#i was gluing string for three hours

[rainecloud22]

Yes I made enstars merch for my art class, what about it

[changisworld]

Overstimulation with Jeongin

word count:2,642

18+, MDNI!! smut below

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

The final part of my 8 part masterlist of the extension of this & this headcanon of the members!!;3

Kinks & pleasures masterlist here main masterlist here

->SMUT WARNINGS: dommish!Innie, sub!reader, overstimulation, dacryphilia, use of sex toys, oral (f rec) use of flavoured lube. manipulation(???) mention of safe word but not used(light system), tittie sucking, PIV, pull out method, dirty talk, praise, squirting, aftercare is brief but happens more off screen

->I think this is actually my favourite from the whole series along with Seungmins heheh so i hope you all like it as much as I do :3

When you had first started to get to know Jeongin, you've always noticed how soft & playful he is & when you first started to get to know him sexually, you assumed he would be the exact same sweet boy, but how quickly he proved you wrong, it could have genuinely gave you whiplash.

You're straddling Jeongin as you're both on your bed, making out messily as your hands cup his sharpened jawline & his are resting comfortably on your ass, the fabric of your leggings stretching over his skin, simply resting there, caressing your curves at the same pace as both of your lips move.

"So pretty, take your shirt off f'me, wanna see your tits" he cheekily asks, his lips shiny with his spit as he breaks the kiss. You obviously rush to do as he asks, giggling as he lets out a small, happy hum as your bare chest is now on show for him & he is quick to pull you forward just enough so your chest is level with his face, before latching onto your left nipple.

You fiddle with his soft hair, grinding slowly against his clothed cock, but despite the layers of clothes covering it, you can feel it hardening. "You've got a good mouth" you say, mindlessly & you chuckle as Jeongin switches nipple, slightly nibbling down on it just the way you like.

"Yeah? I've got some more tricks I can do with it" he giggles as he flips you both over so you're on your back. "Lemme show you" he adds on as he takes the hem of your leggings & starts pulling them off your body & you huff, but you help him take them off anyway.

"Your sex drive is far too high, we fucked literally three hours ago!" you tease him as your legs spread just enough so he can slot his waist between so he can kiss you again, but he doesn't take you up on the silent offer, instead his dimpled, cheeky smile as he settles his knees on the floor at the bottom of the bed, his face now level with your covered cunt, your lace black thong presenting a small wet patch.

"I can't help it when I am with you, just one orgasm, we don't even need to fuck, just wanna taste & you do too don't you? you're so wet y/n" he purrs as he nudges his nose against your cunt, groaning at the smell.

You sigh as he starts kissing your thighs, suckling down on your sweet spots which make your legs threaten to shut around him, but are blocked by his head & shoulders.

Jeongin can tell you're getting antsy with the way you're trying to hump onto his face & he forces himself to pull back & reach into the bedside drawer & pull out your bullet vibrator & also something of his own choice, his strawberry flavoured lube.

The minute you notice the lube in his hand, you knew this would be a long scene. "Innie, just one, I want to actually function later" you chuckle & he rolls his eyes playfully up at you as he pulls your underwear down your legs, now leaving you completely bare.

He blows a cold string of air on your glistening folds & his eyes are glued to the way you clench around nothing but air & he bites his bottom lip before he opens the cap of the lube & squirts a small dollop of it just above your clit & you wince.

Jeongin puts the vibrator to the side for now but keeps it in arms reach obviously, but he doesn't waste any more time before diving into your pussy, it looking too endearing to keep himself back anymore.

You've realised long ago that he has a kind of 'specific order' in how he eats pussy, one hundred percent of the time always starting off by kitten licking your entire cunt, paying extra attention to the small spot just in between your clit & your hole, always making you want more.

He spreads the lube around your pussy, making you so wet that you're surprised his mouth doesn't quite literally slip off your pussy, which makes you laugh in your head at the thought of it.

"Innie, don't tease" you whimper in a soft voice, not wanting to jerk your hip because you know he will give you way more than you can handle simply because 'you wanted more so he gave you more'. "I'm not, just wanting to taste before I eat, don't rush me!" he replies, his fox eyes peeking up at you, the bottom half of his face hidden by your own body & you shut your legs around his head, playfully.

Jeongin is quick to pull your thighs back open & he looks at you with frowned eyes, his smile still plastered on his face & you can't help but get butterflies but also a bit nervous, not knowing what his look exactly means but you're quick to find out.

"You're so needy, & you told me my sex drive was too high." he chuckles, before he dives in. He has picked up his pace on his usual walkthrough on how he usually tastes you, before switching from tasting to eating, & one thing about Jeongin is he genuinely eats as if it's his last meal, & you lurch forward but Jeongin is quick to push you back onto the bed, his mouth not even daring to leave your mound.

Jeongin's eyes are staring up at you, with a mix of lust but also just love, & you are able to pick up on the look, his main way of non verbally showing he loves you despite how harsh he can be to you during sex & how far he pushes you to your limits.

Jeongin makes quick work of suckling on your folds, his tongue parting them as he flattens his tongue against it, lapping at your cunt, making you whimper & hum as your fingers weave into his soft hair but you don't dare tug on it, you just rub & play with his hair softly, trying to maybe get him to not be as harsh as you think he's gonna be.

Jeongin latches onto your clit & his soft lips suction to the button, tongue swirling around it in the specific pattern he knows gets you over the edge the quickest, savouring your raw taste on his taste buds, he starts palming himself over his sweatpants to try ease some of the pressure on his pulsating cock.

"Innie, g-gonna cum" you groan, your fingers clenching in his hair, making him groan in return as he can quite literally feel your clit pulsate in his mouth & he keeps the pace the exact same & your thighs slightly shake around his head before your stomach tightens & your first orgasm.. first of very many just this time alone washes over you & your toes curl, Jeongin chuckling up at you as he watches you writhe, his tongue not giving over.

You are panting as your high eventually bubbles away, but the feeling of his tongue doesn't bubble away, as he keeps the exact same speed. "Innie n-no more, sleepy" you murmur, your hips twitching at the slightly painful feeling sinking in.

"Cmon, you can handle one more, you've only came once today, it's fine" he purrs & you look down at him as soon as you process his words. "Jeongin you've made me cum four times today, my clit is gonna fall off" you cry & jeongin gets back to what he was doing, sucking & tasting before swallowing the remainder of the lube that he hasn't already swallowed & replies to you by saying "nuh uh, only gave you one today, can't you remember?" before he decides to be 'nice' & give you a small break & sits back on his knees slightly as he decides that your hole needs some attention too, so he slides two of his long, slender fingers into you, a small squelching noise being heard.

"You're so wet, you enjoy this almost as much as i do don't you" he teases as he starts scissoring them in & out of you & you can't help but chase the feeling despite it stinging from overstimulation, & any comeback you had dies in your throat as you bask in the feeling, whimpering & whining at the feeling.

As your eyes are shut & your arms are thrown over your face as you try fuck yourself on his fingers & as you're distracted, Jeongin reaches to grab the small vibrator placed on the bed & before you realise, he has turned it on & has placed it on your already swollen clit & you hiss & tense up, your cunt clenching around his fingers.

"Ah, fuck Innie, s-so much" you blabber, your hips subconsciously trying to get more feeling from the vibrator while also trying to escape from it at the same time, but he is so quick to stop you from trying to shuffle away. "Don't run from it, I wouldn't give you anything you couldn't handle, so be good, mkay? gimme one more then I'll stop, pinky swear" he talks, his voice sounding breathless as if he was the one receiving it all.

You can't do anything other than nod at his words as he then adds a third finger, meeting almost no resistance from how soaked you really are, but you feel even impossibly fuller & you let out a whine.

You can feel what feels like your millionth orgasm of the day bubbling up in the pit of your stomach again as Jeongin starts poking & probing against your soft spot at the same time he switches the vibrator to the highest setting & you can tell your orgasm feels different & you know what it is.

"Innie, cumm-" you're cut off by yourself as your orgasm hits you harder this time & this time it squirts out of you & sprays onto the vibrator before spraying onto his bare chest, before dripping down his skin along with dripping down onto the knuckles that are poking out from your hole before he is forced to pull them out from how hard you're clenching around them & he takes it upon himself to fiddle with your clit at a quick pace to pull the rest of your orgasm out of you, humming at the sight.

Your hair is sticking to your face because of the thin layer of sweat & your legs can't help but shut around his hand & he pulls it away from your abused cunt, letting you catch your breath slightly as he takes this opportunity to take off the rest of the clothes he still has on, his cock leaking at the tip so much you'd assume he had already came in his pants.

"So good aren't you, I think you can handle just one more" he states, not really bothering to ask. "Too much Inniee" you pant, your legs still closed but Jeongin opens them before positioning himself between them. "What's your colour?" he asks, his voice turning softer as he pumps himself slowly with one hand & caresses your thigh with the other.

"Gr-green" you whimper to him, your voice completely hushed out & raspy sounding & dry from using it so much. Jeongin smiles down at you, his dimples making your heart flutter & you make grabby hands & he knows to fold himself forwards to be face level with you as he lines himself up with you before pushing in, making you both moan in unison.

"How is it you're always so tight hmm? I literally fucked you open earlier & even made you squirt but you're still dying for more" he buzzes, his own voice raspy too as he begins to fuck you at a slow pace, deciding to give you the small amount of time to adjust.

"So- so big, fuck" you whimper, clenching uncontrollably around his long, slender cock & Jeongin can't help but blush at your words.

He starts to pick up his pace, his tip bullying into your cervix, kissing it roughly with each thrust as he tries to shut his own growing whimpers & groans by kissing you, mostly to shut himself up because he would rather be mute than let himself miss your noises & the way your cunt is squelching around him each time he thrusts makes him thankful he did so.

You struggle to kiss him back as you are allowing yourself to fully swallow yourself in the pleasure the man above is giving you.. the only man who could do this for you, your eyes watering & even a few tears start to escape your eyes from the painful pleasure, your cervix being poked & no doubt bruised but the feeling of your G-spot being also poked & also probably bruised, covers the painful part almost entirely.

"S-wanna cum a-again Inn, ca-can't handle it" you shriek as you turn your head sideways enough just to break your lips apart to tell him & he can't even chuckle at your state, his own orgasm starting to form as he stands back, his pace not faltering as he has to mentally beg himself to not let his eyes shut so he doesn't miss anything.

He thinks to himself your clit looks 'abandoned' or 'lonely' so of course he fixes that issue, by yet again partnering it with his thumb & you lurch forward, your hands making quick work of trying to paw his hand from your clit but he uses his other hand to push yours away.

"Keep em away, I know you're g-gonna cum again, gonna cum too, t-so tight" he groans, his eyebrows furrowed as he is biting down on his bottom lip & you clench your fingers so hard into the bedsheets that they're turning white as you can't stop moaning, the room full of the sounds.

"Cryin f'me? is it that much for you y/nnie? just let go, so pretty when you cry" he utters as he watches your face contort & your toes start curling again as your legs shake around him again & before you can warn him, you're squirting for the second time & Jeongin has to pull himself out from how tightly you constrict & not even a couple of seconds after he is fisting his cock while watching your own orgasm spray out of you, he is cumming all over your lower tummy, a few drops shooting up towards your tits.

He tries to get his breath back as quickly as possible as he is also helping you by picking you up & making quick work of helping move to the bathroom & setting you on the countertop as he starts running a bath before turning around to kiss you all over your cheeks & drying the tears from your cheeks & then kissing you all over again, moving your dampened hair rom your face.

"Wait here f'me & Ima get us water then we can bath together, I'll bring your chocolate too" he says in his completely normal cheery voice, before running out of the room still naked into the kitchen.

->Taglist & anon list is open!

@jisungml

[bunny-1111]

Eyes dont miss - Theo Nott x reader

Description: When you try to hide your anxiety from your observant boyfriend Theodore, it comes in crashing on you in the middle of the night, and you can't run from it any longer.

TW: anxiety attack

Word count: 1.3k

Fluff, unedited

...

There was little that Theodore missed.

In his eyes, he carried a loaded gun.

Ammo full of meticulous attention to detail.

He had you studied, fluent in you as if you were a language, the twitches in your eyes a verb, the tone in your voice an adjective.

You thought you hid yourself well, well enough to go unnoticed.

But he watched, even when you insisted on being ok.

He was demanding, a trait both good and bad, his stern demeanour insisting on answers, meeting your same stubborn answer, you were okay. Liar.

When it came to you, Theodore wouldn't allow himself to leave the slightest detail unscathed.

He watched and observed as you drew on your arms during class.

How you picked at the skin around your nails under the table of the great hall during dinner, your twitching hands fiddling as if your fingers depended on it.

How would you chew the gums at the side of your mouth

How he felt your fingers claw a little deeper into his shoulder when he suggested you both turn in for bed.

To Theodore, these things were concerning, though, when he would approach and accuse you of being undeniably going through it, you would deny, deny, deny.

Until you both hit the worst of it, in a cold winter night when you couldn't run away from it anymore. In the still and quiet hour of three am, you pant, in a hot sweat, string in a nightmare until Theo woke, immediately halting you up much to your fright.

As you sat up, the heavy rise and fall of your chest began to set him off too, his own breath hitched watching you fall apart for reasons above him.

His heavy hand polished up and down your back, he meant to be gentle, but he couldn't stop his mind to remember to be tender.

"What's going on" his voice echos through your ears

"Why are you yelling?!" you scream, your hands glued to your head, you wanted to rip your hair out there and then.

"What? Darling, talk to me," he quietly softly. He wasn't yelling, though to you. To you, his voice boomed with volume; just focus, you reminded yourself, come on idiot, stop this, stop it, focus, focus, focus.

Your hands fall in front of your face as you dig your nails into your skin time and time over.

When Theodore's hands take hold of your own, realise the almost bloody palms spread out, lacing his palms into yours.

"Feel my hand, hear my voice, c'mon" he whispered out.

His words cut through the fog like a lifeline, grounding you in their gentleness. Your head spun, reality blurred at the edges, but the steady warmth of his hands kept you tethered.

"Look at me," Theo urged softly, voice barely a murmur, as if afraid to startle you. He didn’t pull you out of the moment harshly, didn’t demand you shake it off. No, he anchored you, the pad of his thumb brushing along the back of your knuckles, each slow pass soothing, steadying.

He kept as much distance as he could, as if you were roadkill like he was gently aiding you off the road.

"Feel that, love?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that was grounding in its calmness. "That’s me. I’m right here. I’ve got you."

You nodded, though the tremor in your hands betrayed you. Theo’s gaze remained unwavering, watching every flicker in your expression, the tiny cracks forming in your armour. You felt his hand drift to your cheek, warm and solid, the weight of it reassuring.

"I—" you started, words tangling in your throat, the shame of it making you flinch. The anxiety had been building for days, creeping up on you like a shadow. You'd convinced yourself you could manage, that you didn't need anyone, but Teddy wouldn't have that.

You weren't clueless. You brushed off his attempts of interrogation, but at this point, you were defenceless.

“You don’t have to explain it all, you know,” he murmured, his voice carrying the hint of a smile, as if he already understood without needing your words. "Just breathe. With me."

He guided you, slow and rhythmic, his own breathing soft and even. You mirrored him, matching his inhales and exhales, feeling the wild storm inside begin to quiet.

“Better?” he asked after a moment, not rushing, just waiting for you. His hand didn’t leave yours, fingers laced like he wouldn’t dare let go. And somehow, that small gesture made you feel safer than you’d felt in days.

You nodded again, feeling your heartbeat slow, the panic that had gripped you loosening, dissolving under his patient watch.

“Theo…” your voice broke a little, shaky and raw, but he just shook his head, his lips quirking up in that way that made you feel seen. Not judged. Not pitied. Just seen.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll always be here, yeah? I've got eyes on you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And in that moment, you knew he meant it.

Theo's gaze softened even further, though his grip on your hand remained firm, grounding. The quiet between you both was filled with his silent assurances, a warmth that felt like a promise of safety. Your heart felt exposed, raw, but under Theo’s watchful eyes, vulnerability didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like trust.

He shifted closer, closing the small gap between you, his knees brushing against yours as he sat across from you on the bed. “This… whatever it is you’re carrying,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You hesitated, your mind flickering back to the countless times you’d brushed off his concern with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. You’d thought you were sparing him, protecting him from the weight of it all. But Theo was persistent, as if each little gesture you’d thought went unnoticed only made him more determined to understand.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back from the haze of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know?” His voice was calm, unwavering. “Not with me. I’d rather have your truth than your silence.”

A shiver ran down your spine, the walls you’d built up crumbling in the quiet of his words. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over you, like a weight finally lifted.

"I… I didn’t want you to worry,” you whispered, your voice so soft it almost felt like a confession. “Didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.”

Theo tilted his head, an understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Love, if handling it means suffering alone, I’d rather you not handle it at all.” His tone was gentle, but the conviction in his words was unyielding. "You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a sense of warmth through your chest, leaving you feeling exposed yet comforted in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. Slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing the hair back from your face, his touch feather-light but grounding.

You took a shaky breath, letting yourself lean into his touch, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. For the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to not be okay. Because Theo wasn’t going anywhere. And for him, your honesty mattered more than anything you could hide.

The panic and the anxiety might not be going anytime soon, but you knew neither was Theo.

“Thank you,” you breathed, the words barely audible, but Theo heard. He always did. He listened, and watched and understood, he loved with all his senses. He never missed.

...

A/N, my darlings, I'm back writing again. Requests are open, and if any of you suffer from anxiety, my inbox is always a safe place for you to come and talk about it, or anything in general.

Peace and love,

B.

[euphoricfilter]

the silent ‘i love you’

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: sometimes you don’t need words

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff!!!! just very soft and nice and easy to read for tonight. intensional lowercase. sort of sleepy thoughts about love <3

where you can find my other works :D

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

some days jungkook simply felt like those three words weren’t enough. that the warm glow of his fragile soul couldn’t scream loud enough for your own precious existence to know how much he truly loved you.

that the whispered words of love as the both of you woke, or a gentle kiss before you both slept and met in your dreams— it simply was only the surface of how he felt. that the silent ‘i love you’ the both of you shared each day was somehow louder than the words themselves.

tender souls touching in a whimsical dance between your existence.

tangled so tight, unmoving, seeping out of you with that fluttery sort of love.

the kind of love that pulls a smile onto your lips at the mere thought of them. gentle touch enough to have your skin alight. obsessive, itching greed consuming every fibre of your being, needing them closer than humanly possible. bodies pressed together and heart beats in sync, tied together by a string of fate and life times you shared before this one.

and some days neither of you had to say ‘i love you’ but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there. that either of you loved the other any less than you had the day before. or more than you would tomorrow. because it was ever-growing. blooming in both your chests, a flower that would live through all of eternity.

it would be him waking before you, purple and blue toothbrushes sat beside one another in the cup on the sink. or how on some days he’d pick your shower gel over his own. for no other particular reason that he loved everything about your existence, that he felt that little bit closer to you in the hours you had to part.

or remembering to tuck one of your hairties in one of his pockets, just in case.

the same hair tie you’ll find in the washing machine days later, smile tugging at your lips. because as much as you remind him to take everything out his pockets before putting them into the washing machine, there were things you could never get mad over. not when he thinks of you, even when you’re not there. a silent show of care that you never bring up because that was his secret to keep, dissolved into the back of your mind for safe keeping.

he likes to hold your hand as you cross the road, fingers interlaced. because he knows sometimes you get too caught up in your own head, unaware of the wider world around you. so he keeps you glued to the pavement before tugging you across the road. fingers squeezing yours when he knows the both of you are back to safety and you’ll let him pull you around, blind trust in him to take you where you need to go

you like picking him up from work, sat outside on a bench with a box of treats for the walk home. and he would indulge you, even if he had the car parked a block away. not caring if it would mean he had to walk the next morning. because he would never abandon those gentle moments with you, shoulders knocking as you kiss sweet cream from his lips, desperate to hear about his day just as much as you want to share yours

you liked to say ‘i love you’ through the stars. tugging him to the roof of the apartment building, legs tangled as you lay on a blanket.

you both look up at the sky.

so many questions slipping off your tongue. where you talk of fate and destiny and how you loved to believe that two souls so intricately intertwined like your own was probably crafted by something as beautiful as the stars, or another celestial being that just knew what the future held. speckles of fine stardust crafted and moulded, so, when you found a mortal body there would be no doubt he was the one for you, just as you were the one for him.

he likes sending you photos of cats. adopting the habit of carrying a small bag of treats around with him; though neither of you have a pet.

he remembers the frown that would tug on your face each time you’d come across a stray. and he’d stand there for as long as you like as your fingers pet over fluffy heads and behind furry ears. another silent vow of love to a lonely creature.

you liked to pack him lunches, hours spent in the kitchen of a nighttime experimenting, because you never wanted him to have a dull meal. and he’d sit there at the table, reading as a piano piece plays over your phone. not a word spoken between the both of you, and some nights you scuttle his way with a fork-full of something for him to try.

there was love in the tv shows you watched together, the music you shared, the space you both lived in. the closet was a muddle of clothes and accessories that he liked to steal from you just like you steal from him. racks of both your shoes line the entry way of the apartment, collection of mugs a sudden birthday tradition that will go on for as long as you’re alive.

you lived in his mind like you lived in the plants around the house. or the posters you’d put on the walls. and he lived in your mind with gaming consoles and photos of you hung up that he had taken, loved and forever cherished; thriving in the memory of you and how much he loved you then and how much he loves you now.

jungkook had tried to find a better word.

hours spent laying in bed, with your head on his chest, moon spilling into the room as he mulls over the thought of you.

how he likes how warm you are, how he likes sharing this space with you. that he’s glad he’s found you, grateful that you exist within the same time line as him.

your silly little stories of a wonderful sweet sort of love filling his own mind— because maybe you really were crafted for one another. and even if he forgets three simple words, the both of you know love lives within the sphere of your existence.

because maybe that’s what the both of you are when you’re together. maybe even in those moments you’re apart. perhaps you’re the epitome of the word love and that’s why all the silent ‘i love yous’ equal more than words ever will

[sailoryooons]

Knocked | ksj | (m)

☾ Pairing: Streamer!Seokjin x f. reader

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

☾ Word Count: 10,673

☾ Genre: Roommates to lovers, smut, humor

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

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

☾ Published: January 19, 2023

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

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

Masterlist | Ask | Room for Rent Collab

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

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

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

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

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

Your neighbors must hate you. 

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

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

Except for the constant gaming. 

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

“Check the microwave, nerd.” 

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

“I’m your only roommate.”

“Well, you’re better than Namjoon.”

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

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

“Mmmm never.”

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

“I like Animal Crossing. You like Apex.”

“Come on, I can teach you Apex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things are good.

-

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

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

Mark: Come by my office, please. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Makes sense.” 

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

You give him one slow blink. Then another. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking perfect.”

-

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

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

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

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

“I’m in a towel! Why are you here?”

“I live here!”

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

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

“Well, I was in the shower!”

“Obviously!” 

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

“I will! Jeez!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ew, here we go.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s not all just… earning cash?”

“No, I get plenty of that.”

“So why do you need a roommate?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Because of all the fucking meetings. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Oh come on, I’m not that loud.”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“W-what?” 

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

“I am not.”

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

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

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

Except recently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, woman! What?” 

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

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

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

“Then stop screaming!”

“You’re the one screaming!”

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

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

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

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

“I mean. Yeah, but-”

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

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

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

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

“Make me!”

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

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

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

“There’s no 1 v 1 in Apex.”

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

“And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

Wordlessly, you spin and head to your room. 

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

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

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

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

“Weirdo,” you mutter. 

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

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

“Really? Newbie.”

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

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

“A bit.” 

“They play Apex that much too?”

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

“Loba.”

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

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

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

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

“Whatever. Ready up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Energy. Preferably the volt.” 

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

“You snipe with Wraith?” 

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

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

“Two zero.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Sure.”

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

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

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

“Hey, that was my kill!”

“You only knocked him!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I know what you meant.” 

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

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

I know what you meant. 

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

And you have no inclination of what he meant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If they see you?”

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

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

“They’re both cracked.” 

“Got it- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OTHER TEAM.” 

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

“Fuck that I want to win!”

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

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

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

“Stop missing!”

“Knocked motherfucker!” 

“Got it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Totally understand, I’m so sorry.”

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

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

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

“It’s okay.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crush crush crush crush. 

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

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

He confused. That he has a crush. 

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

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

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

So maybe -

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

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

“So you like me?”

“Yes, I think I… included that?”

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

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

“Kiss me.”

“What now?”

“Kiss me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want some help with that?”

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh.” 

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

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

“No underwear?”

“They’re - nggg - restricting.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seokjin is beautiful under the assault of your mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you said please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, you’re fucking squeezing me.”

“Cause your cock is fucking big!”

“Am I supposed to apologize?”

“No, but please fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you have an emo phase?” 

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

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

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

“That I can agree with.” 

[wreckedandpolemic]

Dry humping and specially cumming into pants always makes me think about regret me universe ngl

here’s three times you made him cum in his pants, since you asked so nicely xx

you’re both so needy, so desperate to get off, that neither of you are particularly fighting for control. you’re literally humping his leg, thigh muscles bunched under your soaked cunt as you grind against the lace of your panties. matty’s lips are wrapped around your nipple, licking and sucking and biting greedily. you whimper as pleasure creeps up your spine, his name spilling from your lips in a frenzied litany. back arching, you writhe in his lap, shifting your weight to let matty grind up against your core.

mmh, matty, fuck, you gasp, throwing your head back as he lifts his head to kiss at your neck. his hips rock up against yours, whines of your name and please and fuck stumbling from his lips. y’gotta cum f’me, princess. make me cum, too, then i’ll fuck you. or you can fuck me, m’not feelin’ picky, i just— shit, yes! you cry, shaky moans torn from your throat as matty’s hips meet yours at an angle that sends blinding pleasure washing over you.

by now attuned to your body, matty repeats the motion perfectly, once, twice, three times, until something in you breaks. you pitch into oblivion, chipped red nails digging into his shoulders as you cum shockingly hard. in the same split-second, matty twitches, jerks, goes still. he grins up at you dopily, wiping your sweaty hair out of your face and planting a kiss directly between your tits. hm, i like the sound of you fucking me.

then, there’s a time you’re feeling mean. your legs are spread, your soaked cunt on display as you bring yourself to orgasm after orgasm. the mattress under you is soaked, your chest heaving, and matty sits obediently cross-legged at the other end. god, feels so good. bet you wish you were fucking me dumb like this, huh? you murmur, honestly surprised you can still string sentences together.

matty nods frantically, eyes glued to the toy pressed against your clit. too bad. maybe if you could fucking behave yourself, you’d get to make me feel good. he’s so hard it has to ache, straining against his jeans as the muscles of his stomach twitch helplessly. you’re listless with ecstasy as you coax another orgasm from your overworked body, moaning his name like it’s the only word you know.

fuck, fuck, fuck, m’sorry, i didn’t mean to, i— matty whimpers, tears pooling on his lashline as a wet patch spreads from where the tip of his cock presses against his jeans. god, y’like watchin’ me that much? you tease. such a freak. was gonna let you fuck me if you kept being good, but you obviously don’t need it.

he looks fucking heartbroken, and you laugh cruelly. please, he breathes. you’re so fucking beautiful, look so hot when you cum, please let me make you cum, he begs. c’mere, you say, and matty’s eyes light up, thinking you’re relenting as he scrambles up the bed.

the expression he wears when you push the toy into his hand is almost comically crestfallen. go on, baby. don’t you wanna make me cum?

and then, there’s the time you’re all over him, teasing him and kissing him, mouthing over his cock through his boxers as he thrashes above you. matty’s hands are tied behind his back, big arms straining against the rope desperately. his hips jerk upward, pleading softly, and you grin. hm, i’ve got some work to get done, princess. he gasps brokenly as you climb off him, tucking yourself into a chair and opening your laptop.

mommy, please, he says weakly, lips swollen and shiny with spit. need you. you click your tongue. mommy’s busy, darling. if you can figure out how to get yourself off, go ahead. you add condescendingly, slowly chipping away at some email to your manager that definitely could have waited a couple of hours for you to fuck matty’s brains out. but it’s not as fun that way.

you watch him over your laptop screen, facedown and grinding against your mattress. please, mommy. m’so fucking turned on, so hard f’you. your eyes are glued to his ass, the muscles of his back as they ripple with every movement. wanna make you feel good. please. y’could just use me. promise i’d be good, he pleads, voice thick with desire as he ruts into the mattress.

don’t push your luck, princess, you chide, even as arousal hums insistently between your thighs. be a good boy and cum for me, then we’ll see, yeah? you’ve abandoned any work you could have been doing, keeping up the pretence for matty’s sake as you squeeze your thighs together wantonly. mmh, oh, god, fuck— he whimpers, voice pitching up as he draws closer. he cums with a whine of your name, spilling into his boxers and leaving a wet patch on your sheets. dirty boy, you smirk. think you can go again?

[deanscherrypie69]

You left without saying goodbye |DW.|

♡Dean Winchester X Female Reader♡

♡Warnings: Mentions of Y/n picking up an alcohol addiction, no use of Y/n. (Maybe like twice) Langue and mentions of blood. 18+ pls minors DNI!!!!!♡ please do not post my fics anywhere else expect tumblr, you have been warned! Also most of this was written on my phone 😭

♡Feedback is appreciated! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!!!♡

My inbox is open!

Dividers by: @cafekitsune !!!

A/N thank yall sm for the love and support on the first part of the fic! It means the world to me!!! And as yall requested. Part two! Pls don’t hate me it’s a long one so buckle up✋🏽🥲

Also Happy bday to Jensen!!! Love you v much!!🤠🤎

♡Part one♡

It had been three moths since that night with Dean, it had played over and over again in your mind when you went to sleep every night.

You swore you could feel his lips on yours, or the sounds he made when he was moving in and out of your body.

You hated it so much, you hated him. With his stupid eyes his pink lips you hated him.

But you took all of that rage out on, the monsters you’d hunt. Shooting them stabbing them. Anything you could think of.

You had come back from a bad werewolf hunt with Bobby, one of the wolfs clawed your abdomen trying to save Bobby.

So here you were nursing a bottle of whiskey as the old man stitched you up.

Oh yea and you forgot to mention you kind picked up a drinking habit over the last few months.

“Do you have a deal death with or something?” The old man asks as he threads your skink back together.

“No.” You hiss as he pulls the thread in and out of you.

“You’re not a very good lair.” He says grabbing the scissors to cut the string.

You raise your brow, “you aren’t a very good nurse either.” You say standing up. You grab stomach with a groan as you walk to the kitchen.

Bobby watches you struggle to walk away. He begins to clean the blood off his hands with a towel.

Bobby never bought it up because it was never any of his business. But. He cared about you a lot. You were like his daughter he’d never had have.

That day when he picked you up from the hotel. There was something wrong. You hadn't said anything to him about it since then. It has been three months and Bobby had grown curious.

Bobby takes a sigh and sits in his chair in front of his desk.

“What happened that I had to drive almost three hours out to pick you up from a motel?”

Bobby saw your body stiffen with the questions, he knew he had struck a nerve.

You grown and begin to walk up stairs, not wanting to answer his questions, “Good night Bobby.” You groan.

Bobby rolls his eyes “damn kid.”

This had been the worst sleep of your life by far. You couldn’t sleep you were up all night tossing and turning. You groan as you flick the covers off of your body.

You look over at the time on your alarm clock, it was almost 12 in the afternoon.

You groan and begin to rummage through your pile of clean clothes you had just washed.

“Please tell me you have coffee on and some painkillers.” You groan grabbing your stomach as you walk down the stairs

“I really could use some.” You say rubbing your eyes.

When Bobby didn’t say anything you remove your hands away from your eyes. And when you opened them you did not expect to see someone you haven’t seen in three months.

“Dean?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You were angry.

You turn to the old man who was sitting across from him, “What the hell is he doing here?” You question, not looking over in Deans' direction.

“He’s here because he got a weird call, someone pretending to be Sam.” He says “just wanted to know if we got the call that’s all.”

You roll your eyes and clench your stomach, you don’t even look his way, he had left you after sharing an intimate moment, he left you vulnerable.

You scoff and walk over to the coffee pot, you poor yourself a cup, Bobby looks between you and Dean.

Dean had his eyes glued to your back, waiting for you to turn around and look at him. But you didn’t. He watched as you grab the painkillers from the top cabinet with a groan.

“I’ll be upstairs.” You mumble.

Bobby nods as he watches you carefully disappear upstairs.

“Are you gonna talk about it?” Bobby questions.

Dean huffs and leans back “nothing to talk about, just came here to see if you got that call that's all.”

Bobby let’s out a chuckle. “You came here to see if she was here.”

Bobby states.

Dean rolls his eyes. “No i didn’t,” Dean argues.

“Bullshit, something happened between you too.” Bobby says looking at the green eyed man.

Dean nods his head “it did but it was a mistake, we both were missing Sam.” Dean rubs a hand down his face.

Bobby cuts Dean off “Does she know that?” Bobby questions. “That girl has had a death wish for three months. I made her stop hunting, I don't know if you noticed, she has a pretty bad injury."

“Whatever you did you need too clear it up.” Bobby says.

Dean stands up from his chair “There’s nothing to clear cause nothing happened, it didn’t mean anything, not to me anyway.” Dean grabs his jacket.

Before Dean reached the front door he saw you at the bottom of the stairs, with your bloodied bandages that you had just switched out with new ones. In your hands

He didn’t miss the way the tears in your eyes welded up. He give you a small smile the exits the house,

“How much did you hear.”

You swallow hard, “Enough” you walk into the kitchen and shove the bandages in the trash. And once again you had disappeared up the stairs.

It has been three days since Dean had come. Bobby wasn't home, he hasn’t been home for a few days he was cleaning up a ghoul hunt in Ohio. You were left alone reading lore books. About monsters.

Your wound on your abdomen, still hurt like hell, you felt like it was keeping you from hunting and you hated it.

You were bought out of your thoughts when there was a frantic knock at the door, you carefully get up from your spot and make your way to the front door.

“Who is it” you say.

“Y/n? It’s Sam open the door.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Thats impossible you’re in hell.”

You hear a loud sigh coming from the door, you watch as the bottom lock jiggles and then the door opens, it opens up enough to see the tall hunter standing in the door way.

“Sam?”

He rolls his eyes and squeezes past you, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everybody.” He huffs closing the door behind him

“How.” You watch as the tall man makes his way through the house as if he was looking for someone? “Where’s Bobby?”

“Ghoul hunt.” You say watching him,

“Dean? Did he go with Bobby?”

You shake your head ‘no”

“I haven’t talked to him not really, not since-“

Sam nods at your words

“How did you-“ you point

Sam shrugs “I don’t know.” He chuckles. Sam stops and looks at you. “Give me your phone.” He says

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, reaching into your back pocket you fish out your phone, handing it to the tall man.

Sam smiles he clicks the screen a few times.

You sigh and walk past him, into the kitchen.

You listen as Sam mumbles a quick 'bye' into the phone.

Sam walks back to you handing you your phone, "Who'd you call?" You hum tucking your phone back into your pocket.

You had already knew the answer to that question. You didn’t even know why you asked.

Sam reaches beside you and opens the fridge, he reaches in and grabs two beers.

"Dean." He says handing you the bottle.

You don't say anything expect, you pop the top off and throw it into the sink. Sam sighs as he watches you knock back the beer in a few sips.

"Did something happen between you guys, when i called he thought it was you." Sam says.

You set the empty bottle down. "It did, but according to him, it didn't mean anything." You state. You take a shaky breath, "He left me, without saying goodbye Sam. I don't even know where he's been for the last three months."

Sam notices a tear slide down your cheek, "He's been playing house, with Lisa. Seems like when shit hits the fan he keeps going back to her."

"What?" Your voice was shaky. You don't remember anyone in Dean's life named Lisa. But then you rack through your brain.

"The dark-haired lady? With that kid named Ben?"

Sam nods.

You remembered them both, You three were working on a case when Dean had knocked at the door, and she had answered, it was her son's birthday.

"He was in love with her?" You question. Sam nods. "I guess he still is."

You sigh, you wondered if you were Dean's second option.

'I'm going to- take a nap." You say looking down at your watch.

Sam nods and rubs the small of your back,

Walking into the living room, you had grabbed a blanket that was. Draped over the back of an empty chair, you always liked sleeping on the cot Bobby had by the window, it was peaceful hearing the birds chirping, pulling the blanket up you quickly fall asleep.

it had felt like you were sleeping forever but that was until you felt someone shaking you.

Opening your eyes you see Sam, "Hey.” he says, “Bobby called, and told me you needed your bandages switched out."

You yawn and rub your eyes. Sam helps you sit up. You lift up your shirt with a wince.

He grabs the bandages that had been on Bobby's desk.

Sam pulls a chair up.

You had been hardly awake for that long when you heard the side door open. "Hey." Sam says not even looking in that direction, he had been placing the new bandages on you.

You knew who it was, you had been hoping. That he wouldn't had come tonight you didn't want to have to face him.

You watch and he walks in the room where you and Sam where, his eyes glued on you, he had a fresh beer in his hand.

Sam pats your leg motioning you pull down your shirt. "Thanks." You mumble. Sam smiles at you, he walks into the kitchen past Dean to wash his hands.

You pull the blanket back over your body.

Dean watches you stare out the window, it had remined him of that night- before he left.

He sits in the chair that Sam was just in. His beer resting between his legs. "Please go." You sniffle not wanting to look at him.

When Dean didn’t listen you turn to look at him, your breathing was harsh. You were mad.

The anger that you had built up for the past few months was just begging to come out.

“So Lisa huh?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth.

“Did you decide to go be with her before or after you fucked me!” You spat, throwing the blanket off your body you sit on the edge of the bed.

Your chest heaving up and down.

When Dean didn’t say anything you continue. “You left me Dean, you didn’t call you didn’t text, for all I could’ve know you could’ve died. But no you were playing house with some whore.” You spat

Dean licks his lips, “don’t talk about her like that.” He grumbles

You roll your eye, I’ll talk about her however I goddamn please.”

You and Dean stare at each other.

“Was it a mistake Dean?” You question.

Dean blinks a few times. He had forgotten you heard his and Bobby’s conversation.

Dean shakes his head, he had convinced himself it was a mistake the day he left you and went to Lisa.

But he knew deep down it wasn’t. If it was he wouldn’t have been the first one to kiss you.

“No, I thought about you everyday for three months when I left.” Dean was telling the truth weather or jot you decided to believe it or not.

He dreamed about you daily. He could still smell your perfume. He could hear you little moans. When he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

He didn’t know why he left he was scared.

Scared that maybe you would’ve regretted it too.

But it turns out, you were far from thinking that.

You scoff, “Bullshit.” You spat. “I was your second option Dean. You got your fix and left me. I’m nothing to you, and I never will be.”

Tears stream down your face, Wiping your hands doen your face you get up from your spot on the cot. “You Sam and Bobby don’t need me,” you say grabbing your jacket. You reach into on of the draws that Bobby have in the kitchen, it had sets of car keys in it.

You take a random one and walk out the door.

Dean chases after you.

“Y/n stop!” Dean shouts.

You had stopped in your tracks, you turn around to face Dean.

“I’m leaving Dean You can’t stop me.” You say.

You hit the car alarm on the key fob and one of the cars that were sitting in the lot begin to light up. Turning the alarm off you hop into the car.

Dean watches as you pull away in the car.

Something in the back of Dean’s mind told him to stop you. He wanted just to talk it over with you maybe. Just maybe it could have a different outcome.

It was just one big misunderstanding.

He watches as you pull out of the driveway.

Your car begins to move slowly. It was like you wanted to come back. But you kept driving.

Until. Another car coming from the opposite direction, came speeding down.

You tried to get out of the way but it was too late.

Dean watches as the car rams into yours with full speed.

“Y/n!” Dean shouts as he begins to run.

Dean ran, it felt like forever. When he reached the car you were in he sees your body hunched over. There was blood all over you face it was coming out of your ears and nose.

The wound on your stomach was open, there was so much blood, Dean had seen nothing like it.

This was not happening hew knew he should’ve stopped you. He should’ve stopped you.

He scoops your body up in his arms. He looks down at your face, your eyes begin to flutter open.

“I’m sorry-“ was all you say before it all went black.

“I’m gonna get you help sweetheart, you ain’t leaving me.” Dean says putting you in the back of the impala.

But Dean sees your eyes closed.

He was not going to let you die, not in his watch.

Fic tags: @emilyroxy @preciouscupcake @aylacavebear @suckitands33 @nescavaneck @rockstargal @star-yawnznn @constancelynn @deangirl96 @sacrosankta @tomorrowseverything @brightlilith

Thank you for all of the support!! Love you all!!!

[hwajin]

— nasty

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✦ :: hwang hyunjin | 4k follower event

genre: smut

pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

req

send me a request!

>> come over

Staring at the text, long after midnight, though you couldn't blame Hyunjin — it had been ages he had last seen you, had last lay hands on you, put his lips on your own. Far too long for your own liking too, if you were honest, though you carried far too much pride to admit to it, not in front of him.

<< i'm busy

>> i know youre not. please

Half an hour later you found yourself on your knees before him, having been pulled by his body, by the strings of his heart far too close-knitted for you to be at ease with it, for you to not grow giddy, anxious for the love he bore for you — it was more than you yourself could gift him, his whole too consumed within you, too deep into the illusion of you; though you would try to give him more than you were capable of, would love him harder than it was in your ability. For his sake, solely.

Hands on either of his thighs, head moving him up and down, slowly, dragging the feeling, making him into nothing but a puddle of neediness. It worked seemingly, audibly — softest whimpers filling your ears like sounds from heaven, the taste of his excitement like honey on your tongue, the sight before you one never bound to forget; lips parted, slick with your and his wetness, bitten and as red as the tip of his, disappearing into your mouth anew and anew. His hands lay by his sides, fingers drawing white with the intensity he dug them into the cushions of the sofa beneath him, head thrown back, or lulled to the side, brows a thick line, creasing in the middle. He was dishevelled, hair and himself a mess, under your mercy entirely.

Your hands accompanied your mouth, touching on every part your lips couldn't reach, Hyunjin's hips stuttering, jerking in response. Whine rolling off his tongue, frusrated and anticipating, wanting, needing. He locked gaze with you, dark eyes beneath darker lashes, hodded lids. Another whimper past him when you held the contact, when you kept eyes glued onto his, didn't back away.

"Missed you. S-so much."

Thrusting into you to accentuate statement, or simply because he had lost himself far too much to bare farther control over himself, over his body, and you hummed in response, sending vibrations, making shiver.

And three hours later, far past three o'clock, a time far too unreasonable to yet be awake, to yet find yourself at his place, in his bed his body was rocking with your own, your figure caught beneath his, his hands chasing stability against your hips, your waist, the thighs of you. Pounding into you tirelessly, though far too stimulated already, though bodies had seemingly reached limits, though neither of you seemingly minded it. Arching your back into his as he reached deeper, finding softest spot with ease, caressing and doting repeatedly, littering skin in kisses and bruises, filling room with sin, fuse the space between you in disguised love, in wishful thinking. A droplet or two of sweat rolling off Hyunjin's lips, finding your body, connecting with own exhaustion before finally you fell off the edge again, an amount uncountable by now, until Hyunjin followed in spasms and contractions, in high-pitched whimpers and deepest groans against your neck, colliding, tired.

And only hours later you would find yourself in his arms, in his bed, in his embrace, sound asleep, later scolding yourself for being swayed by his love anew though in his touch, in that moment it'd be all you need.

@tangylemonade @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @a-cute-french-fry @felixinameadowandthesuniswarm

[feitania]

𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

❥ the tokyo revengers characters reacting to the candy necklace trend from tiktok | not beta read

❥ suggestive content. minors dni, female coded reader in drakens part

❥ Kazutora, Hanma, Rindou, Draken

Kazutora

when you ask him if he wants to take a bite off the colorful choker he eagerly nods - since he saw you coming in with the candy piece he wanted to take a bite and saw it as an opportunity to get closer to you.

He's gentle when he leans in to nibble at two candy rings and tries to not break the string but when he feels the softness and warmth on his lips he blackouts for a second and plants an open mouthed kiss on your throat. Kazutora would totally overthink if this is okay for you at first but decides on his own that you must be fine when you react with a shiver. He tests the water and catches the candy with his tongue and licks over your skin, his hands come up to your neck to hold you in place while he bites a few more off. When he's done he lingers with his lips on your throat for a few seconds before looking up at you with flushed cheeks.

"We could do this again, you know - but without the necklace."

Hanma

Oh, he is a sneaky one. Hanma comes up behind you, presses your back against his chest and whispers into your ear if he coukd taste you. As soon as you give permission he dives right in, biting a mouth full of candy off the necklace and scratches your throat with his teeth. He lets the string snap back into place playfully and laughs when you seem to startle at the feeling.

"Wanna try one?"

Hanma turns you around and grins to show you a candy pearl between his teeth before he leans down to capture your mouth with his for a messy, french kiss.

Rindou

When he spots you at a party with the choker he immediately knows what you are planning on doing. Stops everything he's doing to catch you before you can interact with anyone.

"I hope you didn't plan to let anyone but me eat off this thing."

Rindou is possessive like that and is glued to your side for the rest of the evening. Everytime someone makes a comment about the necklace he scoots closer and licks a stripe over the candy while holding eyecontact with the other person. Rindou kisses and bites your neck the whole night, barely eating the necklace but leaving hickeys all over you. At one point the chocker melts and gets stickey which he uses as an excuse to corner you and start sucking on your skin, licking a trail down to your cleavage. Rindou's hands find their way under your shirt and pinch your nipples with a low moan. Save to say you two don't come back until hours later.

Draken

He thinks it's a little childish at first and mostly laughs at you when you ask him to try but when he sees others come this close to you, having their lips near your sensitive neck he kinda sees the appeal.

Draken pulls the string up with one finger to catch three pieces of candy and bites them clean off. Loves how you react to it and throughout the day always comes back for more. It riles him up and he can't stop thinking about eating the candy off and hearing you sigh or take a strained breath when he sucks roughly on the choker.

"Did you know you can buy candy underwear too?"

Eating the candy off of you did something to him. He is constantly on your neck to taste the leftover sweetness or play with the last few candy rings. In his mind he's already playing with them while he eats you out and swirls then over your clit.

[writersblockedx]

Criminals and Crows

Pairing - Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader Summary - For the Crow's next job, they're in need of a pirate; Kaz tracks down you. But despite being the man to hire you, he's having a hard time trusting you. Warnings - mentions of violence, alcohol, sickness, I have no idea how ships work but I did my best at writing it. Words - 3.1K

Masterlist

There weren't many people Kaz Brekker trusted. In fact, when he thought on it, there was about zero people in which he trusted. Everyone he strung into his heists were a risk. He just made logical, pragmatic decisions on choosing who posed least threat. For awhile, that had consisted of Jesper and Inej. But with their newest heist, they were going to need a little more manpower than just the trio. More importantly, they were going to need a ship and a captain. In short, Kaz was going to need a pirate.

Through searching all of Ketterdamn, he located the least risk. Though, still a great risk: You.

Living in Ketterdamn meant you knew all about Kaz Brekker. And quite honestly, the stories told of him made sure you stayed away from his schemes and his need to fill his pockets with kruge. But he certainly knew how to make a deal.

"200 kruge." He had offered.

You looked at him through narrow eyes. In the midst of the Crow Club (something you too had consciously steered away from), you sat across from the man. The black sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his brows menacing as he slicked his hair back from his face. He was leaning as far back in his chair as he could, not making a move other than his lips. But you moved forward. Your elbows hit the woods of the table which was situated between the two of you. "You've told me nothing. I can't agree to anything yet." You scoffed at the way the man was playing this.

His eyes gave a glare but you doubted he didn't ever drop such glare. "You'll get more information when I know you're on board with this." He planned.

"I don't even know how far I'm taking you."

"As far as 200 kruge is worth." He said before standing abruptly, taking his cane back into his hold. But he didn't turn. Not right away. His glare burned down onto you as you stared up at him, trying to work out the thoughts which were stringing together in his mind. "I need an answer by dawn." With that, he left.

You stayed glued to that table in the Crow Club for the remainder of the night. Nursing a pint of ale, running through what was to gain by working with Kaz Brekker. And honestly, the decision to turn up the next day had come from a feeling of curiosity rather than searching for the need for another job. You had enough contenders when it came looking for kruge - but this was drowning in enigma, reeling you in like a fish a hook and you couldn't seem to resist.

Within six hours, as dawn hit and the sun danced in the sky once again, the Crow Club was nowhere near as busy. In fact, it was empty. Well, apart from the three figures that were crowded around a small table, papers littered between them. For a moment, you watched from afar, wondering if you might be able to catch word of their schemes. But you had failed. It didn't take long, just a footstep too loud for Inej to snap around. Her eyes gazed over you, narrow just like the way you looked to Kaz the night before; trying to figure you out.

Her head lifted as the two boys turned their heads to look at her. No one said anything at first but the air seemed filled with unspoken words. Then Kaz dragged himself up to his feet, "You came." He observed.

You didn't reply straight away. Instead, you took the next step down, continuing your walk across to where the trio were crowded. And you didn't say anything until your feet stopped, right in front of them. "A job's a job," You paused, jolting your gaze to Inej and Jesper. "Right?"

Kaz was watching you with careful eyes like he was watching a predator; one of which was unpredictable. And when you wandered around the table, passing Inej and Jesper, he didn't stop you. Your eyes danced between the papers, head tilted as you attempted to connect the dots in front of you. No one stopped you. So you reached your hand out, grasping one of them which provided you with the most information. "Erm," Called Jesper as he watched you. "Is she allowed to look at them?" He gazed back at his boss who gave no indication of not, so you continued.

You found yourself picking up a map with a red circle drawn around a certain town, "Caryeva?" You read the town out. And then you looked up, meeting directly with the eyes of Kaz Brekker. "That's where you want to go. Why?"

"It doesn't matter why, your job is to get us there." The man argued.

A huff fell from your lips as you dropped the paper back to the table, "You said I'd get more information when I was on board with this." You recalled.

Kaz gestured his hand to the paper you had just dropped, "That was your information." He said. "And from what I've heard, you don't quite possess much of a moral standing so I doubt it would matter if we told you our intentions or not." He went on - something of which you couldn't argue against. So, instead, you kept quiet. He took a step forward, facing you between the table with Inej and Jesper still lazily sat, looking up at the two like a fight was about to break out. Kaz reached for his pocket, pulling out a sachel. A heavy sachel which clanked against the wood of the table when it dropped. "That's 100. You'll get the rest when the job is done and you're still alive."

You didn't need to say anything; your glare did it all. But Kaz turned his back with that, walking away as you watched. And for a long moment, you stood there, gazing between the sachel and the empty space where Kaz had been standing. Both Inej and Jesper were awaiting what decision you made. They didn't quite care if they were honest. They needed a captain (and the ship that came with them), but that didn't exactly mean they needed you. But alas, your hand reached out, taking the kruger and leaving the Crow Club to await further instructions.

Kaz had planned to leave that night; dark and cloudy where their dark shadows couldn't be caught heading towards the docks where you were waiting. And their friendly welcome was no different. They each wore straight lines for smiles and held their hands like they were shaking to reach for a weapon.

"We all ready?" Kaz asked as he came right to the ship where you lingered in front of.

You glanced to Jesper and Inej who were holding boxes of Saints knows what, "All ready for Caryeva. For whatever it is you need to do that you won't tell me." It was a jab that hadn't all that much bothered any of them. They would much rather keep quiet than risk having their plans leaked by a captain who couldn't keep their mouths shut. But you took a step to the side, gesturing your hand for them to step on. "All aboard." You said through a dull tone as Kaz stepped on first, his cane hitting the wood of the ship with a thud. Inej followed and then Jesper who provided a salute - the only significant sign of a welcome you had gathered so far.

The trio were very much not used to ships, to sea, to the rocking and turning. When you got onto the boat yourself, you found that a glimpse of the trio was comparable to a bunny on a battle field. This wasn't their territory and it was so very obvious. "Sleeping quarters are down there," You pointed to the left where a hatch in the floor led to the rooms underground. "Front of the ship, Captain's quarters, my quarters, are here." With that, you gestured to the front of the boat where a door led to the wheel of the ship, the driver, the navigator, the captain.

The ship wasn't a huge one that was certain, but it would get this job done. Whatever that job was of course. They dropped their boxes and you unhooked the ropes which kept the ship tied to the dock. You weren't brought away from such task until a voice spoke up, "And where exactly would one be able to find the liquor on this ship?" You turned, finding Jesper wandering a few steps towards you, eyes bright and hungry for the drink he seemed in need of. "That is, assuming there is any, of course."

You looked down over at the man, the rope hanging from your grip, "That would be in the captain's quarter." You informed.

"Jesper," Came another voice, almost like a warning. "Aren't you going to be a bit busy?" Inej was pointing to the box the boy had just dropped. There was a glint in her eye, irritated in a sense, matching the warning which had littered her tone.

But Jesper didn't seem all that bothered by the girl's words. In fact, he shrugged, already walking towards the captain's quarters. "We've got time." He concluded. "Have one drink with me, please!"

Inej sighed, dropped her box, joining the boy as they slipped into the captain's quarters. Like that, your focus was drawn back to the ropes, unhooking them all before returning to the main deck where Kaz was already watching you. "Is that okay?" He asked.

You looked to him, brow raised, "What?"

His head nodded to the room across from you, where Jesper and Inej had just entered. "Jesper and Inej." He answered.

"Oh, yeah, fine." A smile graced your lips as to offer more assurance in that. "Might loosen their lips a little, find out what you crows are up to." It was a joke but Kaz wasn't laughing. However, your words had seemed to break that stern expression which seemed stuck to his face.

"Well, I guess I won't be drinking your pirate liquor then." He said; his voice so low it had almost been a whisper, his breath brushing against your skin.

And you returned the favour as you spoke in the same whisper, "You don't know what you're missing out on." Your smile twisted into a smirk. One which clung to playfulness and bathed in mischief. And Kaz seemed utterly entranced by such, his gaze seeming to lock onto your eyes like he was holding onto your hand as he hung over a cliff.

You started walking back, going to join the two crows in the captain's quarters. Your head flipped back around when you came to note Kaz wasn't trailing behind. "You're not gonna stay out here by yourself, are you?" With one brow raised, it seemed to convince him.

The room was centred around the wheel which looked out the front of the ship. Maps were scattered everywhere, on counters which lined the walls and the main map table which was situated behind the steering wheel. The room was lit by one hanging light which was known to swing dependent on the steadiness of the tide. And as Jesper had so effortlessly got his fingers on: the liquor cabinet. Filled with fine wines and ales you had collected over your years of travelling. All of which was now being poured into the cup of a crow.

Jesper fell into the Captain's chair, swinging his legs up onto the map table as if he were at home. A sigh left his lips, "You know, maybe sea travel isn't all that bad." He observed, letting his eyes flutter close.

"That's because we haven't started moving yet." You explained, shoving his legs from the table with a gentle push while making your way behind the wheel. "Hope none of you get sea sick." And with that, you manoeuvred the boat as well as possible for a captain with no crew.

Inej took a seat across from Jesper. And, unlike he, she didn't swing her legs on top of the map table like it were a footrest. "Yeah, I don't really think drinking is gonna help with the sea sickness." She critiqued.

Jesper shrugged, the cup hovering right by his lips. "The consequences of my own actions." Like that, like it was such a spilt second matter, he took a long hard swig of the liquor. It seemed everyone but Jesper could see how this was going to end.

An hour or so had passed and you swore the boy was turning green. But he pushed through his facade, trying to keep it up until he physically couldn't. His body was swaying against the tide and he hadn't dared take any more drink from the cup. When he went to stand, it was abrupt and because of such, he had so easily almost fallen flat on his face "Woah!" He sung as Inej's hands trapped onto his shoulder in an attempt to keep him steady.

"I told you." The girl seethed, forced to keep him upright. Then she turned to you, "Where's the sleeping quarters?"

You nodded from behind the wheel, "Across the main deck, down on the bottom." And like that, the two were whisked away, leaving Kaz and yourself to your devices.

It was suddenly deathly silent. The sound of Jesper uneasy groans that once echoed the room were now absent. Instead, it was the silent tension that resided between the two of you. You had caught a glance of the man, watching as he ached over the papers in front of him. You couldn't work out if the boy was stressed or if this was his natural position. To combat the silence, you gambled your safety in speaking up, "You okay?" Surely that could do no harm.

Oh, how wrong you had been.

A huff fell from his lips as he shot the paper from his hands, "Because of Jesper's choice to get black-out drunk, it's left me to do what he was meant to." He explained, irritation dripping from his tongue.

You watched him through narrowed eyes. Just like the first time; trying to figure him out. And when you gambled your safety more, you dared to draw closer to him. "I could always help." You offered as his eyes finally fell to your figure. "Unless, of course, you don't trust me for anything other than getting you there and back."

A long moment passed. One in which you could tell Kaz was weighing up his options, working out whether this was a safe option. When the moment passed, he shoved a small wooden box across to you. "We need at least five grenades."

You tried your best to not look shocked, but you had failed in doing such. "Grenades?" You reiterated, peeking inside the box which was waiting in front of you.

Kaz looked to you, a glint in his eyes that you couldn't quite work out. "Who did you think you were working with?" Suppose he made a good point.

You glanced back at the box. Then you took one glimpse of Kaz, still bent over those papers and this planning which needed perfecting by the time they made it to the docks. With that, your hand reached in, taking the parts of the weapon which need constructing. Without a word, you did it, moulding the parts together to create some deathly weapon you had no idea were being used for. After the second one was finished, your curiosity was killing you. You checked Kaz first, checking it was safe to push this very distinct line he had drawn. But you decided to push to it. "What are the grenades for?"

He stopped. His whole body seemed to pause before he gazed over at you. "What are they usually used for?" There was still a snap in his tone but you assumed it was rare it ever left the tip of his tongue. But you took that as your answer and dipped your head back to the task at hand. Kaz had watched you. And when you came back with no quipped reply, he knew he should probably say something. And as a long moment passed and you started to accept that Kaz Brekker's friendship was not something you were about to gain, he broke the silence. "They're gonna be a distraction." He informed.

You looked up, finding his eyes already trailing you. With one brow quirked, you said, "So you're not killing people then?" You queried.

Kaz's head shook, "No. Though, I can't promise that Inej won't stab someone in the wrong place."

You dropped the equipment back in the box, letting your palms grip against the table as you stared over at the man. "And who are you distracting?" By the change in his expression, it looked as if he were hesitant. "Look, I've come this far, you may as well tell me. Even if I wanted to betray your stupid plan, three against one? I'm not that stupid."

Those words seemed to prompt something. Kaz stood from his chair, wandering around the table until he came only inches from you. "Someone stole from me." He finally informed.

"And you're going after them?" You questioned. "What'd they steal? A few knives? Some ale?"

"Doesn't matter what they stole." He told you. "You have to make an example of people."

Your head tilted, finding that this was the closest to the man you had ever been. And for some reason, that fact had erupted a swirling feeling in the pit of your stomach. Ever so close that if something were to-

The tide shifted the ship. Just a wave. But a wave which was hard enough to shift your feet as you tumbled forward. In a moment, Kaz had a hand around you and you had a hand steady on his chest. The wave passed and you steadied yourself. But neither of you dropped your touch. Instead, your eyes slowly dragged to meet his gaze which was already situated on you. And like something was washing over you, a gut instinct, you leaned in. You leaned right into his lips as they met. Such a sweet, soft kiss which had seemed to encompass the tension which had only been building since you first laid eyes on Kaz Brekker.

[wordbreaker]

Strings ✷ Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Description: If there is one person that can piss Eddie Munson off, it’s the new neighbour… or the three times Eddie Munson ends up angry and how it stopped. 

( SILÉAS says ... ! ) I wrote this last year when season 4 came out. It's not a masterpiece⏤I don't even write for ST anymore⏤but it's fun and I wanted to share it with you.

THE FIRST TIME Eddie wants to kill his new neighbour, it’s a Wednesday night and it's long past midnight. He knows she's the one making all that noise because it's not like Max Mayfield to blast her music for the whole neighbourhood to hear. The little redhead is far too glued to her walkman for that.

So there's only one other option he can think of.

A new trailer had been sold a week before, the one right in front his. If Eddie hadn't seen anything interesting in this event, he had no idea that the removal of the "for sale" sign would be the beginning of Hell.

He doesn't know what she looks like, the new neighbour, he just knows that she has an annoying tendency to think she's alone. 

In itself, she's not doing anything wrong, and he should even be happy that she's blasting AC/DC and not some shitty music at this hour. However, he has a D&D campaign to prepare for the club’s meeting next week, so he has no time to waste. The shorties—by which he means Sinclair multiplied by two, Henderson and Wheeler—have been bugging him to create a new one since the memorable end of the previous one. 

D&D is serious (at least for him), and Eddie won't be able to concentrate if he has to listen to that damn guitar one more minute. 

The last straw is the Highway to Hell solo.

While another neighbour shouts a totally useless "stop this shit!", Eddie opens his door with a bang—surely waking up Uncle Wayne in the process, or not because he too has to put up with this nightly concert—which slams brutally against the wall of the grey trailer.

From his doorstep he cannot see any light filtering through the curtains of the one opposite, but he does not trust this image: the neighbour is there and more awake than ever as Back in Black begins along its famous chords.

Three big steps to the trailer, three big breaths to calm down and three big knocks to call the neighbour. 

Not even a second later, the door opens and gives way to her, the one he is meeting for the first time. 

"Yeah?" 

His words fade into his throat before he can utter them, the sight before him leaving him speechless. A cigarette in her mouth, barely hanging on, she looks at him with a blasé look, probably in a hurry to get back to her business.

Wisps of smoke form their hazy arabesques and intoxicate him, or perhaps it is the creature that has just appeared in front of him. To be honest, he doesn't know if he's dreaming or if it's reality, but the woman watching him seems to have come straight from his imagination. 

Tattoos blacken and decorate her skin in a constellation of ink that he wants to admire but can’t—maybe he does sneak a peek—because they're hidden by a big Iron Maiden shirt that falls over bare legs. He swallows. 

Why is he here again? 

That's exactly the question the neighbour asks him. Her voice is low and hoarse, damaged by tobacco and probably other substances. It seems to have collected dirt, sown by something called Life. In any case, the neighbour seems to have seen and done some shit. 

Eddie tries to answer. However, he can't take his eyes off the guitar hanging around her neck. It's simple, black but decorated with a few stickers that remind him of its owner's tattoos, and it's beautiful. Here's another point in common. Less so than his sweetheart, obviously, but it is metal, her guitar, almost as much as the one who holds it. 

So, she was the one playing. 

"Could you turn down your amp? I'm trying to get my campaign ready for my D&D club."

She scoffs, before muttering a "nerd" that he hears perfectly well despite the lowered tone. He thinks she did it on purpose. He doesn't really care. The word isn't said as aggressively as when Jason does it. It even sounds affectionate in her nicotined mouth (which he wants to taste but that's a detail for later, preferably tonight, late at night, and alone). 

"Don't worry, I'll turn it down." 

And without a goodbye, she slams the door, leaving him speechless from this encounter and perhaps, the mere sight of her. That night she keeps her word and Eddie can finish his campaign in silence. 

THE SECOND TIME Eddie wants to kill his neighbour is when he is himself strumming his guitar one night to try to master the recently released Master of Puppets. The chords frustrate him because he can't string them together smoothly.

If that's the beauty of the art —the failure, the determination, the practice and ultimately the success—it's fucking annoying as of right now. And on top of that, he has to deal with his neighbour's solos, which are much better than his own. It's humiliating, and it doesn't help him to concentrate.

He lets out yet another grunt, a clear sign of his irritation, when at the other end of the path he hears Master of Puppets performed to perfection. She got to be kidding him. She must’ve perfect pitch, he thinks. Nobody can learn a song that fast, especially one like that.

She's beautiful, she's charismatic and she's a better guitarist than he is. It's him, only better, and just thinking about this makes him start to hate her as a string threatens to break under the pressure of his bloody fingers.

Or maybe it's not annoyance but rather misplaced frustration at his ineptitude to dare to ask her out. 

"Nice solo!" he hears from his open window. 

He thinks he's dreaming, but no, when he looks up, there she is, on the other side of the road, her guitar in her hand.

Tonight, she smiles and even waves at him. It's a nice change from last time. Her face lights up and becomes more beautiful. No cigarette between her lips either, although there is smoke coming out of the window all the same. It is far too thick to be from any Marlboro. The smell reaches him—Hawkins has been trapped by the wind for several days—and gives him the answer to the question he dares not ask.

It's weed.

An unhealthy jealousy takes hold of his body. He wasn’t the one who sold it to her. 

His thoughts wander and he imagines himself smoking with her, both of them lying in her room, a metal vinyl ripping through the restful silence. His hand would caress her soft thighs, while she would play two or three chords and they would kiss two or three times. 

"You've got good taste, Munson!"

She knows his name. He doesn't. That's enough to snap him out of his stupor. 

"Thank you..!" he yells and waits. 

"Y/N!"

Strangely enough, he doesn't care that she makes noise if it means she answers him.

It's a nice name, almost too much so when it's said in such a broken voice. But at the same time, it makes the sound addictive.

Eddie wonders what his name would sound like in her mouth, when she's underneath him, and his mouth ventures down her throat, her stomach and even lower...

Stop. She may be beautiful and talented, but she's still fucking annoying. 

"I'm not bothering you, am I?"

He should say yes, because of course she's bothering him with her chords flowing perfectly while his are jerky, but with those big eyes looking at him, how could he say anything but no? 

"No, don't worry. I think you could teach me a few things, even.”

"I heard you, though, Munson. You’re good with your fingers." 

He nearly chokes as a sudden wave of heat travels down his spine and goes straight to his lower abdomen. It’s an innuendo; it has to be. And yet, the girl's expression remains innocent, almost too much so in his opinion, but he's not thinking straight. 

Fuck, he really needs to stop with the neighbour. Besides, it's a cliché, "the neighbour". It sounds like the pitch for some cheesy movie Harrington sells in his crappy shop, and Eddie's never been one for cheesy romances. 

THE THIRD TIME Eddie is frustrated with the new neighbour is when she turns her amp up to max and plays another Metallica solo.

Immediately, Eddie is on his way, as he was that first night, to knock on her door.

He's exhausted.

The teachers are giving him a hard time about a diploma he won't get, Jason's critics have multiplied in the cafeteria, and above all, Henderson won’t stop making fun of him and his embarrassment when he talks about the neighbour.

According to the boy, he has a crush on her. This is ridiculous, and it pisses him off. No matter where he goes, even to the high school where she doesn't go and therefore where no one is supposed to know her, he can't escape her.

Everything brings him back to her. 

So, this guitar solo is too much. He drums more than he knocks on the door, shaking the flimsy walls of the trailer. Immediately the music stops, and she appears in front of him. She has a joint in the corner of her mouth. The smell intoxicates him—or is it her fruity perfume?—but he maintains his stance. He won't let it happen this time. He's determined to tell her what he's thinking. 

“It took you long enough.”

She takes him by the hand and pulls him inside. The decoration is basic, it's the posters of different bands that make her personality shine. It's much neater than his house, though, he must admit. 

“You? Huh? What?” he stammers.

“I've been trying to get your attention for days, Munson. Days. My fingers are bleeding because you don't have the balls to come here. Seriously, you couldn't have put me out of my misery sooner? I mean... better late than never, but... Fuck.”

Eddie doesn't understand. It must show on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes are wide, his mouth is half-open, and his arms are flailing. Everything about him is in disbelief. Y/N sees it perfectly and sighs, exhaling smoke with it. Tangible frustration. She massages the bridge of her nose, as if this gesture will give her the courage to put up with him and his inability to think. 

“I like you, Munson. I thought that was obvious.”

The neighbour, she pisses him off. She's beautiful, she's more metal than he is, she's a better guitar player than he could ever dream of being, and now she's even got more balls than him. That's the last straw.

“Oh no! No! No! No! I was supposed to say that! Fuck! It's bad enough that you've mastered Master of Puppets while I'm still struggling and now you're the one taking the reins and deciding that you have a crush on me. Hell no! I'm the one- humph!"

She seals their lips, kisses him, and that brief but obvious moment makes his heart beat a thousand miles an hour. Eddie thinks it's more to tell him to shut the fuck up than anything else but he indulges in the moment.

As she bites his bottom lip and leaves the taste of weed behind, he allows himself to tighten his embrace, his hands closing over her, touching the grain of her skin from the small of her back to her neck. Her lips are much sweeter than he thought they would be.

“Can you please shut up, Munson?” she finally says, exasperated. At least that's what she's trying to sound like, but she's far too cute as it is. Her hair is tousled, her lips swollen, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks warm to the touch. He can't help it: he steals another kiss from her, which she promptly returns. 

“Does this mean you're going to stop playing at three in the morning to piss me off?”

“We could play together? After you explain the rules of D&D to me,” she offers.

His heart misses a beat, and he smiles. 

That's the last time he's angry with the neighbour. 

[colibrie]

Meetings-Resonance, part I

As always, credit to @trilobitepunch for the phenomenal art!

Numb.

He was numb.

Leo vaguely remembered the first time he’d felt the numbness as a child. He had blurred memories of waking up crammed inside dingy cargo holds with his father and Mikey, his aching skull and freezing limbs a million miles away. The weight of his body had been an absent fact that buzzed at the edges of his consciousness but held no real meaning or importance. He had been somewhere else, somewhere quiet, and cold, where his thoughts dissolved into mist. The edges and limits of the world blurred in that place, sounds, smells, and touches inconsequential and ephemeral. He went where he was lead, stayed where he was put, a puppet on a pull string.

Splinter had been the one to explain it to him when he woke days later in an unfamiliar place, wrapped in a tattered blanket with Mikey glued to his side. A shattered sadness had sat heavy in his masters’ fathers’ eyes and voice as one paw had stroked Leo’s head, whispering how the temple had fallen, how only the three of them had escaped, how he had been hurt but everything would be okay so long as he rested. He cried for hours after that, matting his fathers’ fur as he clung to the older rat, wailing for his big brother and his twin. When the sobs had died down, he’d clumsily tried to ask about the numbness, only to be met with a shake of his father’s head.

“It will pass, Leonardo. Just give it time, and it will fade.”

It hadn’t. The numbness never went away. It became part of his life, a constant hollow that lived in his chest, nestled close to his heart. Some days the hollow was tiny, a barely noticeable shadow as he went about the day. But sometimes it would grow, a black hole in his core that would swallow him for hours, or even days at a time. It was uncomfortable, but not debilitating if he didn’t fight it. He’d learned quickly to never fight numbness. Instead, he’d learned to work around it, to move through watercolor worlds and smile brightly even when he couldn’t feel his lips. He’d taught himself how to return Mikey’s hugs and nod along to Splinters ramblings, to meter out just the right amount of jokes to keep the difficulty of speaking from becoming too obvious. He’d learned to cope, to be strong, to push through and carry on.

And yet here he stood, frozen and empty as the glare of a specter stripped him down.

“I never thought I’d see the day that silver tongue went silent, Leonardo,” Donnie noitsnothimitsnotpossible spat, venom dripping from every syllable.

Something slammed against the edges of the hollow inside of him, striking from all directions as the saber’s blade whyisitrednotredredwasraphscolor hissed through the air, crossing Donnie’s lithe body a gesture that was somehow both threatening and defensive all at once. The dark material of his armor swallowed the light, the helmet casting harsh shadows across the upper half of the specter’s face. They highlighted the burning eyes that dug into Leo, slamming against the numbness with the ferocity of a feral animal.

“Then again, you always ignored things that didn’t benefit you.”

ButnotyouneveryouIneverwould

Yournothimyoucan’tbehim…

But…the way his mouth twisted to one side to show a flash of teeth…Donnie had always done that when he was feeling frustrated or angry by something. The way his fingers clenched rhythmically around the handle of his saber…Donnie would do that when things got loud and stressful, usually while holding Leo’s hand under the cover of their robes.

Something new spiked inside of him, separate from the foreign presence still battering away at the edges of the hollow. This time the pressure was from within the black hole, a spear that gouged and surged through the numbness, expanding like a ballon until his lungs could barely pull in air. The misty silence that usually shrouded his thoughts dissolved under the frantic rush of blood through his ears as details flew at him from every direction.

The way Donnie stood; shoulders hunched forward. The creche master’s had always yelled at him to stand up straight.

It's not him.

The way Donnie spoke, words precisely and scathingly sharp, ready to cut at a moment’s notice.

It can’t be him.

The subtle details in Donnie’s expression. One’s that said he was hurt, no matter if he pretended otherwise.

Because the last time I saw him, he...

The balloon burst, obliterating the numbness, and the world along with it. The darkness that invaded his dreams draped the world in somber black, leaving only the two of them.

Or rather, the four of them.

Because over the shoulder of the armored Donnie was another. A child in torn and stained temple robes, looking over his shoulder at Leo with tear-stained cheeks and terrified eyes. He could just make out another figure to his side, just within his peripheral. A child with familiar red crescent markings on his scraped and bruised face, dressed in equally ruined robes.

The shadows slithered, twisting as they gathered to loom over both Donnie’s, bearing down in silent, deadly, threat. Donnie, both little and armored, opened his mouth in soundless screams, one of fear one of anger, as the shadows began to pounce. Something twisted inside Leo as the child next to him screamed too and threw out his arm, something that writhed and pulsed and squirmed to be set free. Something that…

The world went white as agony rushed filled the space left by the balloon, forcing his eyes to close, lest they implode with shift in pressure. Hands previously frozen as his sides flew to his head, fingers branding bruises into the soft skin of his scalp and palms clamping down at the temples to stop the seams of his skull from blowing apart.

This was the price of fighting the hollow. The price for not letting numbness have its way. Red hot knives and fridged ice picks slamming over and over into his brain. Broken glass that pierced and shredded muscles, sinew, and soul alike, painting his mouth with phantom flavors of despair and blood.

“There you are…”

“Leo?! What’s wrong?”

The words burned, and he flinched away, curling into himself as the pain gleefully dug into his sanity another inch.

“Leo!”

Voices overlapped over his name. Small voices, young voices, fearful and calling for him. For his help. But the pain had him tight between its teeth, and there was nothing he could do. No way to escape. No where he could turn…

“Come on LeeLee, talk to me man!”

LeeLee…?

Orange, brilliant and bold and fierce as the sun. Orange, loyal and warm and comforting, pressed to his side when the darkness swallowed him whole, no matter how deeply. Orange, loving and safe and…

“Mike-“

“NO!”

[swimming-in-secrets]

first time sharing a fic here! i hope it's enjoyable for you all. i'm still looking for my "voice" when it comes to writing kink fics, but i hope it's alright 🐢

fic contains: emetophilia, descriptions of nausea and vomit, assisted vomiting.

while this fic doesn't contain any spicy content, i am still an 18+ blog so please respect me and don't interact with this post if you are under 18, thank you!

Quite the way to meet a Mermaid

The waves swung the boat from side to side. Marilise leaned herself against the boat’s side, mouth hanging open as she stared into the sparkling water.

Side to side. Left to right and left again.

She took a deep breath. The nausea grew stronger. Marilise brushed her hair back, leaned more over the edge and waited for the vomit to rush out of her throat. She waited and waited, stomach churning and cramping, but the only thing that came up was a string of saliva. Eyes watering she leaned back away from the boat’s edge and laid down on the boat’s floor, hand resting on her stomach.

“Oh, how I hate this”, she complained to the nothingness around her, “I’ll never get out of here.”

Underneath the boat, a mermaid listened to her words carefully. She had been watching the woman for a long time; she had appeared on her territory three hours ago, lost the oars an hour ago and now struggled with what the mermaid had understood to be some sort of sickness. The way she kept coughing in the waters desperately waiting for something was both mesmerizing and concerning. How was the human going to find any land if she couldn't even get rid of the sickness bothering her so badly? She had to help her. Usually she wouldn't have minded waiting for the human to starve to death, it was an easy meal after all, but something about the woman’s beauty kept her away from wanting to wish any deadly harm. She looked like the sea itself: her eyes were large, bright blue as the sea, hair red as coral and skin pale as a seashell.

Slowly, she swam to the surface, peeking out of the water quietly into the boat. Marilise groaned on the boat’s floor, her stomach bubbling underneath her hand. She really needed to vomit, this time for sure. Slowly, she sat back up and leaned towards the waters, mouth hanging open, hoping for the nausea to finally be over.

Instead of the sea, the first thing she saw was a pair of dark green eyes staring right back at her. She blinked. The eyes blinked back.

Marilise jolted back with a loud yell. The boat swung violently from the force of her fall, and almost tipped over. Gray hands grabbed the boat’s edge just in time to prevent that, lifting the mermaid up from the water to force the boat to balance. Marilise yelled out again, her stomach twisting and turning with the movement. Once the boat stopped moving, she finally looked at her visitor again. Her visitor stared back at her, sharp teeth showing through the wide smile.

“Hello”, she said with a thick accent, leaning closer towards Marilise. Marilise gulped loudly, eyes glued on the new person. She flopped inside the boat, scaly tail sparkling in hues of green and blue. Marilise’s eyes widened: her visitor was a mermaid.

“I said hello”, the mermaid spoke again, “do you understand me?”

Before Marilise could give an answer, she suddenly lurched to the side, gagging loudly. She gathered all of her hair in her hands and heaved. She heaved again. Nothing came up.

“Oh, you can't be serious!” she yelled. The mermaid moved closer.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have felt sick for hours and just can't throw up. I need to throw up. I can't focus on getting out of here like this”, Marilise answered, frustration filling her voice.

“I’d do anything to just puke!”

The mermaid tilted her head. The human really was desperate. She looked angry and sickly and didn't even care that she was in the boat anymore. Last time she had visited a human like this she had been almost shot to death. What a kind human this one must be, already accepted her as a friend.

“Is there anything I could do to help?” she asked, eager to help her new friend with the clearly difficult problem. Marilise gagged over the water again.

“Actually, yes”, she said, “stick a finger in my throat.”

It was a weird request. The mermaid blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“I said, stick a finger in my throat. Or better, two. Wiggle them around. In fact, do anything in your power to make me puke, right now I couldn't care less what you do!”

She moved closer to Marilise, watching as she stared at the water with saliva dripping down her tongue. She heaved again. How beautiful she was like that, so vulnerable and weak - it would take one little push to force her in the water, pull her down and drown her. Yet, she wrapped her arm around Marilise’s chest and moved her other hand close to her mouth. The cold, slimy skin made Marilise shiver. It was disgusting - but she said she would do anything to throw up, and if that something required her to be this close to something so wet, she would take it.

“I’m going in”, the mermaid whispered in her ear. She slid two fingers inside her throat. Her mouth was warm, soft and compared to her own, fairly small. She wiggled the fingers around and Marilise gagged loudly, almost forcing the fingers out. But the mermaid stayed stubborn and kept the fingers in.

Marilise gagged for the second time, then the third time. Then she finally vomited.

A mixture of rich drinks, fresh fruit and expensive seafood coated the mermaid’s fingers as the puke rushed out of her throat. She pulled her fingers back and moved her other hand on Marilise’s stomach, feeling it contract under her touch. She moaned in pain, another wave of puke pushing out of her, splashing in the waters below. She gasped for air, gagged twice and vomited again, now even more violently. The mermaid had to press on her stomach to hold her still, forcing out more vomit.

“Oh, oh gods”, Marilise gasped in between waves of vomit, acid burning her throat. The mermaid had started to whisper words to her, gathering her hair to allow Marilise to take support from the boat’s side. She took a hold of the painted wood and leaned more closer to the water, food and drinks pouring out of her.

The session lasted only for a few minutes despite feeling like hours. Marilise coughed. She had finally gotten herself empty and the nausea was slowly fading away.

“Oh, that was terrible”, she groaned, spitting in the water.

“But I needed that. I needed that so much.”

“Are you feeling better, my friend?”

Marilise turned her head to look at the mermaid smiling next to her. She even looked proud of herself for having helped her out.

“Yes, I am”, she ended up answering, “who are you? Why are you on my boat?”

She slapped her tail against the boat's floor, smile brightening up.

“Call me Aquene! I’ve been watching you for a long time.”

“That’s a little creepy”, Marilise answered. Aquene giggled.

“Not at all! I came here to help you. I can help you more, too.”

Marilise eyed Aquene up and down. She had long, dark green hair and slightly muscular arms.

“Unless you know any good land close by, I don’t think you’ll be much help”, Marilise answered, now straightening her back. It was an extremely embarrassing situation to be in, and honestly, she would've rather been alone with her pain.

“I do know land!” Aquene said cheerfully. Marilise took her earlier thoughs back: she was now very, very happy that Aquene had happened to creepily stalk her and jump on her boat.

“Any chance you could bring me there?” she asked. Aquene’s eyes brightened up.

“Yes!”

She jumped back in the water and swam behind the boat.

“Hold on, this will be a long journey.”

“Wait, how long? It won't take hours, right? I’d rather not get seasick again.”

“Just sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

Without waiting for an answer, Aquene pushed the boat forwards. Marilise sat down, taking in a deep breath. What a situation the had gotten herself into, no-one would ever believe her if she told it to anyone.

Honestly, it was much better than what she had before getting lost at the sea. And a little longer boat ride couldn't be that bad, right?

[yanverse]

Physically I am just chilling in bed, but in my mind I am peppering Kaito’s face with little kisses while holding his face in my hands. He is my little meow meow.

"Meow, meow!" You paw at the arm in your lap, the pink-haired boy it's attached to having been snuggled up beside you on the couch for a good while now.

Your neighbors probably think there's a few especially noisy cats living here. But they'd be wrong, because the only animals living in this apartment are you, and-

"Mrrow?" A crisp, perfect purr rumbles from Kaito's throat, his eyes still glued to the screen of his handheld. The console's been buzzing with flashy lights and the tinny sounds of explosions for the past half an hour, your boyfriend's game keeping his focus as he's working on beating his friend's high score. This whole meowing thing started as a joke, but now it's become a genuine mode of communication--when you're too lazy to even form words, your slowly-improving cat impressions say all that needs to be said.

"Maow!" Another pawing motion, and your fingers wrapped up in his hoodie strings to drag him closer, and Kaito's snort of laughter puts a sour scowl on your face. It's not destined to last, though, because it's merely a precursor for his game to settle in his lap and his head to turn to accept a well-deserved kiss on the mouth. For once he's remembered to put on chapstick, thank goodness. His lips feel so nice, so soft, and it feels like such a waste for them not to be taken care of--but at the very least, he's started doing it just for you.

"How many kisses?" He murmurs low under his breath, eyes half-lidded as he just barely manages to keep your lips at bay to answer. "You know I'm busy, babe. Name your price."

"Four hundred thousand." If he weren't so distracted, you know your answer would assuredly earn you a bout of laughter. He's got such a pretty laugh. He does smile at you, though, for better or for worse.

"That's a little unrealistic. Why not four, to start?"

"Four thousand? Meow?" Tacking on that pretty plea is a low blow, but the hiccup you can feel in Kaito's stomach as you rub your hand over it is exactly the reaction you wanted. He can just be so easy to work over. Hence why his fingers are coming up to clasp around yours, halting your gentle strokes with a hitch of breath in his throat. His legs shift position, moving about with uncomfortable weight before he settles one over the other--for once, sitting his console on his lap seems to benefit him this time, especially with those soft cheeks growing dark.

"Four, baby. I'll just be a little longer." Your ears twitch at the hint of strain in his voice, a sigh passing from your lips to his as you claim the first one. No tongue this time. He deserves to suffer a little bit for making you wait. But the other three make a perfect triforce over his face; left cheek, right cheek, and between the brows where he's got the faintest little freckle on the side. Kaito's eyes have shut while you work, only to flutter open once you're finished, the nibbling on his lower lip a clear tell that he wishes it wouldn't end so soon. But he's got a thing about finishing whatever he's focused on and he can't divert from it for long. That gleam in his eyes is a warning that he'll make it up to you once this task is finished, though.....which could be good or bad, considering you can still feel an ache from the other morning. Even with his lap as a buffer, that gaming chair of his is so uncomfortable.

In a flash, Kaito's tuned back in to the game like nothing ever happened. Yet, when you move your hand from his belly to go find something to entertain yourself with, his unusually strong grip tugs you back to settle against his shoulder. He presses it down firmly, fiddling about with only one hand--the other arm then circles around your shoulders, and he covertly slides you further into his lap for you to entwine yourselves together. From this angle you can watch him play, he can rest his weight on you, have a prop for his arm to sit up and quit getting sore....and Kai's desire to snuggle into you is returned tenfold, the two of you practically inseparable as you settle in for a long afternoon.

[throughpatchesofviolet]

A Night Out

Synopsis: Heathcliff and Sherry spend an evening out at a local tavern, taking advantage of a rare opportunity to relax.

Ship: The Adventure of Wuthering Heights

Words: 5,445

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of gambling, smoking, mentions of drugs, mentions of torture and death (no one is actually tortured/killed), mentions of food

Note: This fic is set in my Sherlock Holmes AU; Originally posted in June of 2023

A pleasant hush had descended on the Backstreets, and Heathcliff observed the evening routines of the local residents with a disinterested expression—here, on the outermost fringes of the Nest, the denizens of the District enjoyed a modicum of tranquility that stirred a bitter resentment in his heart.

Arrogant bastards, he thought, glaring at a pair of men as they lounged on the steps of their apartment, discussing whatever topic entertained those within the folds of high society—poetry, he supposed; those Odysseys and Iliads that only men and women of  ‘genteel breeding’ had the pleasure of reading.

Scoffing, Heathcliff leaned against the side of the alleyway, his gaze turning towards the building that formed the opposite wall—the Diogenes Club. It was a polite structure, constructed of ruddy bricks that had been glued together with thick globs of cement, and several windows adorned the frontside. The building possessed two stories, with the second floor rising from the first and shunted back a ways, and every single curtain was drawn, much to his consternation.

How much longer is this going to take? He thought, eyeing the nearest window warily. Every now and then, the drapes were drawn back, and someone would peek out before hastily drawing the curtains once more. He knew exactly who it was, and the game he played, but he wasn’t deterred. Does he just think he can keep her all night? That I’ll get fed up and leave?

Huffing, Heathcliff kicked the pavement, muttering a string of curses to himself. He’d been waiting since five, and, though there wasn’t a clock nearby, he knew it’d been a good three hours since his companion had vanished into the establishment—the surrounding apartments had been painted gold, then orange, and now a cool shade of indigo, and now the faintest lines of silver were beginning to dance through the streets, lending a soft, sparkling sheen to the pavement of the cul-de-sac.

What business is so important he has to keep her three hours? He glowered at the window, the curtains once again flickering as someone peered out at him. If I have to wait much longer, I’ll go mad.

Heathcliff had oft repeated that exact line to himself over the past three hours, yet he’d remained outside, patiently awaiting his companion’s return—such was the power of the vow between them.

“I shouldn’t have signed that lousy scrap of paper,” he grumbled. “I’d be off having a fine time with my mates at the pub if I hadn’t—I’d be starting scraps here and there, sure, but at least I’d be inside where it’s warm.”

But I wouldn’t be sitting half as pretty as I am, he reminded himself with a scowl.

His gaze returned to the window, but it was still. A moment later, the front door opened, and a woman dressed in a familiar coat of brown tweed stepped onto the street, her brow knit as she addressed someone behind her.

“—I won’t hear anymore of this, Mycroft. I have made my position on this matter perfectly clear—perhaps clearer than you would’ve liked. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my companion and I have another appointment, and I’ve wasted quite enough time entertaining your nonsense.”

“Sherlock, you cannot be serious about keeping this … engagement of yours. Your reputation will suffer for it—as will the family name!”

“Reputation means little to me, as you well know—besides, you’re the one the family name relies on, what with you being the eldest.” Tipping her cap, she offered the man a stiff bow. “Now, good evening.”

With that, she turned on her heel and set off at a brisk pace down the street, signaling for Heathcliff to join her with a wave of her hand. Glancing between her and the man still standing in the doorway, he shrugged, detaching himself from the shadows and hurrying after her.

“I take it things didn’t go well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she fished a pipe from one of her coat’s numerous pockets.

“It went as expected,” she replied crisply. “Things played out exactly as I told you they would, this morning: Mycroft begged me to drop my work as a Fixer, but he really dug in when it came to me keeping you around.”

“Ah … hence the ‘your reputation will suffer’ …” Heathcliff sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone worried about me disgracing a lady.”

“And, as I’ve told you, not even my dear brother can undo the ties that bind you and I.” She smiled mischievously, lighting her pipe. “Imagine the look on his face if I were to produce the contract … he’d faint, I’m sure.”

“As would a good chunk of my mates,” Heathcliff muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Though, they wouldn’t be as civil as Sherlock’s brother, he thought ruefully. No … they’d brand me a traitor, and then they’d exile me … but not until after they’ve tried to kill me.

He glanced at Sherlock—Sherry—hoping that he’d feel the familiar rush of rage towards her that he’d felt when they’d first started out on this private venture. But, try as he might, the flames of anger and resentment had long since abated when it came to Sherlock Holmes. After all, she’d opened her home to him, despite his untoward behavior, and had let him eat whatever leftovers remained when she finished eating—and, oftentimes, those leftovers were the entire feast.

She’d even enlisted her friend, Dr. John Watson, to tend his injuries whenever he returned to the Office covered in wounds from this or that clash between Syndicates, silencing Watson’s complaints with nothing more than a cold glare and a single, sharp word.

And, if that weren’t enough, she’d promised him the one thing no one else could—information. Along with a forty percent cut of her earnings, so long as he agreed to help her on cases every now and then.

By all accounts, Heathcliff had landed himself a deal that others would’ve killed for. Free room and board, a doctor whenever he needed one, tidbits of information on the person he yearned for most, and a sizeable paycheck … to hate Sherlock Holmes after all she’d offered him would be to bite the hand that feeds—and she fed him well.

And all he had to do was swallow his pride and sign a fancy little contract.

Heathcliff sighed, abandoning his attempt at hating the woman beside him—it was impossible for him to harbor hatred toward her, given the circumstances. “You said we had another call, this evening?”

Sherry shook her head. “That was simply an excuse to get away from my brother,” she said, her smile fading. “I don’t like lying to him, but he’d exhausted my patience.”

“Then we’re returning to Baker Street?”

“If that’s what you wish.”

Heathcliff raised an eyebrow. What I wish?

That was the other thing that had stifled his frustrations shortly after they’d both signed that scrap of paper—Sherry always took interest in what he wanted. At first, this had only served to incense him further—he was already bound to aid her, and now she was trying to befriend him? It reeked of deception, the kind of trickery any Backstreets swindler would employ.

And yet … she’d met his gaze whenever he answered—she’d seen him, rather than straight through him, and committed his responses to memory. It’d been far too long since someone had wanted to know Heathcliff for who he was rather than for what he could do for them, and, despite reminding himself over and over that it was probably a clever ploy to win his trust, he’d developed a secret fondness for the detective—a fondness he both loathed and treasured.

“I didn’t have anything that I wanted to do,” he said finally, ignoring her piercing gaze as it settled on him—those sharp, sapphire eyes, sparkling with an intensity that made his insides squirm, were incapable of missing even the slightest of details. Heathcliff instinctively reached to adjust one of his suspenders, then froze.

Lass has me fretting about my appearance, now, he thought, gritting his teeth and forcing his hand back into his pocket as Sherry chuckled softly.

“You’ve been doing that more,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Straightening your clothes whenever I cast a glance your way,” Sherry replied, smiling. “There’s no need for it, you know—I’m not going to scold you for having a button undone.”

She cracked open an eyelid, her gaze hovering on the collar of his shirt, which, as usual, was unbuttoned.

Heathcliff muttered an oath, beginning to fumble with the buttons, which only made Sherry laugh more. After a moment, she tugged his arm, halting him so she could adjust his attire herself.

“I told you—I’ve no problem with how you dress.” She pulled his dusty, brown jacket so that it covered his shoulders properly, then fussed with his sleeves, picking off a few pieces of lint. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’ve no qualms about your clothing.”

Heathcliff grunted, waving her away. “If you didn’t care, then you wouldn’t be fussing.”

“I’m only fussing because watching you fumble with buttons and folds is as entertaining as watching rain trickle down a windowpane,” she retorted.

“Yet you were chuckling just a moment before,” he growled.

“Only because you fall for my teasing so easily—surely you know when I’m taking the piss, by now?”

Heathcliff bristled, but couldn’t think of a clever comeback. Instead, he settled for another curse, turning to follow Sherry as she continued down the street.

“If you don’t have anywhere you’d like to visit, then we can retire to Baker Street early—Victor did send me a letter, and I could spend the evening continuing my correspondence with him.”

At this, Heathcliff hissed. “Not that rich sod from the Nest, again … he isn’t insisting you return to that bloody estate of his, is he?”

Sherry’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “He is. I know how you feel about him, so you can look after the Office when I visit him, if you so choose.”

And let him flirt with you? I’d rather be shot! Heathcliff bit his tongue, barely stopping himself from listing the numerous reasons Sherry shouldn’t return to Victor Trevor’s estate—chief among them the jealousy surging through his veins.

“Victor informed me that a man by the name of Hudson has been working his father into quite a state, and wishes for me to look into him, and it wouldn’t do to turn down a friend after all he’s done for me.”

She turned her eyes toward Heathcliff, their mischievous twinkle growing brighter as she grinned.

“Unless, of course, something prevents me from writing back to him.”

Heathcliff returned her gaze coolly. He knew exactly what she was doing, and if he wasn’t so stung by her dragging Victor’s name into the conversation, he would’ve been flattered. To think, the great Sherlock Holmes was hinting at wanting to spend time with him … outside of the Office, no less!

Finally, he sighed. “I suppose … I might know a place we could go—but it’s not exactly the kind of establishment I should be taking a lady.”

“My dear Heathcliff, do you think I’m unfamiliar with the City’s dens of iniquity?”

“No, but still …” he avoided her gaze. There were places he frequented that he’d wanted to keep Sherry away from—the taverns were one thing, but the gambling dens and the underground fighting rings, thick with tobacco smoke, were places he didn’t want her to see, lest they spoil her opinion of him.

“I assure you, you shall receive no judgement from me—if that’s what you fear.” Sherry placed her finger over the end of her pipe, snuffing out the flame before pocketing it. “And if you’re concerned about my reputation … I made my stance quite clear, earlier.”

“That you did,” Heathcliff muttered. “Alright—perhaps I have a bit of unfinished business at a place nearby. But I don’t want to hear you complaining about the clientele, got it?”

The Rat’s Nest was an unassuming building upon first glance, with ashen brick walls and a number of freshly scrubbed windows, but locals knew better—though the establishment had a modest exterior, the inside was rank with illicit activity, from gambling to forgery to smuggling enkephalin.

Still, it was a place Heathcliff frequented—if nothing else, he could turn up a tidbit of info or two to run back to Sherry for her cases. And … well, the drinks were nice, too.

“The Rat’s Nest,” Sherry’s eyes glanced over the sign hanging above the door, and she sighed, clearly unamused. “How clever.”

“Careful there,” Heathcliff said, nodding at a crowd of thugs gathered outside the establishment, their eyes trained on the unusual duo. “This place is one of the most dangerous places in the District.”

“I’m familiar with its reputation,” she said softly. “Many of my clients have run into trouble with those who frequent this establishment … but it’s a wealth of information for any Fixer willing to step inside.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here, then?”

“No—but I know a certain man with a rather unkempt appearance who has.” She shot him a sly grin, and he grit his teeth. “What’s your business, tonight?”

“Same as every night where you’re not demanding I go and dig up information—pool.”

Sherry raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he opened the tavern door, a cloud of thick, blue tobacco smoke roiling forth and smothering them as they ducked inside.

The building was packed, with people from all corners of the Backstreets crowded around tables throughout the main floor. Many of them were speaking in hushed whispers, dark eyes glittering warily as they surveyed the room, watching for potential eavesdroppers. Most were smoking thick cigars, contributing to the hazy blue cloud drifting across the ceiling, while others had their fingers curled around neatly chiseled glasses filled with brandy, vodka, or gin—at least, that’s what Heathcliff supposed, having glanced over the bar menu briefly once or twice. He fancied the scotch, himself.

One quarter of the room had been lowered several yards, and a staircase had been installed for guests to travel down to the lowest point in the tavern—a space filled with dartboards, pool tables, and slot machines. Throngs of Rats had gathered around the slots, their dim eyes reflecting the dazzling colors as they watched the reels spin as if in a trance.

Sherry barely suppressed a soft cough, glaring at the indigo fog rolling overhead. “Would it kill them to crack open a window?”

“Don’t let ‘em hear you saying that,” Heathcliff whispered, nudging her towards the stairs. “Trust me—this crowd can sense disapproval, and they’re pretty quick to stamp it out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve upset them a few times, then?”

“And what would make you think I’m the one who upset ‘em? Perhaps I was just an innocent bystander who witnessed some poor sod getting thrashed for daring to tell one of ‘em off?”

Sherry grinned, shaking her head. “My dear Heathcliff … I’m sorry, but it sounds like you’re recounting one of your personal experiences.”

He muttered a curse, prodding her closer to the stairs. “Fine, I’ve been in a few scrapes with these lads in the past, but that’s all the more reason for you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Is that why you’ve been coming back to the Office so ragged these past few weeks?”

“Mouth. Shut.” Heathcliff hissed, his eyes flicking towards the bar before scanning the nearby tables. “I don’t need you drawing more attention than you already have.”

Sherry huffed, folding her arms. “You’re not scared of them, are you?”

“What? No!” he scoffed. “Just get down the bloody stairs before I—”

He stopped midsentence, noticing a few people had turned to stare at them, and he felt his face flush. Grabbing Sherry by the elbow, he led her down the stairs, then towards a pool table in the bottom left corner of the room.

Releasing Sherry, he sighed, leaning against the pool table with his eyes closed. This woman is going to be the death of me.

“Eight-ball or one-pocket?” Sherry’s question, asked in a soft, gentle tone, made him open his eyes, and he was surprised to see her racking pool balls on the table behind him.

“Eight-ball,” he answered, and she nodded. “You … you’ve played before?”

“Once or twice,” she replied, shrugging. “Mycroft often lets the boys play at the Diogenes Club, and I picked it up from them—though, my dear brother was upset when he found out.”

“I can imagine.” Heathcliff couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Mycroft fuming because his precious little sister had learned how to play something as ‘scandalous’ as pool.

Sherry removed the rack from around the balls with a flourish, setting it to the side before placing the cue ball at the headstring. “Would you like to shoot first?”

“If it pleases the lady,” Heathcliff hummed, and Sherry scoffed. But she nodded, tossing him a cue stick from the set hanging on the wall beside the table.

“The floor’s yours.”

Without another word, Heathcliff moved himself behind the cue ball, leaning forward and placing his bridge hand on the table—open bridge, as always—and delivered a sharp prod to the cue ball, which collided with the pool balls at the opposite end of the table, sending them scattering in all directions. A solid blue ball rolled neatly into the top left pocket, and Heathcliff shot Sherry a smug grin.

“Seems I’ll be taking an early lead.”

“Don’t go getting cocky, now,” she warned, rubbing a chalk cube on the end of her cue stick. “You haven’t even seen me shoot.”

He shrugged, moving to the right side of the table to position himself behind the cue ball, eyes fixed on a solid red ball a few inches away from the leftmost pocket. As he settled down to shoot, though, he felt that familiar sensation of being watched by a sharp pair of eyes …

Sherlock, he thought, gritting his teeth as his heart skipped a beat. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, but he quickly focused his attention back on the cue ball, trying to ignore her. Just focus on the game, Heathcliff—don’t let her get in your head.

He poked the cue ball firmly, but it only rolled enough to nudge the red ball he’d aimed for, and he muttered a quiet curse as Sherry scooped up the cue ball and reset it behind the headstring.

“Allow me …” she said, settling into a striking position.

Heathcliff huffed, stepping back to lean against the wall, studying Sherry’s movements.

There were few moments where he had the opportunity to truly look at Sherlock Holmes—she was always bundled up in her brown trench coat, a short, tweed cape hanging about her shoulders, with a familiar cap perched atop her head.

 And that was usually all he noticed.

But here, in the dimly lit tavern, with her crouched low as she charted the course of the cue ball in front of her, Heathcliff had a rare opportunity to admire her face—it was surprisingly soft, with the faintest of wrinkles under her eyes denoting the many sleepless nights she’d spent in her favorite armchair, her deep blue eyes reflecting the leaping flame contained in the fireplace. He never really knew what she was thinking on those nights, but he knew one thing: Sherlock had some of the most piercing eyes he’d ever seen, and they expressed her thoughts more clearly than her own tongue.

Sherry narrowed her eyes, studying the cue ball with an intensity that she usually reserved for the morning papers, and she set her bridge hand flat on the table, running the edge of her cue stick back and forth along her thumb and index finger in quiet contemplation. A few locks of her warm, tawny hair brushed against the table as she leaned forward, delivering a firm strike to the cue ball that sent it shooting across the table, knocking a ball with a thick, yellow band into the top right pocket.

Wordlessly, Sherry straightened, moving around the table to prepare for another shot, this time her gaze set on a ball behind the headstring, sporting a band of indigo. And, again, she sank the ball.

Moving back around the table, she cast Heathcliff a sly glance, and he snorted. So, she’s got a little bit of skill—it’s nothing to be proud of. It’s not like we’re playing for money or anything.

Sherry sank yet another ball, and he sighed as she once again looped around the table.

Okay … maybe she’s got something to be proud of.

“I do hope I’m not boring you,” she said, flicking her eyes in his direction  as she settled down for her fourth shot. “I’m not familiar with the kind of conversation people have when they play pool.”

“They’re usually about topics that wouldn’t interest you, anyway,” Heathcliff replied.

“Try me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening as the cue ball clattered against a trio of balls at the other end of the table. “When it’s me and my mates, the topic usually turns to who fancies who pretty quick.”

“Ah … you’re right. That isn’t something that interests me.”

“Not even if it’s about me?” he asked, opening his eyes to study her curiously.

“I was under the impression you were in love with that Earnshaw woman.” Sherry’s words were polite, but her eyes were dark. She gestured at the table. “It’s your shot.”

“So it is,” he murmured, detaching himself from the wall and plucking the cue ball from the table, once again resetting it behind the headstring. “Have you learned anything more about Cathy, by any chance?”

“Nothing that pleases me,” Sherry muttered bitterly, brow furrowed. “The more I learn of her, the more I dislike her—if you’ll pardon me saying so.”

Heathcliff hummed in response, taking his shot and sinking another ball in the rightmost pocket. “Wouldn’t happen to be because you’re … jealous, would it?”

“I have no reason to envy her,” Sherry said simply, but the storm in her eyes brought a smile to Heathcliff’s face.

Oh, she’s definitely jealous …

He missed his next shot, and Sherry took his place, resetting the cue ball and knocking two more balls into separate pockets. She really was quite good at the game—better than most.

“If I’d known you were this good, I would’ve made a bet with you.” Heathcliff sidled up beside her, earning an annoyed glare.

“And what would the stakes have been?”

“Nothing big—just a bet to see who’d be buying drinks.”

Sherry shrugged, jabbing the cue ball and sending another pool ball rattled into a pocket. “If you want a drink, I have no problem buying you one.”

“You, Miss Sherlock Holmes, are the complete opposite of a lady. Your brother would be horrified if he heard you were offering to buy a man a drink, you know.”

“There are more scandalous things,” she replied, rounding the table and sinking her seventh pool ball. “For example—I’m about to beat you at pool by knocking the eight ball into that pocket.”

She nodded at the hole closest to him, and he grinned.

“You’re just racking up your sins, tonight, aren’t you?”

“I never said I was a lady—you’re the one who assumed I was.”

With that, she sank the eight ball into the pocket beside Heathcliff, and the game was finished.

“Not bad,” Heathcliff mused, knocking the rest of the balls into the table’s pockets as Sherry hung up her cue stick. “Seems I owe you a drink.”

“If I drink, it’ll be back at Baker Street.” Sherry sighed, twirling her hair around her finger. “I don’t care to drink in public—and especially not in places like this.”

“What—you can’t hold your liquor?” Heathcliff teased.

“I hold my drink better than you,” she said sharply, and he winced—she had seen him in a drunken stupor once before, and though he couldn’t recall any of the things he’d said or done, the disapproving look in her eyes during the weeks following his intoxicated haze had hurt more than the initial hangover. “But … if you’d like, I can treat you to a glass of brandy.”

“Scotch would be nice,” he muttered, hanging up his cue stick.

“Scotch, then.” Sherry moved towards the stairs, and Heathcliff scrambled after her, catching up as she reached the main floor.

Before he could say anything, however, she’d vanished into the crowd, leaving him alone on the landing.

Shit, he thought, glancing around frantically for her. Really, Heathcliff—you bring a lass out with you for the first time in years, and you decide the ideal place to take her is a seedy little tavern packed full of the shadiest Syndicates in the Backstreets … and then you go and lose track of her. Sure, she’s Sherlock Holmes, but with a face as cute as hers, any drunk sod could fancy the idea to try and charm her—not that he’d succeed, because she is Sherlock Holmes and has no interest in romance, but …

He shook himself, muttering a quiet curse.

Pull yourself together, you stupid fool! It’s because she’s Sherlock Holmes that she’s in so much danger here—all sorts of Syndicates gather here, and none of ‘em are too keen on her after she broke up their enkephalin smuggling rings. If they cornered her, they’d do all manner of unthinkable things to her …

He shuddered, a cold, dark realization dawning on him.

… and it’d be my fault. I’d be the reason she got caught and tortured. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought, and his heartrate accelerated. They’d kill her and I’d be the one responsible for it, because I’m the bastard who brought her here in the first place.

He was about to dive into the crowd in search of her when he felt a gentle tug at his arm, and, glancing down, he saw that Sherry had returned, a glass of whiskey in her hand, which she offered to him.

“Sherlock!” he wheezed, relief washing over him. “You’re … safe.”

“Of course I am,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at his quivering frame. “Are you feeling alright? You’re shaking like a newborn calf …”

He blinked, then released a tired sigh. “Don’t go running off on me, love … you scared me half to death.”

“Ah …” Sherry glanced away, then took his elbow. “Let’s go over here—there’s a table in the corner that was unoccupied … you can rest there for a moment.”

Heathcliff allowed her to lead him through the crowd, and they settled down at a small booth in the farthest corner of the tavern, far away from the wary eyes of the ruffians clustered around the bar.

Sherry was silent, quietly observing the murmuring crowds, and Heathcliff took the opportunity to take a swig of his drink, sighing as the familiar warmth of alcohol spread through his limbs, filling him with renewed vigor.

Setting the now-empty glass down, he turned his gaze to Sherry, who was staring at her lap, her hat drawn low over her eyes.

“You doing alright?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly, lifting her head and staring out at the people milling about the tavern.

Heathcliff tried to read her eyes, but they weren’t the dazzling window to her thoughts that they usually were—instead, they were clouded with an emotion that was foreign to them … something different from the delight and anger that usually thundered through them.

“… can I ask you a question, Heathcliff?”

Sherry’s voice was soft, hesitant—so much less confident than usual.

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head. “What is it?”

“Do you still love Catherine Earnshaw?”

Heathcliff blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course I do—Cathy’s the only reason I’m doing all this, remember? You said that as long as I help you out here and there, and sometimes keep you company now that Watson’s left to focus on his practice, you’d tell me what you learned about her whereabouts.”

“I see. I suspected as much.” Sherry’s words were stiff, and that clouded emotion in her eyes thickened. “And what if she’s ceased to love you? Have you ever considered that possibility?”

“That ‘possibility’ is an impossibility,” Heathcliff hissed, bristling.

Sherry frowned. “Then you’re set on returning to her, once I discover where she’s decided to roost?”

“Naturally—once I get the information I want, our contract’s fulfilled. I’m free to go on my way, and you can find someone else to accompany you on your cases.”

“And what about everything we’ve been through? Is the friendship we share so trivial that you’ll just vanish without a word once you get what you want?”

Heathcliff hesitated at this—certainly, Sherlock meant something to him … she meant more to him than anyone else in the Backstreets. Hell—just a few moments ago, the thought of losing her had stricken him with terror, and that fear was rivaled only by the bitter thought that someone else would steal away her affections … but he knew that was impossible. Sherlock Holmes had no interest in winning a man’s heart—and besides, didn’t his love belong to Cathy?

Still, the idea of parting with Sherry once he finally learned of Catherine’s whereabouts left him feeling hollow. He did harbor a secret affection for her, after all … even if he refused to admit it.

“You’re … you’re not going to make me choose between the two of you, are you?”

“I’m not. But the fact that Catherine Earnshaw and I lead very different lives and desire very different things—save, perhaps, one thing—is undeniable. It’s not a matter of choosing between Catherine and I … it’s a matter of choosing between the life Catherine wants and the life you currently lead.”

He blinked—he’d never once considered how different his life would be once he was finally reunited with Cathy. He’d just assumed things would go back to how they were before he left—only this time, she would accept him. How could she not? He was returning to her a fairly wealthy man, after all …

But, life as it was before was … dull and uninteresting, now that he thought about it. He’d rise with the sun, eat breakfast, do whatever business required his attention, eat lunch, return to business, eat dinner, and then go to bed shortly after sunset. And there’d be balls, no doubt—and he loathed balls. Even with Cathy at his side, the drabness of it all would bore him to tears—especially in comparison to the fast paced life he led in the Backstreets working with Sherry.

At Baker Street Office, he had his three meals a day, a room for himself, and there was something new happening nearly every day—unearthing scandals, busting enkephalin smuggling rings, tearing down entire Syndicates, and learning the secrets of the Wings … plus, he still had the pleasures of gambling and drinking to pass the time whenever Sherry gave him leave. Though the consequences of those behaviors weren’t always the best, he at least enjoyed freedom when he was working for her … a freedom that he’d lose the moment he returned to Catherine.

“I’m close to figuring out where she is, Heathcliff,” Sherry said softly. “I just wanted to make you aware of how serious a choice awaits you. I won’t sway you one way or the other—but I will say that of all the men I’ve known, you certainly keep me the most entertained.”

She rose, brushing off her coat.

“I think I’ll return to Baker Street, now. All things considered, this was a lovely evening—it’s been a long time since I had this much fun.”

Heathcliff started. “Don’t you want company on the way home?”

“I’ll be alright on my own—I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just go easy on the whiskey, alright?”

With that, she swept out of the tavern, leaving Heathcliff to brood over the problem she’d unceremoniously dropped in his lap.

It was only a few minutes after she departed, however, that he realized something—Sherry had said there was one thing that both she and Catherine wanted. What that thing was remained a mystery to him, though his fluttering heart dared to hope that, perhaps, it was him.

[lulu-recs]

see but one moon by orphan_account ♡

sirius black has been pining for the nerdy barista, remus lupin, for three months, but can't seem to get his attention. remus, however, has noticed the over-excited law student, but isn't interested in being a conquest of the week. when remus starts listening to the marauding hour - a university radio programme, he finds himself enraptured by one of the djs, and starts to crush on him - hard. little does he know that padfoot has known him all along, and is looking for something much more than a one-off.

hard to find by accioromulus

the air conditioning is already broken, sirius's back has been effectively glued to the leather seat via sweat, and this road-trip may have been a very bad idea.

lost in the rhythm of your love by children_of_the_shadows ♡

the marauders are an up and coming rock band that needs a guitarist to elevate their music. when remus lupin comes into his life, sirius feels like he's found someone who not only completes the band but also completes him. however, his new found love comes with many challenges that he's unprepared for. sirius/remus band au.

the taste of colour by orphan_account

soulmates can see colour, and sirius knows he never wants that. because it can't hurt to lose someone if you never fall in love. the only problem is, sometimes you don't have a choice in the matter.

five times Sirius nearly finds out, and the one time he does by littlebozsheep ♡

when remus starts at his new school he's put in the boy’s dormitory and he's scared that his roommates will find out his secret. the situation is made worse when one roommate, sirius, quickly starts to dote on him, never leaving him alone.

familiar by yumenouveau

*at a party* sirius: you look familiar. have we met? remus: I do gay porn. sirius: *chokes*

in the wild woods by luminousgloom

the summer before seventh year, sirius spends a week with remus. they decide to get away from it all, and out in the strange and tangled woods sirius begins to see things more clearly.

close quarters by nachodiablo

sirius gets bored on a marauders' road trip to the beach, but remus is happy to keep him occupied

heat by ladyamina

the summer air is too warm. the campfire isn't helping. neither is sirius's head in his lap. neither is the burning blood in his veins. remus is overwhelmed and something has to give.

rule of thirds by bluepeony ♡

modern au: sirius black, star of the university's football team, only wants one thing: a teensy-weensy, harmless little kiss.

chasing glory by yumenouveau ♡

sirius is finally competing in the winter olympics, and though that is normally enough to make any man throw themselves at the skier's feet, great britain's beautiful elusive figure skater does not seem impressed. after remus turns him down, sirius has to figure out how to win over the man he's had a crush on for four long years.

other's woe by orphan_account ♡

forced to attend a group project meeting for a theology class, remus thinks his day will be miserable until a gorgeous, grey-eyed stranger plants himself at their table and challenges the archaic thinking of the rest of the group. and in the end, it works out very well for remus lupin

runaway to mars by children_of_the_shadows

"why exclude me from your pool of choices?" remus's breath fanned across his face, amber eyes half lidded in a way that always drove sirius crazy with lust. "who better to experiment with than someone who already knows every inch of your body?" long fingers drew slow patterns down his back. "already knows how to make you moan and cry and scream?" a teasing caress down his arse and all sirius could hear was his own keening voice and laboured breath. "you want to fuck your way into finding who you are? then let's fuck. no strings. no expectations." sirius/remus muggle au

not just friends by greengardenleaves444

ever since they met, sirius and remus have been close. in their sixth year, sirius got the guts to ask remus out to hogsmade with lots of blushing and studding. no one knew about their relationship, not even their best mates peter and james

heat the winter floods by daphnaea

it was funny, sirius thought, the things you could fail to learn about your best mate despite sharing a dormitory for seven years

the light that blinds my eyes by aryastark_valarmorghulis ♡

sirius is in love. remus is too, he just doesn't know it yet.

in which sirius is demi and pines a lot, remus is oblivious, and they should move together as soon as possible.

impossible things by accioromulus

sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. how he wants to pin remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against remus’s forehead, his jaw. instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop of remus's jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s just drunk enough.

“stop stealing my bloody clothes, lupin.” he says, very quietly.

remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “better learn to do your own laundry then, black. consider it my fee.”

***

It was an impossible thing, living with remus lupin--but sirius was doing it anyway

discards: valentine's day by picascribit ♡

remus forgets valentine's day. sirius wants to make it special.

discards: commencement by picascribit

sirius and lily attend remus's graduation from the university of washington. sirius has just one question for him.

highland fling [+podfic] by picascribit

the summer before college, sirius goes backpacking through scotland in order to escape his family's expectations. in a small village in the highlands, an unexpected flirtation turns his whole world upside down. alternately, the story of how scotland loves remus and wants him to be happy.

au pif by sreka, yumenouveau ♡

remus lupin is busy enough baking cakes and balancing the books; he doesn’t have time to accidentally fall in love. let alone fall in love with a client whose wedding cake he just agreed to bake.