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miabbh · 2 months ago

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The bet 🎮

Live Streamer!Baekhyun x reader

Synopsis: Joining Baekhyun's live-streams was just a coincidence, but it quickluy became a tradition to friday nights. You grew closer at each session and the constant teasing and back and forth were, together with good gameplay, what kept the chat going. Tonight, however, a bet: whoever of the two lost would have to kneel for the other. And perhaps in both meanings.

Genre: a tiny bit of comedy and playfull banter, friends to lovers, semi-explicit! (Implicit oral sex – fem!receiving)

a gift to @baekhyunsbestie

You weren’t sure how it had come to this—streaming regularly with Baekhyun, sharing late-night gaming sessions that stretched until dawn, even meeting up for coffee and arcade sessions when time allowed.

It all started with that one game where you, just a regular viewer back then, joined his lobby on a whim and ended up taking him by surprise with your skills.

Since that night, he’d insisted on playing with you more often, and his viewers couldn’t get enough of your dynamic.

You still remember those early streams, the way your voice trembled as you spoke, heart pounding every time he said your name. But week after week, you grew bolder. It helped that Baekhyun was just as supportive off-stream as he was playful on-screen, sending you gifts—new gear, accessories, even a figure of your favourite character—as “thank-yous” for the hours you put into streaming together.

And when you finally gave in to his fans’ demands to start your own channel, things quickly escalated. The teasing had become something of a tradition, and now, with your face on camera, it added a whole new layer to the back-and-forth.

Tonight was no different. You settled into your chair, slipped on your headset, and adjusted the pillows behind your back before taking a sip of water. A familiar thrill coursed through you as you hit the "Go Live" button.

Baekhyun’s voice greeted you as soon as you entered the voice chat, casual but edged with a challenge.

“Ah, there you are! I was starting to think you were too scared to show up.” he teased.

The moment he spoke, your chat buzzed with activity.

[Chat]

dorimo63: it’s going down tonight

daniudean: Baekhyun sounds cocky as always

inautop: betting 20 she wins. hes overdue for some humility

His smirk practically radiated through the screen, an insufferable yet irresistible look that made something in your chest tighten. And then there was the hair—dark, tousled curls that were new, different. You blinked, momentarily distracted.

“Scared?” you shot back, recovering quickly. “Of what—letting you lose again?” You paused, letting your gaze flick over his disheveled hair and black t-shirt, a teasing grin curling your lips. “Got a whole new look just to kneel for me?”

Baekhyun chuckled, his fingers tapping on his mouse.

“Someone sounds confident tonight. Did you finally get some practice in?” He glanced at his second monitor, where chat comments were flying by. “Or did you spend all your time thinking up what to say when you’re on your knees?”

He reads a donation out loud.

[Donation Notification: 15 from peteisbetter]

baekhyunie prepare to kneel. we all know shes got you beat

“Got me beat? Oh chat, I thought you loved me!”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh.

“Oh, please. They're just worried about your knees, Baek. I don’t think they’ve bent for anyone in a while.”

The subscribe alerts appears on your screen; the chat picking up on the tension like a spark to dry tinder.

someonion4: OMG DID SHE JUST SAY THAT?!

mistahneg: OUR QUEEN DOESN’T HOLD BACK

lunatishroom: are they flirting already

someonion4: @lunatishroom they are

Baekhyun’s grin widened, his tone dropping lower as he leaned closer to his mic.

“You’d be surprised how flexible I can be. But I guess you’ll need to work hard to find out.”

There was a hint of something darker behind his playful tone, a glint in his eyes that made your breath hitch.

Heat flushed your cheeks at the innuendo, and you quickly cleared your throat, praying the mic didn’t catch the change in your breathing.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” you said, voice steady despite the racing of your pulse. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of time to think about what went wrong while you’re down there.”

His eyes drifted back to the game screen, and he hummed, almost as if you’d piqued his curiosity.

“I like it when you talk tough. It’s cute.”

The game loaded, and you both focused on the first match, fingers flying over the keys as the tension built. The rounds were close, but you could already predict his moves, that aggressive style you’d come to know so well. He always pushed too far, always assumed you’d fall for his tricks.

It was all about patience, waiting for that moment when he’d leave himself vulnerable. It was his downfall before, and it would be again if you timed your moves right.

Your viewers could sense the shift in the air, the tension mounting as you traded kills and comebacks. The chat erupted after each close call, donations rolling in with messages that only added to the pressure.

At the end of the round, you grabbed your water bottle quickly, looking at the comments during the 10 second countdown.

inautop: that last shot was insane!

dalidalidoo: if he loses, I’m clipping his reaction

someonion4: Baekhyun’s sweating, I can see it

You smirk.

“He's sweating already?” You ask to chat, but obviously he heard.

“Who's sweating?” You hear him ask. “Certainly not me. I'm not going to give that pleasure of a view to so many people…” he pauses. “My skin is hydrated, chat, it's not sweat.”

[cutepuppy05 subscribed for 4 months]

he says that but he's been sweating since he started the live and went to play with Channie. you got him nervous, you are at an advantage

The rounds flew by, each one bringing you closer to the final score.

You could hear Baekhyun’s breaths on the mic, steady but quickening, and it felt almost as if he were sitting right there with you—so close you could feel the heat from his body. The tension wasn’t just about the game anymore; it was a thread pulled tight between the two of you, with every playful taunt and low laugh sending a spark up your spine.

You've been physically close a few times. For some reason, there really is this thing where some people just emanate significant heat despite being still. And the times you were by Baekhyun's side, warmth radiated from him, along with the mature perfume he wore. And when you still managed to carry that scent home, you spent a little more time with your coat on.

Imagining him, by your side, playing with you in such a frenetic way made something to you.

You almost lost, the screen corners in red as you came back to reality. You had the special attack available and you just used it.

You managed to catch him overextending, the same mistake he always made. With a precise shot, the victory flashed across your screen. You grinned, unable to hold back the satisfaction in your voice.

“Looks like someone is getting on his kneeeesss~!”

The chat exploded as you exit the game and opened the discord call.

Baekhyun groaned. You could see him leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand through his hair.

“Alright, alright.” he conceded, a playful grin curling at his lips. “You win. A deal’s a deal. Are you seeing me?”

“Yes! Go ahead!”

With exaggerated slowness, he pushed his chair back. He pulled his shorts up a little and dropped to one knee, his gaze fixed on the camera as if staring straight at you through the screen.

“What is your command, oh victorious one?”

His tone sent a shiver through you, a reminder that even when he lost, he somehow still held the upper hand in the way he made you feel.

You were momentarily at a loss for words, the sight of him kneeling before you—not just in the screen, but almost in the intimacy of your shared space—catching you off guard.

“I think you owe me a meal.” you managed to say, though your voice sounded softer than you intended. “Next time we meet, you’re treating.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flicked to the chat, his smile widening.

“That’s all? I was expecting something more… demanding.” The way he said the last word, voice dipping low, made your skin flush.

[Donation Notification: 4.99 from someonion4]

damn Baekhyun on his knees???? looks like someones living out their wildest dreams tonight! 😂👀 You got him, queen

You cleared your throat, forcing a steady reply despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Oh, don’t worry, Baek. I’ll save the real demands for when you’re actually at my feet.”

The chat lost it.

marihop: OMG SHE WENT THERE

snwmoveme: baekhyun’s face is priceless

smarterbb: this is the best stream ever

He let out a laugh, rising to his feet with an amused glint in his eyes.

“I guess I’ll just have to win the rematch, then.” he said, his gaze lingering on the camera a beat longer before shifting back to the game. “And when I do, you better be ready to keep your promises.”

You could hear the playful threat in his tone, and it sent a thrill through you.

“We’ll see, Baekhyun. We’ll see.”

The conversation drifted back to safer topics, but the electric undercurrent between you lingered. As you logged off and the live stream ended, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time you saw him—when there were no cameras, no chat, just the two of you, and all the things left unsaid.

The silence that settled between you after the stream felt different, more intimate. Without the buzz of the chat and the flood of notifications, there was just the two of you and the quiet, steady sound of his breathing on the other end.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was speaking just for you.

“Huh?” You blinked, glancing up at the screen. He was looking at you with that calm expression, his beautiful perm hair still slightly tousled from the last few hours, eyes warm with the lingering glow of your victory.

He chuckled, the sound low and easy.

“You know… food. I could pick something up. It’s kind of late, but I’m sure I can find a place that’s still open. It's not the dinner. Or lunch. Whatever you want. I'm just hungry, you must be too.”

Your stomach growled at the thought of food. It would even be nice to eat anything.

The idea was tempting—him showing up with takeout, eating together... The thought of seeing him in person again, especially after that charged bet, sent a thrill through you. But you know you wouldn't hold back if you see him now.

“You don’t have to…” you started, but the words died on your lips. Your heart wins pretty often. Biting your lower lip, a suggestion spilled out. “Or… you could come over. We could eat together, if you want.”

There was a beat of silence, then you saw his lips twitch into a small smile, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Are you inviting me to your place, sweetheart?” He dragged out your name in that playful tone he used whenever he was trying to get a rise out of you.

You felt your cheeks warm, but there was no point in backing down now.

“I mean, I did win tonight.” you said with a little tilt to your head. “It’s only fair you deliver my victory dinner in person, right?”

Baekhyun let out a breathy laugh.

“Fair enough.” He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes darkening with something unspoken. “Send me your adress, I know the building but I don't wanna ring on someone else's door.”

You nodded, your heart picking up speed as you sent him the directions.

“Be careful, a few of my neighbours watch your live streams.”

“Uhhhh! Fans?”

“Viewers.”

“Yeah, yeah! See you soon!”

When you finally ended the call, the reality of what you’d just invited him to do sank in. You glanced around your apartment, quickly tidying up, your mind racing with anticipation and a slight twinge of nerves.

It wasn’t the first time you’d hung out with him in person, but something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was the bet. Maybe it was the way his voice dropped when he accepted your invitation. Whatever it was, you couldn’t ignore the spark that had been growing between you for weeks.

But it was about the bet. You can't lie. Kneeling down always had the second intention on your mind. And seeing him and hearing him today made something to you. You were weak this last few days… were you ovulating?

Twenty minutes later, there was a message, telling you he arrived. You opened the building's door, and soon after you heard a knock at your door. You opened it to find Baekhyun standing there, a bag of takeout in one hand and that same amused, knowing look in his brown eyes.

“Victory delivery, as requested.” he said, his voice carrying a touch of humor. “I bought a little bit of everything of side dishes, there was only one dose of ramen by this hour so I need to compensate.”

You smiled soflty, noticing him. A ladder jacket, the black t-shirt and that white pants he wore the first time you joined his lobby, replacing the short from earlier. Damn.

He stepped inside as you moved to the side, glancing around your place as he slipped off his shoes.

“Nice setup you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.” you replied, shutting the door behind him. Your voice got a bit more quiet. Maybe it was a bit too much…

The air between you felt charged, even as you made small talk while setting out the food. He took off his jacket, strong arms in contrast to the black t-shirt.

It was as if the bet hadn’t really ended, just shifted into another form—one with softer words, quieter looks, but no less intense.

You took a seat on the couch after picking a few drinks from the fridge, with Baekhyun settling in beside you. He began opening the paper bags, his features more serious than usual, illuminated by the light from the TV and the lamps that you used to leave on so as not to leave the apartment completely dark. The silence was heavy and thick with the kind of tension you’d been dancing around for months.

You turned your head slightly to find him already looking at you, his gaze tracing the curve of your face, lingering on your lips.

“You know…” he said softly, setting the food boxes on the coffee table. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought we would be here. Especially because I asked for a bet... honestly, I've never been so... happy about losing either.”

You felt your breath catch.

“Yeah?” you replied, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

He nods, still looking into your face. You couldn't look away either, even if you wanted to. Your mouth betrayed you again.

“So, you don’t mind kneeling to me again?”

His smile was slow, his eyes dark as he leaned in closer, his hand grabbing one another as if to contain himself.

“You want to see me on my knees so bad?” he asked, his hoarse. “For you?” He steps out of the couch, kneeling in front of you.

Your eyes wide and you swallow dry.

The space between you seemed to disappear, and before you knew it, his hands were on your tights, just above the knee. A shiver runned down your spine.

“Baekhyun…” and he lifted himself, his lips brushed against yours, a soft, tentative touch that sparked into something more.

You closed the distance, pressing deeper into the kiss, and felt his hand slide up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the connection.

Your own hands moved to his head, holding it, your thumbs tapping where his jaw meets his cheeks. His lips were much better than you ever thought: soft, a bit swollen, so, so truly kissable.

The kiss was a slow burn, a mix of months of flirtation and nights spent just inches from where you were now. When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, the tension that had been simmering between you finally spilling over.

“You know…” he murmured, his hands again playing with your skin, fingertips tracing a line along your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “If you let me… really get on my knees for you…”

The way he said it—low, teasing, but with an undercurrent of heat—sent a rush of warmth through your entire body, settling deep between your legs. You gasped softly, caught off guard by the intensity of it, your breath hitching as you locked eyes with him. His gaze was dark, his expression far more serious than the playful tone of his voice suggested.

He wasn’t joking.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with tension. You could feel the steady thrum of your pulse in your ears, your body responding to the unspoken invitation in his words. You swallowed, unsure whether to laugh off his comment or let it hang between you, tempting you further.

Baekhyun’s fingers slid down to your wrist, brushing over your pulse point before his hand slipped lower, gently resting on your thigh. His touch was light but deliberate, testing the waters, waiting to see how you’d respond. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, you know? Losing to you. Kneeling for you.” His lips brushed your ear, and your whole body tensed, anticipation tightening your chest. “I probably wouldn't have had the balls to ask you this if I had won.”

You couldn’t deny the pull between you anymore, the way it had been growing with every game, every late-night conversation. What had started as teasing had evolved into something deeper, more intense. You had felt it the moment he walked into your apartment tonight—the way his eyes lingered a little longer, the way his voice dropped when he spoke just for you.

“Baek” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. You weren’t sure what you were asking him for—for him to stop, to go on, to push you further into this moment.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips hovering just over yours, his hand tightening on your thigh.

“Just say the word.” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your mouth. “And I’ll do it.”

Your heart raced, the warmth between your legs now a steady ache, and you found yourself leaning into him, closing the last sliver of space between you. Your lips brushed against his, hesitant at first, but then he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding higher on your thigh, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt.

The kiss turned urgent, your hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer as the tension that had been building for so long finally snapped. His fingers slipped under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you gasped into his mouth, pressing your body against his.

Baekhyun groaned softly, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath ragged.

“Tell me to stop if we're crossing a line you don't want to be crossed.” he whispered, his voice strained, his hand stilling on your waist. But the way his lips hovered near yours, the way his body pressed against you, made it clear he didn't want to keep this as they were.

Neither do you.

Instead, you cupped his face, guiding him back to you, your lips crashing against his with a hunger that mirrored his own. His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under your shirt, pulling you closer until you were practically straddling him. The weight of his body beneath yours, the feel of his hands roaming over your skin, sent waves of heat through you, every nerve alight with sensation.

Baekhyun’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands gripped your hips, guiding you closer to the edge of the couch. The soft moan that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his fingers digging into your waist as his lips returned to yours, kissing you with a desperation that matched your own.

“I want to see you lose that control you always have.” he whispered against your lips, his hands sliding under the waistband of your pants. His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting instinctively to the command in his voice, the heat of his touch.

You felt yourself sinking further into him, giving in to the moment as he shifted beneath you, his eyes dark with desire.

And as his fingers tightened their grip, pulling you closer, you realized that you didn’t mind losing to him either—not like this, not tonight.

Your pants disappeared in an instant. The sound of denim sliding down your legs was the only thing you noticed before grabbing him by his brown hair and guiding him where you wanted him.

He chuckled, but then looked to where you guided him; the expression became almost ethereal—he licked his lips, exhaled exasperatedly, and his eyes nearly closed. Each sound more like a quiet groan, as though he was just barely holding back.

Baekhyun’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his chest rising and falling as his breath came quicker. His gaze swept back up to meet yours, and you saw the hunger there—raw and unrestrained, like he was teetering on the edge of something he could no longer control. The weight of his desire crashed over you, your own breath catching in your throat as heat pooled between your legs, leaving you with a yearning ache.

His hand slid up your thigh, trembling just slightly as his fingertips grazed your skin.

“God, you’re…” he murmured, his voice trailing off, lost in the moment. It was as if words had failed him, the intensity of his reaction leaving him almost dazed. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if to steady himself, before his gaze locked onto yours again—this time filled with a fire that sent another wave of heat through you.

You gasped softly, the sound escaping before you could contain it, and his eyes flashed in response. The corner of his mouth curled into a slow, knowing smile, his hand tightening ever so slightly as if grounding himself.

“You like that?” he whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone that made your pulse quicken. “The way I’m looking at you? To the most beautiful and mesmerizing and sexy creature I've ever seen, so comfortable for me?”

Your throat tightened as you struggled to find your voice, your skin prickling under the intensity of his stare. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded instead, the motion small and almost tentative. The way he looked at you made you feel bare and exposed, like he could see every inch of you, every hidden desire you’d tried to keep at bay.

His other hand trailed along your jaw, tilting your head up just enough to bring your lips closer again, teasingly.

“I’m not just going to look, you know. I've done it enough already.” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “I’m going to taste. Touch.” He leaned in, and his next words were a low, heated promise. “And you’re going to feel every bit of it, love it, and drown in pleasure because of me.”

The anticipation made you tremble, your body already reacting to his touch. His hand slipped further up, pressing firmly against you in a way that drew a sharp, breathless moan from your throat.

He grinned, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you, his fingers moving with an agonizing slowness that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

“Don't tease.” You say, holding his hair between your finger.

“I don't want to take too big a step.” He replies quietly, but his head moves closer as you pull him.

"Strange. You're always the impatient one." you managed to say, your voice coming out as a breathy taunt as you shifted, one of your legs lifting and settling onto his left shoulder. The movement was deliberate, even yourself was surprised how natural it seemed.

His gaze flickered down to where your leg rested, then back up to your eyes, his smile turning wickedly playful.

"Maybe I’m savoring the moment." he murmured, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers curling around the curve of your leg as he steadied you. "After all, there is only one first time." He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, trailing a path up your inner thigh, the closeness of his lips making you shiver with anticipation.

His free hand moved to grip your hip, keeping you firmly in place as he tilted his head to brush his lips against the sensitive skin just above your knee, his gaze never leaving yours. The contrast of his gentleness and the intensity in his eyes sent a shudder through you, your pulse quickening with each teasing touch.

“Ah…” he murmured, voice roughened with desire “I could take my time. Make you beg for it.” His lips brushed over your skin again, the heat of his breath making you gasp. He glanced up, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and hunger. "But you won, I need to give you what you want."

Your fingers threaded through his hair, urging him closer, your breaths coming quicker.

“Or maybe I want to see you take your time with me and try to keep it together.” you shot back, a defiant smile curling your lips. The words seemed to ignite something in him, his grip tightening on your thigh.

“Careful what you wish for.” he said, his tone dark and laced with promise. Then he dipped his head lower, and the slow burn of his touch quickly became a consuming flame. "I may be more patient than you think."

His tongue played with you softly, making a loud, wet sound. He took your right leg, placing it on his shoulder as he pulled you by the hip, burying his face in you like a starved man, kneeling down, on your living room, with those white pants hugging his thighs.

#baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo #mia's meows #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun fic #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun imagines #the man you are i love you #baekhyun smut

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steddieas-shegoes · 6 months ago

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and on the first day, god said let them have a drummer

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'in the beginning'

rated t | 556 words | cw: language | tags: gareth introduction to the band, they are all idiots, that's the common theme with all of these

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

"Okay. We need a drummer."

This one lasted longer than all the others at least, but turned out he thought they were planning on playing at school only.

His parents would never let him play The Hideout.

"We've exhausted all options," Jeff sighed, leaning back in the beanbag chair in the corner of the garage. "Hawkins has three drummers and all of them have played for us."

"Are we the problem?" Frankie asked, resting his head against the wall.

"We can't be," Jeff replied, though he sounded unsure.

"I could be," Eddie sighed.

Not many people were interested in hanging out with the second year senior who participated in "devil games" and hung out in the woods entirely too late at night.

Never mind the fact that he was only in the woods late at night because their kids were buying drugs from him.

"Man, shut up." Frankie rolled his eyes. "None of us are exactly the town's favorite. Maybe we should try asking around at The Hideout. Someone older might be interested."

"Jeff's mom isn't gonna let a grown ass adult hang out with us in their garage," Eddie argued.

"You're a grown ass adult," Jeff looked at him.

"Barely. I'm the least mature of all of us."

They nodded in agreement. He definitely was youngest in spirit.

Plus, Jeff's mom absolutely adored him for some reason. None of them quite understood it, but Eddie insisted it was just his charm.

"What about that one kid in band?" Frankie asked, standing up straight. "What's his name? It's kinda stupid. Garrett? Garen?"

"Gareth Emerson?" Jeff asked. "He's, like, 12."

"He's 15! And he can play. I saw it with my own eyes. He's good," Frankie argued.

"How are we getting him into The Hideout?"

"The same way we all do: lying."

They all sighed in unison.

"What other choice do we have? We have to try. None of us can be the drummer." Eddie hated that they were stuck doing this, but he had to trust this would be the one.

"So…who's gonna ask him?" Frankie asked.

"Your idea, you ask him," Jeff said as he pulled his guitar back in front of him and strummed it once. "Tell him first practice is to see if he fits. Don't make it sound like we're desperate."

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

"So…you're really desperate, huh?" Gareth asked as he sat behind the drum set Jeff kept in the garage.

"No! We just haven't had much luck," Jeff said.

"Right. Well, I don't mind helping you guys out, but my mom's not gonna be cool about performing in fuckin' dive bars," Gareth adjusted the stool. "Why do you even have your own drumset?"

"My dad plays."

"And Jeff thought he would be cool enough to be a drummer a few years ago until I showed him how to play guitar," Eddie nudged Jeff's shoulder before he turned to the amp to his side and adjusted the volume.

Jeff's parents weren't home, but the neighbors might be, and the last thing they needed was a formal noise complaint.

"You guys know I can't even drive, right?" Gareth asked, spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Yeah, dude. Your voice still cracks. We're well aware you're a child. Don't make it weird," Eddie smirked. "You know Sabbath?"

"Of course I know Sabbath."

"Let's fuckin' play then."

#corroded coffin #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #gareth stranger things

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1lenii · 1 year ago

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Fuck them kids

Miles (G) Morales x F!Reader

⚠️⚠️⚠️THE SONG IS FOR SATIRE PURPOSES⚠️⚠️⚠️

The classic, don’t underestimate me cs I’m a girl

As you know, bonding time with miles as he proves “Fuck these kids, that’s 4ever the moto” - Kali

⚠️cursing, degrading means against children, bullying if you wanna call it that, mentions of violence(only for the game and physical irl)

For the sake of decency these middle schoolers are in 8th grade and miles and (Y/N) are sophomores

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Fuck you and your dead rat dumbass, where your mom at”

(Y/N) peeps her head from the crack of her boyfriends room, as he yelling more than normal at his game.

“Oh yea?? What you gonna do go cry about it?”

(Y/N) heard murmuring from the other side of the headset that’s seemed to respond in a more ruder tone then last time,

through the headset that rested atop of Miles head leaving a dent in the half that had his Afro and sitting perfectly on the side that had 2 braids

(Basically half out and other half braided; with a hair pick from more visual representation)

‘Seems he got distracted while doing his hair again’ (Y/N) mentally notes, and imaginary sweat drop forming next to her eye brow

“Uh Miles..”

“What.”

“Are those the same middle schoolers from down the block?”

“No..”

The uncertainty of Miles tone gave it away, (Y/N) open the door even more allowing her body access to the room, positioning her self behind Miles gaming chair

“Don’t you think you should be nicer?”

“Nice? When was that a option for you” Miles side eyes you before returning back to the aggressive violation that is shooting

(Y/N) slightly gasps, putting a hand to her chest for effect while pouting

“I’m nice”

“When you want to be”

“I guess, you should still be nicer to them, there only in middle school after all”

“Nu uh ma, fuck these kids” Miles says through the headset noise, violently pressing at his controller

“Papi you can’t be violating kids because they shooting better or whatever it they’re doing” (Y/N) says not being able to contain her laugh

“Como esto es un chiste, why don’t you come play” he’s say taking off his headset and gesturing it towards you, raising a eyebrow in the process

(Y/N) takes the invitation taking the headset and adjusting the muffs to fit her head, Miles pulls her by the waist adjusting her so she sit right on his lap, passing her the controller

“AiI Ma I taught you the basics not to long ago, do your best”

“You talking knowing damn well I’m better then you”

“Not true”

“Keep dreaming pretty boy”

*initiate operating: the mic is now on*

(For my sake a yours I’ll change of the writing style)

Kid 3: Yooo miles you back? I was getting tired of cooking you

(Y/N): oh were you really?

Kid 2: whoa.. who you?

(Y/N): his girlfriend ya kids clueless

Kid 1: booo I got a girl for a teammate wtf

Kid 2: must suck LMAO

Kid 3: don’t worry girly I’ll make sure you the one ending up clueless

(Y/N) just laughs along with Miles who whispers ‘watch yaself’ into the mic

Few minutes into the game and (Y/N) already gotten 20 points for her team

Kid 1: woah I didn’t know your that good

Kid 2: don’t praise her the game ain’t over dickhead

*the game has now ended, with a score of 15 to 62 Miles/Kid1 Wins*

The In game announcer announces as (Y/N) cracks her fingers, “and that’s how’s it’s done little boys, before ya go assuming ya better then a girl, humble yourself maybe you’ll get a girl after”

Kid 3 gf: uhhh who are you talking about little girl watch who you talk to

This random girl appears on the mic, sounding sassy like almost irking (Y/N)

“Don’t test me, who you calling little girl” (Y/N) says with a sadistic smile

“You, what are you deaf, it’s on sight when I see you, don’t talk to my man again”

And with that the girl left the call for kid 3

“Can’t wait to see how that pans out” Miles laughs into your back hugging at your waist

“That little bitch trying” (Y/N) says with the same smile

“It’s fuck them kids right?”

(Y/N) sighs leaving the conversation open for further and future elaborations

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It’s been three days since that game, (Y/N)

Has been chilling knowing she would get touched ‘obviously their empty threats’ (Y/N) deadpanned

While walking the block she catches up with Miles who HAS FINALLY DONE HIS HAIR, was in front of 2 kids around his height and girl

“Ohoho look who decided to show up”

(Y/N) analyzes all of them, “who are you?”

“Better remember me little girl”

“I’m not so little if you looking up to me😭 it’s was on sight, right? I’m waiting and make this quick” (Y/N) dropping her bag food over to Miles, who was literally un phased knowing how this was about play out

“Oh fo’real? Ii girl if you says so” the girl from the match 3 days ago, rolls up her sleeves already swinging

(Y/N) dodge dragging Miles by the hand leaving them behind

The girl fell flat on her face with her bf attending to her

While the other kids said ‘hey!’ And a bunch of other things to retaliate too

(Making this cliche bare with me)

(Y/N) and Miles walk further and deeper into the street into the fading color of the sunset hitting the streets and the buildings with in

“Miles, fuck them kids”

Miles chuckles leaning in to kiss the top of her head, smiling shortly after

“Fuck them kids”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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leoncillo · 2 years ago

Text

Sooo uhhh the clones' colors reminded me of Uno cards and I couldn't get the idea out of my head so I wrote this, but it's messy and not really edited or fleshed out and written on my phone. I might put more into it and put it on AO3, too. This is like only the second fic I've ever shown to the public. Uh yeah. >.>;;

Aizetsu/Sekido/Karaku/Urogi x Reader, Zohakuten is their little brother. Reader is gender neutral. Reader is Black.

Uno with the Hantengu Clones

You walked with a pep in your step ready to get home to your apartment and four demon boyfriends and their little brother. You knew during they day they tended to get antsy because they couldn't go outside freely and this usually resulted in-

"Leave me alone, Karaku!" you heard your sorrowful boyfriend shout as you approached the door.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath before adjusting the groceries in your arms to open the door.

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop, Sekido! Ahh!" you watched as your easily angered boyfriend choked his green eyed brother with his staff for messing with the blue eyed one.

"They're home! They're home!" you heard as your feathered joyful ball of energy of a boyfriend as he nearly tackled you in an embrace. "We're so bored! Play with us!"

You pushed him away to get a little space and protect him from the sunlight long enough to get the groceries on the counter.

"I figured you would be so I got a little card game at the store. The cards reminded me of you guys. I don't know how hard games back when y'all were younger were, but it's pretty easy. First, could I ask for a little help putting things away?"

Sekido, the angry one, let go of Karaku and roughly pushed him towards the kitchen and Aizetsu and Zohakuten followed. They each you a kiss on the cheek as they passed by to grab items from the bags. Except Zohakuten who gave you a simple nod and glare. He's a bit shy, that one.

"So many plastic bags. This makes me sad. You should get reusable bags, dear." Aizetsu said, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

After ten minutes or so, you lead the boys back into the living room and told them to sit down at the low table for the game. A small part of you figured this was probably a horrible idea, but the curious side just had to see what happened.

"This game is called Uno" you said as you explained the rules and dealt their hands for them.

"Are you not gonna play with us?" Urogi asked, watching you sit in a chair a bit far away.

"No, no. I'm goo-"

"Gimme all your green cards. I don't want these other colors" said Karaku.

"I would rather have blue i-if that's alright" said Aizetsu.

"And I want red, but according to them, that's not how this works, you imbeciles! Stop switching cards!" said Sekido

"I hate this already. I don't even have a color, either. Hmph." said Zohakuten

You sighed as you dealt out the cards AGAIN before smirking to yourself in your seat with your phone recording. You wondered how long it would be before the first incident.

"Ha! Draw four, Aizetsu!" Urogi happily shouted as his brother was on the verge of tears.

"That's so mean! I already have 15 cards."

"Just take it like a man and draw the cards, damnit!"

Urogi watched in a fit of giggles.

"I demand the new color be red!" shouted Sekido. You peeked at his hand and raised your eyebrow as it was mostly yellow.

The pile was only red for five seconds before Karaku made it green.

"MOTHERFUCKER" said an extra angry Sekido who had to be held back by Zohakuten and Aizetsu before he smacked his brother over the head with his staff.

"I hate all of you!" said a pouty Zohakuten as he had his turn skipped.

"Wait, you two, come here" you asked Zohakuten and Aizetsu to the side to give them a tip as you could see they were going to get bullied.

When the game resumed, Zohakuten and Aizetsu both put down draw four cards making it so that Karaku had to draw eight.

"No fair! You told them to do that! You can't pick favorites" said Karaku ready to blow the whole damn table away with his leaf.

"I don't even see that being allowed in the rule book! What gives?!" shouted Sekido.

"You read the rule book? T-These are house rules. It's how me and my friends and family play! Besides you guys are always so mean to my sweet boys" you said as you held Aizetsu's and Zohakuten's heads against you.

"Can I be pet like that, too?" asked Urogi completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

By time the game was over, no one had actually won and the room was in shambles and the table in splinters, but you were all in a cuddle puddle to cool off. You sent the video to Hantengu's main body to share with the other upper moons.

#hantengu clones #sekido x reader #aizetsu x reader #karaku x reader #urogi x reader #Zohakuten #demon slayer #modern au #black reader

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trashyswitch · 2 months ago

Text

Day 15: "Are You Ticklish?"

Dan, Arin and the other members of Game Grumps are setting up the next 10 minute power hour. But while they're doing that, Arin's silliness gets out of control. This leads to Dan taking a large brunt of it while other staff members watch.

Can you guess which 'The Grumps' episode I directly referenced? Enjoy the read, and good luck guessing!

Dan and Arin were setting up their Grump space for today’s episode of the ten minute power hour. Their staff were moving the items over to the side, so Vanessa could throw them at the table. Arin was setting up the dinosaurs and the scissor-filled cup holder in the middle of the table, while Dan was trying to figure out how to do his hair for this episode.

“Should I put it in a pony? A bun?” Dan asked.

Arin adjusted the angle of the left dinosaur. “I don’t know. Just throw it up how you want.” Arin told him.

“Fine…” Dan took the pony off his wrist and flicked it at Arin’s butt.

“OW!” Arin lifted his back and grabbed his ass. “Dude!” He looked at Dan. “...Again?” He asked.

This earned a small fit of laughter from the co-host. “Please don’t!” Dan ordered.

“Here.” Vanessa handed Dan a large hair clip. “Thanks!” Dan took it, and threw his hair into a half-up, half-down haircut. “How does it look?”

“Looks good.” another staff member said. “Looks like you whipped it up in 5 seconds.” Vanessa spoke up.

“Come on…” Dan hung his head with a laugh. “I’m getting mixed signals here.” He took it out and tried clipping it in again. “This better?”

“Turn around?” Vanessa told him. Dan turned to show her the rest of the hairstyle.

“Looks fine.” Vanessa replied.

“Thanks.” Dan replied, adjusting his blue plaid shirt. “Arin?”

“Huh?” Arin looked up. “How does it look?” Dan asked him.

Arin looked at the back, and thought for a moment. “I feel like a scrunchie would look better.” Arin told him.

“Come on…” Toasti said in the audience.

“Arin…” Dan huffed and looked at the audience. “I have a scrunchie in my bag. Can you get it for me?” Dan asked Tucker. “It doesn’t match at all, but it’ll work.”

“Sure.” Tucker replied. “Where’s your bag?”

“It’s outside the room by the couch.” Dan explained.

“Got it.” Tucker replied. The door could be heard closing as both the hosts sat down in their respective chairs “You ready?” Arin asked.

“Ready for what?” Dan asked him.

Arin stared at him for a couple moments, before looking down. “...I don’t fuckin’ know…” He muttered.

Dan laughed. “ArE yOu ReAdY? For what, Arin? YES!” Dan reenacted, making fun of their 2-second conversation.

Arin laughed at it, loving the use of the ‘YES’ at the end. “I just wanna make sure you’re on your toes!” Arin told him, sending a couple playful little punches his way. “Ready for anything…” Arin kept going.

“Anything?” Dan clarified.

“Anything!” Arin brought his fist up to Dan’s face, and stopped it mere millimeters away from his face. A couple seconds later, Arin popped out his fingers and poked right above his eyes. “Ahaaa, I gotcha~” Arin joked.

“You need to work on that…” Dan told him.

Arin just flopped his fist against the table and laughed. “Ihi really don’t.” He told him.

“Oh really?” Dan smirked. “How are you gonna…‘keep me on my toes’?” Dan asked him.

Arin smirked. “3 words. That’s all it would take.” He clarified.

“To get me going?” Dan asked. “Alright. Alright, what are those ‘3 words’?” Dan asked. “Spill the beans.”

Arin smirked. “Alright.” He sat up a bit more and adjusted himself in his seat. “Are you ticklish?” Arin asked him.

Dan blinked once…he blinked twice… “Are those the-” Dan’s eyes widened when he saw the little nod from Arin… And in no seconds flat, Dan jumped off the chair. “NO!” He tripped on the chair, but managed to take off running to the other side of the room.

Arin, and the audience all bursted out laughing at the reaction. “OHO MY GOD!” Arin shouted, slamming his hand on the desk.

“That was…The biggest lie, followed up by the deadest giveaway.” Vanessa told him.

“Come on, Dan…” Arin reacted, getting off the chair.

“NO, don’t get any closer!” Dan warned.

“Why? Are you actually ticklish?!” Arin asked. Dan stared at him with slight fear in his eyes. “.....Uuuhhhh…”

Arin walked a couple steps closer.

“Arin…” Dan warned.

“It’s not that bad.” Arin reassured him.

“There’s an audience!” Dan yelled, gesturing to the 6 people in the room.

Arin turned towards the audience. “Tell me, beloved audience: would you be bothered if I just-so-happen to tickle Dan right before the power hour?” Arin asked them.

“DO IT!” Vanessa yelled.

“Vanessa!” Dan yelled.

“Come on! We’ve been friends for how long again?” Arin asked.

“11 years!” Toasti spoke up. “Yeah, 11 years! And I rarely EVER tickle you!” Arin told him.

Dan bit his lip as he heard the audience cheer “Do it! Do it! Do it!” over and over again. “I feel so betrayed right now.”

Arin smirked and looked at Dan. “The lovelies want it!” Arin let him know. And this was the only warning he gave, before sprinting up to Dan.

“ARIN!” Dan kept on shouting his name as Arin pulled him back into the show light. And of course, those shouts and protests were quickly drowned out by Dan’s own yelps and laughter. “FAHACK! HAHAHAHA- FUCK YOHOHOU!” Dan cackled, falling to the ground in under 5 seconds.

“Down he goes!” Arin declared, kneeling down and continuing the onslaught.

“NonoNO ARIHIHIHIN!” Dan weakly grabbed Arin’s hands as he threw his head back with wheezy laughter.

“Jesus, dude! I keep going for different spots, and they’re ALL TICKLISH!” Arin reacted.

“SHUHUT UHUHUP!” Dan shouted.

Arin dug his fingers into his sides. “His sides are bad…” He went for his ribs. “His ribs too…” He dug his fingers into his armpits next. “His armpits are somehow worse…” Arin told him.

“Ihihif yohohou ehend up with a bruhuise, Ihihi am NOT- HAHAHA- REHESPONSIBLE!” Dan yelled at him.

“Try his feet!” Vanessa spoke up.

“NO!” Dan shouted.

“Aw, great idea!” It didn’t take long for Arin to grab both his ankles in a chokehold. With his feet stuck, Arin looked at Dan with a smirk. “Any last words~?”

Dan looked at the audience for a couple seconds, before looking at Arin with a tense smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Arin started tickling the arches of his feet, earning him a big fit of cackles. “I’ll save that for a little later.”

“BaHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Dan tugged on his feet, hugging himself as the laughter just kept exploding out of his mouth. “AHAHARIHIHIN! HAHAHAHA- NOHOHO MOHOHORE!” Dan shouted.

“Holy shit- I think this is the worst so far!” Arin reacted, earning some laughs from the audience.

“FUCK YOHOHOHOU!” Dan shouted.

“Okay, fun time’s over.” Arin stopped his fingers and gently put his feet onto the ground. Dan’s huffing and heavy breathing filled the room for a few moments while Arin took the scrunchy from Tucker. “Here’s your scrunchie.” Arin told him.

Dan took it and flopped his hand onto the ground again, letting his breathing slow down first. “Okay…thank you…” He mumbled.

“Are you okay?” Tucker asked. Dan nodded his head and sat himself up. Once he was on his feet, Dan whipped his hair into a half-up, half-down hairstyle like discussed earlier. “This look good?”

Arin looked at it. “Looks good.” He replied.

“Great.” Dan sat down on the chair as the lights dimmed. “I’m just glad I peed before I got in here…because I would’ve needed a diaper change after that…” Dan said.

“You don’t need to go again?” Arin asked, moving his hair out of his face.

“Nope.” Dan replied.

“Wait, again?” Someone said. “How many times a day do you think you pee?” Toasti asked.

“I don’t poop enough.” Vanessa replied.

“I love poop. I love 💩. I 💩 like 3 or 4 times a day.” Arin said.

“How many times do you poop, Dan?” Vanessa asked.

“The pee for me is like 11.” Tucker spoke up.

“If the pee breaks up long enough, and then you’re like ‘Oh?’ and then there’s like a second wind, does that count as two pees?” Dan asked. He looked around. “Did we start the episo-”

“No, no, no, no, no- it’s-” Arin spoke up. “It’s- that’s one pee.”

The light turned on, signaling the beginning of the episode. “Hello!” Dan spoke up right away. “And welcome to the 10 Minute Power Hour!" “Yay-” Arin spoke up.

“This is- My name is Dan, and you are Arin.” Dan said, still looking at the camera. “Hello.” Dan said to Arin, despite STILL staring at the camera.

“Okay.” Arin responded, loving the scripted, yet completely improv intro unfold. In the words of Dan: The show definitely started…

#augtickletober2024 #day 15 #“are you ticklish?”#arin hanson is a menace #embarrassed dan avidan #funny #hairstyles #game grumps: 10 minute power hour #ticklefic #ler!arin #lee!dan #vanessa game grumps cameo #tucker game grumps cameo #toasti game grumps cameo #fluff and humor

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remuswriting · 1 year ago

Text

Cut the Cameras

Point of View

Monday, May 25, 2015. 2:15 PM

Y/N has always liked going to the library, and Tooru has always liked going with Y/N. Really, he just likes being with Y/N, so he goes to campus, even though he’s not a student. Tooru always knew university wasn’t for him, because what he wanted to do couldn’t be taught there. It had always been a backup plan, though. College prep course all throughout high school, even though he planned to play volleyball for the rest of his life. Even though he planned to live in Argentina, become a citizen, and play for as long as he could. He and Y/N had it all figured out.

When this planned originally formed, Y/N was already in his first year of university while Tooru was halfway through his third year of high school. Y/N already had roots planted and his future figured out, but Tooru ripped everything out of the ground when he confessed that Blanco visited him. Y/N let him rip at those roots, though. He ripped at them too but only to plant them somewhere else—wherever Tooru went.

“I can make a movie anywhere,” Y/N had said as he held Tooru’s hands tightly in his own. “But you can’t just play volleyball anywhere—not like this. We have to do this, Tooru. I’ll never forgive either of us if we don’t.”

So they figured it all out. It was such a clear future, one Y/N worked out most of the logistics for. He’d always been the one with clear plans that brought more comfort than anything else. Tooru leaned into him as he learned more from Blanco. Everything was going to work out.

Then Tooru tore his ACL in that last game against Shirahama in 2012, and everything exploded.

Even with surgery, the doctors told him it wasn’t best to keep playing volleyball. The recovery time would also be so slow that moving on with his career seemed useless. There was no point. So he stayed in Japan and focused on the small YouTube channel he and Y/N came up with when they were 16. He hated it in the beginning, nearly deleted it on several occasions because it wasn’t what he had planned. None of this was what he planned.

Part of him hadn’t planned for Y/N to stay, especially when Tooru yelled at him to leave. He was so angry with the world—himself. Y/N should hate him is what he thought, because they weren’t going through with the plan they made. Y/N didn’t hate him, though. He loved him and stayed because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Y/N’s laugh breaks Tooru out of his thoughts and stops him from doodling in the notebook he brought to seem busy as Y/N studies. He looks up at Y/N, who is wearing his usual outfit combo: sweatshirt pulled up to cover his baseball cap and a face mask. It’s what he always wears when leaving the house, especially when with anyone. He cherishes his privacy, and it’s the only way to have it.

“I’m sending you this thread of someone’s favorite moments from your videos,” Y/N says, and Tooru’s phone lights up with a notification. He doesn’t move to pick it up, though. He just stares at Y/N and his amused smile. “I think it proves that if film and editing doesn’t work out, I’d make a great comedian.”

Tooru still doesn’t look at him phone. He watches Y/N’s eyes crinkle from smiling and laughing. His eyes have always done that. It’s something Tooru has always loved so dearly, even when they met at the neighborhood park. He remembers how Y/N smiled so brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, when he introduced himself. He said he hoped he and Tooru would be great friends. So bold and unashamed.

“They included the one where you attempted fishing,” Y/N says, and how he leans back in his chair says that his textbooks and notebooks have been completely abandoned. “Once again, I’m a comedic genius.”

Tooru adjusts his baseball cap as he smiles. “Whatever you say,” Tooru says, and Y/N looks up at him. Although he can’t see his entire expression, Y/N is giving him an offended look. He just knows.

“How dare you insult my humor,” Y/N says, sounding offended, but Tooru can hear laughter trying to break through. He loves him so much. “Maybe you should find a different cameraman and editor.”

Tooru pouts a little. “But no one is as good as you are, Y/N,” he whines, trying to keep his voice down since they are in a library.

“It’s your punishment for being mean,” Y/N says, and he laughs a little. Tooru loves it.

Tooru can’t explain why, right now, he loves Y/N so much. They’ve sat in this exact spot countless times over the last three years (four if you count when Tooru visited him during his third year). They’ve been together for nearly six years. He’s loved Y/N with everything inside him the entire time. He’s pretty sure he loved Y/N before he fully understood what love really was when they met when he was nine years old.

Sometimes everything hits him, though. Every moment they’ve ever shared—the good and the bad—and their importance. Everything he loves about Y/N; from the outfits that hide everything but his expressive eyes to the parts Y/N recoils from.

“I love you,” Tooru says softly, and Y/N looks up at him, eyes widening a little. Not from it being said for the first time, because it’s not the first time they’ve said it. It’s not even close to the first time. His eyes widen because he’s saying in public—so out in the open.

The corners of Y/N’s eyes crinkle again as he pulls down his mask. Tooru can see his face again for the first time in three hours. He always manages to take Tooru’s breath away.

“I love you,” Y/N says, and butterflies explode in Tooru’s stomach. Y/N always makes sure Tooru can see him when he says it. He says he wants Tooru to see and hear it, and Tooru does. The smile on Y/N’s face and care in his eyes, along with the words makes Tooru feel loved.

Y/N sighs, letting his shoulders drop, as he looks at everything on the table in front of him. They’ve hit the time where he no longer wants to do anything. He leans forward, closing textbooks and notebooks, and puts everything in his bag.

“I’m hungry,” Y/N says, and Tooru’s a little hungry as well. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Alright but don’t invite Suga-chan,” Tooru says, and Y/N rolls his eyes as he pulls his mask up. “I’m being serious! I always end up being the third wheel.”

“Then you know how everyone feels when around us,” Y/N says as he stands up. “Now let’s go. We can film some after we eat, but I’ve got videos to edit.”

Tooru nods, and he quickly closes his notebook before standing up. They start walking to the library entrance, and he wants to hold Y/N’s hand. They try not to be too affectionate in public, though. They’re never sure how people will react. Y/N’s fingers brush against his, and Tooru’s heart races.

“How do you feel about ramen?” Y/N asks once they’re outside and near their car.

“Sounds great,” Tooru says, even though he’d agree with anything Y/N wants right now. Y/N links their pinkies.

“Should I make fried rice tonight?” Y/N asks, and Tooru is grinning. He can’t stop. Y/N looks over at him. “What’s got you all smiley?”

“You,” Tooru answers easily. Y/N rolls his eyes, but the way he looks away means he’s flustered. “You’re very cute, you know.”

They’re so close to the car that Y/N pulls his mask down. Tooru nearly trips over a pebble from not paying attention to anything but Y/N. He wants to tell him to take off the hood and hat, but he doesn’t. He knows Y/N will say no.

“You’re the cutest,” Y/N says, and Tooru’s cheeks burn. He feels like a middle school girl interacting with her crush. Y/N closes the distance between them with a quick peck. Tooru follows after him, and Y/N laughs a little. He unlinks their pinkies so they can get in the car, and Tooru wishes they didn’t have to. “So, what ramen place do you want to go to?”

“We have ramen at home,” Tooru says as Y/N buckles his seatbelt. He looks at Y/N, and he’s smiling. Sometimes, Tooru’s love for Y/N overflows.

“That we have to cook, and I don’t want to cook,” Y/N says, and he leans over the center console and kisses Tooru. This time it’s longer than a second, but it’s still not long enough. “You better?” Y/N asks against his lips.

“No,” Tooru says, and Y/N gently laughs, his breath fanning across Tooru’s face.

“You’re shameless, and will just have to wait until after we’ve eaten.”

Extreme Close-Up | Point of View | Part Two

Note: I'm tagging people in the new parts of this so you're not tagged like 20 times. Part one is completely updated. Part two is halfway through being updated. Hopefully y'all enjoy.

Masterlist

Taglist: @chaoswrites @princessmidas @adriivette @riahyayarii @that-bi-bitch-writes @magmagicstyle @yeoshwan @seijohiselite @tftstuffs @zawadni @kennylovesberries @starlight0faith @nyxmania @tfstuffs

#haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu social media au #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x male reader #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma x male reader

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melishade · 1 year ago

Note

Number 15?

This ask game

Peaceful Timeline. Megatron and Maria bonding.

He didn't understand why this human had a fascination with him. But...she did. Every time he stepped into the cabin, the three year old cried out with excitement. She constantly toddled over to him. Followed him around until she couldn't walk anymore or until Optimus or Ymir came to get her. Honestly, the walking scared him for a moment. She wanted to run wherever her feet could take her, so they had to keep an eye on her.

But today was different. He was tasked with watching her while Optimus and Ymir went down to the village once again. They took shifts. The shifts were necessary. It gave all of them breaks. It allowed equal share of the work and split time between them taking care of Maria. The child...this frail little thing that continued to look at him without fear.

"Mama?" Megatron shot up from the chair when he heard a whimper from Maria's room. He walked over to the child's room and opened the door to see Maria awake from her nap, eyes full of tears and lips softly trembling.

"Your mother isn't here right now," Megatron informed her, "She's down in the village with Optimus."

"...oh," Maria could only let out, "But I had a bad dream."

"Did you now?" Megatron asked as he walked into the room, "I doubt someone like you should have anything to fear."

"...I don't like the dark," Maria confessed.

"The dark?" Megatron couldn't help but be annoyed. It was something so simple. How could he not be annoyed? But his annoyance showed on his face, and it made Maria cry more.

"It's scary!" Maria yelled at him. "It's cold! I can't see!"

Megatron thought it over. "I see. This is about the fear of the unknown."

Maria stared in confusion.

"You cannot see or hear, and as a result, you are afraid," Megatron explained, "Simple in theory. People fear what is not understood."

"...I don't like it. I want it to stop," Maria pleaded.

"I can't make it stop," Megatron told her truthfully, "But I can teach you to be brave to overcome it."

Maria whimpered at that. Nervous at the thought of being brave. Megatron noticed this and sighed to himself before sitting on the bed.

"I suppose you are fairly young for something like that," Megatron remarked, "I can stay-!"

Megatron yelped when Maria tackled him into a hug. He wanted her to let go. He was going to try, but she was so clingy. Her small chubby hands were snagged around his waist, and she cried in his chest.

"I don't understand you child," Megatron confessed to her, "You fear the dark, but you do not fear me? Don't I look scary to you?"

Maria shook her head. "Meg is safe."

Those words made Megatron's undead spark stop. Safe? He had so much death on his servos but this human called him safe? Being believed to be safe...he never imagined such a thing from something so frail. Megatron adjusted his seating on the bed, allowing Maria to cling to him tighter. He had no idea how long he was going to sit there.

Optimus didn't know how to properly respond to the sight before him when he and Ymir had returned to the cabin. His processors...couldn't properly compute it. Megatron was resting next to Maria on her bed. She was clinging to the side of the former warlord's holoform and snoring softly while Megatron was resting against the wall with his eyes closed. By the Allspark, he wished he had a camera!

(So I'm working on #5 now, but everything else is free game)

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storybycorey · 2 years ago

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Birthday Party

author: @storybycorey

rating: NC-17

timeline: somewhere between IWTB and the revival

summary: He clutches her against him, surrounds her small little body with his and cries as well. For William, for her, for the mess his whole damn life has become.

occasion: @txf-fic-chicks-blog anniversary!

He leaves the front door unlocked. No reason to lock it these days anyway; weeks go by with no visitors this far from the city. But old habits die hard, you can never be too careful, blah blah blah. Paranoia and overused cliches still run his life, even now. Doesn’t matter how many years go by or how many miles distance he puts between himself and the rest of humanity.

But he leaves the door unlocked tonight.

It’s 11 before he unfolds his body from its position in front of the screen, 11:15 before his clothes take up residence on the floor and his body relaxes beneath the sheets.

He washed them this morning. The sheets. It’s the least he could do. It’s been probably a year since he’s done that; in fact, it’s for sure been a year. To the day.

He tries to sleep.

He can’t.

Most nights at this time, he’s knee deep, arguing conspiracy theories via the furious tap tap tapping of his keyboard until the wee hours of morning. Most nights he doesn’t use this bed at all. His usual sleep is intermittent and slumped in a rolling chair, disrupted every few minutes by the alert of someone miles away tap tap tapping on their keyboard as well.

Tonight though, instead of peeling his ears for a message board ding, he’s peeling them for the telltale creak of the second patio step, the one he promised to fix at least five years ago. He’s peeling them for the clunk of the screen door as it closes too hard, even though he’s adjusted the spring at least a dozen times. And he’s peeling them for the soft sniffle of a nose that’s been fighting tears for hours, probably days, a nose he’s known and loved for over twenty years.

It's 12:15 when the porch step creaks. 12:16 when the screen door clunks.

He feels everything. He feels nothing. He’s probably not even capable of emotion this many years deep into the game.

But she. She’ll fix that. For tonight anyway.

By 12:17, her silhouette darkens the doorway to the bedroom, sad sniffle there, too.

It’s been a solid year since she’s stood there.

She hesitates, body swaying. He wants to call to her but doesn’t.

“Mulder?” she finally whispers.

A question. As though he wouldn’t already be awake, as though he hasn’t been looking forward to this moment, dreading this moment, scared to death of this moment for weeks.

He folds down the bedsheets, motions for her to climb in. Her side. It’s still her side. It’ll always be her side.

“I didn’t plan to come,” she says, still standing in the doorway. “Really, it wasn’t something I—”

“Scully,” he reprimands, “Come.”

Her overcoat gets folded over the back of the chair, just as it would have been in the past, those late nights home from the hospital, not quite making it onto the hook in the closet. Shoes paired on the floor by the door. She climbs into the bed, clothes and all.

She’s still at first—stiff—her internal battle almost audible in the quiet of the night. She’s pretending she’s not here for a reason, he understands this. The first couple years, he fought that battle, too.

He gives her a moment, allows her the fight.

He spent close to an hour this morning tracing a fingertip round the worn and faded outline of chubby baby cheeks, a bald baby head. But she, she’s spent the last fifteen years tracing fingertips over stretch marks at her hips, passing Mother’s Day cards in the drugstore each time she needs to buy aspirin.

This is for her more than him, they both know this.

He reaches finally, pulls her to his chest. Her battle lost, she breaks into sobs, loud ones, desperate ones. Her tears soak his chest, and those emotions he couldn’t quite reach just moments ago are suddenly there, too, overflowing. He clutches her against him, surrounds her small little body with his and cries as well. For William, for her, for the mess his whole damn life has become.

The pain is hollow, an empty, aching hole that nothing can fill. They’ve tried through the years to fill it. They’ve failed. It's something they don't talk about, something only acknowledged like this, silently, indirectly, and precisely once a year.

For him it’s awful, but for her he knows it’s worse, much worse. He can’t even begin to imagine.

She reaches the stage of grief where her body grows limp, where her sobs are wet, muffled hitches against his chest. Her hair is longer than it was last year and he pets it, twines the strands through his fingers and kisses the damp tendrils at her temples. She feels like home in his arms and he hates that, that this day in particular is the only day in a year he can feel that, that his home will never feel like a home unless she’s here.

His kisses, like they sometimes do, trail from her temples and down to her cheeks; they brush across her eyelids. She tastes like salt and it’s a horrible, welcome thing to discover. When he reaches her mouth, she doesn’t stop him. Last year she did. He feels lucky tonight, disturbing as that is.

Her shirt comes off easily, her bra as well. His teeth scrape their way down the column of her throat.

Instead, she digs her fingers into his ribs and lifts her chin in invitation. When pressed, her lips fall open, and the kisses they share are desperate— wet, snotty, wonderful things. He forgets what it’s like to feel sometimes, to have emotions. With Scully, it all comes back though. The sadness, the desperation, the urgency. The love. She gasps when his lips reach that spot below her ear, and it makes him dizzy.

“Mulder,” she urges. “God, Mulder.” He nuzzles her pulse points, breathes in her perfume. It’s not one he recognizes, and he wonders for a moment whether she’s been with anyone else this year, whether another man knows this scent. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now but her.

She reaches for his head, threads manicured nails through his graying hair and tugs him toward her breast.

He latches onto a nipple, suckles there the way he knows she wants him to. Her breasts ache each year on this day. The tears roll down her cheeks, yet she arches her back in pleasure, urges him on with whimpers and small, satisfied sighs. When he moves to the other breast, she drags his hand up, encourages him to play with her slick, abandoned nipple with his fingers. His dick is hard and he grinds it against the mattress.

Soon she’s tugging him back though, sliding her tongue into his mouth and kissing him desperately, almost painfully. Her tears wet his cheeks and her nails dig into his shoulders. She needs more. He knows this, knows everything about her yet nothing at all. Half their lives they’ve been intertwined yet she’s still a complete mystery to him, now even moreso. Her body though—her body he knows, her body he’s somehow always known.

More.

He reaches to fumble with the fastenings on her trousers, slips a hand beneath satin to find her slick and wet. She moans, canting her hips to meet him. Scully, she’s still Scully there, still fits into the curve of his hand the way she’s done from the very beginning. Doesn’t matter that her hair’s longer, that she’s wearing a new perfume, she still rocks against him the very same way, still whines in the back of her throat with each dip of his fingers, still grips at his neck and squeezes shut her eyes, still is the woman he loves, has loved since the moment she walked into his life.

Doesn’t matter that she’s since walked back out. It doesn’t.

She’s sobbing again—soft, desperate cries pressed to the crook of his neck, coupled with moans of pleasure and gasps of his name. The dichotomy of it all is almost more than he can take, and he shoves down her pants, shoves his boxers down as well. Together they fumble to slide him in, together they cry out in relief, together they sing happy birthday, William—with bodies instead of with voices. It's sad and it's perverse, but it’s the only way they know how to celebrate this sort of thing, it’s the only way that's ever felt even close to right.

She weeps as she comes, chants “Mulder Mulder Mulder,” and for a moment he allows himself to believe she’s weeping for the loss of him. She’s not though, he knows this. She chose her losses, but his is not the one that haunts her each year on this day, it’s not the one she wishes she could take back every second of her life.

He grips her ass and he pounds, expends probably more energy than he has in months, gives it all to her, sobs as well but clenches his teeth to keep her name inside. It’s a moment of cruelty, keeping that from her, but sometimes love is cruel. Dear God, but he knows that, too.

They hold each other afterwards. Just for a short while. He wants her to stay. He wants her to go. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s forgotten how emotions work once again. Already. Her cries soften until all that remain are the quiet sniffles he’d trained his ears for an hour ago.

By 1:56, she’s out of the bed, by 2:02, she’s fully dressed and on her way to the door.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, looking back at him from the doorway, “Really, I hadn’t planned…”

She doesn’t finish her statement, just gives him a sad look then slips away.

At 2:04, the screen door clunks, 2:05, the porch step creaks. He wonders how long her hair will be the next time he sees her, whether his own temples will be closer to white.

He rises, watches from the window as she drives away. He locks the front door behind her. It’s stupid. No reason to lock it these days. But he locks the door and heads back into his office. There are bound to be messages he’s missed.

#that's right: I'm back!#and I need validation #please?#I'm excited though you guys!#my fic

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random-mailbox · 1 year ago

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Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 52 - Crystal Tokyo

Welcome to the final regularly planned post in this series, I felt would be fitting to end with Crystal Tokyo. I have a few more lists I'd like to make in the future, but I'm holding off on a couple of them until a few unfinished stories are completed. The lists wouldn't be the same without them. I really want to give credit to @floraone for suggesting this project in the first place. It has been so much fun for me to highlight a lot of amazing works in this fandom and I'm hoping it's helped bring new readers to these stories. Thank you to all of you for coming on this adventure with me!

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

Royal Affairs - @master-ray5

When I first added this series to the list, it was a single one-shot. It has since grown to 7 connected chapters with plans for a full 20. Super fun and lemony read!

Come Back to Me - @idesofnovember

In this one-shot King Endymion is making impossible possible in his darkest hour, serving as a ray of hope for Usagi.

Desperate Measures - @idesofnovember

Endymion comes up with a plan to get Neo Queen Serenity to forgive "him", as memories of things he "said and did" during break-up arc flood in.

Sleepless Nights - ElvisVF101

Kunzite helps King Endymion through an existential crisis, when he finds him alone on the balcony late at night.

“My Sister, the Queen” - @sailor-scribbles

This was one of the first stories I have ever read in this fandom and one of the few that deals with Shingo in Crystal Tokyo and his adjustment to the new family status. And it has adorable art!

These Games We Play: Chapter 10: Prank Gone Wrong - @allyunabridged

I saved this furniture-related ficlet for this post because I thought it was hilarious. While searching the attic for old toys, Minako discovers a rose chair that she feels HAS to be in Endymion's office instead.

Miscellaneous Works: Short Stories That Tumbled From Tumblr: Chapter 5: The King's New Clothes - @floraone and art by @nari20

There had to be a reason for King Endymion to start dressing in a lavender tuxedo with a cape, Mamoru always knew that. But what was the motive behind this decision?

Usamamo One-Word Prompts: Chapter 4: sweet - @smokingbomber

Ficlet about choices that had to be made and consequences of these decisions. And love. Mostly about love.

Cupcakes - @midnightdrops

Even the royal couple needs a day off on occasion. Especially when there is a promise of cupcakes involved.

UsaMamo 2022 | Book - @lilliebellfanfics

Neo Queen Serenity is very much out of patience waiting for King Endymion to finish his research at the library. And with them being now alone, what is there to do? 🤔🍋

A Royal Audience - @daikon1

Latest addition to the series, fresh from @usamamoweek2023. Neo Queen Serenity uses personal history to help usher in sweeping education reforms.

---

Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on the title name to go to the post):

Week 1 - Groundhog Day

Week 2 - Established Relationships

Week 3 - Sex Positivity

Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Week 5 - Darker Stories

Week 6 - Potions 🧪

Week 7 - Reveals

Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃

Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions

Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU

Week 11 - In-Progress Fics

Week 12 - Mutual Pining

Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers

Week 14 - Slow Burn

Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!

Week 16 - Christmas Part 2

Week 17 - New Years

Week 18 - High School AU

Week 19 - Slice of Life

Week 20 - Coffee shop AU

Week 21 - Huddle for Warmth

Week 22 - Friends to Lovers

Week 23 - ❤️Valentines Day❤️

Week 24 - Do a Grouch a Favour Day (or Cheer Up Fics)

Week 25 - Soulmate AU

Week 26 - Amnesia Fics (and resources)

Week 27 - 🍀St Patrick's Day🍀

Week 28 - Fix it Fics

Week 29 - Prompt: Mug

Week 30 - Flowers

Week 31 - Traditions

Week 32 - Dreams

Week 33 - Friends

Week 34 - Body-Swap

Week 35 - Medical Assistance

Week 36 - Sex Pollen

Week 37 - Psychometry

Week 38 - What If

Week 39 - Missing Scenes Part I

Week 40 - Green Jacket

Week 41 - Dr Chiba

Week 42 - Birthdays

Week 43 - Fluff

Week 44 - First Kiss

Week 45 - Reviving Shitennou

Week 46 - Tutoring

Week 47 - Thunderstorms

Week 48 - Food

Week 49 - Proposals

Week 50 - Locked In

Week 51 - Furniture

#sailor moon #usagi x mamoru #fic rec #fic list #usamamo #crystal tokyo #full year of stories!

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j-eryewrites · 2 years ago

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The Dancing Men (I)

Part 15 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

Word Count: 6.5k (back to normal-sized chapters)

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Warnings: Sherlock is Sherlock, descriptions of violence and gore, Sherlock is absolutely in love with the reader, slow burn finally working its magic.

Author’s Notes: You know how Benoit Blanc is horrific at Among Us even though he’s a detective, I say the same logic applies to Sherlock. At least that’s my headcanon. I also mixed a request into this chapter XD

John was quite enjoying how the evening was turning out. He sat smugly in his chair across from Sherlock whose face was stuck in a perpetual frown. It wasn’t every day John could say he had the upper hand on Sherlock.

What started out as a simple game of Cluedo, or “Clue” as Y/N had put it, now became an obsession for Sherlock. John chuckled at the sight of his friend. He would have never expected the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective to be reduced to nothing over a simple mystery game.

“Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study,” Sherlock muttered.

“Is that your final answer?” John asked. He raised a brow quizzically. Of course, he knew the answer. He had guessed it after the third round but had been so kind as to not tell Sherlock.

Sherlock glared at John. “Positive.” Each letter was enunciated perfectly as it fell from Sherlock’s voice. He was getting on edge, John noted as he motioned to the envelope in the middle of the board game.

Sherlock lunged at the cards and as he flipped them over, a cry of outrage left his mouth. “That’s not possible. Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study. Not Ms. Peacock with the rope in the kitchen!” He yelled.

“Sherlock, it’s only a game!” John laughed earning another glare from Sherlock.

“No, John. It’s not just a game.” Sherlock’s voice was oozing with frustration. He ran his hands through his curly hair and gripped it tightly. He sucked in, an attempt at a deep breath. “Onemoreround.”

“What?” John asked. He leaned forward in concern. Sherlock really was getting worked up over a game.

“One. More. Game. John. But this time–” Sherlock said. “We do it my way.”

“Sherlock that’s not how–”

That’s how John ended up on the floor of his flat. His face got quite comfortable with the ground as Sherlock paced around the room. Watching Sherlock navigate the flat was like watching a child attempt to dance. His steps were jerky and stiff as he ducked, jumped, and twirled around the room. His hand pointed out following along the clues the game has so far revealed. Suddenly, Sherlock dipped out of John’s narrow viewing field. However, he was eager to continue watching his friend obsess over Cluedo.

“Don’t move.” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherloc–”

“Don’t. Move.”

John sighed in defeat. This was going to be a long night. John’s only thought of consolidation was that at least Y/N would be enjoying it. He heard the music she played through the floorboards as she got ready for her date with Jim that night. It was a nice tune, not something John would listen to willingly, but something to keep him distracted as he played the murder victim. He even found himself humming along before Sherlock declared dead bodies don’t hum and threatened to silence his friend with duct tape.

It wasn’t long before the boredom reached John. While seeing Sherlock fret over a silly game was hilarious, being glued to the floor was not. The wooden floor was uneven in some areas and John could swear something sticking into his side. He tried to re-adjust only to earn another harsh threat from Sherlock.

Soon John found himself dozing off; a result of the faint music from below and Sherlock’s muffled footsteps. John would have fallen into a deep sleep if it were not for Sherlock’s sudden outburst.

“I’ve got it!” Sherlock shouted.

John peered up at Sherlock and snickered at the sight. Sherlock looked like a crazed man. His hair stuck out in all sorts of ways, and his shirt was wrinkled and untucked. There were even a few buttons left open. His robe swayed at his sides and he ducked under the numerous amounts of red thread tied around the room. Oh, did John forget to mention the redecorating the flat had gone through?

Not only had Sherlock forced John to play dead, but had also conjured the different murder weapons as stated by the game, took the character cards, and some red thread, and placed them in their respective rooms. Those rooms of course were adapted to be the very rooms of their flat. Connecting each weapon, character, room, and, well, John, were red threads. Where Sherlock had found the insane amount of red thread he did not know, however, what John did know was that Y/N was going to have a fit seeing the state of the flat.

“Hit me,” John said. Sherlock raised his brow in an interesting manner. One that scared John. “No, don’t actually hit me. Just–” John could swear he saw Sherlock’s demeanour fall. “What’s the verdict?”

“John Watson, my dear friend, was found dead in the study at 6.49 in the evening. The suspects are as follows–”

“Can I get up?”

“No.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Suspects are as follows: Ms. Peacock, Ms. Scarlet, Dr. Orchid, Rev. Greene, Professor Plum, and Colonel Mustard. When each suspect was interrogated, I came to find–”

John groaned. Sherlock was conducting a case. A case for a game. “Get to it!” John yelled.

“Dead bodies don’t speak, John,” hissed Sherlock.

“Sherlock…” John said warningly.

“Fine.” Sherlock walked into his room and emerged with a wrench in hand. It was large and very clearly a real wrench. John grumbled to himself. This was entirely his fault. He had indulged Sherlock too much and now he was going to be murdered over a game of Cluedo. Though, thought John, Y/N would have his back and make sure that Sherlock would pay tenfold. Now that, John was okay with it. “What you didn’t realize, John, is that your old lover Dr. Orchid would be in attendance tonight. She was jealous of you and your success in your career. When she had the chance she cornered you in the ballroom for one final dance with death. A dance that you did not walk away from.” Sherlock raised the wrench above John’s body. “With a wrench, she had found underneath the kitchen sink, she beat you to death.” Sherlock made a few gruesome sounds to what he thought a dying man would make.

“Alright, I get it. I died–”

“Your body was beaten to a pulp. Blood, brains, and bone fragments mixed together like a–”

“Sherlock, I get it!” John yelled. He would have given Sherlock more of an earful if it weren’t for the clearing of a throat. John looked quizzically at Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. Neither of them had made the sound.

There it was again. It came from a man noted Sherlock. He could tell from the pitch. It was too low for a woman to produce. Sherlock also noted that it came from the doorway. Slowly the detective and his friend peered over to the entryway. In the doorway stood a man in his late twenties. He wore a dark-coloured polo shirt and a nice pair of trousers. There was no wrinkle in sight. His hair was slicked back with gel in a stylish manner and he flashed a nervous grin.

The man, whoever he was, was unsure of the scene before him. In fact, he was almost sure that he was about to witness a murder if it were for the ramblings of John; who had to explain the scenario. Finding out that they were playing a game of Cluedo didn’t help ease the man’s suspicion.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked. His face bore no sign of emotion as he eyed the man in front of him. From just his watch, Sherlock could tell he came from wealth. The golden ring on his finger meant he was married and the fact that it was polished let Sherlock know it was well-loved: a happy marriage. Sherlock noted next was the man’s choice of outerwear. The jacket he so carefully held in his hand was much too thin for the weather London had been receiving the past few days. This led Sherlock to his final conclusion, the man was from out of town, even more so, from out of the country.

A deduction that was proven accurate the moment the man answered Sherlock’s question.

“The name’s Hilton Cubitt.” He introduced himself with an Irish accent and was quick to follow with a hand ready for Sherlock to shake, who quite literally left him hanging. “I assume that your Mr. Holmes?”

“Speaking.”

“Grand.” Hilton smiled in relief. “The whole fake murder thing makes sense now,” he joked.

John let out an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah…what are you here for Hilton?” He cleared his throat and once again realized his position on the floor. It took a moment and some tripping over the scatter thread for John to stand up. He could have sworn Sherlock was displeased to have his “dead body” removed.

“It’d be just easier to show than to…tell,” Hilton clarified. Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small slip of paper. Now this intrigued Sherlock, so he quickly snatched it out of Hilton's hands.

Sherlock’s head tilted to the side with curiosity. A smile grew on his face. John took the peer over Sherlock’s shoulder at the sheet of paper.

“That’s a child’s drawing,” John muttered and he was confident in his deduction. Upon the sheet of paper were small stick figures. Each figure is in a different position, almost like steps to a dance.

“That your idea?” Sherlock. “Honestly, John after all this time I would have thought you’d have a more intelligent answer.”

John elbowed Sherlock in his side. “You’re just still upset after I beat you in six rounds of Cluedo.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and turned away from his friend. “Then I suggest we get the opinion of another. Someone who is unbiased.”

Immediately, John shook his head. “No, Sherlock. She’s getting ready for a date. You can’t–”

But it was too late. Sherlock had already vacated the flat with the code in hand. John’s mouth hung agape before he asked Hilton for a moment and darted down the stairs after Sherlock.

_______

Y/N quietly hummed along to the song playing on the stereo. She loved to hum or sing. It was one of the things that made her human and to know that she was alive. The feeling of her throat tickled as she mimicked the melody as best she could. One of her favourite feelings besides that of rain dancing across her skin or hugs from those she loved. The way they’d hold each other close in an embrace. It didn’t matter who the hug was from; her parents, Mrs. Hudson, John, Jim, and even Sherlock. There was even some part of her that preferred Sherlock’s stiff but calming embrace to anyone else’s.

Now that she came to think of it, Y/N had been thinking more and more about Sherlock. She attributed the thoughts and feelings to all the events that had transpired in the past few months. Case after case. Danger after danger. It would only make sense she’d need to find comfort in someone who understood. She only really could find comfort in someone who was there. Of course, she had considered talking to Jim, but he’d just worry. He was great like that. He’d worry as a good boyfriend should, but then would just tell her to leave. Just like he did when she told him about the reason she refused to take cabs.

“If it’s dangerous, then leave. Darling, just leave. Come work for me. Somewhere safe.” Those words, Jim’s words echoed in her head. She didn’t want to leave. She loved working with John and Sherlock. She loved helping others. She loved feeling like she was making a difference in the world. Something she doubted she could do working for Jim and his consulting company. Additionally, working for your boyfriend was weird. It felt like a commitment that would soon turn into an obligation. An obligation that would force her to stay, but Jim wouldn’t do that. He was the perfect gentleman. He probably just wanted to keep Y/N safe. Anyone would do that.

Suddenly the door flung open. Only one person would ever just barge into her flat like that. Y/N sighed. She’d have to get the door hinges replaced with the force Sherlock used to swing the door open.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” She sarcastically questioned. Her tone was an attempt to hide that she was really happy he barged in. A tone that hid she’d be willing to replace her door hinges so long as he kept coming, but it came out harsher than she expected. Something she realized when she saw Sherlock’s dazed state.

“I’m sor—just…” She cleared her throat. “You alright? Clue going well?”

As she said it, she realized Sherlock was more dishevelled than she had ever seen. Was his hair always this curly and out of place? Then Y/N thought of how much she would like to run her finger through his hair. It looked soft, so she imagined it like that. As soft as clouds, or those unbelievably fuzzy blankets you couldn’t help but just run a hand over at the markets.

“You look–,” Stunning. Breathtaking. Like she’d rival Aphrodite’s beauty. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Sorry, what did you ask me?”

“Uh…just…clue? How’s it going?” She repeated.

Sherlock gulped. “...Great. And you?”

“I’m doing okay,” She said softly. Why had her voice gotten so quiet?

Sherlock nodded and looked around the room. His eyes darted frantically over the photos on the wall, then to the array of cat toys around her flat. Right, she had a cat. He could ask about that.

“Your cat?” Sherlock muttered.

“Bjørn? Erm… he’s with Mrs. Hudson right now. She spoils him rotten,” She chuckled. Then Y/N began to fiddle with her hands.

Something Sherlock knew to be a nervous habit. “You alright?” He asked again.

Y/N laughed again. “Are you sure you’re fine Sherlock? That’s the second time you’ve asked me that question.”

“Right, I mean-” His voice faltered as she stepped up to him. Her hand now rested on his forehead. She peered up at him. She was so close that Sherlock could see his face reflected in her eyes. They were gorgeous. He never knew so many colours could appear in a singular shade.

“You’re burning up, and your face it’s all red,” She muttered, finally lowering her hand. “You’ve got to tell Joh–”

“Sherlock, I told you to leave her al–” John began to reprimand his friend before shutting his mouth abruptly. He had thought Sherlock frazzled at a simple children’s game was something, but the sight before him was even better.

Sherlock stood in front of Y/N. Nothing too out of the ordinary. However, what John seemed to notice was the state of shock Sherlock seemed to be in. His mouth hung slightly open and his lips frozen in thought trying to find words to say. His cheeks have flushed a shade of red that John had only seen in cartoons. On top of it all, John could swear there were even hearts forming in Sherlock’s eyes as he gazed at Y/N.

John chuckled slightly and wished he had taken a picture. His laugh and presence seemed to have shaken Sherlock from his trance.

“You look nice,” John complimented Y/N.

She smiled softly and looked down at her dress. It was a brilliant shade of blue. She ran her hands over the material straightening it out. “Thanks,” Y/N muttered.

“John, I think Sherlock’s getting sick. His face is flushed and I think he has a fev–”

“I’m perfectly fine, Y/N,” Sherlock blurted.

John snickered. “Now that you say it, Y/N, Sherlock does look a little feverish.”

“I’m not sick,” Sherlock stated.

“Lovesick,” John coughed. Sherlock sent John a death glare upon hearing the words, but it seemed as if Y/N hadn’t noticed. It took John a moment to notice the confusion on Y/N's face. He quickly looked to Sherlock to see if the man who came charging into her flat was going to do any explaining, but he seemed to be occupied with gazing at Y/N.

“We need your opinion on something,” John said. He strolled up next to Sherlock and nudged his shoulder. This seemed to get Sherlock back in working condition.

“Right. Look at this,” Sherlock instructed. He handed Y/N the paper Hilton had given them moments prior.

The expression of confusion grew on her face. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Sherlock explained.

She looked up from the paper and eyed Sherlock carefully. “Right. You know, I really do have to go can’t I just–”

“No!” Sherlock cleared his throat. “No, just…quickly what do you think it is?”

Y/N glanced down at the paper once more. The hesitance was clear in her voice as she said “A child’s picture? Like one a kid draws.”

John cheered in triumph. “Told you.”

Sherlock sneered at John. “Clearly both you and Y/N are lacking in some–”

But Sherlock did not get to finish for Y/N’s phone began to ring. “That’ll be Jim. Go to go.” She took a few steps outside the door before quickly turning on her heel. “Can you close the door behind you?” Her voice was directed more towards John than Sherlock.

John nodded and wished her a good time. Even Sherlock flashed a smile to her as she left, but it was soon replaced with a scowl.

John giggled at the sight. “When are you going to admit that you like her?”

“We have a client waiting, John,” Sherlock said.

“Change the subject all you’d like, but still does not change the fact that you fancy her,” John replied.

Sherlock didn’t even bother to reply to John as he left Y/N’s flat and embarked back up the stairs.

______

“What do think?” Hilton asked John and Sherlock.

The three of them now sat down in the flat: John in his chair, Sherlock on his ‘throne’, and Hilton Cubitt on the sofa next to the empty Cluedo game box. The way they were situated made Hilton feel like he was being interviewed.

“Of what?” Sherlock asked. His eyes came to focus on Hilton.

“The code,” Hilton uttered. “I read on your blog,” his voice grew sheepish, “of a case you recently solved involving a code. I thought you might be able to help me.”

John furrowed his brows. What case could– ”The Blind Banker?”

Hilton nodded. “Excellent storytelling might I add.”

John smiled and thanked Hilton. Sherlock looked between Hilton and John before clearing his throat just loud enough to end the conversation. John and Hilton’s gaze whipped to Sherlock. John’s expression was annoyed while Hilton’s was embarrassed.

“It’s rather curious. At first glance it’s a childish prank, so why do you say that it’s a code?” Sherlock questioned. He sent John a ‘don’t-give-me-that-look-he’s-here-for-a-case-and-not-to-fan-girl-you’ look.

“My wife,” Hilton said.

Suddenly a quizzical expression appeared on Sherlock’s face. “How does your wife let you know that it’s a code? Did she tell you?”

“In a way she did,” Hilton replied. “One evening she saw the drawing and was frightened to death. When I asked her about it, she said that it was nothing, but I could see the terror in her eyes. Not just some childish prank would scare my wife like that. That’s why I came to you hoping you might help me.

Sherlock looked at the paper once more. His pointer finger ran over the images. This was all very strange. Strange was exactly what Sherlock was looking for. One might even say that Sherlock’s middle name was strange. “Alright. Now, I need to know everything in detail.”

Hilton nodded. He was quick to adjust his sitting position into something more comfortable. “Now, I’m not much of a storyteller…Just ask me anything that I don’t make clear.” He cleared his throat and fumbled with the fabric of his trousers. “I’ll start at my marriage four years ago. Now, I’m not rich in any way, but my family, well, there’s no better-known family in Norfolk than the Cubitts. Anyways, I went to America about four years ago.”

“Where?” Sherlock asked. “Details.”

“New York. It was there I met Elsie Patrick. I fell in love and quickly married her. Came back home to Norfolk after that. Many people’d say that it was too fast for such a thing, but you don’t know Elsie. She was upfront about everything. Kept giving me the chance to get out of it if I wanted to. I remember she said, when I proposed to her, that she had relations with the not-so-agreeable sort. A past that she wanted to forget. She asked that I never asked her about her painful past. I agreed. Of course I did! It didn’t matter to me who she was before I met her. All that mattered was if she’d be with me the rest of my life.”

Sherlock sat in his chair, hands under his chin, eyes out of focus, his ears taking in all the information Hilton was providing, and his mind in deep thought. Something John knew not to disrupt.

“What about the code?” John asked.

“Well,” Hilton glanced down the floor. His voice changed from one of light and love to one of seriousness. “About a month ago, Elsie received a letter from America.”

“How did you know that it was from America?” Sherlock questioned.

“I saw the postage. Stamp and all. But when she saw it, her face turned white. Like she saw a ghost. Moments later, she read the letter and then tossed it into the fire. I didn’t ask her about it, but she was scared of Mr. Holmes. I knew she’d come and talk to me when she was ready.” Hilton turned to John, “But about the code. About a week later from the letter, must have been Tuesday last week–I found the figures drawn on a window sill. I thought it must have been our daughter.”

“Daughter?” John wondered.

The seriousness faded from Hilton’s face at the mention of his daughter. “Yes, she’s three and a half. Loves to draw!” Then he reached into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. Inside was an image of a young girl and woman, who John assumed was his wife. Hilton made quick work of displaying the photo for John and Sherlock to see. “One of the greatest things that happened to me, my girl. But if you give her a crayon, she’d decorate the whole house!”

Once again, Sherlock cleared his throat. Hilton immediately put away the photo he cherished. “Right,” Hilton continued, “well I washed the drawings away. Later that night, I mentioned them to Elsie who had the same look on her face when she opened the letter. She asked me to show her the drawings if I found any more before washing them away. And I didn’t find another until a few days ago. She saw the drawings and collapsed with fear. I knew something was wrong so I came to you. The police wouldn’t believe me. Mr. Holmes. I’m not rich, but I would do anything to protect my wife and daughter.”

“Don’t you think you should ask your wife to tell you?” John asked. It was a reasonable question and John got the sense that all would be well if Hilton only had the courage to ask.

Hilton shakes his head. “A promise is a promise. I won’t force her to tell me anything she doesn’t want me to.” He glanced down at the golden band on his ring finger and softly smiled.

“I’ll help you,” Sherlock announced.

A wave of relief washed over Hilton. “Thank you, Mr. Hol–”

“Have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” Hilton replied.

“Norfolk. A quiet place right? A new face would be news,” Sherlock questioned.

John peered at his friend. How would Sherlock know about the environment place in Ireland, but not be able to win a single round of Cluedo?

“In my neighbourhood, yes, but we have several farmers who take in lodgers. Along with the occasional tourist.”

Sherlock nodded his head slowly, his mind taking note of the information Hilton had provided him. “These drawings obviously have meaning, something I may be able to solve, so long as they aren’t just arbitrary drawings. However, this image is not enough. Do you have any more images of the code?”

“No, but I’ll be returning home soon. Tomorrow’s my flight back,” Hilton explained.

John’s eyes widened at the statement. Hilton really would do anything for his family if he’d just fly to London just to see Sherlock.

“I suggest you keep an eye out for such drawings and document them,” Sherlock suggested. “If and when you do find them send them to me as soon as possible. That is all I can do until I have more of the code to study.”

“Right,” Hilton said. His face flashed with an expression of disappointment. “Well, here’s my business card. It’s got my email and number if you need to contact me.”

John looked at the white business card Hilton had stuck out for either Sherlock or him to take. A business card was a smart idea. He made a mental note to possibly ask Y/N to make some for Sherlock. It would really make these cases much more efficient.

After noting that neither man in front of him was going to take the card from his hands, Hilton placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “Well, there…um,” He looked to John.

“Right! You’ll be needing our number and email as well…?” John replied.

Hilton nodded. “That would be great. It’s not the easiest to fly to London on a whim.”

“You flew on a whim?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not, had a purpose…thank you again. I’ll be sure to send you any more of that code I find,” Hilton explained. Then he politely excused himself from 221B heading back to his hotel to prepare for his journey home.

The moment Hilton Cubitt had left the flat, Sherlock did not waste a moment in asking John for his phone.

“Why can’t you use your phone?”

“I need to call someone about the case,” Sherlock replied as if that was an adequate answer.

“I’m aware Sherlock but can’t you use your phone?”

“No, they won’t answer if it’s me,” Sherlock muttered. He stuck out his hand for John to place his phone into.

John peered at his friend. “Who wouldn’t answer if it was you?” John asked.

“None of your concern,” Sherlock clarified. “Phone.”

“Cause the only people I can think of are Mycroft, Greg, and…No, Sherlock,” John stated.

“It’s important. Hilton mentioned his wife is from America, who better to ask about the case than her,” Sherlock argued.

“Just because she is American does not mean she’s going to know everyone who’s ever set foot in the country let alone known about the case,” John refuted.

Sherlock huffed. “John. Phone.”

“No. She is on a date, Sherlock! She followed your rules. You gave her the night off. You must respect that,” John scolded Sherlock. “Just like Cluedo, you can’t change the rules of the game just because you aren’t winning. Which by the way,” John stomped over the tiny envelope that held the answer to the game. “You lost once again. It was Miss Scarlet with the dagger in the Billard room.”

In a fury, he tossed the cards at Sherlock’s face and stormed off to his room. The loud slamming of John’s door echoed throughout 221B. Sherlock picked up the cards from the floor and clutched them in his hand. He clenched his teeth together and crinkled the cards within his hand.

It was a stupid game. A stupid game Y/N had thought he might have fun playing. A stupid game that followed no logic. A stupid game that Sherlock lost over and over again. What was he doing wrong? Wasn’t wanting the prize–wasn’t wanting to win enough? Nothing was making sense anymore. Clues weren’t leading to anything. Y/N couldn’t see she was making it all worse. She plagued his thoughts. Thoughts that were never meant for anything other than logic. Y/N wasn’t logical. John had pointed that out to him long ago. Nothing about the way she smiled or how she laughed at a comment he uttered to Anderson made sense. So why did her gentle hand on his forehead or how she asked if he was well, feel so right? The thought of her in that dress singing to herself was all he ever needed. It wasn’t logical how Sherlock would throw away any thought of sanity just to be hers. This wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock was logical and followed the rules of intelligence. Sherlock wasn’t swayed by emotion. Sherlock didn’t lose.

He retrieved the paper depicting the code. This here was logical. A code. A worried husband. A case. The cases were logical. Sherlock followed logic. What hadn’t occurred to him was how late he sat in his chair staring at the drawings. His eyes were strained from observing the stick figures for the hundredth time. He was committing them to memory: The width of the circles that were used as heads, the direction each figure was facing, the poses of each stick figure, and the material they were drawn with. The sun had long since set below the horizon and Baker Street had gone quiet. Sherlock ignored how heavy his body felt. His eyelids were begging to close. But when they did, he thought of her and she wasn’t logical. Instead, he kept them open and looked at the drawings once more.

_________

Y/N’s feet were aching when she finally reached the comforting black door of 221B Baker Street. She lovingly brought a hand to the raised number 221B and remember when she saw them for the first time. It was the first time she walked into her home. Y/N wasn’t afraid to admit that her home was Baker Street and that she shared her home with those she loved most. John and his sweet demeanour, Mrs. Hudson and her soap operas, Sherlock and his gross experiments, and Bjørn and his demon-like screech. This was home.

She made quick work of finding her keys, opening the door, and stepping into the warmth and comfort of 221B Baker Street. The entryway was dimly lit and the light, Y/N observed, came from Sherlock’s flat. His door was wide open allowing the light from the room to seep out into the hallway. That only meant one thing. Sherlock was awake.

Y/N took in a tired breath and dismayed her want to crawl into her bed with Bjørn tucked under her arm and fall asleep. She trudged up the stairs as quietly as she could before appearing in Sherlock’s doorway.

He sat peacefully. His sapphire blue eyes glowed in the dark as he stared out the window. His legs were crossed comfortably in his seat and in his hand he clutched a paper tightly.

“What are you doing up so late?” Y/N asked.

She watched as Sherlock froze the moment he heard her words. He turned away from the window and gazed at her.

“Could ask you the same thing. How was your date?” He replied.

“You won’t get off that easy,” Y/N chuckled. “You need to sleep, Sherlock.”

“I will…how was the date?” He asked again.

Y/N sighed softly before hanging up her coat and removing her heels. She forgot why she even wore them in the first place. They always made her feet hurt for days afterwards. She was soon to find a seat on the sofa.

“It was nice. It was some charity event. Had a nice dinner and danced a little bit. Nothing too crazy.” She began to fiddle with the hem of her dress. It was satin. The soft material was smooth against her fingers. Then she laid back on the sofa, her head bumped into the box for Cluedo. She muttered a subtle “ow,” before taking notice of the room.

“You’ve redecorated.” She noted. Her eyes caught sight of the red thread, the rope on the coffee table, and the game cards taped to the walls. “Must have been a fun game by the looks of it.”

“You’d have to ask John. I lost every round.” Sherlock confessed.

Y/N gasped. “Sherlock Holmes lost every round of Cluedo? Is it solving mysteries and murders your forte?” She said it with such humour, Sherlock let it slide.

Sherlock playfully rolled his eyes, “The game doesn’t follow logic, so of course John won.”

Then she giggled. Just the sound of her laugh alone drew Sherlock out of his sorrow. He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth. He had always heard of laughing being contagious but only really believed it when he met her.

It took only a moment for them to settle down. The fuel to their laughter was long gone. Y/N tucked her feet in close to her body as goosebumps appeared on her arms. The tiny bumps were the body's way of keeping heat, at least that’s what Sherlock told her as he offered her a blanket. One she gladly took.

“He asked me to move in with him,” Y/N whispered. She wasn’t sure why she was telling Sherlock this. Maybe it was because Sherlock felt most like home. She didn’t want to leave her home.

Sherlock tensed at her words. “...What did you say?”

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “Jim, he asked me to move in with him. Said I’d think about it, but I’m leaning towards no. After all, what would you and John do without me?”

“You don’t–” Sherlock sighed. “You can move in with him if you want.” Immediately he wanted to hurl. What was he saying? Seeing her leave? He shook his head. No, this was logical. Her moving is logical. Who was kidding, it was the worst thing possible. Who would he have to bother when he was bored? Who would care about him when he no longer cared? He’d have John, but he wasn’t Y/N.

Y/N shook her head. “Not just…I don’t want to move just because of you and John. Baker Street is my home. I–I could never leave,” Y/N confessed. “Plus, I think Jim asked me because he was worried. He found John’s blog and read about the Blind Banker incident. Doesn’t want me to get hurt chasing after you, but it’s my job and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

She wasn’t going to leave. This eased Sherlock’s mind and beating heart, but then he felt guilty. Her boyfriend was right, she was hurt because of the case. “He’s right, you know. It’s dangerous.”

“I know what I signed up for Sherlock,” Y/N hissed. “Sorry, just…it’s too perfect.”

Sherlock frowned. “What’s too perfect?”

Y/N realized her mistake. Her face flushed and her voice grew quiet. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” Sherlock stated. He leaned forward in his chair and placed a hand over hers.

Y/N smiled softly at the gesture. “He’s too perfect. Our relationship. Everything,” Y/N groaned. She didn’t notice how Sherlock winced.

“Jim, he’s smart, kind, handsome, and ever the gentleman. He knows exactly what I want. Never fails to take me on an amazing date, likes my favourite foods, and has read the same books I have. He’s perfect. Exactly what I want. Which sounds crazy, but he–it doesn’t feel real. By now I’d think I’d actually know him. He hasn’t really told me what does for work…”

“What does he do?” Sherlock asked.

“He consults business, but that’s all he’s told me. I don’t know his favourite colour, where he’s from, or anything. It’s all about me, but he’s…he’s perfect,” Y/N sighed. “It doesn’t make sense. Nobody’s perfect…I don’t know what to do, Sherlock,” She confessed. “You don’t just break up with somebody because they’re perfect. It doesn’t help that he wants to take me away. On a trip or something…I don’t know. Just…nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is what it seems. I fear you’ve corrupted me, Sherlock.”

He chuckled. “I’ve corrupted you?”

“Yeah. You’ve made me think. To observe, to not trust anything at first glance. Now nothing is ever what it seems,” Y/N admitted with a smile on her face.

Sherlock smiled back. “And that’s good?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. You’re great–It’s great.”

“I’m glad,” said Sherlock.

“So am I. It just makes everything that much more complicated.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied.

Y/N hummed in response. She took Sherlock’s hands within her own and Sherlock could swear his heart did a backflip off a cliff. She peered at his hands carefully. Her thumbs lovingly ran over his knuckles. Sherlock felt as if his skin was on fire. It burned to have her hold his hands. The hands were delicate things used for almost everything Sherlock did. To burn them was to render him useless and that’s what she did. Sherlock was rendered useless in the best way possible.

“You should really get some sleep, Sherlock.”

“Ah, but I have a case that needs working on. A code to solve.”

“Sherlock,” Y/N warned.

“I’ll tell you all about it. A client, Hilton Cubitt walked in while John and I were playing Cluedo and —”

“Sherlock,” Y/N interrupted. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow,” Sherlock stated. He tilted his head towards the clock behind him.

“You know what I mean. We both need sleep. You more than anyone,” Y/N said. Sherlock opened his mouth to refute her statement when she cut him off. “Even the great Sherlock Holmes needs to sleep. If not for yourself, then for me.”

Sherlock couldn’t find it in him to refuse her. He wouldn’t be able to refuse her anything. He nodded and watched as she removed her hands from his.

In her tiredness, Y/N drew away from Sherlock. She stood up from her seat, picked up her shoes and coat, and went downstairs to her flat where she crawled downstairs into her bed and fell asleep. At least that’s what she told herself she would do all. Just then she leaned in close. She blamed it on the fog her mind was in. Nothing was ever what it seemed to be anymore. Her lips brushed against Sherlock’s forehead, her hands resting in his hair as she brushed it away from his face.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” she whispered against his skin. Just like she said she would, she left Sherlock in his chair. Her coat in shoes was in her arms as she descended the stairs.

Now, if things were logical, Sherlock wouldn’t have let her pull away. He would grasp her wrists and hold her close. He would have whispered to her that she missed. Then he would have placed his lips on hers. He would have kissed her if things were logical. But nothing was anymore. Not when Y/N was with him.

_________

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