince. Tried to let the sting not pierce his skin too deeply.

“Sure,” he replied. “Later.”

And with that, you walked off, arm in the stranger’s, and Jeongguk’s heart in your hand.

His posture sagged in small defeat, and he glanced towards Jimin, who was nearing him, sipping his wine and observing the turmoil Jeongguk was experiencing.

Jimin caught his eyes and raised a singular eyebrow with a smirk.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

Jeongguk forced out a bitter laugh and brought his hands into his pockets.

“I’m fine.”

He knew he was lying. Jimin knew he was lying. The random women giving him a look as they walked past knew he was lying as well.

Every laugh that flowed from your lips felt like a knife digging into an old wound. When the stranger brushed a small strand of your hair behind your ear, Jeongguk scoffed, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looked away.

He found himself shuffling closer to Jimin, letting the small talk between him and his best friend become a barrier to hide behind.

Your eyes met his once across the room, and you offered him a small smile—but Jeongguk looked away before the moment could unfold into anything more. Instead, he watched you weave in and out of the crowd, integrating into fruitless conversation yet still capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Maybe I should’ve asked who he was,” Jeongguk muttered under his breath to Jimin, who just chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“Chill, man,” he teased. “You’ll see her again. I’m sure.”

Jeongguk wanted to believe it—really he did—but it was hard to when that ‘later’ never came.

You disappeared into the night with the man—that Jeongguk never figured out the name of—like mist beneath the stars. And Jeongguk had waited, eyes constantly scanning the gallery until closing. Even helped the staff clean up the bar and stack some chairs, just in case you popped back in.

You didn’t.

Jeongguk was seething.

Well—not exactly seething. More so… mildly agitated. The kind of agitation that was so close to spilling over the surface and onto everyone around him.

The house was too warm.

The people too loud.

The lights too dim.

He wasn't even sure why he was there– sure it was his house, but Namjoon had convinced him to host a small party with familiar faces, ‘friends-of-friends’ so he would finally loosen up.

He’d spent the last half of the hour sipping on the same drink and dodging the half-drunk people that attempted to make conversation with him.

That, and the god-awful playlist Jimin had put on. It was like Jimin was stuck being heartbroken or pumping his fist at a rave with the kind of music you just had to vibe with.

And currently Jeongguk did not vibe with it.

He kinda nodded his head to heartbreak songs though - he supposed he could relate just a tad.

He hadn’t heard from you since the night at the gallery.

Nothing.

And it’s not like you were obligated to - numbers weren’t even exchanged - but Jeongguk’s hope was a persistent little bastard that maybe, just maybe thought you would ask Jimin for his number and check up on him.

And it wasn’t like Jeongguk hadn’t tried the same. He gave up on the subtle hints to Jimin and had straight up asked for your number, even though he was turned down - rather quickly- with the words,

“If it was meant to be, she would come to give it to you herself.”

Jeongguk sighs at the memory, nursing his drink and glaring into the clear liquid as if it had caused him personal anguish. The laughter of those around him fades in and out of his hearing. Everything is duller, like the colour had been vacuumed out from the room. He’s partly tempted to pull an Irish goodbye at his own party and just leave. Maybe grab his walkman on the way out to play a song that didn’t emotionally scar him.

But then he sees you.

You, standing by the kitchen island, in conversation with Namjoon. You, lit like a spotlight found you despite the purposely dim lighting. And you, head tipped back slightly, laughing at something Namjoon is saying. Gone is the tan coat, replaced by an off- the- shoulder black top that clings to your figure. Gone are the effortless waves, swapped for your hair pinned back, emphasising the delicate nature of your neck.

Jeongguk freezes, glass halfway to his mouth, breath lodging in his throat. You looked dreamlike, standing out amongst the crowd, like an advert he’d seen on television one too many times. He wouldn’t dare to skip out on you— not after knowing the smile you could give him.

When did you get here?

He doesn’t even realise Jimin has slipped into the little corner of the couch that Jeongguk was practically sprawled on until a shoulder nudges his own.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin teases, sounding far too happy considering his playlist.

“What thing?” Jeongguk hisses, eyes locking onto the way you seamlessly flit around the kitchen.

“The ‘I’ve-dreamed-about-her-every-day-and-can’t-believe-she’s-here’ thing.”

Jeongguk scowls and shoves Jimin lightly, but his eyes don't stray. You haven’t noticed him yet.

He can’t decide if that’s mercy or torment.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” he asks.

The smug silence of his friend is enough.

“She asked me if you’d ever want to see her face again. I said you were a sucker for pretty faces and that she should come and find out for herself.”

Jeongguk gapes.

“You’re such a menace.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it? She’s here. In the flesh.” Jimin grins, clapping a hand down on Jeongguk’s back. “Maybe she wanted free drinks. Or… see you.”

Jeongguk ignores Jimin’s banter, eyes still tracking your every movement. The way your fingers tap against your glass. Or the way your gaze occasionally drifts from whoever you were talking to, and sweeps across the room —but never quite meets his.

And still, Jeongguk doesn’t approach you. Can't get himself to move up from that sofa. The weight in his chest keeps him tethered down. The unspoken words claw at his throat like before.

So he sips his drink. And waits.

The party hums around him, low and warm like the static of one of his vinyls that was left on too long.

You pass by him once, ever so briefly.

And in that one incandescent moment, your hand brushes his — hanging over the back of the couch—as you slide past on the way to the hallway. He doesn’t look up, but he knows it’s you, he feels it’s you. The absence of your touch shouldn’t linger the way it does

He doesn’t see where you go. Doesn’t even register why he’s following the scent of your perfume until his feet lead him to the hallway. Past the kitchen, past the shoes by the door, and away from the loud thrum of the party.

The bathroom door near the back end of his apartment iss half-open, an amber glow spilling through.

He raps his knuckles against the door.

“Occupied?”

A soft voice calls out.

“Yeah - give me a sec!”

But that voice…he knows it. He knows it too well.

Jeongguk pushes the door slightly - just a little further.

And there you are. Standing at the mirror, fingers fixing the wing of your eyeliner, with the smallest concentration crease forming between your brows. You see him in the reflection and halt your actions.

“Sorry-” he starts, already turning around to go back.

But you spin around, swiping a finger across the corner of your eyes.

“Wait Jeongguk.”

He freezes. The air is heavy, electricity tingling in the way that makes the space feel so much smaller than it already is..

“I was gonna leave,” you say after a beat, eyes searching his. “I…I didn't think you wanted to talk to me.”

“I thought you didn’t.”

A momentary pause. The tension doesn’t dissipate, only grows thicker, encircling the two of you like entertainment in a cage.

“I was waiting,” you start, “I didn’t want to interrupt. I wasn’t sure if…”

You don’t finish your sentence.

Jeongguk steps in. Closes the door behind him with a muted click.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice barely a decibel above a breath.

You smile at him. “I was told by a certain someone that if I wanted your number, I should come get it myself.”

Jeongguk gives a quiet laugh and steps closer to you.

“Funny. I was also told something similar. What are the chances it was the same person?”

You move forward, and lean up to him.

“A hundred percent.”

Your laughter at his expression is more subdued this time, eyes fluttering down to the space between you both—or the lack of. It’s close. So close. He can smell the fragrance radiating off of you, the floral scent ingrained into his head. He’s not sure if it’s his pulse or yours echoing so loudly in the confined room.

“I was going to ask for it,” you say, voice softer now. “At the gallery.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Jeongguk blurts.

It slips out. Honest. Raw. And unguarded.

Your eyes snap up to his, plush lips parting slightly, startled but… not afraid. Not uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You left with someone else.”

You nod. “That wasn’t what you think.”

Jeongguk doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment. He’ll face the repercussions later—as long as he’s allowed in your presence for more than twenty minutes.

Your hands move. Brush down your sides, like you’re trying to ground yourself. Or preparing for something. His hands twitch. He wants to touch you. He wants to remember how your fingers felt against his jaw. But he waits. Waits for you to make the first move.

He’s done seeking first.

Your hand lifts slowly to his chest, palm lying flat over his sternum, right where his heartbeat betrays him. You can feel it. He’s sure.

“You’re still nervous,” you whisper.

“I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life.”

The air cracks.

Your fingers slide up lazily. Up to the collar of his shirt Tugging him. Testing the waters.

“Hi,” you say.

That’s all he needs.

He’s moving before he can process his actions, lips pressing to yours in a kiss that doesn’t ask permission—but it doesn’t need to. It’s slow at first. Hesitant. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. That this isn’t another cruel memory that would fade before he even woke up.

But when you sigh against his mouth, tilting your head just enough and nudging your nose against his—

Something inside of him explodes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, mouth pressing with more desperation, tongue sweeping past your lips when you part them with a soft whimper that nearly undoes him. Your hands tangle in his hair, anchoring yourself as he kisses you like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

The counter is cold against the back of your thighs as he lifts you onto it, barely stopping to catch his breath. His hand wedges around your hips, thumbs dragging across the sliver of skin where your shirt rides up.

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, heat unfurling between you like a wildfire.

He pulls back when you tug lightly on his hair, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes hazy but focused.

“Hi,” you breathe out.

Jeongguk grins against your mouth.

“Hi baby,”

He reaches behind him, turning the lock on the door before moving for you again. His hands move with a practiced ease - the nerves from before nowhere to be found - as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, warm fingers tracing the soft curve of your waist. His lips never leave yours, kisses rougher now, and more urgent.

Your breath mingles with his, hands clenching the fabric of his shirt, drawing him in closer, a siren in disguise.

His body presses firmly against yours, hips aligning, heat between you flaring.

With a quiet grunt, Jeongguk shifts, lifting you higher on the counter. His hands roam lower, fingers teasing the edge of your skirt, fingers dipping below the waistband. You arch into his touch, breath hitching and fingers tightening.

His mouth finds your jaw and he trails down, nipping gently before moving again - neck, collarbone, the skin below your shirt - a trail of fire in his wake.

Your fingers tangle in his hair once more, tugging, urging him deeper and harder. Jeongguk’s hands drift beneath your skirt, skimming the smoothness of your skin— inching toward that sensitive spot that makes you shiver.

He looks up at you, knees resting on the ground. Neither of you speak. The world’s shrunk to the heat of skin on skin, and the desperation laced into your frantic breaths.

He lifts your skirt up tentatively, eyes meeting yours in a silent ask. You nod. Oh how badly you need this.

Jeongguk’s fingers rub against your hip bones as he inches forwards. He presses soft kisses up your thigh, pausing when he meets your sweet spot.

“Jeongguk,” you whisper, voice shaky with anticipation.

He nudges his nose against you, “I’m here.”

He glances up at you once more, long enough to meet your eyes - dark, smouldering, and utterly focused on you - before diving in again. His tongue brushes against your underwear, rubbing up against you in a slow, teasing dance, exploring the promise in every touch.

You cry out, hands tightening at the edge of the counter, legs fighting the urge to close around his head. Jeongguk clamps his hands around your outer thighs, stabilising and ruining you at the same time.

He smiles against the lace of your underwear as you grip his hair, tongue lapping up any hint of your approaching climax. He licks deeper and triumphs as you call his name out once more, thighs trembling by his ears.

Burrowing himself deeper under your skirt, he almost halts his actions.

What if you think that he only wanted you for sex? What if this is a fleeting moment that won’t be rediscovered?

But before the irrational thoughts can settle, your hands pull on his hair, begging for him to come back up. He complies, clambering up, shaking his knees out and looks at you.

Meeting your tear stricken eyes, guilt settles in his chest,

“Are you-”

“I need you in me. Now. Jeongguk…please.”

And there it is.

His chest tightens like a wave crashing against the shore, relentless and full of emotion. This isn’t just affection he feels for you, this is an all-consuming force that pushes past reason.

He nods and reaches for his jeans. Doesn’t bother with pulling his jeans all the way off, just slides them down past his butt. Reaches for his length, stiff with need and leaking with arousal.

One. Two. Three pumps and he grasps for the back of your thighs before pushing into you. He lets out a low moan into your ear, loudening as you squeeze around him. He falls forwards, hands falling beside you.

“B-baby, don’t do that, I’ll finish,” he murmurs along your neck, nibbling gently at the column of your throat.

Your arms clasp around his neck, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“Sorry… I’m just nervous,”

Jeongguk leans back. Smiles down at you and reaches for your hand. Fingers spanning the entirety of your wrist, he places your palm against his heart, mimicking your actions before.

“Me too,”

You melt at his words. Literally. Jeongguk feels you loosen up around him, nails no longer digging half crescents into his skin. He lets out a short breath and pulls back to the tip, before pressing into you again… and again.

You moan, head tilting back, one hand holding his, resting on your waist, the other, turning white with how tightly you were gripping the counter.

Jeongguk grabs the back of your neck, encouraging you to meet his eyes. He had your attention now —only his—and he wasn’t going to lose it.

There’s something so vulnerable about this position. Neither of you are fully unclothed, but you’re practically baring your hearts to each other.

Setting a steady pace, Jeongguk snaps his hips into you, grunting with every thrust, moving you further up the ledge next to the sink. He reaches around for your ass and pulls you closer. The movement shifts your positions slightly, where he’s deeper, and firmer inside of you..

“J-Jeongguk,” you rasp.

He thrusts harder, lewd noises of skin meeting skin filling the air. Reaches down and rubs a finger against you,

“Come on baby. You can do it,”

Your back arches, curving into Jeongguk’s hands as you release—hot, sticky cum coating him and the inside of your thighs. You pulse frantically around him, pushing him forwards, moaning as your orgasm rips through you.

Your arms give out, collapsing against the mirror above the sink with a broken whimper as you try and come down from your high.

“Oh fuck,” Jeongguk groans, pulling out, leaving you mourning the loss of him inside of you.

He jerks himself, hand fisted tightly around his cock, wrists moving with a rapid pace, hips stuttering and he chases his own climax.

You watch with bated breaths as his head tilts back, lip bitten raw in pleasure. A deep groan escapes him as his pace slows down, hips twitching forwards and he spills across your thighs in thick ropes. He fucks himself through his orgasm, one hand holding yours as he paints your skin milky.

He exhales as the last of his cum leaks out, and lets go of your hands to wipe the sweat lining his forehead.

He meets your eyes and lets out a little chuckle.

Leans forwards and pecks your nose. Your cheek. And then your forehead . You giggle at him and reach for a towel - to which he snatches it out of your hands, before running it under hot water. He swipes it across your thighs in gentle strokes, like he didn't just obliterate you and cleans himself up.

He pulls his jeans up, buckles his belt and pulls down your skirt. Reaching for your waist, he helps you hop off the counter.

You move towards the door, but he pulls you back.

You meet his eyes. He swallows.

“I don’t want this to end. Ever.”

You look at him through your lashes and tuck a strand of his hair back.

“I’m gonna need your number first baby.”

Jeongguk grins, a smile lighting up his face as he wrenches the door open, hurrying for his phone that he left around somewhere.

Sunlight spills softly through the blind, casting warm stripes across the room where Jeongguk lies, you tucked under his arm. The quiet buzz of the city is distant, an otherworldly place that you’ve both stepped away from for a while. His arm rests loosely over your waist, arms sliding the hem of his t-shirt up as he traces small circles on your thigh.

For once, the voracious thoughts that constantly plagued his mind seem to have quietened down, leaving the calm weight of you beside him and the thrilling, quiet certainty of what happened last night.

You meet his eyes, and he smiles, dimples burrowing in his cheeks. No words are exchanged. This moment - this morning - is enough.

Jeongguk nudges his nose against yours,

“Can you accept my instagram request?”

You look up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion,

“Wha-”

The door creaks open and Jimin steps inside with an infuriatingly wide grin.

He laughs, breaking the tranquility of the morning.

“By the way, Jeonggukie, I know what your favourite song is.”

Jeongguk stares at him, processing his words as Jimin’s teasing smile grows bigger.

“Okay?”

“And I’m also really good at making people play whatever songs I want.”

Jeongguk freezes. No way. He can’t be… that fucking little-

964 notes · View notes

the-modern-typewriter · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I love your writing, specifically the soft-only-for-their-love villain ones! I was wondering if you’d write another one like that? Maybe a villain x civilian one? No worries if not! Thanks !!

"Do you think I wouldn't love all of you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You hide so much of your nature, with me," the civilian said. "Do you think I wouldn't love the rest of you?"

The villain slowly eased their jacket off, watching the civilian where they sat by the big window, framed by the city lights outside. The words rested heavily in the silence of their home, untouched by the roar of traffic and life so close beyond the sound-proofed walls.

"You're upset I didn't take you with me tonight," the villain said.

"Am I?"

"Well, you're still up and you're starting this conversation the moment I walk through the door, so..."

"You're deflecting. Avoiding the question."

It had been a gala night. Another gala night.

The villain kicked their shoes off next, before padding their way over to the civilian. They caressed a thumb along the line of the civilian's jaw, guiding their face away from ghostly reflections in the glass, to them. They kissed the civilian in greeting. Just the once. Sweet. The civilian craned into them like a flower to light.

"I think," the villain murmured, leaning their foreheads together, "that you would be crazy to love the rest of me."

"So you won't give me the chance?"

"And more importantly I think the rest of me wouldn't love you in the way that you deserve to be loved, darling."

The civilian's jaw clenched, stubborn, with the damning desire of so many in love to look. Glance back. Unlock the door. Turn around. Open their eyes. An endless litany of people who should have known better than to see but still intended to.

The villain sighed and kissed their forehead.

"For starters," the villain said, "no one else would dare even have this conversation with me. Do you want to be that scared of me?"

"Should I be?"

"No, not you." The villain paused. "Maybe. Probably. I don't know."

"I'm not."

"Good."

"Is it?" The civilian's head tipped. Their fingers slid deftly to unravel the villain's fine clothes with practiced ease, finding warm skin. Something human beneath the silk. "Because if you're so bad that I can't even go to a work event with you, then that doesn't stop you being a monster. It just makes you a monster on a self-imposed leash. Leashes slip."

"Yes."

"So?"

"So, I'm selfish, and I want to keep you anyway. On the off chance that mine doesn't."

"And if I leave?" The civilian pressed a kiss to the villain's chest.

"Do you want to?"

"I think I'd rather know your true nature now, than if I ever did."

"You know my true nature," the villain said, "in the way that you know water when it quenches your thirst and rain when it waters your garden, but haven't been crushed by the tons of the ocean. Haven't drowned."

"I like the ocean."

The villain huffed a laugh at that, closing their eyes. They nuzzled against the civilian's hair. "I like the ocean too. But not for you. Not where it gets dark and cold and humans can't survive."

"They have cool fish down there. Like in the Mariana trench."

"Sure. But you don't make love to the Mariana trench."

"Name of my next romance novel."

The villain snorted. They were quiet together for a moment, the possibility of an argument simmering down, though the question of it remained.

"I like the beach," the villain said. "I like the shallows where the water is pretty and blue and I can see the sky, even bluer. There are birds and ice cream and nothing to do except adore you."

The civilian swallowed. "You have an idealised view of beaches. You ever been in winter when it's raining? Dire."

The villain laughed quietly. "I'll take the most dire beach you have."

"There's garbage."

"Well, I'm very good at taking out the trash."

It was the civilian's turn to snort.

"Also bribery," the villain said. They settled on the large window sill, drawing the civilian onto their chest, into their arms. "I smuggled you back cake."

"Bribery! Oh, gosh darn it," the civilian said. "I'm shocked and appalled. I never thought you'd sink so low."

"It's chocolate."

"It gets worse."

"Is it working?"

"I suppose you did bring the best bit of the party back to me. Luckily for you, I'm very susceptible to bribery. Did you kill anyone?"

The villain tensed a fraction at the question.

"Oh, everyone."

The civilian paused at that, glancing around to see if the villain was joking. They coudn't quite tell. The villain pressed another kiss to their head, relaxing.

"It's late," they said. "Can you love the bits of me I can give you in the morning? Like the chocolate cake, I do promise it's the best part of me."

"You're selfish. I'm greedy. I think I'd like all of you, one day."

"But not today."

"Not today." The civilian stifled a yawn.. "So long as the bit of you today carries me to bed."

The villain laughed again, soft, and shifted to scoop them up.

In the darkness, as the civilian slept, the villain watched them. They stroked their hair back from their fragile, lovely skull. Brushed their fingers along perfectly unmarred bones.

"I know you'd love all of me, darling," they said. "That's the scary bit."

In their sleep, the civilian turned over, and snuggled guilelessly into the villain's chest.

#civilian x villain #villain x civilian #villain #villains #writing #creative writing #original fiction #writeblr #i don't know how to tag this dynamic #my writing #relationships #fiction #short fiction

552 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 1 month ago

Note

hii hope you're doing okay!! <3 i've just seen bloodlines and i'm absolutely NOT normal about erik, do you think you could write some smut about him, maybe related to that truck scene..... (if you know what i mean!!) if not that's totally okay feel free to ignore this ahah

A kinky discovery

Erik Campbell x fem!reader (girlfriend)

warning : +18, mdni, smut, oral - fem reciving, spanking, tiny teasing, fluff, no use of Y/n

Summary : Being Erik's girlfriend was never going to be boring, whether it was the new tattoos he was showing off, piercings on parts of his body that had a lot to offer or just his slightly weird but loving nature. But there was one side she hadn't seen yet and when she saw Erik flirting with the garbage truck, that interaction stirred something in her that she wanted him to do the same with her.

info : I'm not normal about Erik either, the truck scene showed me so much I wanted to know about Erik and of course you will get your request dear anon, best regards, thanks for the request and enjoy reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her boyfriend Erik was a ray of sunshine, the nice black sheep of the family, with his piercings and tattoos he stood out and yet once you were in a conversation with him you saw his nice, friendly and also funny side.

He was someone you couldn't help but love, not only his family but also his girlfriend, who he had been dating for almost a year.

It was like meeting a fairy tale, both of them reaching for fallen objects and immediately striking up a conversation, it seemed fated that they should meet.

His family the Campbells and the Reyes also welcomed his girlfriend warmly and soon she was spending family parties and celebrations with both of them, everything seemed perfect and it only seemed to get more perfect when she was with the Campbells one sunny afternoon.

After work, she had arranged to meet Erik at his parents' house for dinner, and now she was standing in the kitchen with Bobby and Brenda, peeling vegetables and chopping meat for the stew, “You two are doing a wonderful job,” the older blonde woman said, seeming completely exhilarated by the teamwork.

Bobby was fast and efficient and she cut the meat precisely into small pieces, "Thanks Mom" came from the son who gave her a smile and quickly slipped a lettuce leaf to his pet turtle who was watching its owner in a small glass box opposite.

Paco was cute, small and would live to be decades old, but the tortoise was always the star of the family. Whether in photos, at parties or for strangers, as soon as the animal was brought out, all eyes were on Paco.

“Really cute,” she commented and saw Bobby's grin, who was glad that Erik's girlfriend also liked the reptile so much.

The three of them in the kitchen kept talking animatedly about the upcoming celebrations, the recipe was carefully written down by Brenda and slipped to her, "Then you can cook something hot together," she said with a wink and the heat rose a little on the younger woman's ears.

Brenda seemed enraptured whenever her firstborn brought his fruit, she seemed so proud and happy that her 'special' son was finally living his life the way he wanted, that he had a future together...and maybe a grandchild soon.

She didn't know whether it was a sexual reference or just some kind advice, but in any case she'd had enough of both with Erik, partner time and sex.

She was just about to help Bobby cut the last pieces of meat and wash her hands when she heard voices from outside, "Erik, Stef and Charlie are back, I'll just say hello," she announced and heard the joyful noises of Brenda, who was already eager to have the family meal.

Walking out through the hallway and opening the front door, she saw Stefani, Charlie and Erik standing in front of the garbage truck discussing something, looking at the spectacle she stopped at the door and smiled slightly.

Stefani was excited and seemed to want to say something to the others, Charlie looked at her indecisively with his arms crossed before Erik walked towards the truck.

Already wanting to shout what this was going to be, the words got stuck in her throat when she saw Erik handling the truck.

The initially lascivious hip swings more dance than serious, almost funny and yet somehow cute, to Erik who put his hands on the yellow metal and she clearly heard the overloud French kiss as he seemed to lick the truck more than kiss it.

Already thinking that this was it, that her heart could calm down again, a warm pull ran through her abdomen as she saw the slap of the flat of his hand on the tire.

The slap as skin met rubber, so firm and yet somehow erotic that she didn't move from her place, not when Stefani and Charlie walked past her and not even when Erik dragged her back into the house with a puzzled look on his face.

Yet the image of her boyfriend spanking the tire and being so open about it didn't leave her mind for the next few hours, replaying over and over like a continuous loop...until they arrived back at the apartment together in the evening.

Erik had clearly noticed that he had become calmer since the meal, although he didn't know the reason, he feared it was something else.

When they had both hung up their jackets and put their shoes in the cupboard, they stood in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil for tea, his eyes searching hers but her gaze seemed to avoid his, “Is everything all right?” he finally dared to ask.

As if he had hit the nail on the head, she seemed to wake up from her thoughts and look at him questioningly, “What?” his girlfriend asked him, not even listening, let alone realizing what had happened.

A sigh came over Erik's lips as he grabbed two cups, put the tea bags in and poured the hot water, “I was wondering if everything was okay, since dinner you've been completely silent and seem to be avoiding me...is it because of my mom?” he asked, knowing that Brenda could sometimes be a bit tempestuous and well, pushy when it came to her loved ones.

Immediately she felt the guilt come over her, that was definitely not the reason, she loved Erik but since his show every time she looked at him she got more than just nervous.

Pulling on the teabag a little and feverishly wondering if she should try to talk her way out of it, Erik's behavior took the decision away from her when he walked up to her and put his hand on hers.

“No matter what it was today, I still love you and you're the most important thing” he made it clear to her and she found his words extremely sweet but that wasn't the reason or stopped her thoughts from showing the scene again.

Her slight shake of her head confused him even more, “That's sweet Erik but that's not the reason...you can't laugh okay?” she demanded and he symbolized that his mouth was closed before gesturing for her to continue.

“So well when you made out with the garbage truck and spanked the tire well that....it turned me on” she confessed to him and as soon as she had finished her sentence Erik began to laugh as if he couldn't contain himself, playfully wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh-Oh sweetie that's good” he mumbled, still amused, taking a sip of the tea as he caught himself in his amusement, when Erik saw her serious, look, he paused, as if studying her, before a surprised, “You were serious,” actually escaped his lips.

Erik now realized what she meant, what she had really been doing all those hours before he shook his hands and a knowing grin appeared on his face, “So you were turned on by me giving that sexy, tight, hot tire a slap?” he asked, still looking at her brief nod in slight disbelief.

Yet the look in his eyes, the knowledge he now had of what this meant, seemed so much more delicious to them both than the tea that was forgotten when he put his hands on her hips.

He navigated them both towards the bedroom, greedy kisses providing space for air, the two of them only breaking away from each other when it came to getting rid of the now far too distracting clothing.

Every more piece of exposed skin seemed to spur them both on and when Erik sat down on the bed and just patted his thighs, her cheeks burned with heat, “I'll be very gentle with my good girl, of course,” he winked and that took the seriousness out of the situation, which relieved her.

After all, it wasn't about some bdsm relationship with rules and regulations between them, it was about having fun and Erik was just using the new knowledge that made his girlfriend horny.

Trying to relax, moving towards him and bending over his cock, he gave her a moment to get used to it, “So did you like it when I gave you a slap?” he asked, teasingly running his hand down her back, “Yes...I do” she said almost meekly, and he could feel his grin as he too got a taste of the situation.

Silence that wavered between them was broken by a clear slap on her ass, she flinched as a gasp escaped her and Erik gave her a brief moment, “Something like that?” he asked again, wanting to know how firm he could make it.

There was a tingling sensation starting from her cheek, which turned into a fuzzy interesting tug in her body and she only gave a “A little harder” as Erik lightly lifted his hand again and brought it down on her back again.

The sound of the slap went through the room, louder than before and a gasp escaped her, it was what she wanted, the tingling, a surface that would go numb with more slaps, an excited pull in her abdomen and her fingers clinging to the ceiling.

Erik seemed to have seen her reaction exactly when he immediately repeated the slap with roughly the same firmness and her panting mixed with a moan with each further slap, “You take it so well sweetie” he praised her.

After a few slaps let his hand run over the red spot, giving her the moment to recover from it, the stinging pain, the slight numbness and also Erik taking in the beauty he had in front of him.

She noticed the bulge in his black boxer shorts, “You're reacting to it” his girlfriend said as she found her words again and her gaze went to his bulge, which he only returned with a grin as he slowly lay down on the bed.

She slowly straightened up and settled on his clothed midsection, Erik's hands gripping her hips and she felt him press lightly against her, the almost exasperated sigh coming from his lips as she engaged him in another kiss.

“We still have plenty of time...show me what your tongue can do” she said this as she saw his grin when they both knew that they had taken their relationship to a new level thanks to a garbage truck.

As Erik spun her around in one motion and she lay beneath him, his lips parting hers, he began kissing his way down her naked torso.

The bites and caresses made her bury her hands in his dark hair as she let him know whenever he did something particularly well, “You seem to like my hands,” he commented as he took off her underwear and felt her wetness on his fingers as he ran them over her center.

Her giggle was shared as his 'wonder hands' spread her thighs slightly and she let out a sigh as she felt his tongue, she heard his almost smile as he sucked on her nerve spot and her wince only made Erik grip her thighs a little tighter.

The room that had previously been filled with the sound of slapping became filled with the licking and sucking sounds of Erik's head disappearing between her thighs, her gasps and moans whenever Erik teased her clitoris with his tongue.

Two bodies, one of which reared up and shook slightly when she could barely stand the waves of arousal and Erik's hips rubbed against the blanket and mattress to relieve his own arousal.

The aroused looks they exchanged, both of them dazed with lust, had seen nothing more beautiful as Erik heard her cries and her thighs wrapped around his head, his muffled grunts as he came and both heavy breathing came down from their high.

Exhausted and woolly, she heard Erik move closer to her, wrap his arm loosely around her and gently kiss her, “I must make out with garbage trucks more often ” she heard his comment and they both cuddled up, sharing a smile. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@nearest-x-dearest , @captainthomasrobbie , @monkeydoll5 , @zombiepoe , @starry-eyed-wild-child , @porterroths , @amandalove1355 , @mythicalcowboyatheart , @rhaenyrathecruell , @aashy723 , @luluscoff1n , @fapqueen , @sadslasher13 , @everdxen-mellark , @yearsbecomingcool

#final destination #final destination bloodlines #erik campbell final destination #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell #male x female #reader is female

450 notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 3 months ago

Note

Never listen to aggressiv anons, your garbage is really good garbage.

If you’re feeling up to it I’m always in a remus mood, you’re so good at writing him as confident and don’t get me wrong it always makes me swoon, but i was wondering if the roles were switched and remus was the shy one for a change🥰

hi lovely thank youuu for your request!! I’m very nervous cos this is the first proper thing I’ve written in like forever… if it’s bad don’t tell me 🙉

shy!remus x fem!reader

Remus can’t figure out why you like him. He’s awkward, and weird, and too tall, and he’s got two very handsome, much less shy, best friends, plus a lot of other friends (much cooler than him), whom he assumed you’d go for before him. He was mistaken. You’re all over him.

He watches as you approach the table where he, James, Sirius, and a few other friends have set up base for the night. It’s loud in the pub, busy and warm, but you’re moving towards him like he’s the only person here.

“Remus! Hello,” You say happily, coming to a halt in front of him. You don’t offer a hello to anyone else, though Remus chalks it down to the fact they’re all busy talking, or drinking, and he’s been sitting there at the edge of the group quite in his own world.

He blinks up at you. You look lovely. You always do, but you’ve put your hair up in a way he’s never seen you do before. Remus thinks it makes your shoulders look really nice, then realises that’s a totally weird thing to think.

“Hi,” he manages. He’s shy, but he’s not usually this shy. It’s just, you’re beautiful, and he’s got a huge crush on you, and you seem almost equally endeared with him. It’s a little absurd, in his opinion.

You give him a once over, eyes raking from his face to his knees and back up again. It’s quick enough that he shouldn’t catch it, but he does, and then blushes so hard he’s sure you could cook an egg on his face.

“You look nice,” you say breezily. Your eyes zero in on his hair. “Did you cut your hair?”

Remus blinks. “I— yeah, I did,” he says, a little stunned. He hadn’t expected you to notice. It’s not much shorter than it was before, and no one other than Sirius noticed it, and that’s ’cos Sirius is a hair freak.

He’s suddenly self conscious of it. His hand moves to the back of his head, tugging at the hair there. “S’it look bad?” He asks you.

You shake your head vigorously. “No, what? It looks good,” you say, like it’s obvious.

You reach out and run your hands through his freshly cut hair, fingers pushing against his scalp. Remus’ heart goes wild and his stomach does that thing where he suddenly almost feels nauseous, but in a good way.

“I like this length on you,” you say, giving his hair a gentle tug. There’s a sort of lilting cadence to your tone that Remus has come to learn indicates you’re flirting. It sure works. Remus feels like he’s been lit on fire, heat licking up his neck and settling at the tips of his ears.

“Thank you,” he says, almost choking on the words.

You grin. You must know what you’re doing to him, he can see it in your eyes. He figures the permanent blush on his face doesn’t help.

“You’re welcome,” you say back, dropping your hand from his hair. You give his shoulder a squeeze and it’s like jolts of electricity go through his arm. “Move over? I want to sit next to you, handsome.”

Remus goes a bit blind. He obliges, much too happy to do whatever you want, shuffling across the bench to make room for you. You slide in next to him, somehow too close but not close enough, and start chatting to him animatedly about your day.

Remus tries to listen, he really does, but it gets a bit difficult when your hand finds his knee under the table. Your sweet perfume washes over him, your thumb rubs the knee of his jeans, and all he can think about is how much he’d really, really, like to kiss you.

Sirius catches his eye from across the table and smirks. He’s in for a long night.

451 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

Hello Mae! I hope you’re having a wonderful week so far. I have never requested before but I saw your requests were open and I felt inspired! (Forgive me if I do or say something wrong!) I saw that you write for stranger things but I’ve never seen a poly!steddie before! If it inspires you, I thought a little hurt/comfort with some angst could be fun with the boys. Maybe a miscommunication between them when they’re first figuring out the dynamic and one of the boys says something hurtful to writer by accident (we know those silly boys have no brain to mouth filter). Thank you for sharing your writing and working so hard for us, you’re so appreciated and loved! ❤️❤️

Thank you angel <33

poly!steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“God, it’s worse than I thought.” Eddie rolls onto his stomach on Steve’s bed, dragging the chord of your headphones with him. “How many of these do you have on here?”

“It’s the whole album,” you say. You’re watching your boyfriends all tangled up on top of the covers, half tempted to join them but too shy to do it. The carpeting on Steve’s bedroom floor is soft enough anyway.

“Eugh, your poor ears!”

“You’re such a snob.” Steve gives Eddie’s ankles a halfhearted shove where they’ve fallen over his lap, but really you know he doesn’t mind the contact.

“No, a snob would tell her to listen to fucking strings music or something,” says Eddie. “I just have taste.”

“What’s wrong with U2?” you ask.

Really, you knew better than to think you’d actually get any studying done with your boyfriends. You knew it since Steve invited you over, but that didn’t stop you from going, pep in your step and textbook like a prop in your bag. You were barely ten minutes in when Eddie had plucked your headphones up from your head, taking a listen. He declared your taste in music “laughable.”

“What’s wrong with U2?” Eddie repeats incredulously. “Baby, where do I start? I didn’t know I had a pop princess on my hands here.”

You recognize the teasing in his tone, but the jabs at your music selection still taste sour in your mouth. “Oh, because Metallica is so underground.”

“See, that’s part of it. At least Metallica is real rock. U2 is just—like—I don’t even know what to call them. They say they’re a rock band, but listen to this shit!” He sits up and tries to put the headphones on Steve, who wards him off with a hand. “This is not rock.”

“You’re a total snob,” Steve repeats, laughing when Eddie only fights harder.

“No, seriously! This isn’t rock. Plus, have you ever seen Bono perform? It’s totally overdone.”

“I went to one of their shows,” you say. “Last summer.”

“Fuck.” Eddie blows out a breath as he gives up on trying to get your headphones on Steve. He collapses against your boyfriend’s side, grinning. “My condolences, then.”

“I liked it.”

“Awe. That’s probably because you haven’t been to a real concert yet, huh? Don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll get you to a good one eventually. Your ears will be relieved.”

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes. Neither of your boyfriends seem to have notice how you’ve gone quiet, both too absorbed in each other as Eddie lands aggressive kisses on Steve’s cheek and Steve grins and pretends not to like it. For the first time since you started dating, you feel bitterly alone.

Part of you thinks you might be overreacting. You don’t usually care what people think of your music tastes—they don’t usually fixate on them so intensely, but you generally tend to believe that art is subjective and everyone is entitled to their own preferences. The thing is, you know music is really important to Eddie. He’s made it his life. He plays in a band; half his shirts are band tees; there’s a guitar mounted on his wall that he talks to more sweetly than either you or Steve. So if he thinks your taste in music is garbage, what does that say about what he thinks of you?

“Hey.” Steve nudges you with a foot. You’ve been looking morose without meaning to, not realizing anyone was watching. “You know he’s just kidding, right?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, still grinning, “I don’t kid about concerts. We’re fucking going.”

You start putting your textbook away. “I think I’m going to finish studying at home.”

“No, hey,” says Steve, frowning now. “Come on.”

Eddie’s eyebrows rise as he catches on. “Wait, are you seriously mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you lie. “I’m just going to go listen to my awful music back at my place, where I can actually study.”

“Please, you knew what you were getting into, babe. We were never going to study.” Eddie’s trying to joke with you again, but his tone turns serious when you stand up to leave. “Hey, hold on. I’m just messing around. Stay.”

You turn around, unsure what to say and not really wanting to look at either of them, either.

“I didn’t know you liked U2 that much,” he says in a softer voice.

“It’s not that I—” You sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not, like, obsessed with them. I just don’t get why you have to rag on what I like so much.”

“I was just playing, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you cared, just—c’mere.”

Eddie wraps a hand around your elbow, tugging you onto the bed with him and Steve. Your arms uncross by the nature of the movement. He gets you between them, kissing the side of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, words all mushed up. Not teasing anymore. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I did, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say, partially because you don’t want to seem dramatic and partially because it really is difficult to blame someone who’s pressing their lips to your cheek like they plan to leech on and never let go. “Just, I at least pretend to like the things that you like.”

“Pretend?” Eddie pulls away, looking wounded.

“Try not to take it personally,” Steve tells you. His hand has found your neck, thumb rubbing at the tense muscles near your shoulders. “He really is a snob. He called me a philistine for listening to Tears for Fears.”

“Well,” Eddie cuts in, “you are a philistine.”

“But,” Steve goes on with a narrow-eyed look, “he doesn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“Right. Right, yeah, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie devotes himself to you again, hugging his arms around your waist. “Really. I was just messing with you, I thought we were joking around. We can listen to U2 if you want. We can even—if you want us to, we can go to a concert.”

He sounds so pained as he says it that it coaxes a small smile out of you. Steve, seeing, squeezes your shoulder encouragingly.

“I know you had to fight a gag reflex to say that,” you tell Eddie.

He grimaces. “I may need a vomit bag when we go. But if it’s important to you…”

“That’s okay.”

The sigh Eddie lets out is gargantuan. He sinks against your side. “Thank you.�� He kisses underneath your jaw. It tickles, but he only latches on tighter when you try to get away. “I knew you loved me. I’ll never make fun of you again.”

“You can still make some fun of me,” you allow.

Steve makes a dissenting noise. “Not in an asshole way, though.”

“No, that’s it. I’m swearing off teasing for the rest of my life. The stakes are too high.”

“Right, sure.” Steve reaches around you to tug on one of Eddie’s curl gently. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

542 notes · View notes

written-in-knife · 1 month ago

Note

Hello! Love your Floyd fic and may I ask a request about Reader/Yuu having a crush on Floyd, but Floyd is not ready to commit yet/doesnt see the point of it so reader keeps getting lead on and reader realizes that it would go to nowhere so they stopped pursuing. Floyd was supposed to be happy that the courting stopped but found out that he can't stop looking at reader interacting with someone else other than him.

Basically like the Flipped movie, just wholesome/hurt/comfort with the main theme of figuring out ones feelings. Reader and Floyd don't require to be together in the end just like in the Flipped movie but Im fine if they get together too! Im torn between the two. Please disregard this if you don't feel comfy creating it ^^

Disappointed

Floyd Leech x gn!reader one-sided both ways, background Ace Trappola x gn!reader, not explicit, could easily be read as platonic and/or fake dating

they/them pronouns, is THIS angst? I think this is angst, background hurt/comfort for reader but not Floyd :)

Word Count: 1098

I've never seen Flipped, but I love this premise and I'm going to make it Worse :) pretty short but this is what we call a tasty little morsel lmaoo

Floyd knew you were interested in him, how could he not? You made it so obvious. He thought it was funny at first, how you kept handing him little trinkets and rushing away, eventually getting brave enough to hang around him. But you kept coming, even on his bad days. For months, you kept stopping by the Mostro Lounge or catching him in the hallways or showing up to basketball games. It stopped being so fun after awhile. He'd thrown most of the trinkets that you'd given him away, not really interested in your courting attempts in the first place. It was just fun for him to watch you flit around like the little shrimp you were. He never stopped you, even if he knew this would never go further than your silly little attempts.

You'd brought him a tiny blown glass eel you'd found in town after a basketball game, catching him before he went into the locker room. You handed it to him with that same hopeful smile you always had on your face, and he took it from you with the same minimal acknowledgement that he always did. The second the door closed behind him in the locker room, he tossed the little eel into the trash with as much acknowledgement as he'd given you before moving to change out of his uniform.

"What was that?" Ace scoffed as he pulled off his jersey, tossing it into his locker haphazardly.

"Shrimpy keeps givin' me crap I don't want." Floyd shrugged, moving over to his locker as Ace gave him a confused look. "I've just been throwin' it away."

He didn't pay any attention as Ace moved over to the garbage, pulling the little glass figure out of the bin with a loud huff.

"You could just tell 'em you don't want it, you know." Ace snapped at him, taking the figure back to his locker. "They spent money on this crap trying to get you to notice them! Quit leading 'em on!"

Floyd rolled his eyes dramatically as he turned to Ace, glaring him down. "And hafta see 'em cry or somethin'? Hard pass."

You knew you were being blatantly obvious about your attraction to Floyd, you thought he might've been flirting back whenever he teased you about it. What you perceived as flirting was the only thing keeping you from getting discouraged after so long trying to court him. You didn't realize exactly how wrong you were until Ace came to find you when he was done in the locker room, the glass blown figure you'd given Floyd in his hands. Your heart sank as he apologized, telling you that he'd watched Floyd throw it away the second you wouldn't see, that apparently that's where all your gifts had gone. In the trash. You were embarrassed and disappointed, a lot of Floyd's actions making much more sense to you now. You took the figure back with trembling fingers, trying to put on a brave face for your friend, but you were devastated. You'd tried really hard to pick out things you thought Floyd would like, you thought you might've been getting somewhere. It hurt to find out where all that effort was really going.

Floyd noticed before the end of the week that you hadn't come by. You'd become a regular presence in his life, not necessarily daily, but often enough that your absence was notable. At first, he really didn't care much, it was one less thing he had to deal with. But something nagged at the back of his head about it. He tried to ignore it, but it was making his mood significantly worse. He didn't even know what it was, he was supposed to be happy that you weren't hanging around him all the time... wasn't he?

He didn't start to realize what the feeling was until he saw you weeks later. Basketball practice had just let out and he spotted you in the hall outside the locker room. Before he could go over and ask where you'd been, Ace pushed past him to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and poking at your cheek. He watched you laugh at whatever Ace had said as the two of you turned away from him to leave. The nagging feeling in the back of his head returned tenfold, surprising him as he watched you disappear around a corner. Why was he jealous of Ace? He hadn't been interested before, why would he be jealous of something he didn't want? It wasn't even on purpose, it felt more like karma that Floyd kept seeing you in the halls every day now. Always with Ace. He saw the delighted smiles on your face, the way you would blush and smack his chest when he whispered in your ear, the damn arm that was always around your shoulders. You'd sure moved on quick, if you could call multiple weeks quick. And why wouldn't you? Ace had likely told you what Floyd had been doing after he found out, he was probably there to comfort you in the aftermath, he was one of your best friends after all. Rationalizing it in his head didn't help, he still had an awful pit in his gut whenever he saw the two of you. You leaving him alone was what he wanted anyways, wasn't it?

Floyd let it go on for a few more weeks, even Jade tried to figure out what had him so upset. But how could Jade help when Floyd couldn't figure out his own feelings about it? It came to a head after another basketball practice, back in the locker room. Floyd was slow to get changed, waiting until Ace had gotten dressed and was about to leave.

"So you and Shrimpy, huh?" He asked as Ace walked past, trying to keep his tone casual.

"You snooze you lose?" Ace offered with a shrug, shooting him a smirk before walking out of the locker room.

"Yeah..." Floyd muttered to himself.

He sat in the feeling for a moment, finally able to see it for what it was. He was disappointed. Disappointed he hadn't realized sooner, disappointed he hadn't just turned you down so he could maybe try himself later. Disappointed it wasn't him. You had become such a regular presence in his life, he hadn't realized he was taking it for granted. Hadn't realized that when he stopped finding your courting fun, it wasn't because he didn't like it, it had just stopped being surprising. And he had no one to blame but himself.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech #ace trappola #floyd leech x reader #ace trappola x reader #twisted wonderland fic #mine #HAVE YALL S E E N. DEUCE'S PJS???#as if i couldn't adore him more they had to go and put him in the pink cheetah print they keep talking about?? thats his JAMMIES????#i could SCREAM its so good. i love not giving a shit about spoilers from the jp servers #and apparently they're getting equestrian club wear in june?? im so jealous

315 notes · View notes

ilxlita · 28 days ago

Text

｡ﾟ(｡ﾉωヽ｡)ﾟ｡ 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨, 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩.

SYNOPSIS: a headcanon of how bnha boys (and toga) are whenever they miss you. PAIRINGS: various bnha boys x reader, also toga is included because it'd be fucked if i used her as an image and she weren't. like she is literally the definition of "i miss my wife tails". TAGS: pure fluff. so sweet. bakugou does have a VERY VERY small section of nsfw if you squint. all characters are aged up for my own mental health. in my head toga is also a pro hero but i guess you could picture her as a villain if you're a monster /j. AUTHORS NOTE: literally toga is not beloved enough. she is the literal defintion of "I LOVE MY WIFE SO MUCH". like hello, what?

IZUKU MIDORIYA ♡ the man that he is. izuku for sure misses you as SOON as he leaves the house whether that be for a pro hero mission or for work, he is missing you. ♡ 100% is texting you as soon as you or he leaves the houses. like he is such a needy husband. he will conjure up a reason to send you a cute little text whether that be asking what you want for dinner or sending you a picture of a feral cat. ♡ izuku, when you guys are married, is not shy about how much he misses you. whenever people ask him what he's doing after his mission he will announce "me and my wife are doing..." like even if you're not a pro hero other pro heroes KNOW YOU because of how much izuku gushes over you ♡ heaven forbid he ever goes on a multiple day long mission or else he might actually call you all the time. asks you to send him voice messages of your day, asks you to call him so he doesn't fall asleep alone. sends you little videos of him going throughout his day. ♡ when he gets back it is 100% date night !! he will take you to a fancy resturant he saw, or he will take you to a cute little store and insistenet you purchase as much as you want no matter how expensive it is. he really just loves his wife.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU ♡ katsuki bakugou never misses anyone ever. if you ask him he will say he does NOT think about you during his missions because he is locked into his mission. if anyone brings up the fact that katsuki DEFINITELY stares at a photo of you when he's away HE WILL DENY. ♡ katsuki shows that he misses you never through words, but always through words. he will text you randomly throughout the day just things like "what are you eating? has to be better than this garbage ass food" or "found this candle that you would like since you like spending money on useless crap i bought it for you." ♡ KATSUKI FOR SURE GETS BUTTHURT WHEN YOU LEAVE HIM ON READ. like you're working and cannot text him back immediately? he'll respond with "guess we're just leaving each other on read then" or something like "damn guess i should've married a wall at least im not expecting a text back from it." like katsuki is the sassy man apocolapyse. ♡ he 100% buys trinkets for you that reminded him of you. a little stuffed bunny from the store? that's literally you so usually when he comes home it's with a few cute gifts depending on how long he was away for. ♡ the day he comes home is reserved for "miss you" sex and him pampering you and treating you like a princess. he will cook you a beautiful gourmet meal, present his gifts and brush little kisses on your face.

HIMIKO TOGA ♡ as stated previously. himiko is quite literally the definition of "i miss my wife" along with izuku. like she HATES going out of town for missions because she is constantly thinking of you, what you're doing, if you miss her as much as she misses you. ♡ pro hero toga would NOT take your blood and drink it to comfort herself (but villain toga for sure would), my girl is for sure bringing things that remind her of you. if you bought her cute little hair ties she will only wear those! told her one of the necklaces she wore was cute and she will wear it always. ♡ toga for sure goes harder in battles when she's away from you because she HAS TO GET HOME TO HER WIFE OBVIOUSLY. like she will not be dying today, her wife misses her :/. furthermore she is also constantly calling and texting you even if she's in the middle of battle, like she will have you on a phone call in her ear buds while in battle. ♡ "how's your day, cutie patootie?" and all you hear is an explosion in the background before you go on about your day. it is very rare that himiko is not only given out of town missions but also takes them because she hates being away from one of the few people who loves her genuinely. ♡ himiko is absolutely putty in your hands when she does get home, like literally whatever you want. she'll cuddle you close to her chest and if you see a cute pair of high heels you want she is buying them for you INSTANTLY.

HITOSHI SHINSOU

♡ due to the nature of his work hitoshi will not be texting you or calling you during his missions. he is very rarely on his phone because he is often doing undercover spy work, but please do not take that to mean he does not miss you. ♡ hitoshi is very soft; he is not used to missing someone so he is not quite sure what to do with the feeling of wanting you next to him and that usually manifests in him doing things that remind you of him especially while he's undercover. ♡ your favourite meal becomes his favourite meal while he's away, your favourite colour is now his, your favourite scent is now his. hitoshi will always leave you with a hoodie that smells the most like him but in return he's taking one his shirts that you always sleep in so he can smell you while he sleeps. ♡ because hitoshi does undercover work, he is often by other people. often surrounded, but if he's not and he's going on a mission with aizawa or another undercover pro hero he is bringing you up so often in casual conversation, someone definitely has to tell him to stop because he doesn't realise he does it. ♡ when he gets home you are not leaving the bed. he is cuddling you close to his chest, explaining the mission to you and absolutely forcing you to tell him how your days were when he was gone. he will buy take out and pay that twenty dollar delivery fee just so you two can stay wrapped in each other at all times.

SHOUTA AIZAWA ♡ shouta, much like hitoshi, is usually constantly doing cover work which means that it would be dangerous to constantly be in contact with you and he tells you this each time before he leaves just so he can remind you that he is not ignoring you; he simply has to be locked in. ♡ shouta does not text you or call you, but whenever he's alone on a rooftop or in his hotel room he will look back at the photos and videos of you two especially your wedding photos where you are just glowing. ♡ shouta for SURE has a printed out photo of you laughing at him candid on the wedding day. he has it in a little necklace that he can look at whenever he misses you too much. feel like if you have stuffed animals he steals one so he can sleep with it (not cuddle it), but for sure sleep with it. ♡ shouta also likes to buy little knick knacks for your shared home whenever he is gone. it's usually like a little special magnanet, a teddy bear to add to your collection, a snowglobe if he goes to another country, just little things. ♡ shouta when he gets home is usually dog tired so he will insist that you take a nap with him regardless of the time of day afterwards he drowns himself in domestic tasks; cooking, cleaning the home, doing laundry. all things to try and pick up the slack that he left when he was gone.

KEIGO TAKAMI ♡ keigo is in the very awkward position of missing you immensely on his missions and having absolutely no idea how to express it because he has never been in the position to miss anybody ever. like he is used to a solitary life and now he has a wife that he is missing? he has no idea what to do with himself. ♡ the first day of him gone he is playing cool and nonchalant. each time he thinks he won't miss you, but it's always something little and stupid that triggers him spiraling and missing you (usually a song or a smell) and he is spam texting you. ♡ keigo also constantly wants to do phone calls, especially at night when he is calming down and relaxing becase he thinks of you the most when he is at ease. call you up so you can fall asleep to the sound of his voice and so he can fall asleep to the sound of you talking about your day. ♡ he is also definitely indulging in buying you trinkets, but it's usually not cute little one. it's usually expensive necklaces, beautiful earrings/bracellets, and if you have any body modifications he is 100% buying expensive body jewlerry. he is a bird and showers his partner in expensive and shiny things. ♡ usually when keigo gets back it's late so he will tuck himself into you and sleep. the next day he is taking you to an expensive fancy brunch or if you want an amazing homemade dinner. literally he just wants to feed you and take care of you, he wants you to know that there was not a single moment of the mission where he wasn't thinking of you (without actually just saying it.)

363 notes · View notes

ilianasbruce · 23 days ago

Note

omg love your work — would love to pls req honeymoon stage Bruce, I feel like he would be so sweet 😭 tysm!

“Sweet like honey and shimmering like the Moon.”

word count: 2,600

summary: honeymoon phase of you and your Bruce.

warnings: some +18 suggestive themes. minors do not interact, please.

notes: hello, hello!!! welcome to my requested fiction!! ♡ this is the first fiction as requested and my second requested Bruce headcanons one is on the process — thus, this can be count as a note to the dear anonymous stranger who requested that!! i want to thank all of you, firstly to the dear stranger who requested this (i hope it’s for you liking ♡) and secondly to you guys who read my fiction!!! i can’t explain how it motivates me to write more and i hope you enjoy the reading, too!! before i end my yapping, i want all of you to relate Bruce’s trait to lavish his wife to this comment i saw online “Bruce may have spent his youth in the woods, underground, in prison, in a ditch eating garbage, but he has not forgotten his roots” 😭🫶🏻 anyways, thank you guys!!! ♡ ♡

My dear anonymous stranger, as you said Bruce, in his and your honeymoon phase, was a sweetheart.

You two got a few days (ten days in total) off as newlyweds due to Bruce’s chaotic schedule. He felt terrible for just a few days off from Gotham, self-blaming for not giving you enough of his time. (An interesting fact is that your honeymoon was just a month ago, before ‘the Long Halloween’ murders started.) But you understood it unconditionally, his guilt, when you met him at the altar, giving your hand to him in wedlock forevermore. You just wanted him and it was enough for both of you.

You two ended up in some coastal town of Sicily, away from the chaos, as you sought an escape. It was a small town, with the early September sun and the Mediterranean sea. It was you and Bruce, wandering on its narrow streets hand in hand, stealing kisses in every corner or alleyway. You could have a luxurious villa or hotel in Monaco, but to you, it still would be filled with noise. You already had it in Gotham, so what was the difference between them here, too?

Bruce was insisting on bathing you in lavishness, aching to press your skin to the expensive sheets of some luxurious hotel where you could spend your mornings. You did have that phase, too, thank God as Bruce wanted. But the first and remarkable one was when you two were in a rented, old Sicilian home of a middle-aged Italian lady. She was reminiscing about her sweet years of marriage when she looked at two lovebirds in front of her, seeing your youth as her own once in her life, your form in the arms of a devoted man, which was the main reason why she offered you a home for your first days of marriage.

You spent a few days there. The early hours of waking up and swimming in the sea, or eating a light breakfast in the first hours of forenoon were your favourite. You’d drag him down the stairs — not that he minded to follow you any place you wanted to go, decorate him with morning kisses and with your giggles as you’d leave the house. It was your dearest hours.

Bruce’s favourite hours was when you were blinking up at him with the sleep in your eyes, hair messy, and skin kissed by the sun lovingly. He loved those minutes so much, keeping your face close to his, adoring you with his eyes — as if you were a dream that he didn’t think he was capable of making. You were so lovely between the sheets, smiling at him from your bare shoulder as you were snuggling your pillow when you woke up just sweet as honey.

Opposite of you, Bruce loved to spend time in bed with you. He would be nuzzling you, kissing your slightly sunburned, bare skin, or your birthmarks, moles if you were painted with them. You were something for his eyes in the early morning light, so warm as much as the air around in your room, tasting as sweet wine you two drank yesterday.

Those mornings he’d look too handsome for his own. His keen, sleep-blurred blue eyes and scar-adorned skin under your fingertips were something you remembered so clearly. Your eyes could be hazy like him from sleep but your breath was taken away by his eyes. His eyes would stare at your every inch in an aching need and love, his fingers would be grazing on your soft skin as engraving you into his memory inch by inch. You loved him so much, specifically in those sweet mornings, snuggling into him as you were on him. You’d trace your finger or lips on his face, loving him as his hands circled your warm body, letting you love him how you wanted.

Whenever he opened his eyes, you’d end up under him — some mornings he was kissing your curves sweetly, nestling into you lovingly and sleepily. And some mornings he was between your thighs, fucking you for an hour or an hour and half, tiring you to fall asleep with him again until you woke up on the noon.

Bruce didn’t know the genuine feeling of staying in bed, after waking up, back before you. He did not even bother to think about it and he was getting out of bed as soon as he was conscious. But when you became his wife, he relished the feeling of it and you. You were affectionate, tender, and wished him close to you. Thus, you were showering him with your adorable morning love, cuddling, or lying on him; giving him a perspective of a new act.

You were now married and he was just so into you: Into the idea of spending the minutes in the warm sheets and your body as much as he wanted, as he was experiencing for the first time: the first days of marriage and the meaning of a husband, a lover. He was finally at peace with something and he became selfish about that for once.

The honeymoon of yours also passed with you wandering throughout the nearby towns of Sicily. One day you took a train and spent the whole day there, then came back a few hours before midnight. You’d be pressed quietly against each other in the train, taking in the scene in front of your eyes in peace. Sometimes, you were stealing kisses during the ride. It’d usually happen when your head was on Bruce’s shoulder as he watched the landscape through the window, thoughtfully. When his eyes caught yours, either of you was leaning towards each other for a kiss.

Or it also passed with the naps after the roaming through the alleyways or swimming in the Mediterranean sea, both of you sun-kissed, stomachs filled with traditional meals, and pressed up to each other as one. He’d be either playing with your hair when you were in his arms, threading through it, or pressing the softest kisses to it. Or you’d be on top of him, caressing his face while he was dozing off serenely after yourself following him. Naps were his favorite as much as the mornings because Bruce was unconsciously into the idea of being skin-to-skin with you.

It was a yearning notion in him even though he did not understand it at first. He thought it was normal, wanting you in his arms or him in your arms. He did not realize the obsession at first. The idea of it, the vision of it was unexplainable for him. What was the reason behind it, unwillingness to get out of bed, to leave your arms when he could be spending his eternity there? When you woke up the first time into his arms, tangled with each other under the sheets was something that firstly carved into Bruce’s mind in the morning haze.

You both were new to the experience, the intimacy and warmth of being in your true lover’s arms. The sweetness of it, you, made him bound to your bed. After the first taste of it, he was too reluctant to leave bed; the thoughts of his responsibilities were now too heavy because he’d be spending his time on them, alone and unaided, without you. Suddenly, the loneliness he had accepted and worn for too long was unbearable. Because you weren't next to him. He could be with you only after he’d come home, with a bloodstained suit or a bruised back. He comprehended how it was a threat to Batman. But Bruce — not Bruce Wayne, not Batman, just Bruce — could have you all to himself just once, couldn't he? He had to, since the thought of a life without you created the same loneliness that haunted him in the halls of Manor after his parents’ death. The love you gave him was so powerful that he never wanted it to wither.

He realized that later, the feeling of wanting you that much, when you were smelling the fresh lemons at some fruit vendor while the man was speaking to you in Italian or maybe in the Sicilian dialect that you did not understand but kept your eyes on the man. And Bruce was so caught up in the moment, staring and adoring you with his eyes. He realized the thought of his unwillingness at that exact moment — the persistence of it. God, he was in love with you desperately.

You were unaware of his gape, listening to the man with curiosity and there he was. He was measuring every angle of your beautiful face, maybe counting the beauty marks if you had, admiring the shadows dancing on your cheeks, and many more all at once. There was a heart shape in his baby blue eyes and only just from looking at you.

The Sicilian days finished off with Bruce pulling you to Monaco. He was a man of wealth and a generational aristocrat, so why did you think otherwise that he wouldn't lavish you? What was meant lavishing was not just the jewelry of twenty, various sumptuous gem pieces that had been brought up from Switzerland or France as your dower from your husband Bruce for a bridal offering to you, for your lovely neck or your wrists. Nor the antique but still worthwhile piano just for you because one time you told him you wished you could have a chance to learn to play it. Bruce can get anything your heart desires — the heart that only beats for him in your chest — and he is not blameworthy about it. Lavishing also meant to give you himself — his mind and attention, his love. So, when he insisted on spending the last four days of your honeymoon in Monaco, you couldn’t reject his motive.

God, he was ecstatic about it, taking his precious wife to the places that should be only for her regard. Expensive hotels with 7-star ranking, worthy materials of clothing for your softest skin, melodious theatre performs just for you two in a secluded seat in the hall — anything ‘luxurious’ meant was just for you in his head. He’d spend his money on you in the blink of an eye and you’d be glaring at him with a stun or a chide at the expense. He was young and married, ‘baby’, why would you expect otherwise?

You remember the night you were dining in the special restaurant of your hotel, in slightly dim candlelight, embroidered with a burgundy mixed with brown and white, and listening to the French singer who was singing about a memory. You were trying to catch her words but you already had an eloquent speaker of French right in front of you (who had translated the singer’s words to you for a better experience for you), gazing at you as if you were an enigma that was hauling him deeper, to peak his mind and notions over and over again as he made a move. He was not complaining, he was elated about it. Your husband was in his early detective arc days, but you'd like to think that he was not thriving for to decipher you? You sitting so lovely, spiraling in his mind from the love and obsession, being his now and evermore?

That night was so special because you two had told your first ‘I love you’s as newlyweds. You did catch his stare after tearing your gaze, in the last seconds of the song, from the singer in the dim candlelight. You were slightly awestruck and bashful under his heart-shaped pupils. When you gave him a flushed smile, your eyes crinkling under the shades of the candle, he said it unconsciously.

“I love you.”

Those three words caught you both suddenly but in seconds your bashful smile turned into a loving one with the feature of “I love you, too.”. It was such a special night for you two, always carved into your minds and hearts.

Four days in Monaco passed in wholesome luxury and love. Bruce took you to the sightseeing places of Monte Carlo — from the colossal casinos to the exotic gardens. The tennis matches with you in your short tennis skirts that Bruce’s hand would find your thigh as soon as you sat on the bleachers and the Formula One race with him looking like a husband, or the operas in there and here with you stealing kisses from each other in a private box for just for you, you forgot to count. Your arm was linked to his as he guided you through the dilemma of the highest-rated alleyways.

Speaking of the love, you were so dearly loved, decorated with the softest materials on your skin as your clothes and the ones underneath them. Oh, how Bruce loved the ones underneath your garments. Your delicate, pricey, and scrumptious pieces — sets or separated — of underwear were Bruce's favorite kinds of nights to experience. He would be unwrapping you as his gift, with patience or zero, while you were melting in his hands with flushed from his kisses and wine.

His lingerie favoritism started one day when Bruce was in Gotham, coming from a board meeting and he was watching the streets contemplatively as Alfred his chauffeur. In the middle of overthinking, it caught his eye randomly. There was a lingerie boutique. Bruce did not know why it was so alluring at the moment, in the middle of his itchy thoughts but his mind immediately went to you as he stared at its decorative, curved words. It was inscribed on the back of his mind for a purpose since then and he waited until you became his wife to put dainty fabrics on your skin. You and Bruce never got intimate before marriage — kept it like old-fashioned until your wedding night. And he did not want to pry into your privacy, risking gifting you one at the moment. He believed he had no right to speak about something at those times and he would speak about it with his hands and mouth when you let him at the right time.

And now, after the countless nights and mornings he had seen you? The intimate act of yours led Bruce to measure your body during it for his lingerie dreams, his fingers pressing on your intricate undergarment fabrics as much as he yearned for. You realized he was into you and your choices, so you told yourself to give him what he loved. You learned his favoritism during the early days of your honeymoon and marriage. And oh, may God help you since he was addicted to the intimate act between you and your sweetness.

So, when you were wandering the streets of Monte Carlo, if you saw any underwear boutique, your husband was ushering you with neck kisses or whispers of how you’d look good pretty on him with a few pieces or two, that he’d gladly tear them off at the same night, which left your face warmed and a murmur of his name. He’d gladly peck your lips and drag you there, leave you on your own with his black card while he waited outside like a gentleman.

So, yes. Monte Carlo was filled with lavish and love.

On the last day, you did go shopping for some pastry, chocolate, and a few more things for Alfred. Since he was happy about his son’s happy marriage, he ushered you both for a honeymoon heavily (chiding Bruce with sarcastic but stern remarks) while he stayed at Manor. You couldn't leave him out of your mind, since he was now your family, too. You were happily buying the things you knew he’d like as Bruce followed you as your knight. So, a bunch of gifts were collected for Pennyworth, too.

When you were back in Gotham, kissed by the sun of Europe and glowing with the bare magic of your marriage, you were still met by the same Gotham. All gothic and mysterious on the edges, but Bruce’s city and now your home forevermore.

thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x reader smut #batman and batmom as newlyweds!!!#batman x reader #batman x you #batman #batman x batmom #batman x fem!reader #batman x reader smut #batman smut #dc comics #requests!!♡#anonymous strangers!!! ♡

230 notes · View notes