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alwaysurvalentine · 3 months ago

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Three Strikes and You're Out! - st fic

This is a follow up to: this - wc: 2.8k - cw: nothing to worry about I think!

enjoy! 💛

Eddie decides to talk to Robin first. He’s not sure what to expect when she swings her front door open and yells over her shoulder to Mrs. Buckley.

“I’ll be back in a bit, go ahead and eat!”

And then she’s stomping over to his van and looking at him expectantly from the passenger seat. He almost trips rushing to follow her, but is able to start his car in one piece.

“I was wondering when you were going to come by. Steve mentioned things didn’t go over well the other night.” She says it bluntly and Eddie flinches. He knows the other night could’ve gone better. Like a dog with a bone, he’s been dissecting the other night in great detail. Can’t stop thinking of how frustrated Steve seemed with himself, how the words ‘stupid’ and ‘bullshit’ dripped vitriol from his mouth, and how he let the other boy leave in such a hurry. He taps his hands against the steering wheel softly before answering.

“Yeah. It wasn’t good, Birdie. I really messed up.” Personally, he doesn’t think ‘messed up’ really covers it. He feels like he walked himself right off the edge of a pier into icy waters. Steve hasn’t answered the couple of times he’s called and the only reason why Eddie’s not searching town for him is knowing that Steve has at least been giving the brats rides to the arcade. Hearing his voice on the radio has been enough, but Eddie can’t take the closed off silence he’s getting now.

“So I’ve heard. Wanna tell me how things went from your perspective?”

He tells her the story once they get to the diner. There’s a plate of fries between them but Eddie just picks at them instead of actually eating. Robin’s blue eyes feel like daggers so he’s been more focused on watching the parking lot than looking at her.

“Like I said, I know I messed up.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Robin speaks up again, words calm.

“Do you even know how you did?”

And Eddie realizes, he doesn’t really. He knows Steve is upset but to be this upset over a D&D game? There’s something more under the surface – that’s why he was drawn to Robin. If anyone is going to know what the root of the problem is, it’s Steve’s own nerdy band soulmate. She has to know why Steve pulled away halfway through the session. Eddie had thought things were going well; Dustin had helped Steve with his character, Jeff let him borrow some of his dice, and Steve had been asking questions. But they all asked questions when they started! Sometimes Gareth even had to double check an action versus the rules during his turns.

The more Eddie thinks about it though, Steve had only asked a couple questions before Mike had made some comment under his breath. It wasn’t long after that that the ex-jock had said he’d be gone for a quick break but to continue without him. A quick break turned into him not coming back to the table at all and Eddie wrapping up the session early to everyone’s disappointment. After everyone went home is when things went downhill, but he still doesn’t know why it bothered Steve so much.

“Eddie.” Robin’s voice sounds pitying, like she’s sad he wasn’t able to make this connection on his own. “You said it yourself, you can’t be good at everything you try the first time. But this is Steve we’re talking about. He feels like he can’t mess up. If he ever slips up, you know what those kids of his do?”

Eddie does. He knows the kids, especially Mike and Dustin, tend to fixate on Steve’s slip ups. They’re just like siblings in that way, but Steve’s always been an only child. Eddie can imagine that the constant harping probably sits a little heavier on Steve’s shoulder than the kids realize. He pulls his gaze from the window and looks at Robin again.

Something like regret is crawling up his spine – he helped make a space where Steve felt bad for messing up, and then yelled at him for not trying.

“Oh Birdie, I really messed up. How do I fix this? I just wanted to share this with him. And I know all the kids did too. He’s their glorified big brother, whether he realizes it or not – they just want to have more in common with him.”

She’s nodding along to his words, plate now empty except for the last dredges of the ketchup she’d put there earlier. “Maybe it’s not so much that they need to share what they like with him, but that you guys need to share what he likes. I may not care about sports as much as he does, but I’ve played on bleachers long enough to follow a game. Sometimes that’s what our hang outs are: he puts on the latest game and I paint my nails or work on patches for my jacket. He’s got his own interests, you know? That’s what makes him who he is – he just goes along with what everyone else likes because no one really likes his stuff except for-”

“Lucas. Robin Buckley, you are a genius.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself at the Sinclair’s house a couple hours later. He’d radioed Lucas as soon as he dropped off Robin and was pleasantly surprised to find out he was free that afternoon. Things were rocky between them for a while, with Eddie replacing him with Erica while he played the championship game. Steve had been the one to get Eddie to apologize about it. Made Eddie see how important both games had been to Lucas, how unfair it was to force him to pick one over he other. Especially since one has a coach breathing down the players necks to make sure they’re at every game, unlike the Hellfire Club getting to pick their meeting days and times. Lucas forgave him as soon as he said sorry but Eddie vowed he’d do better in the future about re-scheduling to make sure there weren’t issues. He couldn’t imagine having a show and none of his friends showing up.

“Hey Eddie! Lucas mentioned you were coming by.” Mrs. Sinclair welcomed him in, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen. It was nice to be accepted so easily into their home, he’d worried when meeting all of the party's parents that they would decide he was the hell raiser people claimed him to be without giving him a real chance. Looking back, he should’ve known better – there’s no way his sheep would have parents that weren’t at least a little open minded.

He follows her to the kitchen and gets hit with a wave of warmth and the smell of brown sugar. Mrs. Sinclair slips on a faded blue oven mitt before pulling a tray of cookies from the oven.

“Are the cookies done yet?” Little Erica comes around the corner and raises an eyebrow at Eddie. “And when did you get here?”

“Just got here. Your mom just pulled the cookies out, so you’ve got impeccable timing as always Lady Applejack.” He grins down at her when she brightens at the promise of warm cookies. It’s nice to see the kids getting to be kids after everything.

“Lucas is in the backyard, will you bring him some of these before someone tries to eat them all.” Mrs. Sinclair smiles and nods her head towards Erica, who’s trying to save a cookie from the floor since it’s so warm it’s falling apart.

Lucas tosses the ball as soon as Eddie steps outside and lets out an excited ‘whoop!’ when it goes into the basket. “Nice one?” Eddiesounds less confident when he says it but he’s also very aware he wouldn’t be able to do the same thing no matter how hard he tried. The smile he gets from Lucas rids him of his nervousness though and he holds out the plate of cookies.

“I’ve been sent with snacks.” The plate’s taken from his hands quickly, cookie in Lucas’ mouth in seconds.

“Thanks. So what’d you wanna talk about? Not that I don’t like seeing you, we just don’t usually hang out one on one.”

Guilt fills Eddie’s stomach, especially since he’s here to ask a favor. But honestly, maybe this is good for him. To learn more about Lucas too.

“Well. I’m gonna level with you. I need you to teach me about sports.”

Sports are much more complicated than Eddie ever gave them credit for. Lucas spent the afternoon going over the different rules for basketball. He’d tried to follow as best he could, and while some stuff stuck, like what exactly a three-pointer was and why dribbling was so important – Eddie knows he’s far from being a sports fan. When Lucas had mentioned that Steve’s favorite had been baseball, he’d hoped to learn some there too. But baseball wasn’t Lucas’ passion so he’d put off that research for later.

Even if he didn’t get all of it, it was nice to see Lucas so excited. He’s seen the kid during campaigns, planning out different attacks with the group, but now he’s kind of excited to see him in action on the court. Kid’s got a good heart and with how strongly he adores the group, Eddie knows the passion has to show when he plays.

So he leaves with a smile on his face and his heart full. He really is lucky to have these people in his life.

“Uncle Wayne! Just the man I wanted to see!”

Just like he expected, Eddie walks in to the trailer to see Wayne watching a game on the couch. It’s his day off and usually that means Eddie lets him have the trailer to relax until dinner time and then they eat together. Eddie’s cut into a couple hours of what he likes to call ‘Wayne’s TV Time’ but he knows his uncle won’t mind.

After toeing off his shoes and hanging his vest, Eddie plops down next to Wayne. The older man jostles with the movement but doesn’t say anything as he turns the TV down. All of a sudden, Eddie is nervous. He knows Wayne won’t judge him for asking, especially once he knows why he needs to know all about baseball. But he also hates admitting he hurt someone, unintentional or not.

“Out with it, Ed.”

Eddie stops messing with his rings at his uncle’s voice. “I need your help with something.”

“You know I always have your back, what’s going on?”

And it all spills out. Trying to play D&D with Steve, the conversation after, his goal to understand Steve more before apologizing properly.

“Sounds like you’re already on track. Whatcha need me for?”

“Well, I’m so glad you asked. IneedyoutoteachmeallaboutbaseballsothatIcantalktoSteveaboutit.”

“How about you try that while breathing?”

“I need you to teach me about baseball so that I can talk to Steve about it.”

Thankfully Wayne has the patience of a saint because Eddie asks him a question nearly every time he goes to explain something.

“How do you know it’s in the strike zone?”

“There’s different ways to throw the ball? And it’s all based off of one guy’s hand code on which one to do?”

“So what you’re saying is that every player has different ability scores that make them better players in different positions?”

“You can steal bases?”

“How come a run isn’t a point?”

“A top and bottom inning? Kinky. Whose idea was that?”

Wayne’s been asleep for a couple of hours when Eddie hears a soft knock at the trailer door. He’d heard a car pull up a few minutes before but just figured it was one of the neighbors finally getting home. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see Steve on his doorstep.

“Steve?” “Eddie-”

“Come in -” “I just want to say-”

Steve huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners for a second before a small frown overtakes his face. The shadows of the porch make the expression deeper, somber almost.

“Come in for a minute?” He sounds pleading to his own ears, but it doesn’t stop Eddie from backing into the trailer – trusting Steve to follow him to his room. His room is a bit of a mess, clothes on the floor and a couple boxes still left unpacked from when they moved. There’s a a few notebooks laying open on his bed, notes he’d taken today and connections he’s tried to make. He wasn’t quite ready for this talk with Steve but he’s more prepared than he was the other day.

“So, Eddie...I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

Eddie whips around to face Steve, notebooks now in a stack in his hands.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Steve’s brows furrow at Eddie’s words, confusion and indignation filling his eyes.

“What?”

“Only you would apologize for something that’s not your fault. Unbelievable. Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hut your feelings the other day. I was just so excited for you to be playing with us that I didn’t think about you being nervous about it.”

The indignation in Steve’s eyes fades and all he’s left with is the eyes of a sad puppy dog. He almost looks lost, shoulders hunched in slightly to make him appear smaller.

“What does that matter? I still ruined the fun.” Somehow, he makes himself even smaller. Eddie’s stomach turns at the sight. Steve shouldn’t be so practiced in making himself small and Eddie’s going to do everything he can to get him out of that habit.

“No you didn’t. Us being pig-headed ruined the fun. Stop looking at me like that, come here.” His mattress sinks when he sits and he pats the bedding next to him.

“I mean it, come here. I wanna show you something. It’s what I’ve been working on these couple of days.”

Finally, Steve comes to sit next to him. Unlike so many times before he’s stiff next to Eddie, not letting himself relax.

“So I’m gonna be honest here. I was really confused when you left the other night. Some of the stuff you said didn’t seem like it was really about me. But that doesn’t matter. You know, why?”

A shake of his head is the only response Eddie gets.

“Because at the end of the day, we made you feel like you couldn’t ask questions. I made you feel bad too. So I might’ve reached out to a couple of people for help. If it’s one thing that Wayne’s taught me, it’s to apologize. I talked to Buckley first.”

Finally, a small smile from Steve that stays there.

“She pointed out something I should’ve been able to figure out on my own. We all have our own interests and you always make space for it. But we don’t ever do the same for you.”

“Ed-”

“Don’t fight me on this. You always let us talk about what we want, you always host for us; you always look out for us. It’s about time more than one of us takes the time to do it for you too. Anyway, so then I talked with the other sports nerds in my life: Lucas and Wayne. And I came up with this!”

Steve hasn’t stopped smiling which is giving Eddie more confidence by the minute. He grabs at the notebooks he moved earlier, flipping back a couple of pages before leaning into Steve’s space. At the top of the page he’s written ‘D&D vs Baseball’. To Steve, the notes probably look crazy. There’s a couple doodles of dice and baseballs around the page and his writing is messy from where he tried connecting the two while laying in his bed.

“What is this?” Gently, Steve takes the notebook from Eddie’s hands, fingers tracing the rough sketch of a baseball field.

“If you want to give D&D another try, I think I found a better way of describing it.” Eddie’s full on grinning now, knows his dimples are exposed with his happiness. “But, if you never wanna play again I get that too.”

“Eddie.” Only five letters, but Steve still chokes on them slightly. His hazel eyes are filled with tears and the smile drops from Eddie’s face.

“Wait – no, I didn’t mean to make you cry! Was this a bad idea?” He goes to take the notebook back but Steve tightens his grip. Honey eyes lock with Eddie’s even as a tear falls.

“No, this is so nice.” Steve looks at the notes again and brushes at the tears on his cheeks. “I don’t know what all these notes mean, but it looks like you might be on to something.”

Steve smiles at Eddie and sets the notebook to the side. And then Eddie’s being hugged. Steve can’t be comfortable, twisted and leaning like he is – but Eddie hugs back anyway. Wraps his arms around Steve and rests a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s head where he’s tucked into Eddie’s neck. Steve squeezes around his middle once and then backs up, tears no longer falling but his smile remaining.

“Think you can try and explain these notes to me?”

Wanted to tag: @adverbally , @ravenfrog , and @blossomingblueberries. Thanks for your support/interest in another part! I hope this did it justice! 💛

Now officially with a third part! pt. 3

#pre steddie #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #Lucas Sinclair #stranger things #might make a third part #but thought this was a nice ending for now #valentine writes

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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✶ ┄ FIX IT !

summary: you thought you were over it, the whole steve-and-nancy thing. spoiler alert: you aren't. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 3.5k warning: angst. gut wrenching angst. with a sort of happy ending. a/n: i'm such a sucker for angst it's gotta be unhealthy at this point. anyway, shout out to all my angsty fic enjoyers. let's read this and cry together <3

Having four roommates and only two bathrooms was worth it if it meant getting out of Hawkins. The apartment was a quaint little thing just outside of Indianapolis — up four flights of stairs with no elevator, cracks in the walls, and a stellar view of an alleyway.

But it was nice to have a place all your own. Sharing it with all your best friends was even better. That was the dream after all, wasn’t it? And being with Steve — that was just the cherry on top of it all.

So you weren’t going to let your mean, green, and envious heart ruin the new life you and your friends were trying to build in this tiny apartment.

You didn’t even think yourself the jealous type. Not until you realized that Steve was going to live under the same roof as his ex-girlfriend. It was dumb and it was irrational and you just couldn’t shake it.

It was probably a whole lot harder for Steve than it was for you, really. Besides, it had been years since they were together. Both of them had moved on, both of them had new and blossoming relationships.

Jonathan was good to Nancy. And to you, Steve was… well he was perfect. More importantly, he was yours.

So it really shouldn’t bother you.

And it didn’t. Not for a while.

Not until Nancy and Jonathan broke up out of nowhere and he’d announced to all of you on movie night that he was moving out.

He said that he missed California too much, that Argyle was getting lonely all the way out there, and that he had a spare room at his place. You couldn’t tell if that was the truth or just some bullshit excuse.

Maybe both.

What made it worse is that Nancy hadn’t seemed all that upset about it. Hell, you were more sad about him leaving than she was.

She told you as much during your weekly designated wine night (the one where you and her and Robin got drunk on cheap wine, while the rest of the boys fucked off and got drunker on cheaper beer).

“It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would,” she’d confessed with a shrug, only slightly tipsy and cheeks pink with it. “We… drifted apart, I guess. Just felt right to end it.”

You and Robin spent the rest of the night comforting her, anyway.

She loved Jonathan, everyone knew that. It sort of came with the whole shared trauma thing. She had to be at least a little bit sad that her person was gone, but she hid it away from the rest of you like it was her job.

But when the days got really bad, and she found herself missing Jonathan more than she liked, she sought refuge in Steve. Your Steve.

And it made sense. He knew her better than the rest of you.

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach when Steve accompanies the girl on a liquor store run without her having to ask. You watch with your heart in your throat when he leaves with her in the dead of night — a swirling bubble of jealousy in the pit of your chest with an ache so palpable you can taste it.

You spend the next several minutes trying not to look as sad as you feel while Eddie can’t stop debating on what the two of them might be talking about.

Nancy had been more reserved as of late, carrying a rain cloud over her as she wandered through the apartment like a ghost — he concludes they’re just going out to spill some hot goss. Robin makes him promise to never say those string of words ever again while you quietly dismiss yourself to your bedroom.

Nancy and Steve have been gone for an hour.

Lying in the dark and staring up at the textured, water-stained ceiling, you start to do the math. Fifteen minutes there, fifteen minutes back with traffic — but the streets are usually bare after nine o’clock. Either way, that leaves a half hour spent trying to choose what alcohol to splurge on.

You’ve seen Nancy try to pick out wine, she’s indecisive and a perfectionist to boot. She could spend hours dissecting each bottle to find the perfect one, if Robin wasn’t constantly over her shoulder rushing her.

Maybe that’s why Nancy had declined when the girl offered to tag along with them.

Or maybe she just wanted to be alone with Steve—

You have to physically shake that thought from your head. But even when you shut your eyes, it’s like the image of him and Nancy making out in the back of her Station Wagon is ingrained in the depths of your mind.

You curl into yourself and bathe in the depths of the dark abyss you’ve created in your bedroom, trying to see your way out of your handcrafted turmoil like a bad cold.

When Nancy and Steve return, they come cradling paper bags in their arms like babies.

Robin relieves the latter of the load in his hands and follows the darker-haired girl into the kitchen connected to the living room, no larger than a decent-sized closet.

Steve notices the lack of your presence as soon as he walks through the door. When he’d left, the three of you were pregaming — a feat that often led to Eddie breaking out his guitar and you and him singing terribly off-key to whatever was playing on the radio.

Now you’re nowhere to be found, and he feels it like a missed meal. He feels the ache of your absence like an empty stomach.

“Where’d she go?” Steve asks Eddie, who’s lounging on the couch and taking up the entire space — legs spread and arms thrown over the back.

The curly-haired boy takes a noisy sip of his nearly gone beer. Then exhales rather dramatically when he sits the can on his thigh. It leaves a damp ring on the denim. “Hey, buddy... Just blow in from stupid town?”

“…What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, already annoyed and knowing more than he lets on. “She’s in her room, dingus.”

“She okay?” Steve wonders with furrowed brows, uncaring of the use of the stupid nickname because there’s bigger things to worry about apparently.

It wasn’t like you to miss a night of drinking. He gets momentarily fearful that you’d gotten sick while he was away, that he wasn’t around to help you if you had.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Eddie lilts with wide eyes, like it’s a bright idea that neither of them would’ve thought of otherwise.

His sarcasm makes Steve roll his eyes, but he heeds the boy’s words anyway.

Through the short hallway and the last door on the right, he finds you in the darkness of your shared bedroom, illuminated only by the orange streetlight that filters through the blinds. You're hid beneath the covers, a little lump on the mattress.

He idles in the doorway and waits for you to react to his presence.

You don’t.

“Hey, babe,” he greets cautiously after concluding you just hadn’t heard the door squeak open upon his arrival. “You feel okay?”

You mumble something he can’t quite make out. He takes the raised infliction as an affirmative and shifts his weight on his feet because it’s unlike you to be so one-note with him.

“Well, I, uh— I bought some of that wine you like... I couldn’t remember if you liked the blackberry or blueberry, so I ended up just getting both, you know, just in case.”

“Okay,” you respond after several agonizing seconds. Your voice sounds so fragile in the still darkness. Like he didn’t already know something was wrong.

He so desperately wants to pry but chooses to err on the side of caution for now, out of fear of turning the bad, worse.

“You wanna come down and try it with me? If you don’t like it we can always go back—”

“I’m okay,” you interrupt gently, with a tone so soft and coated with so much emotion that it makes his heart sink. You’re anything but and he knows it.

“Okay,” he nods anyway with the hope that he can pull you from this funk you’d managed to fall into. “Do you, uh… Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

He hears your deep sigh and sees the way the wad of blankets rises and falls again. A telltale sign of your annoyance. He knows then that he’s overstayed his welcome.

Your voice remains quiet but loses its kindness when you tell him: “You can do whatever you want, Steve.”

He’s hurt by the way you’re so suddenly short with him, then angered because he didn’t do anything to deserve it in the first place.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you? What did I do?”

You don’t answer. You just sigh again, the same really big, dramatic one that’s more to showcase your irritation with him than anything else.

You’re more than keen to end the conversation right there, but Steve isn’t. Not when something’s eating you away from the inside out and he can’t do anything to help you because you won’t let him.

“Babe, c’mon. I get it, alright? You’re mad at me. Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” you monotone, stifled beneath the covers.

“I can’t fix it?” he repeats with furrowed brows. “What do you mean, I can’t fix it?”

You use your silence as an answer, as a weapon. It’s almost worse than any silver-tongued reply you could've given him. The quiet forces him to think for himself and imagine all the things he could’ve done wrong that he can’t take back. It feels like quicksand.

Did he forgot to kiss you good morning? Of course, he didn’t — actually, he gets mad at you for forgetting — and you were golden before he left. Eddie probably said something stupid, that was likely. Or maybe Robin made a joke that upset you, that was even more likely.

He figures it’s something in between all those. Something silly that feels like the end of the world. He can make it better. He always makes it better.

Steve lifts the lump of covers you shield yourself with and crawls beneath them with the intention of pulling you out of the void you’ve sunken into.

It’s not so comfortable, lying in bed in socks and jeans and a collared shirt, but he doesn’t need to feel good right now — you do. He’ll be content if he can just hold you in his arms for a couple of hours, the rest of the night if that’s what you need.

But he can’t even do that.

He reaches for your arm, fingers just barely trailing across the warm skin there, and you jerk away from him like he’s shocked you.

It startles him, how quick you are to avoid him. It has him jerking back too, because you’ve never denied him the opportunity to touch you. He becomes the same sort of storm cloud that you are now, because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Any of it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks you, less soft than he’d been before.

You sniffle. “I told you I didn’t want you going out alone with Nancy anymore,” you mumble, face still shoved into your pillow. The words are slightly muffled but he can hear the tears that coat your voice.

“That’s what this is about?” he wonders, not as empathetic as you’d hoped he might be, but genuinely confused. With your back to him, you don’t see the smile pulling at his lips while he shakes his head, like it’s funny to him. “Babe, we were just getting drinks. It’s no different than you going out with Robin.”

“It’s totally different! Because I was never in love with Robin. She was never in love with me—”

“Well, I beg to differ,” he murmurs in a soft laugh.

“It’s not funny, Steve,” you retort wetly and then sniffle again. When you turn to face him, he sees for the first time what he’s done to you.

The orange of the streetlight lamp outside bathes you in a sunset shade of neon — your eyes are glassy with tears that gather at your lashes. Emotions glow at the tip of your nose and your cheeks. Your skin would be hot to the touch if he felt you now.

“Do you know how weird it is for me? To watch my boyfriend and his ex go fuck around with me?” you ask him with a scrunched nose and brows, like your trying to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Steve scolds. “She just wanted to get alcohol for tonight and had some shit to get off her chest. I mean, she’s been having a really hard time lately—”

“It’s not your job to take care of her, Steve!” you shout before you even realize you’re shouting. You take in a shuddered breath and let it out in a trembling sigh, shining eyes flitted away from him and towards the ceiling as you calm yourself down.

When you start your lament again, you’re quieter.

“You can’t just be this, like, emotional crutch for her every single time something’s wrong. She’ll just get invested in you all over again and…”

Steve watches from beside you, propped up on his elbow, as you trail off. The frown between your eyebrows deepens, a great and inquisitive crevice, while your eyes widen and your mouth falls softly agape — like you’ve discovered something in the midst of your rant.

“Is— Is that what you want?” you ask him then. “Do you, like, need her attention to feed your ego or something?”

He’s too offended by your words to tell you all the ways they aren’t true. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, Steve.”

“What is?”

“Watching you and her together!” you admit through a tightening throat. You rise from where you’d been laying down and Steve follows you, settling in front of you as you wrap your arms around your knees. “When I have to sit here, by myself, while you guys spend time alone. When she always knows what you’re up to, and I don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“—It’s not fair. She’s not your girlfriend, Steve, I am. It’s your job to take care of me, not her.”

Steve deflates like a popped balloon. His chin falls to his chest and his eyes squeeze shut at the weight of your words.

It’s like you’re reminding him that he’s supposed to be in love with you and not someone he cared for a long time ago. Like you felt the need to remind him because you thought he’d forgotten somewhere down the line.

It hurts him too. It feels like you’ve got his heart in your hands and you're wringing it in your grip.

“You’re right,” Steve concedes with a nod. “I just... I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

He feels the same way, too, sometimes. When you and Eddie go all buddy-buddy mode and want to spend time together.

When you’re out all night with him at band practice. When you’re attached at the hip and having sleepovers in his room to talk about everything and nothing for hours until you fall asleep when the sun rises. When you both come down at one in the afternoon the next day for breakfast, giggling about the thing you said the night before.

It makes him feel like he’s missing out. Like you’re sharing parts of yourself with someone else and he isn’t allowed to see it.

And sometimes he gets irrational — keeps himself up all night as he imagines you and Eddie making out on his floor after going through all his new tapes or fucking in his unmade bed while he keeps a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

Steve concocts waking nightmares for himself whenever you’re not beside him.

But even then, it’s different. Because he used to do all that shit with Nancy. They fell in love, made out for hours because they didn’t want to stop feeling each other, had sex on a twin-sized bed and tried to keep from falling out of it while they did.

You’d never done that shit with Eddie — or with anyone you’re now sharing a home with. Besides Steve.

Because he’s yours now. And you’re his.

But you can’t stop thinking about how he used to be Nancy’s too.

“I don’t need you to tell me that I’m right,” you murmur with the childlike shake of your head, slow and lazy, as you wipe your wet cheek on your shoulder. “I need you to do something about it— I needed you to do something about it a long time ago.”

“I will, okay? I will. I promise. I’ll fix it,” Steve assures you quickly, with wide and hopeful eyes and a nodding head that makes his hair flop against his forehead.

He can see you losing hope in front of him, like a flame going slowly out. You’re slipping away. He keeps fighting to keep a hold of you.

“No.”

“…No?”

“You can’t,” you sniffle. “You can’t fix it.”

“Baby—”

“It’s not fair. To either of us,” you tell him, looking at him through clumped together lashes and heavy, sparkling eyes. “And it’s not your fault, okay? But I can’t keep feeling this like. It’s not healthy— this isn’t… this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. It shouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve blinks back stinging tears. He brings his hand to his face and rubs the back of it against his burning nose. He feels a bit like you do now, hopeless. You’re slipping away and he is too and you both just keep on slipping, just going going going.

“You’re not even—” he clears his throat when his voice breaks halfway through. “You’re not even gonna let me try?”

You shrug weakly. Tears burn as they gather at your waterline. You revel in the sting because it’s better than the hole ripping through your chest.

“I don’t know. I think… I think it’s too late.”

“Why would you say that?” Steve agonizes with the shake of his head, looking like a wounded puppy as he gaze at you with brown eyes full of hurt. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”

“Steve—”

“No,” he interjects firmly, stopping the spiral before it can start again.

He positions himself so he’s sitting further ahead of you and holds your arms in his numbing hands, ducking down to catch your gaze when you try to look away from him.

“I love you, okay? I’m an idiot and I’m sorry and I'm stupid, alright? I wasn’t thinking. But we can’t just… It’s not too late. I can fix this. I promise I can fix this.”

Your chest aches at his plea, at the way he still doesn’t understand.

It’s not his fault you feel this way, not entirely. It’s not anyone’s fault and that’s what’s so scary. There’s no one to blame the pain on, no root to cut out and put an end to it. You’re frightened that it’s always going to be there, constantly in the way, forbidding either of you from ever moving on.

“Steve...” you murmur through tears while the boy gathers you in his arms. You try to stop him but your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. Because you don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

He nurses you into his velvet hold, wrapping a pair of strong arms around you to cage you against him. He presses his nose into your temple while he rocks you back and forth. “I promise. Everything’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

He repeats that like a mantra while you keep your head pressed against his chest — everything’s gonna be okay, I can fix it, I love you.

It’s a promise. One that he’d rather die than break.

You stay there, curled against his chest, while dark feelings ebb and flow in a constant and bitter cycle.

You hope he’s right. That these big feelings are just big stupid feelings that'll pass come the pink and blue sunrise. That everything really is going to be okay and that he really can fix it.

Because even now, all hopeless and full of doom and gloom, you feel soothed in his hold. You’ve never felt safer anywhere else. You’ve built a home in the peace of Steve’s arms and you want to keep on living in them.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he whispers against the crown of your head. If you’ll let me.

He feels you nod lazily against him. “Okay.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

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novasintheroom · 2 months ago

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123. Desire

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.4k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash slowly realizes that he wants to be yours.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3 (will post there and add link once AO3 is back up)

It comes up first one hot day in the town of Gargantan.

The bag of doughnuts crinkles in your grip as you weave through the morning bustle, heading toward the column of red at the end of the street. Vash knows he’s in trouble as soon as he smells it. You walk up to him, already giving a strange look. “What’s did you get?” You ask.

Vash laughs nervously. He keeps the two bags of doughnuts he already bought behind his back. “Just some bullets!”

You sniff the air. Lean forward and brush his cheeks with your fingertips. It comes away with powdered sugar. “Vash, did you get more doughnuts?”

He feels his stomach clench with guilt and hunger. Looking down, he gives a sheepish smile. “I just…wanted to try that other shop too.”

“Vash,” your mouth works, words forming and dissolving as you think of what to say. You’re fighting a smile. “We agreed we only had enough fun money for one bag of doughnuts.”

“I know.”

“We have three bags of doughnuts now, birdie.”

“I know,” he says again. He pouts, wondering what got into him. He’s usually much better about his money, but, lately, being with you…he feels…he doesn’t know. Like it’s okay to get food again. Even if it hurts the wallet a bit. “Hey, we don’t have to split a doughnut now, though! Look,” he pulls out a chocolate glazed doughnut, then another. “Two for one! BOGO!”

“You’re such a problem,” you groan.

He knows you’re joking. He knows. But something inside him shudders, and he wants to fix it. Make you feel better after his mistake. “Well, I’m your problem.” He says it as a joke. Tests the waters. See if there’s blood in them.

Your smile is genuine as you punch him in the shoulder, hitting the plating of his arm. “Yeah, you are. Heaven help me, but you are. Now give me a doughnut.”

The stirring of crickets in his stomach is the only warning he has of what’s to come. Your problem, he smiles, handing you a jelly-filled doughnut and eating his second with you. He likes the sound of that.

He toys with the idea. Handles it around and around in his head like a child with a very delicate antique, so clumsy with his hands but knowing how special it is.

It comes up again.

Nothing goes right all day, and by the end of it, you’re both tired and in a bad mood. Camping out in a buried, derelict ship is the last thing either of you want right now, but the ghost stories will keep the locals away. You set up your sleeping gear nearby. No fire tonight; there’s too many eyes searching for you two.

Vash can feel the breeze blowing through the holes of the ship. Cool, cool air that will turn to ice once the suns fully set. He looks over at you and sees the goosebumps rising on your arms, eyes picking out each individual hair standing on end. Vash chews the inside of his cheek. “Wanna sleep closer?”

It takes a moment for you to register he’s talking. Blinking, you look up. “Hm? What?”

“Do you want to sleep closer tonight? For warmth, I mean.”

Your eyes flit across his face. You’ve always been a fan of your personal space. Vash isn’t sure you’ll accept. Then, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

The day must have really taken it out of you for you to say ‘yes,’ but Vash isn’t complaining. You drag your stuff over to his and set up sluggishly. “I’m mad about what that mayor said to you on the way out,” you say, baring your feelings like you do, always an open book. “He shouldn’t have called you that. Especially after we saved his daughter.”

He doesn’t feel like talking about it, a fresh wound on his heart that will heal anyway. So he hums and lays down. “I’m just glad we got away before they pulled out the whips. That was…weird.”

You laugh and scoot over to his side, and Vash can feel your warmth. “You think they’re into the freaky stuff?”

He laughs with you and shakes his head. He’s about to respond when you curl up next to him and place your head on his shoulder. Mouth drying out, a strange feeling in the back of his throat forms. You press your side shyly closer into his.

“You don’t mind being my pillow for tonight, right?” You mumble it, and he can hear the embarrassment in your tone. This is hard for you.

He clears his throat and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I’m all yours.”

It goes quiet, and Vash wonders if he said the wrong thing. But then your breathing evens out, and he realizes you’re asleep. The day really took it out of you, then. Carefully, he brings his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. He doesn’t want you getting cold. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “all yours.”

What exactly is it that he wants?

You ask him this on the road. The suns are cresting some cliffs to the side, fall season turning the temperatures just a bit cooler – only just. And he says, “For love and peace to rule.” Typical.

“But what do you want? When love and peace is achieved and everyone’s happy?” You walk ahead of him, minding your steps, toeing an invisible line, kicking pebbles off to the side. “What do you want to be?”

He watches. Your figure curves as you bend over to pick up a white rock, throwing it up in the air and catching it again. You handle it, looking at the tiny crystals within that make it sparkle in the light. A habit of yours, he’s noticed – how you handle everything and everyone carefully, twisting them this way and that to find their hidden facets. You do it with him all the time. You’re doing it now, digging into his psyche, making him wonder about his own desires and wants. His eyes trace the shape of your lips as they purse.

Vash shakes out of his stupor when you glance at him, waiting for an answer. “I’ll probably be some kind of Plant engineer. Keep my sisters safe and healthy.” After all, what else is there for someone like him?

“Do you want to be an artist? An historian? You can’t just be an engineer all the time. What else do you want to be?”

His lips curve up. “I’ll still be with you, right? You’ve got the historian and artist bit down for the both of us.”

You groan and throw the rock away. The sands eat it up instantly, lost once again to the dunes of time. “Without leaning on me, Vash.” You look at him, eyes roving over his face for something he isn’t sure of. “When everything else is stripped away and accomplished, what do you want to be?”

Something in his chest erupts into butterflies. He knows the answer, cheesy as it is. Yours, yours, yours, his heart murmurs. I want to be yours.

It comes out in the quiet hours of the night, between dusk and midnight.

Your kisses are slow, sensual. He can’t get enough. The soft sand underneath, the cave overhead, the glow of worms in the distant sky through the mouth. You’re safe. He’s safe. His hands rove your sides, traveling under your shirt to massage the tender skin at your ribs. Your own hands travel from his neck to his stomach, back to his hair, feeling, feeling.

In a pause, a way to catch your breath, you look up at him in the blue gloom and grin. Your eyes are so full of love, twinkling like close stars. “Vash,” you murmur, petting your hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, his growing undercut. Your chests heave together, touching then retracting. Your nails scratch gently behind his ear, and goosebumps hike up his neck. “My Vash.”

It sends a shiver up and down his spine. Yes, this is what it is; this is what he has been searching for. And he should say something like ‘my mayfly,’ but what tumbles out of his kiss-swollen lips is, “Your Vash. Yours.”

Your laugh is deep and happy. He surges forward to catch it, feel it in his mouth as he kisses you again and again. “Yours,” he keeps murmuring, settling it in his own head, his own heart. “All yours. I’m yours.”

This is what he wants to be.

A place to belong. A place in your arms.

Yours.

#take it i'm sick of looking at it #it's not going to get any better rn so just take it lmao #one of those things where i KNOW it can be better but i don't know HOW to make it better #so i just spiral and lose my mind until i just give up and post it lol #the only part i 100% like is the end section #trigun #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #tristamp #vash #writing #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #reader insert #nova writes #x reader #trigun x reader #150 bullets

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nadvs · 4 months ago

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can i request for the swte universe in their college days, reader seems like a perfectionist to me so what if she failed on an exam or she didn't get there in time and she failed her class and she got really upset, feeling terrible about herself, very disappointed and rafe tries to uplift her mood, trying to get her out of her dorm room?🤍🤍🤍

omg yessss i always love your prompts 🥹

based on this fic

» au masterlist

she had a bad feeling about the midterm. sometimes she could tell when she was being too hard on herself, when she was catastrophizing, but she knew she wasn’t exaggerating when she told rafe that her mind went blank during the test and that she’s sure she failed.

now, as she sits in her dorm checking her grade on her laptop the night after, she gets the confirmation.

she texts her boyfriend, just like she did when they were best friends and told each other everything. i was right.

her phone starts buzzing with a phone call.

“you okay?” he says when she picks up. he remembers that her grade was supposed to be posted tonight.

“no,” she says with a defeated laugh.

rafe is with the guys, watching a game at the house. he stands up off the couch, holding his phone to his ear. one of his housemates points to the screen, eyebrow raised, clearly confused why rafe would leave when there’s a minute left in an intense game.

but he ignores him, rounding the corner to pace into the hallway. he leans back against a wall, arm crossed over his chest.

“how bad is it?” he asks.

“so bad that i’m working on an email to my prof to ask if i can retake it or do anything for extra credit,” she says. “i didn’t even pass.”

he can hear the panic in her voice. rafe chews on his thumbnail as he stares down at the floor.

“it’s not over,” he says. he realizes he sounds just like he does when he’s trying to motivate his teammates between periods during a rough game. he rethinks his approach. this isn’t a game. this is his girl. and she’s freaked out about her future.

“baby, it happens,” he says. “everyone fails at some point.”

“this is so bad,” she mumbles. “i’m so stupid.”

he grimaces. they’re basically the same person. he knows how much pressure she puts on herself. sometimes, he’s almost certain that she thinks she has to be perfect to be worth something, just like he does.

“where are you?” he asks.

“home.” her inhale is shaky. “i shouldn’t have stayed up late studying so much. i thought it’d be better to learn what i could, but running on barely any sleep must’ve messed me up.”

“send the email,” he says. “and be ready in half an hour, okay?”

she’s quiet for a moment.

“why?”

“because i know you’re gonna sit in your room all night, beating yourself up, thinking about what you should’ve done and there’s no point to any of it,” he says. “just be ready, alright?”

moments like these, she’s glad her boyfriend is so bossy and decisive. her head is such a mess right now, somehow feeling both chaotic and blank at the same time.

rafe texts when he arrives. when she settles in his passenger seat, he can see that she’s been crying. he shuts off his music and gently pulls her in, his palm at the back of her neck, so that she’ll nuzzle into his chest.

it’s his go-to move when she’s upset. it always works. after crying against him for a moment, her breaths start to even out.

he kisses her forehead, his hand running up and down her back. he hates this feeling, when she’s so stressed out and he’s utterly powerless.

“you’re not stupid,” he mumbles against her hair.

“i am. i’m so disappointed in myself,” she says, her voice brittle. “how could i fuck up this bad?”

he frowns. he knows her well enough by now. sometimes she needs tough love. sometimes it’s the only thing that’ll pull her out of her haze.

“it happened,” he says. he pulls back just enough so she can look up at him. “can you change that it happened?”

“no.”

“is calling yourself stupid going to fix it?”

“no.”

“that’s my girl you’re talking to,” he says, his blue eyes sweeping over her face in worry. “my girl isn’t stupid.”

her lips twist in sorrow, but she nods, eyelids fluttering. she spirals sometimes. she can tell she’s doing it right now.

rafe’s hand rests on her damp cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin.

“you anxious?” he asks.

“very,” she replies.

so, he decides to see if his most effective way of cooling down when he’s wired will help her.

he pulls into a lot by an outdoor court he always sees on his drive to her campus and takes the basketball out of his trunk when he parks.

“this is kind of unfair,” she says lightheartedly when she gets out of his car into the cool night air. “no chance i’m winning a one-on-one against you.”

“we’re just shooting hoops,” he says, putting an arm around her as he holds the ball to his chest.

the court is empty and quiet and dimly lit. they stand below one of the nets, bouncing the ball back and forth between each other.

“what if i fail the course?” she says.

“you won’t.”

“but if i do?”

“if you do, you’ll survive,” rafe replies. “you think some class can take you down?”

she breathes a chuckle. when she gets the ball back, she holds it, standing across from him, staring. all they ever are with each other is honest. it’s how it’s always been.

“i’m scared,” she admits. “i’m scared this will throw off my timing and i won’t graduate when i want to.”

“baby, there’s no way that’s happening,” he says confidently. “one bad grade won’t do that.”

“you seem so sure,” she states. she bounces the ball back to him.

“here. if i make this, it means you’ll fail the course.”

he takes the ball in both hands, holds it over his head, and throws it so it hits the rim hard, making the whole backboard shake as the ball goes flying down the court.

“i think that was rigged,” she says, the ache in her chest loosening as she laughs.

“we’ll never know,” rafe half-shouts as he runs to pick up the ball. he bounces it back to her.

she dribbles it a few times, squaring up with the net, and launches the ball in the air. it falls in the net.

“nice,” he breathes. “don’t let my coach see you. he’ll replace me.”

she turns to look at him, mirroring his smile.

“you’re laying it on a little thick, cameron,” she teases. she’s touched that he’s being so sweet just to cheer her up.

“just telling it like it is,” he says. he passes the ball to her again. “let’s see how you do with some defense.”

he steps between her and the net, a hard wall against her. his hands find her hips as she tries to line up with the net, his big frame moving with her.

“i’m pretty sure that’s a technical foul,” she says. “you can’t touch me like that.”

“nah, that’s not a rule.”

“you can’t just decide that,” she laughs.

“such a tight-ass,” he scoffs with a smirk, taking his hands off her hips and cradling her face. “how about this? this allowed?”

she giggles, holding the ball in one hand and hooking the other around his neck to pull him closer. their lips touch tenderly, both of them expelling a quiet sigh of contentment under the kiss.

she pulls back. he’s too busy staring at her in awe to block her from making another shot.

“your defense sucks,” she teases. rafe puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage.

“now you’re trash-talking?” he says. she watches him pick up the ball. he makes it look so effortless, the net swishing as the ball whizzes through it.

she’s seen him on the court so many times before, but she never tires of the sight, always so struck by how skilled he is.

they play for another twenty minutes, talking and taking turns shooting hoops, until she finally feels too tired to keep going. and she realizes she hasn’t thought about her failed midterm the entire time.

“thank you,” she says as they settle in his car. “i feel better. sweaty, but better.”

“it always works. just gotta burn your energy on something else so you can’t use it stressing out.”

“smart,” she says. “i’ll keep that in mind when i take your spot on the team.”

“i’m not so sure about that anymore,” he says. “you take fucking forever to throw. you’d run out the shot clock every time.”

she laughs, thinking about how many times in the last twenty minutes she kept the ball in her hands while she got lost in conversation with him.

she playfully shoves him, but he takes her hand and pulls her in, meeting her in a slow kiss.

“listen, i don’t want to hear the word stupid come out of your mouth again,” he mumbles. “not when you’re talking about yourself. i’m serious.”

she looks down at her lap, exhaling slowly. she knows he’s right. there’s no reason for her to bully herself so mercilessly.

“okay.”

“and please, baby,” he says solemnly, his tone deep as if he’s about to say something serious, “throw the ball faster next time.”

“i hate you,” she laughs, shoving him again. he smirks at her, putting the car in drive.

rafe has felt proud of himself a few times in his life, mostly with his athletic achievements, but he thinks that hearing her laugh, knowing he’s the one who made her feel better, is the proudest he’s ever felt.

#ask #swteblurb

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bouquetface · 5 months ago

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Tarot: You vs Their Ex

Not every reading you come across will be for you. I will not try to appeal to everyone. It will be specific as I can be.

Just providing an honest read of what I see. Take it as entertainment.

One.

There is a person in their past that was very egotistical. They were very high maintenance. Your person may have felt nothing they did was good enough for this person. It didn’t matter what they did. This person can find the fault in anything. If the ex didn’t do it themselves, it can’t be correct.

In this relationship, your person turned a blind eye for the sake of making things work. They are a committed and loyal person. The relationship failing would make them feel like they’re a failure.

What draws them to you is your intelligence. Unlike their ex, you seem to have a higher intelligence. It could be you’re highly educated, you’re street smart and/or you have high emotional intelligence. You look at both sides of a problem before making a decision. You are more clam and rational thinking.

Their ex was on the immature side. Your person had to deal with them in the same manner one handles a spoiled child. They were very demanding of your partner but had little to offer themselves. It’s not that the ex is a bad person. I feel like the ex probably struggles with being single. They don’t really know how to do a lot of life stuff themselves. They require someone else to do it for them. If they want a long lasting relationship, they have a lot of maturing to do.

I believe this ex moved on fast from the relationship. This may have initially hurt your person. When they meet you, they will be fully over it. It seems after the breakup, they took time to build themselves back up. They’re a very hardworking person. Probably focused on career and their own family.

In your relationship, it will feel freeing. Finally, two adults who act like adults. Now, they can breathe and relax. It feels like a true partnership. No one feels burdened with anything. You both support each other. Your person is willing to do anything to assure you’re safe and comfortable.

They can spoil you without feeling used. Protecting you feels like protecting a Queen. Whereas, with the ex it felt like supervising a child. You don’t drain them, you provide them with motivation and support. You take care of them too. They will feel so grateful for you. And they will make sure you can feel their love and appreciation. They seem very romantic like leaving notes, remembering your drink order, etc.

You are both deeply loyal. Your person may have prominent scorpio & leo placements. Fixed sign energy. When you pair this loyalty with the ability to communicate/problem solve, you have a forever relationship. Locked in for life. 🔒 Meanwhile, I feel like the ex, although she moved on fast, struggles to maintain a longer relationship. But she isn’t a concern in your relationship.

Two.

Your person’s ex is truly terrible. And I don’t say this to make you feel better in comparison. She did not have good intentions with your person. Your person may have some status or power in their life. She was after it.

I won’t lie she is likely very attractive. However, she needs to realize everyone’s looks fade with age. Under that mask, she has very little good to offer. She is not who she presented herself to be to your person. When they found out who she truly is, they felt trap.

When your person first tried to break it off with her. She told a lie that made her appear as “in need”. Your person would be an asshole if they didn’t stay with her. This lie will differ from reader to reader. But a strong example for one of you is, this woman lied about a pregnancy. Absolute crazy shit.

For others of you, she’d lie & manipulate until your person felt obligated to stick with her. It was a terrible situation for them. They’d like to believe her lies but her actions would prove she isn’t the one for them.

When they finally broke it off with her, I feel their friends & family were so happy. Might’ve been lowkey celebrating. They did not like this woman.

She is relentless, though. I feel even when you and your person get together, she’s stalking your accounts. Unfortunately, she probably will be gossiping - making fun of his “new girl”. I know this isn’t going to sound good. And if it were me, I know I’d feel really bad about this. However, I feel like your person is definitely worth it. There’s a reason this ex is so obsessed with him. He truly seems to have it all. Like the exact kind of person you’re manifesting. He’s a wish come true.

For him, you are the wish come true. He has all eyes on you. He’ll want to take you everywhere. You’ll likely quickly begin to share a friend group. I see lots of celebration. Might be birthdays or parties in general. You two are just having the time of your life. And I think this is part of the reason why that ex is so bitter. She’ll see all these fun & romantic photos on socials and it’ll make her FURIOUS. Mutual friends, his friends may even post something. It’ll make her very jealous because no one did that for her. Like I said before, his friends & family did not like her. But when they get to know you, they’re accepting you with open arms.

You guys could even be travelling early on. Road trip or a full vacation. There is prefect harmony between you and your person. Your fights are more teasing & create more passion. You add fuel to their fire. Unlike their draining ex, that seemed to be after them for the wrong reasons.

#tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #tarot pac #leo venus #scorpio venus #capricorn sun #capricorn venus #scorpio mars #leo jupiter

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yandere-3-sagau · 1 year ago

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Genshin Cult AU but reader really doesn’t wanna be creator

warning(s): mental-health issues, mentions of suicide, mentions of death and killing, angst

Isekaied reader who always dreamed of going to teyvat but when they actually go, they realize they took for granted their life before. They’re homesick and want nothing more to return to their family.

They hide and no one recognizes the creator’s face. Reader makes friends with people and becomes close. However, they’re devout followers of the creator. Reader goes to “mass” with them and when they’re there they can hear their prayers. They decide to help them out in their own way.

Someones missing, they goes out to find the missing person and since none of the creatures hurt them, it’s relatively easy.

Someone’s sick, reader buys them medicine or helps heal them.

Reader accidentally helps too many people and they begin to suspect them. Their very close friend apologizes before cutting reader and their golden blood is shown to all. Reader feels heartbroken at their close friend being distant out of respect. They just wanted to help people, they didn’t want to be put on a pedestal. They wish no one ever knew. And all of a sudden everyone forgot about reader being the creator.

That’s when reader finds out they can erase memories/control minds. They decide to leave since nothing is the same.

They become depressed and starts drinking. Reader heads over to mondstadt and drowns themself in alcohol and gets heavily drunk in front of diluc. He figures out that they’re the creator after ranting to him in their druken state. However, they erase his memories.

For years, reader lives while erasing the memories of those who discover them. During this time, they’ve tried to off themself several times only to fail. Finally, after the boredom and loneliness sinks in, they finally decide to give being creator a shot. They think it can’t be that bad and reveals themself. They were wrong.

Now reader has a suffocating pressure on them at all times. So, instead of erasing their memories (since they’ve been doing that for years), reader tries to do something different. They try to be evil.

Reader kills people off/orders their execution at the slightest of things. They hope that their evilness will spark the people’s will to kill them. However, no one bats an eye. All of the acolytes believe that they’re right no matter how cruel reader is. Even the families of the people they’ve killed think that there must have been something wrong with their loved one for the creator to sentence them to death.

Because they are so blind with devotion, reader tries to manipulate them into hating them. Poisoning the acolytes mind against themself. That still doesn’t work. Even if reader blatantly tells them that they don’t give a fuck about any of them, the acolytes just become more determined to fix themselves so that reader approves of them.

Next, reader tries to use mind control to force the acolytes into killing them. But no amount of damage they do can kill them. They are immortal. When it fails, reader erases their memories.

Finally, reader tells them that they’ve seen of a future where a powerful god/creator from a different universe is planning on invading. They urge everybody to create the most powerful weapon that could kill a creator/god. When they finally create one, reader uses it on themself.

Sad ending: The weapon doesn’t work on them because the acolytes made a safe guard to ensure no harm comes to the creator. Reader is so despaired that they kill everyone and is doomed to live an eternity in an empty universe.

Alternate Ending: Reader manipulates the acolytes to remove the safe guard and then uses it on themself, finally succeeding in killing themself after years of being trapped. But they don’t return to their home-world and remain dead. The entirety of Teyvat suffers from the knowledge that their beloved creator offed themselves to escape the world they created.

#can you see a pattern in my writing #i dunno why all of the readers i write never wanna be creator #can u tell my mental state from my writing #yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere sagau #yanderexreader #archons #yandere #creator #genshin cult au #sagau #acolytes #yandere x reader

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peterman-spideyparker · 17 days ago

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The Great War (Babe Part 2) (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! At the risk of forgetting to post part two, I'm doing it now! Like I mentioned in the first post, it's only a part two if you want it to be--you can just have read Babe and leave it at that, but this is just more idea to go with it that I couldn't stop my brain from working on. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been almost a month since you left Matt. Everything hurts, and you're doing what you can to get through. Foggy calls, and it turns out Matt's not doing much better. For the first time, you have no idea what your future with Matt Murdock looks like.

Listening rec: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, Matt and reader are separated (Matt cheated), they’re both heartbroken at the situation, swearing, fighting/shouting/anger, throwing, Matt grabs reader (NO VIOLENCE, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen pokes out), depression (mention of the word "borderline suicidal" in reference to season three Matt), Matt being reckless, lots of crying, drinking

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 2,820

Before you can even say a feeble hello, Foggy is already speaking. “Matt’s devastated,” he breathes.

You’re hurt. Offended, even. You left because of what he did in California, and he has the audacity to feel sorry for himself? “And I’m not?” you say, probably with more venom than appropriate. “Goodbye, Foggy.”

“Wait, hold on!” You don’t know why you don’t hang up, but you stay on the line. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to start this. How have you been?”

“I’m awful, Foggy. My marriage is done, my heart hurts, I’ve lost the man I love . . . I’ve never been worse.”

“(Y/N) . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Fog. All this is between me and Matt. It’s why you called, I’m guessing? Get all the answers for what exactly happened between us?”

“That’s between you guys. It’s none of my business or anyone’s. I’ve already ripped Matt a new one for doing what he did, and so did Karen and Frank, but he’s . . .” He stops and lets out a sigh. “Do you remember hearing from Maggie what Matt was like after Midland Circle? Despondent, depressed, borderline suicidal?”

Of course you remember, how could you ever forget? You’ve never seen him like that in your life. But the term “borderline suicidal” makes a pit grow in your stomach as you straighten up.

“He hasn’t tried to—?” you start to ask.

“No, no, that was shitty wording on my part. But Matt’s not himself. It’s like watching a hollow corpse with a temper move about. He either doesn’t care at all, or a little thing will set him off. He’s being reckless on patrol, he’s drinking more than he usually does. I’ve been covering for him at the office, but . . . You need to talk to him.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheek. “I can’t, Foggy.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“He broke my heart, and I broke his in return. I stomped on it. I love him and I hurt him. If I talked to him . . . That’s salt on the wound for both of us.” More tears stream down your face as you think about it. “We both vowed not to hurt one another. H-He hurt me, but he wanted to fix it. I hurt him and don’t have that same courage to try.”

“Try now,” Foggy pleads. “Try now, help one another. Even if it’s for the last time.”

“O-Okay,” you say before you can realize it.

Foggy breathes a sign of relief. “Come to the loft.”

The loft. The scene of the crime.

You breathe a quiet confirmation before you hang up, taking time to mentally prepare yourself before you grab your purse and leave your sister’s place to talk Matt off whatever ledge he’s currently perched on.

It’s a short trip, and Foggy meets you in the lobby of Matt’s building. He pulls you in for a long hug, and you actively tell yourself not to cry.

“He’s that bad, huh?” you sniffle.

“Yeah,” Foggy sighs. “I’ve never been for him like this before. It’s like he’s not the same person.”

“I know what you mean,” you say quietly. “I haven’t felt like myself since that day.”

Foggy looks at you with a crestfallen expression, and you give him one more hug before you make your way up to the loft.

Your key still works—you’re afraid if you knock, he won’t let you in. Hell, he probably heard you turn the block on your way here and wouldn’t answer out of anger or annoyance. Your stomach churns when you see Matt sitting in the chair. He’s in sweats, his posture is curved, his hair is disheveled, and he’s growing a thick beard. Beer bottles are on the table in front of him mixed with trash.

“Matt?” you breathe, but he remains unmoved. As you move closer toward him, he sits there like a statue, not caring to look your way. “Matt, it’s me.” Still, he doesn’t gaze your way.

Putting your purse in its usual spot, you make your way over to him in the chair, gently cupping his face in your hands to tilt him up toward you. You suck in a small breath when you see the bruises and cuts on his cheeks, nose, and chin. If this is what his face looks like, you can only imagine the other injuries that his clothes are hiding.

“Matt,” you breathe. “What happened?”

He just closes his eyes in shame, starting to turn. You don’t let him, though, bringing his face back to center.

“Matty,” you plea. “Matt, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“You’re not my sweetheart anymore,” he finally says, and it burns like acid. You deserve it—you gave it just as good to him when he came back from California. “And I’m not yours.”

“We didn’t sign any papers yet,” you breathe, trying to lighten the mood as you hold back your own tears. “So, legally, I am.”

Matt peels back from my touch like he’s getting out of an itchy sweater. Okay, you deserve it. You deserve all of it.

“Matt—.”

“You left,” he spits. “You left just like everyone else, even when you swore you wouldn’t.”

You sit back on your heels. It hurts, but it’s the truth. “I did.” He turns back toward you like he’s shocked you actually admitted it. “I didn’t try to hear you out, and I’m sorry. I should’ve. It was . . .”

He turns toward you, ice in his blind gaze. You’ve never seen Matt like, this, and as he starts to slowly rise from his chair, it’s the first time you can say that you’ve ever been afraid of him.

You spring to your feet as well, trying to at least keep things on the same level posture wise.

“Now you’re trying to make things better?” he growls low. “You’re the one that tore it up in front of us. I wanted to stop the breakage, but you readied the wrecking ball. This shit is your mess. It’s like this because of you.”

Now you start to get mad. “Oh, just me? Any breakage that was the breakage that you started. Those images and videos were circulating for two whole days before you came home. I didn’t hear a single word from you—a ‘good morning’ or ‘I’m boarding my plane’ or otherwise. You just showed up here expecting it to all be fine—.”

“You don’t get to assume in this,” he grits, the space between you dangerously nonexistent as one of his hands tightly grab on to your wrist.

“Yes, I can. There’s two people in this mess. I’m saying what it seemed like on my end,” you say, your heart thundering in your chest. Matt wouldn’t hurt you—he’d never do that. But with how his hand is on your arm and the mood he seems to have been in since you left, you’re not entirely confident in that statement anymore.

“You never really knew a damn thing about me, did you?” he frowns. ��You just kept a version of Matt Murdock in your head and lived with it this entire time, huh?”

“Maybe I did. Because this isn’t the Matt Murdock I came over to talk to. This is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. So, if you’re gonna let the Devil out, let him out on me, Murdock. Do your worst.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he threatens, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth.

“No. I came here to talk, and that’s what we’re gonna—.”

Before you know it, his hand is off your wrist, wrapping around the neck of a beer bottle before he whizzes it past your head like a threat. You flinch, moving to cover your head before the bottle leaves his hand, and you remain curled as the glass hits something behind you, knocking it over as they both crash to the ground. You slowly turn to see what was caught in the crosshairs—the beer bottle had hit a picture frame, knocking it down off the side table and breaking it. You can tell by the shifts in his body language he immediately regrets it, his shoulders slumping as tears start to sting your eyes. You notice he starts to take a step toward you out of the corner of your eye, but you’re on the move toward the broken picture frame. One of the pictures from our wedding.

Huh, you think. How fitting.

You lower yourself to your knees, carefully picking it up and looking at how your faces were beaming with nothing but joy, how you held onto one another with love . . . and now how it’s the opposite. How you’re broken. You wouldn’t look at him the day you left, and he won’t look at you know. You curl over the photo, freely weeping on the pile of glass. You just want it things to go back to normal.

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting as if he wants to put a hand on your back to soothe you, but he backs away to let you cry. Tears pour out of you like a geyser, a constant flow down your cheeks as you sit alone in the living room. Maybe it was an accident that he hit the picture, but his senses are so sharp . . . maybe he did want to hit it. Maybe he was trying to prove a point. Maybe he wanted to show you that by you leaving, you were the one who put the final nail in the coffin of your marriage.

Maybe he really doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he stopped wanting you before he went to Los Angeles. Maybe he stopped wanting you a long time ago.

You’re still crying when you hear Matt come back over toward you. Through your limited vision, you watch him clean up the broken glass from the bottle and the frame. It takes him a few trips, but it’s eventually all cleaned up. He leaves again before walking back toward you, holding out a box of tissues. With a shaking hand, you grab one and wipe at your nose, desperately trying to calm yourself.

“This is my favorite picture of us from our wedding,” you sniffle. “This is what I would grab if I could only take one thing from the loft in an emergency. This would be it. And now . . .”

You can’t finish your sentence, just weeping uncontrollably in your little ball on the floor over your two deepest treasures—this photo and your marriage. Shattered.

“Angel . . .” Matt says so softly, so tenderly, you almost forget that your life has essentially imploded.

“This is all my fault,” you cry, spiraling, trying to trace it all back to you, your actions. The big explosive things all seem to have their root in something you can place back to yourself. Matt slept with someone else, but it goes back to something you did— you had a short attention span and a bit of a short fuse before he left because a bunch of shit at work that kept piling up, and you knew he was frustrated . . . how much he hates planes. You egged him on. You did nothing to help, and when he left to go to California, he found someone who understood him in a way you couldn’t. You need an answer for this, and that seems to be it.

“This is my favorite picture of us, and it’s all my fault,” you sniffle, repeating what you said earlier, your chest burning from the tears and hyperventilation.

“It’s just a picture—,” he starts to say softly.

“It’s not just a picture,” you weep. “This, us, it’s all my fault. We’re broken because of me. This is all my fault.”

You hear Matt pad softly over to you, squatting down and taking the picture from your hands, putting it on the arm of a nearby chair before pulling you in for a hug. All you can do is sob against his shoulder as he holds onto you.

“This isn’t because of you,” he tries to soothe, sounding like he’s about to cry as well. “It . . . It was my poor judgement, it was my shortcomings that did this. You’re in the flaming wreckage, and it’s not fair.”

“I just want things how they were,” you sniffle. “I want to come home. I want us to be okay.”

Matt’s silence is terrifying. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt rage like that. Darkness like that,” he says softly. You feel a tear fall from his cheek to the top of you head. “Shit, I grabbed you . . . Fuck, I’m so sorry. I-I would never—(Y/N), please—.”

“I . . . I,” you start. He’d never hurt you. For all his anger, for all his strength, Matt would never hurt you. But when you’re facing off with the man that patrols the streets? The man that brought down Wilson Fisk not once, but twice? You just didn't know.

“I scared you.” Tears are flowing down his cheek. “I could hear your heart race . . . I knew you were scared and for a moment, and I didn’t care. It’s like I wanted you to be scared, and I liked it. I was glad you were scared of me.” He sounds disgusted with himself. “You really thought I was going to hit you.”

“I did. For a moment,” you admit. It catches in your throat, but there’s no use in lying if you’re trying to fix this.

Is that what you came over to do? To fix this?

He lets out a long breath, slumping to the floor. “What happened to us?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” you say. And it’s the truth. You don’t really know how you got to this point. Yes, you know why you walked out, but it’s like there were the small hairline fractures in glass—so fine that you couldn’t see them—and then a hammer came down on it and a million little pieces was left in its wake. But how he sounds . . . you know that tone. When it’s been a rough night on patrol, it coats his words like sap—he’s going into a dark headspace, and when he gets too far in, it’s hard to get him out, and you need to get him out. You move around to carefully sit next to Matt, putting a hand on his forearm. You can feel a thick bandage on his arm before you can process that he winces, so you move to slide your hand in his.

“I know you’d never hurt me,” you breathe. “I know you’d never lay a hand on me like that.”

“But I did, though. If I added more pressure, I could’ve snapped your worst. It would have been easy for me to do.” You see him swallow the lump forming in his throat, his own self-hatred inflating at a dangerous rate. “I was full of rage. You were scared of me.”

“I’m scared of all of this,” you admit, your voice small. “What’s happening to us. How it’s effecting you and me. We’re . . . We’re not ourselves. I-I don’t recognize either of us. I don’t like it. I want things back how they were.”

“But they can’t go back.” He sounds broken, hollow—just how you feel.

“Are . . . Are we too far gone?” you ask just above a whisper, terrified of the answer.

“I don’t want us to be.”

You hang your head. “I haven’t been sleeping,” you admit. “It doesn’t feel right without you, your arms around me.”

He places a gently hand on your chin, lifting your face up and wiping tears off of your cheeks before pulling you in for a hug. It feels like warmth. Like love. “I can’t sleep in the bed. It smells like you, and with you gone . . . I just patrol all night.”

It’s like when you think your heart can’t break any more, it does. “I still feel so upset, but, I feel hollow more than anything. Like part of me is missing.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I-I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of your head. “I should’ve listened, I shouldn’t have left like that, but I was just so upset. I couldn’t be around you without feeling like screaming or crying or both.”

“We . . . We can get through this. Can’t we?”

You think about it. Is this something you can do? You’ve been through worse— you’ve seen him near death more times than you would like, you’ve seen how the toll of Daredevil and the stress of being an attorney wear him down. Even the debate on how we should bring up our children should you choose to have them strained you both. But your happiness, your life together, it’s bigger than your low points. It has to be.

It has to be.

Right?

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987 @blackhawkfanatic

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

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8hsaturn · 2 years ago

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-- my astrology observations pt.1

Aquarius risings with Neptune on the ascendant can be extremely popular for their appearance amongst their peers, they’re also pretty influential and can be copied very often if Uranus is conjunct the ASC. They tend to have an immaculate fashion sense especially if paired with Taurus placements.

What separates Libra from Taurus is their way of expressing Venusian energy: Taurus, fixed earth, expresses it through a beautiful voice and coveted seduction, they’re down to earth and aware that they’re naturally attractive, acting chill and not being a try-hard is their trick. libra, cardinal air, on the other hand, isn’t scared to shake things up and keep people on their toes, they’d flirt to see how well their charm works and would change “tactics” to hook people in. they’re cardinal and so know how to spark someone’s interest but their air nature can make them pull away before they feel trapped. Taurus alternatively might prefer to simply sit because they know they attract people without moving a finger. Both can be very charming but also difficult to pin down especially as they grow older and more in tune with their Venusian nature.

As someone who always does readings for my friends, I noticed people with similar majors tend to have similar placements! law/political science majors tend to have a lot of Libra or just Libra on the angles and even 7th-house placements. IT/coding majors tend to have a lot of Scorpio/Virgo/Aquarius. actually, you can even guess why they chose the major from their chart.

My Capricorn friend chose software engineering because of the job prospects and because he enjoys working hard on a program and seeing it come to fruition which is very Saturnian.

8th house synastry is a complex matter but I believe the issue lies in people looking for that one overlay that guarantees a perfect relationship: there’s no such a thing. each overlay will have different results depending on both people’s charts and how they use or abuse their own placements. 5h synastry with your 5h stellium crush can seem incredible until you realize their Saturnian nature makes them see 5h energy as inherently immature and repress that nature, and have their ego drive them to see all fun they don’t initiate as cringey. 7h synastry can seem like a promise for marriage until you realize your person hates how they lose themselves in their relationships and distance away from you. In short, you can’t promise anything even with a synastry chart in front of you if you don’t know the trauma and experiences of both people. Makes sense, because astrology is truly just a tool to understand better, it doesn’t control or define anything.

8th house moon synastry can make the moon person very attuned to the other person’s feelings and want to know how their deepest emotions. Bad intentions can make the moon person use their knowledge to manipulate the house native though. it can be an aspect for understanding but if the house person has a Scorpio or Saturnian moon, or a natal 12h/4h/8h moon, or moon aspecting Saturn they might see this desire as annoying and could put them off, especially if they’re emotionally unavailable/stunted: they see the connection as making them too vulnerable and will escape it.

Sun conjunct Saturn… might make the sun person feel as if the Saturn person is repressing them, dulling their light, and just dampening their mood. In what exactly? that depends on the sun sign and house where the conjunction happens. e.g: if the sun conjuncts Saturn in Gemini in the 9h: sun person might feel that Saturn isn’t as enthusiastic or excited about the things that they’re passionate about or doesn’t understand their jokes or interests, shuts down convos or doesn’t let them talk. They might feel mocked for their beliefs or that the Saturn person doesn't take their philosophies and deeper concerns seriously.

I disagree with the notion that certain placements indicate intelligence or otherwise lack of. Intelligence is so complex and difficult to define, and I don’t mean eq vs iq or mathematical vs linguistic Intelligence, I mean that people’s experiences can push them to hone certain intellect over the other: having a libra stellium doesn’t mean all you got is street smarts, but that’s what you found yourself focusing on developing due to the cards you were dealt in life. I believe your chart will indicate which skills and intelligence you had to use, or need to use, be it something you have to learn from scratch or an instinctive talent, rather than natural skills.

that’s all, thank you for reading this far <3

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byerseason · 8 months ago

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my personal opinions on byler & mike’s character

most people believe mike is clueless or at least he just suspects will’s feelings. well, sometimes i agree with that but in general i think mike knows. actually he always knew. let’s look at everything from the beginning.

both mike and will always lived in a small town full of homophobia. we know will personally experienced homophobia from his dad and other people in hawkins. mike and will are friends since kindergarten and mike obviously witnessed all of these homophobia will went through. maybe mike experienced it too, we know ted said “see what happens?” for a reason. especially with lonnie, mike witnessed everything he did to will, we all know will shares everything with mike. so from their point of view, this thing called “homosexuality” is something really bad and all it causes is harm and hate. it’s something forbidden.

now let’s see what happened in all seasons. in season 1, a cool girl magically comes into mike’s life and shows interest in him. “you’re blind, because a girl is not grossed out by you” now mike has a chance to be normal like people expect him to be. and he’s a child, it’s not that deep. he can try. no deep feelings, no love, just be normal.

in season 2 this chance is taken away from mike leaving a trauma to him. after all, el was special and he cares for her so much. and the fact that she sacrificed herself just to save him and his friends is not something we can overlook. and adding to this trauma, something really bad is happening to will and they don’t even know what is it and how to fix it. he does his best, he never leaves his side because it’s something a good friend would do right? it wasn’t that forbidden thing the adults get angry about and it shouldn’t be. after el’s return and will being safe, mike had this chance again. el was here, she was incredible, a superhero who saved will and the world, and she was ready to be in a relationship with him. snowball scene was mike telling will “i’m moving on, you should move on too or we will get hurt by this.” because you know, these things always hurt will and nothing else.

in season 3, mike continues to this “moving on” as we can clearly see. this time a little bit grown up, or at least trying to grow up. distancing himself from will and all his friends, focusing on el all the time and for some reason not being able to maintain a friendship with will while dating el. this speaks volumes actually. it’s both him trying to be normal as expected and distancing himself from will to make sure he is normal too. to me that’s all the “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls.” scene. while mike is fighting back, will makes it harder for both of them without realizing it. i think -like everyone- the ending of season 3 was mike realizing it’s not working and it’s getting serious. he’s growing up, they’re growing up and everything is becoming clearer.

will and el moving to california was a new chance for mike. he ignored will, well at least he tried even though it’s clear he felt his absence especially in school, he didn’t reach out to him thinking maybe this is the chance for both of them to move on. and then el’s letter happened. mike thought will really did it, he moved on, he was able to move on while mike isn’t. if we think deeper, he is even working on a painting for her, something he used to do with mike. so yeah, will is normal, it worked for will, while mike is still dealing with this. when they reunite i think it was much more than just jealousy. disappointment, anger maybe? especially after he saw he brought the painting to the airport. apparently will wasn’t planning on giving all his attention to mike, who was visiting him after months, but he was planning to give the painting to the girl he likes, it was probably the reason of his excitement, not mike. so this is what makes mike want to focus on el more and ignore will during rinkomania scenes. when el mentions angela and will gives a reaction to this, mike is sure he was right and this day is about angela for will.

but he finds out he was wrong. well, the painting is still for a girl but at least he was wrong about angela. will was just upset because mike was being lied to, and he was hurt by mike being distant from him. this is what leads mike to sincerely apologize to will, as always. he always does that, if will says “where is dustin right now?” mike realizes his mistake and tries to fix it. if will says “we used to be best friends” mike realizes his mistake and offers to be best friends again. that’s all their dynamic about.

after mike and el’s fight, mike comes and explains what happened to will but it’s more like he is asking for an advice, he wants will to understand him. “it was a fight that you can’t come back from.” he wants will to agree but he doesn’t, this is when we start to understand mike’s inner struggles. he brings up this topic to will three times. none of these conversations are like two best friends giving each other relationship advices because mike never tells will what is the problem. for some reason he doesn’t want will to know he can’t tell her girlfriend that he loves her. we all know will and mike are sincere enough to tell these things to each other, they always do. but if he can’t, there must be a reason. maybe mike himself doesn’t know the answer either, maybe he doesn’t want will to understand his situation because he thinks will successfully moved on, who knows?

in the desert scene, he brings the topic up again, without mentioning what is “that thing”, but this time will seems like he understands. “sometimes, i think it’s just scary to open up like that, to say how you really feel, especially to the people you care about the most.” mike never mentioned he is struggling to say how he feels but will understand, he always did. this conversation would continue with mike opening up to will if it wasn’t interrupted, so mike brings it up once again for the third time, in the van scene.

this time he is being more open but he is still struggling to say one thing, which will completes for him “you’re scared of losing her.” well, mike was wrong. will wasn’t getting it until.. the painting scene. mike is not stupid, he knows will spent days working on it. he knows eleven doesn’t know about what this painting is about. he knows he doesn’t make el feel like “she is not a mistake at all” especially after their fight, remember that line from the script “she’s already beginning to understand she doesn’t need me, i saw it in her eyes” he knows el doesn’t need him, he knows will well enough to understand he is lying. the way he looks at will admiringly is him thinking “he didn’t move on, we’re still the same.” and also him being aware of what will is doing for him, breaking his own heart and sacrificing himself just to make mike feel better. also, he notices will is sobbing, he looks at him and even if he didn’t how could he not? he had tears in his eyes during all the monologue and he was sobbing right next to him. so is there any reason for mike to not say anything to his best friend sobbing next to him if he didn’t know the reason? the mike i know would immediately ask what was wrong if he was clueless. he knows why will is crying but he doesn’t know what to do about it. mike’s situation is pretty sad when you think about it, he probably feels like he’s stuck.

then we have the desert reunion scene. this time we clearly can see how stuck he feels between el and will, he doesn’t know how to get out of this without hurting any of them, and also himself. the way he looks at them looks like also him being afraid of damaging their bond.

then the monologue scene.. this scene may mean lots of different things, i am not sure either.

it may be mike being aware of what will is doing, how he is sacrificing himself once again, how mike is gonna have to lie and hurt everyone in the end, how the things are gonna be way more complicated or mike realizing he was wrong about thinking will has feelings for him.

my season 5 expectation is seeing a mike wheeler who stops fighting back and embraces his feelings, without hurting both of them.

that’s my point of view that changes almost everyday lol. i don’t know if there are many people who believes mike isn’t clueless so i wanted to share my thoughts. 💛

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler analysis

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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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Knocked | ksj | (m)

☾ Pairing: Streamer!Seokjin x f. reader

☾ Summary: Living with people is difficult, but all things considered, your new roommate isn’t terrible. He cooks, he cleans, and if you had to be honest - incredibly attractive. But his habit of streaming until the early hours of the morning while yelling and making other questionable noises has pushed you to the limit. You’ve finally decided to risk your sanity and put it all on the line with a reckless bet in hopes of getting some peace and quiet at night.

☾ Word Count: 10,673

☾ Genre: Roommates to lovers, smut, humor

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Cheesy humor, Jin is an annoying gamer, a lot of game talk, stupid bets, explicit language, references to an ungendered ex partner, a very cheesy plot i like cheese, jin crossing a boundary but he apologizes okay!!! sexually explicit content including oral (m. receiving) vaginal fingering, nipple play, a lot of body fluids like a loooot of spit and drool, protected vaginal sex, fast sex because they’re both overwhelmed and honestly this is vanilla but they are CUTE!!!!

☾ Published: January 19, 2023

☾ A/N: SHE IS HERE AND SHE ISN’T BEAUTIFUL OR EDITED BUT SHE IS FINISHED AND CHEESY AND THIS JIN IS REALLY CUTE OKAY. My inner gamer went fucking nuts in this I am so sorry I really like playing Apex Legends and I got too deep into the game lore so hopefully people can appreciate that. These two were just thirsty for each other and both busted nuts quickly okay it has happened to me jgdhgijhd thats tmi okay HAPPY READING.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Room for Rent Collab

A crash and a yell startle you in the kitchen, the spatula in your hand clattering into the egg pan as Seokjin lets out an unintelligible string of cursing and yelling. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try and center yourself in patience. It’s not uncommon in your apartment for two to hear him suddenly break out into yelling, and it surely won’t be the last.

Kim Seokjin isn’t the worst roommate. Not by a longshot, when you consider the horror stories you’ve read in Reddit threads and seen on TikTok. He’s clean, he has an aesthetic eye for decoration, he’s an amazing cook, he pays his portion of bills on time, and he doesn’t steal food. Nor does he hog any of the common spaces in the house.

The negative? Seokjin is constantly gaming, which wouldn’t be a bad thing if he gamed quietly. Namjoon hadn’t warned you that Seokjin was a large-scale streamer before you moved in, focused on first-person shooter content and paid tournaments.

It had taken about three hours into moving in when he screamed for you to realize that there was no fixing that bit.

Meal finished and plated, you move to the dining room, sitting cross-legged in the chair and turning on the TV louder than necessary to tune out Seokjin’s hollering. You’ve come up with plenty of ways to tune him out, and listening to everything else on extreme volume is the easiest.

Your neighbors must hate you.

Halfway through your meal and eyes glued to RuPaul’s Drag Race, Seokjin comes trailing out of his room, drawing your attention. It isn’t a hard thing to do. For a grown man who is chronically wired to his PC, he is beautiful. The kind of beauty that is used in dramas and romantic comedies kind of beautiful.

Dark, soft hair that is usually left shaggy and air-dried from the shower but you know looks dashing styled back for parties, equally dark eyes that shimmer with delight when he tells a horrible joke that he thinks is particularly amusing, full lips that would earn the envy of Aphrodite herself - Seokjin is painfully, artfully perfect.

Except for the constant gaming.

“Wow, didn’t offer to make me breakfast?” he asks. It’s more of a jest than anything, popping the fridge open in search of a caffeinated beverage. “How little do I mean to you?”

“Check the microwave, nerd.”

He looks surprised, meandering to the appliance in question and opening the door to see a plate of breakfast for dinner inside. “Wow,” he sighs dreamily. “You really are my favorite roommate.”

“I’m your only roommate.”

“Well, you’re better than Namjoon.”

“Mmm. That isn’t a hard feat, I don’t chronically break pieces of furniture.”

Humming his agreement, Seokjin shoves eggs into his mouth, munching happily. “When are you going to finally play some games with me, huh?”

“Mmmm never.”

“You think I don’t know you have a little setup in there?”

“I like Animal Crossing. You like Apex.”

“Come on, I can teach you Apex.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had a million times. Gaming is the single thing that the two of you have in common. When you first discovered that Seokjin worked in the digital sphere and was a content creator for popular games online, you were a bit worried. It wouldn’t have been the first time you had been fetishized for so much as liking a game.

Thankfully, Seokjin was alright. He didn’t make it weird, and after a casual comparison of the things you liked to play, he decided that the interests weren’t common enough to be a huge pain in the ass about it.

He did really want to play at least once, with you though.

“I know how to play Apex,” you mumble, eyes flickering back to the TV. Your last situationship revolved around playing the stupid first-person shooter together. “I don’t like it.”

As in, you were absolutely never playing that game again after being worn out from it and having it associated with someone who kind of sucked anyway.

“How can you not like Apex?” Seokjin mutters, more to himself than anything else.

Thankfully he drops the subject, distracted by your show. He shuffles to the couch, where you join him eventually, both of you tucked into the cushions as you watch the show. For the most part, Seokjin is quiet, only peppering you with questions during the commercial breaks. You’re happy to answer.

It’s comfortable, your little life with him. You’ve almost lived together for a year, and despite the annoying gaming thing and his habitual bad jokes, you like living with Seokjin. You like having him as a friend, even.

Things are good.

Things are not good. You clench your jaw as you re-read the email, feeling the tension creep into your shoulders. You can already feel the headache that has not yet happened but is predestined.

If people would just read their emails before sending a snarky request with your boss CC’d-

Mark: Come by my office, please.

Sighing, you push out from the desk and head toward your boss's office. Your stomach flips uneasily, unsettled as you walked by the windowed offices of the executive staff. It isn’t that you’re afraid of your boss, but you certainly have been having a bad enough day without having to explain that if Alicia in accounting had just read your email she wouldn’t be confused.

At the appointed office, you tap lightly on the door frame. “Hi, still a good time?”

It’s obviously a good time, but for some reason, you feel the need to break the tension by clarifying. Your boss is a wide-set man who ushers you in with a wave. “Catch the door for me, please.”

The door shuts with a click and it feels like impending doom.

Sitting quickly in a chair, you wait with a racing heartbeat as Mark finishes writing an email. The silence is awkward so you distract yourself by looking at the pictures of him and his family on his shelves as if you haven’t seen them a dozen times, and looking at his nameplate and literally any other object in his office to keep from feeling uncomfortable.

The horrible 70s rock that plays softly in the background only makes it worse.

With a final click on his mouse, he turns to you and says, “Sorry about that, trying to get through all these damn sales contracts.”

“Sounds exhausting.” You have no idea if it is - sales isn’t your area of expertise. “I know they’ve been busy.”

“Tons of new clients, which is always great but the paperwork is a killer.”

“Makes sense.”

“What is Alice in accounts losing her mind about? I saw that you’re missing invoices for radio stations and it’s way past the cycle?”

“As explained in my email to Alice, the station in question filed for bankruptcy and has a halt on all their funds. This was something I communicated two months ago with accounting and legal. I believe you may have been on it as well, though perhaps I left you off.” You didn’t leave him off. You don’t leave him off any emails. “Those invoices are all going to be a mess until that’s sorted.”

“Look,” he sighs. “We all have a shit ton going on right now. One email letting us know that payment would be an issue isn’t going to cut it. You can’t assume that we see the emails. Was it flagged as high-importance?”

“Yes.”

And I mentioned it in three meetings and a sticky note, you think.

“See, it’s just not foolproof. It’s your job to overcommunicate these things. You can't rely on accounting or me to remember these things for you.”

You give him one slow blink. Then another.

“Understood,” you answer, throat tightening. “I will make sure to overcommunicate from now on, I apologize for the confusion.”

“Thanks,” he says, a dismissal. “Door closed on the way out, I have a stupid call to jump on.”

Door closed behind you, you wonder how anyone gets anything fucking done around this place. Because of course doing all of the things logical and reasonable to communicate a change in accounting isn’t reasonable. Going above and beyond and being responsible for other people not reading their email is now your job to compensate for.

Steam blowing from your ears, you march back toward your desk in a blind rage, fists open and closing. You don’t see it coming when Yoongi smacks into you, eyes glued to his phone and fresh iced-americano now coloring your blue shirt a nice shade of mud.

“Holy fuck I am so sorry,” Yoongi swears. “Shit - fuck - sorry.”

Cold leeches through you like a knife. You rush to the bathroom, Yoongi’s cursing and apologies drifting behind you. The press of paper towels lifts a little of the yellow from your shirt, but it doesn’t fix the sticky-cold cling of fabric to your chest and the unmistakable stain down the front of your outfit.

“Fucking perfect.”

Blessedly Seokjin isn’t home when you arrive stained in dry coffee, smelling like Starbucks, and sagging with a delightful mix of rage, wrath, and irritation. Like an angry little storm cloud, you move around the apartment, snapping cabinets closed extra hard and yanking your blouse off with a little more violence than usual.

A hot shower makes most of the tension bleed away, but not all of it vanishes. Wrapped in a towel and turned into a prune, you reach for the clothes on the counter and realized in your haste to peel yourself out of Yoongi’s coffee, you didn’t bring any with you.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Seokjin isn’t home, so you yank the door open and march toward your room, running smack into your second person of the day with a startled yelp and thankfully, a very tight grip on your towel.

“Why are you all wet?” Seokjin shrieks, wiping his shirt as though he could get rid of the you-shaped wet stain. “And naked!”

“I’m in a towel! Why are you here?”

“I live here!”

“I meant right now! You weren’t home!”

“Well, I do come home, usually! And I yelled I was home when I got here so you would hear me!”

“Well, I was in the shower!”

“Obviously!”

For a moment, the two of you stand there. You’re dripping a puddle onto the tile and the cold air has goosebumps breaking out all over your body. You shiver as Seokjin’s eyes flicker down for a split second before he’s looking at the ceiling and gesturing. “Well - go find clothes!”

“I will! Jeez!”

You storm into your room, slamming the door and pressing your back against it. Your towel is gripped tight in your fist, heart hammering. You’re both adults and while being in a towel in front of Seokjin isn’t embarrassing or scandalous, it was unexpected and new.

As you get dressed quickly, you can’t help but think of the way his cheeks tinged pink and the nervous way he shifted. It was… cute.

With clothes on, Seokjin seems a lot less nervous around you. He’s still a little stiff, you notice. You bump into him as the two of you navigate the kitchen together and he ducks his head, the tops of his ears red. You file the information away for another time, feeling your cheeks warm when you go to reach for a pair of tongs but he already has them held out to you.

It isn’t uncommon behavior. He’s known you long enough to know your habits around the kitchen, and you’ve cooked enough meals together to recognize the patterns in which the two of you move around the kitchen.

Music plays in the background, Seokjin humming along. Occasionally, he sings the words, voice low and soft over the notes.

“You have a nice voice,” you note as you flip the oven off. He’s always had a nice voice, but you’ve never said anything before. He raises his brows as you grab oven mitts. “You do,” you insist with a grin. “I promise I’m not lying.”

“A great voice to go with a great face right?”

“Ew, here we go.”

He moves out of your way as you open the oven, leaning on the counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe I should sing on stream. Do you think they would like that? People already think I’m the most handsome streamer.”

“Sure, maybe do some sort of caroling or something for the holidays.”

He pauses. “That’s actually not a terrible idea. What if I just called my friends who were streaming on Discord and started caroling to them? I could make it a charity thing and select streams based on donations.”

Placing the hot pan on the top of the stove, you glance at him sidelong. “Do you do charity streams a lot?”

“All the time. Most of the long streams I do are for charities.”

“So it’s not all just… earning cash?”

“No, I get plenty of that.”

“So why do you need a roommate?”

Seokjin leans over you, to pluck a fry off of the pan. He doesn’t move away immediately, eyes dropping down to yours as he sticks the french fry in his mouth. The warmth of his chest radiates through your shoulder where you touch and suddenly, you feel a buzz at his nearness.

It’s impossible not to drop your eyes down to his mouth as he chews. For a moment, you’re dazed by his pillow lips - they really are a marvel to look at. Then he’s smirking and murmuring, “For the cooking. Did you get these out of a frozen bag? Ugh.”

Spell broken you swat at him and he laughs, leaning away again. “I don’t like to be alone,” Seokjin admits. “Having a roommate is nice. Granted, I was supposed to be living with Namjoon until he and Jungkook decided to be in love and all that. Now I have you filling out the rest of his lease.”

“So you can afford to live alone in this city and don’t?”

“Hey, I also save a ton of money. I will want to buy a house one day. Consider yourself as a part of my savings tactic.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rooming with Seokjin had been of convenience. Finding affordable living in the city was nearly impossible - especially on your salary - and when Namjoon had announced after only two months of living with Seokjin that he and his boyfriend were getting their own place, it had timed up perfectly. You had been vaguely familiar with Seokjin at the time, and you desperately needed cheaper rent.

You’d never really asked why Seokjin had a roommate at all. He had a work-from-home job at a software company doing something that went far beyond your understanding, and he made a ton from streaming.

Seokjin plops down on the couch instead of the dining room table, a plate full of chicken nuggets and fries balanced on his knee as he pats the seat next to him without looking. You definitely went the easy route for dinner after your terrible day, and Seokjin seems to pick up on the fact that tonight is an eat-from-the-comfort-of-the-couch kind of vibe.

“Ugh,” Seokjin sighs as he watches Shangela get eliminated from the top four on All-Stars 3. “That is heartbreaking. She worked really hard.”

Seokjin has never really voiced being a fan of the show, but you have a sneaking suspicion he watches it because you are, and it’s something to bond over. Maybe you should play a round of Apex with him.

Instead, you say, “Yeah, she deserved it.” You pause. “Thanks for watching with me, tonight. I had a rough day.”

“Hmm. I can tell.” He leans and squeezes your bicep absently. “I’m here for ya.”

Though you say nothing, your insides do a little bit of a flip.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, you frown. Pausing your show, you pull up your phone, paging over to Twitch to pull up Seokjin’s stream. He’s been doing one of those stream-a-thon things again, and you haven’t seen him come out to eat since the morning. It’s well into the evening now.

Seokjin’s stream pulls up and you see him in the corner of his screen, the familiar lighting in his room glowing in the background. His room is surreptitiously clean, free of any garbage and clutter. His bed is always made any time you see it, and the beautiful tiles of pulsing lights above it make a nice ambiance for his stream.

Currently, he is focused, leaning a little too far toward his screen as he talks to his teammates. Taehyung and Jungkook, by the sound of it. There’s no evidence suggesting he has left his room today, which urges you to get up and head to the kitchen, closing out the stream.

In silence, you put together a small meal. A wrap, a small back of chips, and some damn water will do him some good. Pulling up his stream again, you wait until his match finishes and he’s leaning back, talking to chat.

A little nervous, you walk with food in hand to his bedroom door where you can hear his soft voice. You knock lightly and he calls you in. Carefully, you stick your head in and see him turn. You’re out of shot from his stream, but he’s confused nonetheless. You never interrupt.

Sliding the plate into view, Seokjin’s face lights up. He rolls away from the computer and comes over, his headset on his head still as he gushes, “Holy fuck thank you. You are literally the best. A goddess. A queen. Royalty. Angel among humans. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, it’s like seven at night idiot.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thank you.” He bites into the wrap eagerly, taking a few minutes to chew and swallow. He pauses and glances you up and down before smiling. “Really, thank you. That was incredibly thoughtful of you.”

“Uh-huh.” You glance at his screen. “Have a good rest of your stream.”

Jin: Left lunch for you in the fridge. I made extra this morning.

You look at the text and furrow your brow, toothbrush still popped into the side of your cheek. You continue absently scrubbing as you walk to the fridge and pull it open. Sure enough, there’s a glass dish with a sticky note on it and a smiley face.

Plucking the note off the top, you read it. Thanks for taking care of me. Now I’ll take care of you.

With a smile bright enough to light up the entire city, you go about getting dressed for work.

The smile doesn’t last long. Work drags on unsteady, tired feet, and once again, you are stuck in a slew of responsibilities that shouldn’t be yours, reading emails that are reiterating things already discussed, and joining meetings that should be emailed.

By the time lunch comes and goes, you realize that you haven’t yet eaten. Tucked in the small cubicle, you nibble on Seokjin’s homemade meal, eyes glued to the neverending scroll of budget tracking and invoices.

A raging headache lurks behind your eyes and though your lunch is superb - as it often is with Seokjin’s cooking - you can’t help but feel your frustration mount by the time your next meeting rolls around.

Meeting after meeting interrupts your afternoon, and when you finish your last one long past the time to go home, your nerves are fried and a high-strung feeling follows you all the way to your car as you scroll through all of the emails you have yet to get to.

Because of all the fucking meetings.

The trip home is silent. Your fingers ache with the grip on the steering wheel of your car and when you park in the lot of the apartment complex, you sit there for a moment, car off, world muted by the car doors.

Head pressed against the steering wheel, you take a few steady breaths. It feels like you might cry, which isn’t typical after a work day. But you’re frustrated and tired, and that goddamn headache is still looming in the back of your eye sockets.

Upstairs and in your apartment, you breeze past Seokjin who is in the kitchen. You mumble something about a migraine and he barely gets a moment to say anything before you’re in your room, door pressed shut. You lay in your bed without even taking your work close off, wrapping yourself in your blanket and closing your eyes.

The next thing you know, there’s something warm pressed against your brow. You frown and groan, rolling over and feeling several joints in your body pop. Your eyes flutter open and you see Seokjin leaning over you, making you flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But it’s really late and you should eat. I know you have a headache so I brought you meds and a cold towel. And ramen. I make the best ramen.”

“Jungkook makes the best ramen,” you correct, sighing and leaning up a little. Your movements are stiff, tangled in a blazer and dress pants. “Ugh, I slept like this?”

“Jungkook does not make the best ramen. I will take that away.”

“Fine, fine.” You take the medicine from the nightstand and chase it with the water glass offered. “Thanks.” You look at all the things he brought you and your insides begin to melt. He lingers near the doorway, eyes soft, expression warm. “Thank you for thinking of me. I… wow.”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “No big deal. Now eat the best ramen in the world or I’m going to have a fit.”

With that, Seokjin leaves you to eat your ramen in peace. The first taste is amazing, already warming you up. You realized you’re ravenous, pulling noodles into your mouth hungrily. Absently, you think that it is the best fucking ramen in the world.

“What’s with you?” Seokjin asks as you drag your feet slowly in the grocery store. Rarely do you shop together, but today is an exception. “You look like a zombie.”

You nearly shoot daggers at him. “I lost my headphones,” you snap. “Which means I have to hear your gaming all night.”

“Oh come on, I’m not that loud.”

“Watch one of your streams back, I’m sure you’ll disagree.”

He sighs, turning the cart as you walk down the spice aisle. “Sorry, I’m preparing for this huge Apex tournament. Jungkook and I have been practicing duos a lot and it’s been a bit frustrating. Everyone has fucking aim assist these days, I swear that console players are doing to ruin-”

“Jin.” He pauses his rant. “I’m just asking you to keep it down a little. I no longer have the means to ignore you… moaning weirdly during a game.”

“What?”

“You haven’t noticed? You kind of moan and yell. It’s… ask your stream about it.”

He stops walking, staring at you as you walk ahead. “I don’t do that.” You snicker and he makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t!”

Five minutes pass with Seokjin sulking about your comment. It’s when you’re in the milk aisle that he says, “So you’ve just been imagining me moaning on the other side of the wall, huh?”

“W-what?”

“Admit it. You’ve been thinking about me moooaaaning you’re having dirty thooooughts.” He sing-songs this to you, poking at your sides as you open the fridge to get milk.

“I am not.”

“It’s totally cool. I get it, handsome bachelor right on the other side of the wall, you’re bound to get curious and - oof.”

“Put this in the cart,” you deadpan, having hit him in the stomach with the gallon of milk. He takes it from you and obliges, though there is a shit-eating grin on his face.

Seokjin isn’t right, but he isn’t explicitly wrong. When you first moved in, you had been shy and wondered about the attractive boy who lived just on the other side of the wall. Once you had fallen into familiarity, though, there had not been anything there.

Except recently.

The last few weeks have felt like the two of you have reached a new level of shared living space. You had done things together before, but now you find yourself making all your meals with Seokjin, bringing him snacks during stream, waking up to him making you breakfast or having prepared you lunch.

And now you’re doing groceries together, which was something uncommon enough to make you wonder.

You think back to the gentle way he made you dinner and brought you medicine when you had a headache, the way that your insides had turned cotton candy at the action and house these days, your eyes lingered on him just a little bit more.

But no. Seokjin was your roommate, and you learned in your last situationship that you don’t shit where you eat. Which is why you moved out of the old apartment and in with Seokjin in the first place.

The rest of your shopping experience goes with mild teasing. You’re still a little bit on edge, but not enough to be truly mad, especially when he offers to cook dinner.

Once again, you find yourself nestled on the couch watching TV before he finally relents and announces he’s going to practice duos with Jungkook. He assures you that he’ll keep it down this time - he isn’t streaming, so you sure hope so - and vanishes for the rest of the evening.

When you get ready for bed, it is mostly silent on his of the wall. No yelling, but you can hear the soft lull of his voice. Oddly enough, it’s soothing, and you end up falling asleep with the barest sound of his hum through the walls.

Most nights, you can sleep through Seokjin’s yelling at the sudden sound of his knee hitting his gaming desk as he jumps up, a string of expletives laced with other unintelligible expressions of shock, horror, and frustration. Most nights, you can tuck your headphones in, and blissfully fall asleep to the sound of rain, hearing his insanity only once in a while.

Except now you’ve lost your headphones, you don’t have enough money to splurge on a new pair, and Seokjin has been practicing for a tournament for some extremely long stream he has coming up.

So now, you go nights without sleep. Nights where you drift off to dreamland after a long shift at the bar or studying for your dissertation. Nights like this, where you teeter on the edge between awake and asleep, and you’re startled straight out of your bed from a shout.

Heart pounding, you grip the edge of your bed, trying to get your bearings as Seokjin’s shouting echoes through the shared wall. You feel sick with the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear, closing your eyes for a moment as the room spins.

Gritting your teeth and ripping your blankets from you, you march to his room, stumbling as you try to get your bearings from waking up so suddenly. Your stomach does a nasty flip, churning at the unplanned activity as you pound your fist on his door.

“Open up, motherfucker!” You screech, hand slamming on the door without pause. “I swear, Seokjin, sometimes I just want to-“

The door rips open and you nearly knock him right in his chest. His very bare, very broad chest, lit up by the purple RBG lights on his headphones and strip lighting around his room to improve the ambiance of his setup.

“Holy shit, woman! What?”

You blink, momentarily dazed at what you came here for, distracted entirely by the firm curves of his pectorals, skin smooth and gold. Was Seokjin always this in shape or is it a figment spurred by the rush of adrenaline?

Finding your words is hard, your brain is scrambled and near ready to make dial-up noises at the site of your roommate’s bare skin. “We just talked about this,” you manage to spit out. “And you’re literally going to start screaming the same fucking day we talk about keeping it down?”

“I mean I’m sorry but damn. You don’t have to break the door down.”

“Then stop screaming!”

“You’re the one screaming!”

“Because I’m trying to fucking sleep! I have dealt with you yelling, cheering, slamming the desk and hollering and doing your little moan-scream for almost a year without saying anything!” You yell back, fists clenched and rage boiling. “I’m so fucking over it!”

“Then why have you never mentioned it before? You know, like an adult!”

Your mouth hangs open at the clap back. “Be for real. I am not the problem here.”

“Well if I’m the problem, why haven’t you communicated that? You’ve been here eight months and it took me asking you at the grocery store to fess up that I was bothering you.”

“I mean. Yeah, but-”

“So don’t yell at me that I didn’t read your mind and I had no idea I was bothering you. Or get headphones.”

“How about you start gaming at normal hours? Have you ever thought of that?”

He rolls his eyes. “You mean my working hours?”

“I mean between the hours before 11 at night, Jin!”

“Make me!”

“Fine!” You snap, rage pushing you over. “Shall we make a wager?”

This catches him by surprise. He blinds a few times, tilting his head. “What are you proposing?”

Crossing your arms, you nod to the computer. “You want me to play Apex so bad? Fine, we’ll make it a competition.”

“There’s no 1 v 1 in Apex.”

“Duos. Whoever gets the most kills wins. No shields higher than blue, no turning on each other. Just strictly kill count. If win, you don’t get to game past 11 pm anymore.”

“And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“What can I have?” He pauses, looking you up and down. Something feels different as he does this. His gaze heavier. Darker. He licks his lips, your attention is drawn to the way the blue lights glittering on his wall turn the spit-slicked surface blue. “How about any favor at any time that I ask? Are we also trying to win as a duo?”

“Sure. No holds barred on how we get kills.”

Again, he examines you, trying to puzzle something out. Wordlessly, he walks to his computer and grabs his headset. The door is open to his room, showing that he just has his basic setup turned on, with no intention of streaming. “Jungkook I’ll hit you up tomorrow. I have to kick my roommate's ass.” Jungkook says something on the other side and Seokjin clears his throat. “Yeah, no. Bye.”

He returns, phone in hand. Your phone pings in your room. “Add me on Discord, I guess.”

Wordlessly, you spin and head to your room.

There are still things Seokjin doesn’t know about you. Like how you played his favorite game for a year straight, trying to impress your last roommate-turned-fuck-buddy with your skills. While it partially worked in your favor, their failure to commit to you gave you a sour taste about the game.

It’s been a while since you’ve played. Slower games are more your style, and you haven’t turned on your PC in a while, but as it starts, lights inside of the glass case glittering, you feel a shiver of excitement.

Your setup is not nearly as advanced as your roommate's, who has three screens, a massive desk and hi-tech camera, a microphone, and a massive custom-built unit that could probably power a tank. Yours is pre-built but sturdy, and you have a single screen with a modest keyboard and headset to match.

Glancing at the Discord user, you roll your eyes at what Seokjin’s written: WorldWideHandsomeJin.

“Weirdo,” you mutter.

You add him anyway, getting comfortable in your chair and hitting the call button. He answers immediately, his voice making the hair at the back of your neck tingle as he says, “So are you going to be my Discord kitten?”

“Ew, don’t ever say that again,” you mutter. Navigating your desktop, you start to update the game. “Give me fifteen. I have to update.”

“Really? Newbie.”

“Sorry I don’t play this game every second of my life. I haven’t played since I moved out of the last place.”

He hums, voice vibrating in your very nice headset. You turn him down a little bit, feeling just a little drunk from the rich timbre of his voice. “That was a… weird situation, huh?”

“A bit.”

“They play Apex that much too?”

“Not as much as you do.” He hums again. “Who do you main?”

“Loba.”

“Fine,” you answer as the program opens. “I’m playing Wraith.”

The game menu blares in your ears, making you squeak and reset all of your old settings. It feels weird to log on, pointedly ignoring the familiar username as you navigate your friends list to add Seokjin. He pops up and selects duos for you.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see his rank. “Diamond? Holy fuck do you touch grass?”

“Says you! You played enough that you hit Diamond in your first season too, nerd. It shows your historical stats. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Whatever. Ready up.”

Neither of you says anything as the system prepares to put you in a game. You look at his stats, raising your brows as you flip through. He’s historically hit the highest rank in the game, making you wonder why he’s dropped recently. He also has a ridiculous skin on his character, making you wonder how long he’s been playing.

Apex Legends is a first-person shooter game with a battle royale format. Similar to Fortnite, teams load into the game and pick up weapons and other materials to fight other teams the ring of combat gets smaller and smaller. With Seokjin’s selection of Loba guarantees that you’ll be able to stock weapons and ammo. With your selection of Wraith, you can get in and out of situations quickly and you’ll know when an enemy team focuses on you.

As the map loads, you can’t help but feel the tremor in your hand. Your leg bounces up and down as you wait, watching the dropship come into focus. You give Seokjin the power to drop your duo anywhere on the complex map. You almost expect him to launch immediately, but you’re impressed to see that he has enough patience to drop you a moderate distance on the map.

Which means fewer weapons, fewer shields, and fewer teams to kill. You frown as you navigate your character to land near utility boxes full of weapons. Does he think you need to take it slow? Or maybe he’s worried about giving you too many people to kill easily.

“Team to the north,” you comm, opening up boxes and selecting weapons, shields, and med packs. “What do you shoot?”

“Energy. Preferably the volt.”

“Volt here. Let me know if you see a flatline or sentinel.”

“You snipe with Wraith?”

“When she says someone’s aiming at me, yeah?”

He hums but does not comment the two of you use the map to navigate. You fall into a rhythm, using the controls feels sort of familiar. As you work your way toward the next ring, Seokjin startles you when he starts firing shots at a time looting that you miss. You flinch and whirl, but he’s already eliminated the pair.

“Two zero.”

“Whatever,” you growl, ignoring his smug voice.

Shooter, move your character in game commands. You dodge behind a box as an enemy team rattles off shots. Your heart pounds as you use a sniper to look in the direction of the shots, seeing the duo up on a tower. Lining up the scope, you click and hit a player.

“Knocked,” you call automatically. The second teammate makes a bad call and tries to get their knocked pair up. You line up the shot and click twice. “Knocked. Out.” You move your mouse and finish the other teammate. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, good comms whatever. We’re even.”

You grin. “Just trying to communicate to my teammate.”

He snorts. “Sure.”

For a few moments, the two of you navigate to a safe zone. When you see two teams clash, you don’t even think. Normally you’d wait for one team to finish off the other, but you’re in a competition with Seokjin, too. Suddenly, winning means more than just peace and silence.

“Knocked,” you call, sniping another player. “Out. Out. Knocked.”

“You motherfucker,” Jin hisses. “You’re supposed to - out - tell me when we’re going to push a team.”

“Hey, that was my kill!”

“You only knocked him!”

“Whatever. And I pushed them because I want to win.”

“I didn’t realize you were so good at this.” The two of you start looting the load out of the eliminated players. “You kept saying I don’t like Apex and here you are, really good at it.”

“Honestly, I used to like it.” Together, you traverse the map until you enter the next ring. Seokjin pauses to use Loba’s pop shop ability, a cache of weapons and materials in the local area showing up in front of you. As you sort through them, you continue, “But I used to play with my old roommate and I used to do it to impress them. As it turns out, being good at a video game does not a relationship make.”

“Hmm. Well if it makes you feel any better, I like you even without the Apex.”

“I meant I was trying to get them to like me romantically.”

“I know what you meant.”

You pause. Seokjin does not explain his statement, humming lightly as he picks up ammo and leaves the little shop running. He skips down the hill with his character, his happy little tune deep in your ear.

Nerves get the best of you in the next firefight with a team. You get knocked and screech into the headset, thinking that your chance to win is over. Seokjin, thankfully, takes pity on you and heals you after your near-death experience. But now he’s in the lead, and there are only five teams left.

I know what you meant.

The words sit heavy on you. While you are attracted to Seokjin you know it’s a bad idea. Roommates being anything more than roommates often brings other issues. You’d learned firsthand how poorly not defining a relationship could go. That was on you as an adult too but… you didn’t want something in between.

And you have no inclination of what he meant.

Seokjin wasn’t a very flirty person. Teasing you came easily enough, and he was always nice. He had been a little extra nice recently since you’d been spending more time together, but there wasn’t anything that would suggest he saw you as more than a roommate.

Two more people downed, and you were tied. The two of you were more into the game and less into the bet. Your interrupted sleep was long forgotten, and you leaned forward as you devised a plan, locking down a high tower where you could see enemy teams coming to escape the shrinking ring.

“Glad you got that stupid sentinel,” Seokjin mutters. “Who snipes with Wraith.”

“Shut up,” you shoot back, though you don’t really mean it. “Your second gun is a fucking wingman.”

“Because it’s like a one tap to the head!” An incoming team distracts him from arguing with you. “Over by that dino cage.”

“Got it,” you comm back. The second you shoot, you draw fire. “Oh my god do they have a Kraber?”

“Yeah, but they fucked the shot. You got this.”

Taking a breath - a little dramatic, you realize as you scope them - you take the shot. You tap one, but they have red armor. You curse, pissed you installed a fucking armor limitation, and duck behind the wall as the other team misses the shot with their kraber again.

“Best gun in the game and they can’t hit shots!” Seokjin laughs. “Imagine! Their buddy must be fuming.”

You scope again and tap the person again. “Knocked. Do we stand our ground or try and take them?” Another shot misses. “Can you keep a scope on that person you cracked and I can push? Other team is probably trying to wait it out.”

“If they see you?”

“Then you’re fucked but they’re not going to engage between two snipers. Maybe? I don’t know. Just do your thing.”

And you do your thing as Seokjin runs off toward the enemy team. They no longer have shots on their gun - which makes you roll your eyes, it’s the best gun on the map - and keep focused. Either they think you’re moving or they make a bad call - the healthy teammate tries to pick up their knocked ally and you take the shot.

“They’re both cracked.”

“Got it- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OTHER TEAM.”

His screech makes you slam your knee into the underside of your desk. No wonder he does this all the time, you think, realizing that the disrupting noise is a lot easier to make than you originally thought. “Let them take the kill then!”

“Fuck that I want to win!”

“Ew is this about the bet still? Now I want to win the game!”

“That’s what I’m talking about! Ye of little fAIIIIIITH!”

It’s hard not to giggle as he breaks off into yelling, entering a firefight while you try to provide cover and miss your shots. “Stop fucking portaling where I want to shoot!”

“Stop missing!”

“Knocked motherfucker!”

“Got it!”

Seokjin finishes the two teammates as the knocked enemies on the other team expire. Both of you scream over your headsets. You shoot to your feet as the victory screen flashes. You don’t even wait - you bolt toward the door, your wired-in headset ripping off your head and nearly yanking you back as you go.

The door is already open as he yells loudly, jumping up and down and grabbing you by the forearms, jumping around in circles with you. It’s stupid but it’s fun, and you can’t help but feel elated as he shakes you wildly, screaming, “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

His hands are warm on your biceps, gentle and squeezing you excitedly. And then between one breath and the next, he’s pulling you toward him, pressing his lips to yours.

A shock goes through you. You freeze for a moment, completely taken aback and unsure how to react. Seokjin realizes what he’s done and immediately backs away, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the strands as he says, “Shit - I am so sorry. That was wow - that was a line crossed without your consent and I’m so sorry.”

Heat floods you from head to toe. Your heart slams against your chest and you stare at him as he fumbles over an apology, his face red as you feel. Your mind can’t catch up as the warmth spreads from your face to the rest of you.

“I’m genuinely so sorry, I just got really excited and-”

“What did you mean earlier,” you cut him off. “When you were all I know what you meant. Look I… really don’t want to make this living situation weird.”

“Totally understand, I’m so sorry.”

You chew on your lip, looking at him. He looks earnest, eyes round and expression pleading. Your lips tingle where he kissed you, so quickly that you’ve already forgotten. Part of you wants to tell him to kiss you again. It was nice. And the flip in your stomach was… good.

But the part of you speaking now says, “I had fun gaming with you. Apology accepted. I am super tired though, so I’m going to go to bed okay?”

“Yeah. Listen, I am so sorry. That won’t happen again and I just - that was not cool of me at all.”

“It’s okay.”

“It wasn’t.”

You offer a smile, still nervous, fingers twitching. “I know you didn’t like, mean anything by it.”

He frowns. “Well I did but that’s my issue.”

Your heart is a stone skipping on the smooth surface of a pond. “What does that mean?”

“Look,” he sighs. “I don’t want to make things weird, alright? I harbor a bit of a crush on you and that was honestly absolutely not okay for me to just-” He gesticulates wildly with his hands. “It was an inconsiderate thing for me to do.”

A crush. Your breathing hitches and you rub sweaty palms against your pants, nodding. “It’s - we’re okay. We’re fine.”

Seokjin nods, nibbling on his bottom lip as he stares at you, red-faced and nervous. The silence turns awkward, your mind blanks and buzzes as you try to digest his words.

Crush crush crush crush.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you announce abruptly, needing to escape the room to breathe for a moment. He nods, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as you rush out. “Night!”

Behind locked doors in your room, you cover your face, feeling the way your cheeks are flushed. You do some deep breathing, trying to regulate your heart rate as your brain spins its tires on Seokjin’s words- confession.

He confused. That he has a crush.

For a few moments, you just lean over and pant, trying to think how you feel. Your stomach is a bundle of nervousness and your hands are a little shaky. But you’re not upset. In fact, you smile a bit, thinking of the way that Seokjin had turned shy and the way his lips had felt soft for that split second of a chance.

Straightening, you stare at the wall between your bedrooms. Seokjin is right there. Has been right there. And has admitted to liking you and is sweet and kind and fun to hang out with and-

It might be a bad decision. You’ve been down this road before. It ended up with you nursing feelings and deciding that feelings with roommates was a bad idea. But your last roommate didn’t have feelings for you like that. They liked the sex, but that was where the attraction ended.

So maybe -

You knock loudly on Seokjin’s door. There’s some shuffling on the other side and he opens it, brows furrowed and a little breathless. Before he can ask what you’re doing, you’re pushing past him and asking, “When you say you have a crush on me what do you mean? In the physical, only attracted to your appearance kind of way, or like the would date kind of way?”

“Well I am physically attracted to you,” he answers slowly, turning to look at you. “But I also like you. You’re funny and incredibly kind, and you’re easy to live with. I like the way that you make your hashbrowns a little extra crispy and crunchy, and I like that you think of me when you do things.”

“So you like me?”

“Yes, I think I… included that?”

You lick your lips, taking a shaky breath. “So you don’t want to just fuck me no strings attached?”

He blanches. “No. I don’t. Look I know I made you uncomfortable-”

“Kiss me.”

“What now?”

“Kiss me!”

There is a fleeting smile Seokjin gives you that later, you’ll think on with a fluttering heart and breathless laugh. But now, all you can think about is the gentle touch of his hands as they cradle your face and the delicate way his lips press against yours, pillow soft and sweet.

Seokjin smells like his body wash, the sage and juniper intoxicating as you wrap your arms around his neck. His skin is warm as you press your palms against his skin, his pulse throbbing underneath your thumb.

The kiss is chaste, just a firm press of lips and a surprised noise shared between the two of you. Tentatively, you pull away, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. Seokjin’s eyes are swimming pools of darkness framed by long lashes. He’s so beautiful, but up close he’s deadly, flecks of gold glittering in his irises.

“I just,” you whisper. “I don’t want it to be weird but I also… want.”

You don’t have to explain. Seokjin’s grin is easy, nodding. He gets it. He gets you. So he leans down again and pulls you in by the waist, fingers curling in the hem of your t-shirt as he tugs you toward him. The motion makes you gasp and he takes the chance to turn the kiss from sweet to carnal, tongue sweeping into your mouth.

Seokjin kisses you slowly, tongue curious and gentle. Your head spins as you kiss him and you can barely breathe, so full of him and thoughts of him and the taste of him that you grip him tight, desperate not to fall over.

The irritation from him waking you up is long forgotten as he tugs you closer. Your hips press against his, mouths sliding, a mix of gentle smacks, spit, and gasps for air. A buzz tingles through you as you nudge Seokjin toward his bed and he responds immediately, backing up and pulling you with him.

When the back of his legs hit the bed, he falls backward. The two of you become a tangled pile of limbs and kisses and giggles, but you find your place as you slot your knees on either side of his narrow waist, palms flat against his chest and the steady beating of his heart.

There are stars in his eyes when he looks up at you. For a second, you just look at one another, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs and his eyes locked on your face. His lips and face are rouge, hair messy. You grin and lean down, pressing your lips against him again.

Kissing Seokjin is invigorating. You can’t help but let little noises slip from your mouth. His fingers press into your thighs, dimpling the flesh as he groans, hips twitching upward for friction. The bulge through his sweatpants makes you squeak and you break the kiss, wiggling your hips down to press against his clothed cock.

“Ugh,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut and head pressing back into his mattress. “Don’t do that. I’m so fucking hard.”

“Do you want some help with that?”

His gaze softens and his thumbs slide back and forth on your thighs, caressing gently. “I want whatever you want. Nothing, everything, something. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Well right now… I really want to suck you off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you drop and slide your hand from where it presses against his chest downward. His abs twitch under your hand as you dance along his over-warm skin. His breathing has turned faint and breathy, body nearly trembling as you brush your fingers along the trail of hair leading into his sweatpants.

Watching him is hypnotizing. Seokjin’s lips part slightly as you slide your hand underneath the elastic, brows shooting up when you brush the sticky tip of his cock.

“No underwear?”

“They’re - nggg - restricting.”

His shaft is long and smooth, your fingers brushing along the underside, tracing a vein. You’re impressed by the sheer size of his dick, wondering if you’re going to manage to not choke, but the sound he lets you when you wrap your fingers around him and grip him tight erases the apprehension.

“You sound so good like that,” you breathe, giving a loose-fisted stroke toward the crown, beaded with precum. “Also you have a sizeable dick.”

“Sizeable, huh?” You brush your thumb over the tip, nail gliding over his leaking slit and he lets out a loud moan, making you grin. “Take it out and see how fucking sizeable it is, hmm?”

It’s hard to take him seriously with how ridiculous he sounds, but you slide down the bed, gently getting onto your knees. Using both hands, you tug at his sweatpants, looking up at him through fluttered lashes.

And… suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. Your mouth waters a bit at the side, his tip swollen and needy. His thick, and you know how good it would feel to just sink down on top of his length, filling up the throb that aches between your legs.

Pressing your palms firmly into his thighs, you lift yourself up, dipping low to run your tongue along the thick vein that runs up the bottom of his shaft. He lets out a sinful growl, hands fisting the sheet and gasping as you watch him struggle.

At the tip, you slid a hand up, gripping him firmly as you suckle the dark, swollen flesh into your mouth. His precum is salty on your tongue and you hum, eyes fixed on the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the blush blossoming from his neck to his pecs.

Seokjin is beautiful under the assault of your mouth.

Suckling gently, you watch his reaction as your tongue lazily circles around the sensitive tip of his cock. His hips wiggle back and forth but he never bucks up into your mouth, never thrusts deeper than you’re willing to go.

“Please,” he whispers and it comes out as an almost whine. “More.”

You give him more, gently sinking your mouth down on him. It’s a stretch but you manage, careful to mind your breathing as you bob gently, hollowing your cheeks for added suction. Expletive-laced moans drip from his mouth, his eyes squeeze shut as you continue to suck gently.

Drool runs out the sides of your mouth. You let it, the stickiness of your spit and his presume slicking down his cock helps you take more of him in his mouth. When his tip brushes the back of your throat, he nearly growls, fully writhing underneath you now.

Seeing him like this is addicting, worked up and sweating, and falling apart. What you can’t fit in your mouth you grip with your hand, mouth, and fingers stroking together in time to work him up. Your mouth buzzes around him in a self-satisfied hum.

Seokjin can’t help himself. His hands leave the sheets, one hand going to the back of your head, fingers pressed firmly. He doesn’t push or pull, his grip just firm and begging. The sound as you let him thrust a little is sinful and wet, the cough-choke of your throat accompanied by stilted curses.

Suddenly, he pulls you up. Cum-mixed spit dribbles down your chin, mouth feeling stretched and swollen as you look up at him. His sweats are around his ankles, abs and thighs flexing as he leans forward, urging you upward.

Your mouths meet in a heated smack of cum and spit and moans and teeth. Your mind is spinning as he cups your face fiercely, pulling you to your feet and up onto his naked waist. His hands pull at your shirt and you yank it fiercely, breaking your messy kiss just to toss it.

Seokjin’s hands are warm and starving for you and vicious as he pulls your bralette off, adding it to the messy pile in his room. Steady hands cup your breasts, his eyes glittering as he makes a noise. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”

You fall forward but his hands steady you, lifting his head to catch a nipple with his mouth. It sets you alight, electricity snapping to life from the motion. You moan, head thrown back, eyes rolling as he nipples lightly on your nipple.

“Fuck,” you squeak. The heat between your legs hurts, your cunting throbbing for him. “That feels so good.”

He hums, letting go of the hardened peak with a gentle scrape of his teeth, moving his mouth to lavish your other breast. His thumb brushes back and forth over the glossy peak, keeping it stimulated.

You tremble in his grip, seated in his lap as he places luscious sucks across your chest.

“You’re beautiful.” Seokjin’s words are mumbled in damp kisses against your collarbone. “You’re smart and sweet and generous and stunning.”

“You’re beautiful,” you answer. It feels stupid to say, but it’s the only thing you can come up with. Everything feels fuzzy and you’re drowning in the praise. “Why is your discord WorldWideHandsomJin?”

“Shut up.” He rolls the two of you over, a whirlwind of limbs and giggles. “Cause I wanted it to be, and it’s true.”

“It is,” you agreed, gasping as he slides his hand into your pajama shorts. His fingers brush over your damp panties, and he huffs a laugh when he feels how sticky wet you are. “More.”

He hums and applies more pressure, but it doesn’t relieve the ache. “No,” you whine, clawing his chest. “Please.”

“Because you said please.”

With a swift hand, he pulls your shorts and underwear down. You don’t have time to shiver at the cool air of his room hitting your pussy, his fingers brushing up and down. “God,” he groans, dropping his head against the side of your neck. “You’re soaked, baby.”

Pleasure sparks as he thumbs your clit in gentle circles. You feel arousal flood the pit of your stomach, cunt aching and leaking as he slides a finger up and down, applying pressure to your hole before gently sliding into your cunt.

It’s not enough. You get breathy all the same, the feel of his finger stroking your front wall making the world around you melt. Your limbs feel heavy and you shut your eyes, feeling the way he strokes your g-spot over and over again.

“Another,” you gasp, hips bucking upward. “Please, more.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Greedy pussy needs more?”

His filth makes your mouth pop open. He complies, though, sliding in another finger and fucking into you properly. He lets you roll your hips upward, trying to ride his hand as you chase the feeling in your stomach.

It feels like you can’t get enough air, heat trapped between your bodies, static sticking to your skin. Seokjin feels like heaven and fucking hell, skin sticky where your bodies touch, thrumming with energy.

And it’s so much - almost too much. You want him closer, want to be fuller, want the snap of his hips. You dig your fingers into his biceps, mouth brushing against his, words mumbled between pressed lips, “Please.”

With a slick sound, he pulls his fingers from you. Immediately you miss the feeling, but you’re rewarded as he brings shine-slicked fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth. He leers around his fingers, eyes dark.

“Yum,” he whispers, bending down and licking into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

For a quick moment, he fumbles in his nightstand, pulling out a condom and breaking the foil with a soft crinkle. He’s painted a soft blue in the lights of his room, the changing colors making him a mirage of neons and soft colors, a haunting and stunning creature all at once.

Seokjin shuffles you carefully up the bed, peppering your skin with kisses as he goes. Reverent hands stretch your legs wide open for him as he slots himself against you, giving shallow thrusts so that his cock slides against your messy fold. You whine, needed more stimulation, needing to feel full to relieve the ache.

Grabbing the base of his cock, he strokes upwards again, letting his cockhead catch on your trembling hole. A stream of expletives falls from your lips as your head falls backward, your entire frame vibrating as he slowly slides in. You’re so wet that it helps, but the thick girth of him burns all the way until he is fully sheathed and your walls are fluttering around him.

“Shit, you’re fucking squeezing me.”

“Cause your cock is fucking big!”

“Am I supposed to apologize?”

“No, but please fuck me.”

You need the slide of his shaft against your walls, need to feel the way he hits so deep it’s like he’s in your fucking stomach. Seokjin starts a slow but purposeful pace, pulling all the way out before pushing back in, sliding his hands under your as to lift you slightly. The angle allows him to fuck your spot as he thrusts in, your limbs going slack as the feeling of an orgasm winds from just a few strokes.

Seokjin fucks you with purpose, stroking a little faster. Sweat beads on his chest, hair clinging to his forehead as he bites his bottom lip, stomach flexing. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers wrapped around his wrist where he holds you, practically pulling you onto his cock as he fucks you open.

It’s mind-numbing, everything else fading away as his room swirls in colors, punctuated by the snap of his hips against your wet ass and your high-pitched moans.

You wish you could be more of a participant, but the way he makes you feel has the room spinning. He fucks you down into the mattress, the slide of your skin against his sheets added friction. Your head hits a pillow, knocking it sideways, your hand trying to find a grip on anything. It finds the wall and you press against it, feeling the squeeze of your breath in your lungs and the coil in your stomach.

“That's it,” Seokjin urges, one hand leaving your ass to slip between your legs. He circles your clit and your eyes roll back in your head, the roaring feeling of your orgasm coming closer and closer. “Fuck your feel so fucking good - you look so fucking good just taking my cock like this.” He is the vision you think. Brow furrowed, lip tucked between his teeth, all tan, flushed skin and twitching muscles. You can't remember the last time you were fucked into mindlessness, no chance of cognitive thinking at your fingertips. The filth that leaves his mouth only sends you spiraling further, admiration-laced curses punctuated with moans.

You can only moan back in response, most of the sound stuck in your throat. You think you’re babbling now, mouth agape, eyes squeezed so shut that colors explode across your vision. He fucks you hard but at a medium pace, each thrust supported with his full weight, hitting so deep that you can’t breathe.

When you cum, it’s like a freight train hits you, the world going absolute white noise and numb. You lose yourself in the feeling, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You’re aware of the way your pussy pulses around his cock and through the buzz in your ears, you hear him curse, gasping your name as he cums just as hard.

You have no idea how long it takes for you to come back down. You barely feel your limbs, the tingle in them like when your foot falls asleep but far more pleasant. You roll your head over to find Seokjin breathing deeply, skin glowing with sweat. His eyes flutter open as you stare at him and he grins, tired but genuine. Your stomach leaps.

“I swear,” he mumbles. “Next time I will last way longer than that. But fuck.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard,” you admit, voice hoarse. “I think that is why they call it le petite mort. Holy shit.”

He laughs and he pulls you in. With the shift of your limbs, you feel how sticky and wet your legs are, thighs pressed together in the mess. You make a face at the feeling, no longer finding it attractive now that you’re not actively fucking, but he kisses you and you immediately forget about it.

“By the way,” he mutters, voice deep. “I won the bet so you owe me a favor.”

You grit your teeth, realizing that he did win by a single kill. “Fine. What’s your favor?”

“Not much, just want to take you out somewhere nice. Buy you a beautiful dinner. Learn all of your embarrassing stories from middle school and if you had an emo phase.”

“Did you have an emo phase?”

“You’ll only find out if we go on a date.”

You smile. Your mouth hurts from the kissing and the stretch of his dick, but it doesn’t matter. You brush the sweaty hair from his face, his eyes fixed on your reaction. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Hmm. Good. Now come on, I wanna fuck you in the shower.”

“That I can agree with.”

#seokjin smut #jin smut #jin bts smut #bts smut #kim seokjin smut #jin fanfic #jin x reader #roommate jin #bts fanfic #jin x you #minors dni #minors do not interact

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