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ugh-yoongi · 5 months

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you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly.

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway). When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and… “Kissing,” she says finally. “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.” He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines. “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?” Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion.

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt. “Yeah—want you, Joon.” “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.” “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her. Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does. She hates that he’s right. Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides. It’s perfect. Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy. “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster. “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing. When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes

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stardustloserdoll · 4 months

Note

hello!! i love your work!! i was wondering if you could do Johnnie Guilbert smut? i would like the reader to be afab and the fic to include reader and Johnnie with huge sexual tension. the reader comes to his house to make a youtube video with him and Jake and after filming it leads them to doing the deed😓😓 have a great day/night🤍🤍

thank you!! i hope u have a great day/night too <3

want you

female reader

i raised my hand and knocked on the door waiting for an answer. a few seconds went by, and the door finally swung open revealing jake with a wide grin on his face. "y/n! you made it!" jake opened his arms to hug me "of course. i wouldn't wanna miss doing a video with my favorite ladies." i stepped in placing my sweater on the couch. "johnnies in the room, we're all set up." jake smiled as we walked to the room.

"johnnieee look who's heree." jake sang as he went over to him shaking him by his shoulders. "what." johnnie looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting mine. "y/n!" johnnie gasped making his way towards me embracing me. i wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly. we both separated from the hug, johnnies hands moving onto my waist "i missed you." he smiled, his eyes looking into mine. i smiled back, looking into his gaze making me nervous, "i did too. a lot."

"alright you two enough eye fucking. let's start." jake said in a country accent as he came over, placing his hands on our heads. johnnie and i said sorry, smiling at each other. we all took our place in our seats and sat down preparing for the video.

"hey guys welcome back! today we have the one and only y/n and johnnie"

johnnie and i waved at the camera

"today, we are going to be trying some trader joes food."

"but before we get started. you guys know how y/n and johnnie joked about kissing each other for new years? they actually did it!"

"and this wasnt the first time! they kissed when they were drunk too."

johnnie and i hid our faces in our hands laughing mumbling jake’s name

johnnie spoke up "im gonna say this. the new years kiss was way better."

looking up i nodded my head "it was."

"i honestly wouldnt mind kissing her again."

jake sat there in shock, looking at the camera then at us "sexual tension on aisle 3."

"anyways! let's get started."

throughout the whole video johnnie and i wouldn't stop staring at each other. we smiled at each other the whole time. even making excuses to hold each others hands and taking bites of each others food. as the video came to an end we all said our goodbyes and shut off the camera.

"well i should be going now." i laughed as grabbing my bag. "you're leaving?" johnnie asked quickly "yeah. unless you want me to stay? i can stay if thats fine with you guys?" jake and johnnie nodded their heads "of course!" once we finished cleaning everything up we all watched whatever was on tv. jake being the first to fall asleep. as the movie continued jake woke up and groggily said goodnight to us saying he was heading to bed. johnnie and i said goodnight and continued watching tv.

"hey johnnie." i asked, keeping my attention on the tv. he responded with a 'hm' and lowered the volume. "did you mean it when you said you wouldn't mind kissing me again." i turned to look at him biting the inside of my cheek. "yeah. i could kiss you right now actually." he responded setting the remote down on the coffee table looking at me. my eyes widened when johnnies hand reached up, his fingers gently grazing my cheek. i pressed my lips onto his quickly, as i wrapped my arms around his neck, to deepen the kiss.

opening my mouth slightly johnnie slipped his tongue in, the kissing getting needier and messier. pulling away slightly he whispered against my lips "lets go to my room."

closing the door behind us he softly pushed me against it pressing his lips onto mine, kissing me hungrily. our bodys pressing against each other. johnnie leaned down to kiss my neck leaving hickeys along my neck, i pushed him away softly "what if they see." johnnie rolled his eyes "who gives a fuck." he chuckled continuing what he was doing. johnnies hands moved down to my hips, taking off my studded belt, sliding my pants down.

"cute panties." johnnie chuckled tracing the skulls on my underwear. "shut up." i laughed grabbing his cheeks, putting my lips on his. "too bad they have to come off." he smiled against my lips, as he pulled them down slowly. he moved one of his hands down and began rubbing my clit. "so wet." he mumbled as he circled on my clit. moaning as johnnie slowly slipped two fingers, pumping into my cunt. "fuck johnnie." i whimpered feeling him speed up, gripping onto his shoulders. "johnnie.. gonna come." i whined, grinding myself on his hand.

johnnie pulled away with a smirk on his lips. "really?" i whined pushing his shoulder slightly. he unbuckled his studded belt and pushed his pants down. taking his cock in his hand giving a few pumps, looking at me "ready?" i nodded my head, feeling him slide inside me, making us both moan. "fuck y/n." johnnie whispered as he gripped my hips as he fucked into me faster. "johnnie im gonna cum." i wrapped my arms around him, wrapping my legs around his waist. johnnie lifted a hand up grabbing my cheeks softly pulling me into a kiss. "cum on my cock y/n." a choked moan left my lips as i felt my climax wash over me.

he thrusted a few more times and came inside me. we both stayed there catching our breaths holding onto each other closely. "you okay?" i nodded my head as i kept my head on his shoulder, my arms still wrapped around him. "lets take a bath and go to sleep." he whispered kissing the top of my head.

once we cleaned up and took our bath johnnie handed me some clothes to wear to sleep. "hope you dont mind wearing one of my emo shirts." he laughed as he handed me 'a my chemical romance shirt.' "its fine." i smiled slipping on the shirt.

we both lied on the bed and held onto each other. "well that was fun." i said moving his hair from his face. "yeah it was. i been wanting to kiss you since forever." he smiled as his thumb caressed my hip. "me too...i know this is a bad time to ask but wanna be my boyfriend." "duh. wanna be my girlfriend?" "duh."

#johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert smut

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fckoffjakegyllenhaal · 2 months

Text

the rooms are all on fire (every time that you walk in)

// melissa has a thing for her new neighbor, but she refuses to let it go too far because of the age difference. though, the redhead might realize how deep her feelings go once it’s too late. //

warnings: insecure!melissa, reader is so painfully in love with melissa it’s hilarious, melissa is an idiot who can’t handle emotions, pining, mutual pining, jealous!reader, jealous!melissa, brief gary x melissa (they go on one date), reader is in her twenties.

melissa knows right away that she doesn’t like you. you’re too young, too loud, too perky, too nice. you had moved in across the hall from her a couple months ago, and had knocked on her door the same day you moved in. you had this big smile on your face, along with this large tupperware of brownies. though, in your defense it had not been a good day for melissa. her ex husband had just revealed he had an affair while they were still married, and even though she no longer loved joe, it still hurt.

“who the hell are you?” she asks, as soon as she swings the door open. your smile doesn’t even falter, and it’s the most annoying thing melissa has ever seen. “i’m y/n! i just moved into the apartment across the hall. i just wanted to introduce myself and give you these.” your western accent indicated you were far from home, and the positive energy radiating off of you only seemed to put melissa in a worse mood than she already was. you hand her the tupperware of brownies, and she scowls.

“we don’t really introduce ourselves to neighbors ‘round here. your lucky you didn’t knock on 402’s door. he’s a creep.” she mutters as she takes the tub of sweets. “oh. thanks for the warning.” you joke, and you tilt your head to side, “i never got your name.” you add and she snorts. “cause i never gave it, kid.” she responds curtly before shutting the door right in your face.

that was your first impression of melissa. it was enough to make any sane person steer clear of her… but you weren’t necessarily a sane woman. you were usually up before eleven every morning to go on a run or do a small workout. one morning you wake up extra early, and catch the redhead in the elevator. you don’t appear to notice the way her eyes roam up your tight leggings, and small zipped up sweater that clung to your body. “good morning, neighbor.” you greet her, and she keeps this stone cold expression etched onto her features.

“morning.” she flatly responds, clearly uninterested. “did you like the brownies?” you inquire curiously, as the elevator door closes behind you. “i’m not a fan of chocolate. i prefer pumpkin or apple.” she bluntly replies, and you don’t let her attitude discourage you. in fact, you visibly pep up at the newly found information. “i love pumpkin cinnamon rolls. next time i make some, i’ll bring some over for you.” you say, as the elevator door opens. “i’ll see ya around, neighbor! have a good day.” you call out as you rush towards the exit of the building. melissa rolls her eyes as the elevator doors close, and she continues her way to the parking garage.

your perkiness in the mornings was something melissa couldn’t adjust to. she didn’t want to. as soon as you realized the redhead was in the elevator every morning at 7:20, you were there as well. it was borderline obsessive in the redheads opinion, and she couldn’t stand that dopey grin on your face whenever you’d see her. it was like clockwork. she’d get in the elevator, click on the floor for the parking garage, and you’d squeeze in before the doors closed. she was beginning to consider taking the stairs.

she wasn’t sure how you knew when she was home, but on friday evening, she was in the middle of making dinner when a knock on the door caused her to knock over an open bottle of water. “shit! fuck— i’m comin’!” she yells out frustratedly as she makes her way to the front door. when she opens it, there you are with that stupid smile on your face. this time you’re holding a plate with a large slice of sweet bread on it, with icing slathered on top. it was saran wrapped cutely on the white plate.

“pumpkin cinnamon bread, with cream cheese icing.” your voice is light, and you’re gazing up at her with these big innocent eyes; just begging for her approval. there’s hopefulness laced into your orbs, and not even melissa has the heart to turn this away. “pumpkin in april… thanks kid.” she mutters, and if she thought your smile was big before… it seems to illuminate with her backhanded compliment. maybe it was the fact that one of her favorite students made her a painting in art class, and she was feeling particularly mushy today.

“you like pasta?” she asks you blandly, still sounding indifferent about your sudden intrusion on her dinner making. you nod eagerly, “yup! i haven’t had it in ages though… i don’t know any good italian spots around here, and i can’t cook to save my life.” you confess sheepishly, and she nods as she turns around and disappears into the apartment. she leaves her door wide open, and you stand there, clearly confused. “well, what ‘re you waiting for? come in, dinners almost ready.” she commands, causing your eyes to widen in shock.

“unless you got somewhere else to be tonight?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to see how shocked you look. you shake your head quickly, “nope! it was just gonna be me and the takeout guy tonight.” you half joke, as you walk in, shutting the door behind you. you go quiet as you stand behind the counter, and melissa wipes up the water she had spilled earlier. she turns her head to see you glancing around the room, clearly nervous. it’s the quietest she’s ever heard you. “what? place not what you expected?” she asks, and your eyes lock with hers.

“i just… i didn’t think i’d get to see the inside of your place before i got to know your name.” you admit, and melissa can feel an uncontrollable smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “my names melissa.” she confesses, and your eyes go all soft at the revelation. “melissa… huh. that’s a pretty name. it suits you.” you blurt aloud, and she turns away to check on the pasta, hiding the blush that coats her cheeks.

melissa learns quite a bit about you after that. you’re twenty-four, you had lived in the west coast all your life, and you spent your teenage years stuck taking care of your grandma and siblings. the more melissa discovers about you, the harder it is for her to hate you. your kindness isn’t fake or falsified like most of the people around here; you speak every word with genuineness and sincerity. a routine seems to progress between the two of you; every friday evening you knock on her door with some new platter of sweets, and melissa proceeds to invite you in for dinner.

every friday turns into every other day, and before she knows it, you two are having dinner together every night. the redhead went from hating you, to enjoying your presence more than anyone else’s. at first, melissa assumed she simply enjoyed your company because she was lonely. but after a few months of you, she quickly realized what the little flutter in her belly meant whenever she’d see you. melissa’s head would grow fuzzy whenever you complimented her, and she turned into a blushing mess. not to mention how she couldn’t necessarily hide how happy she was to see you now.

she’d pick out a bottle of wine, and makes different recipes she thinks you’d like. she finds herself humming along to old italian songs as she cooks, waiting for the gentle knocks on her door.

tonight you brought her new york cheesecake with raspberry filling on top. you greet her as you push past her, placing the cake onto her counter. “i know, cheesecake is so bad for our health, but i had a terrible day.” you tell her, and you begin to ramble about how awful your boss is. though, all melissa can do is take in how absolutely beautiful you are. the way your hair falls, and moves as you talk with the emotions you wear on your face. when you don’t get a response from melissa for awhile, you look over and see her leaning against the door, staring at you with a peculiar expression.

“what? what’s wrong?” you question, she offers you a gentle shake of her head. “you’re really beautiful, you know that?” she blurts out, her entire demeanor changing as soon as she realizes what she just said. her eyes go wide as she stands up straight, instead of looking appalled or surprised, the blood rises to your face. a shy grin plasters itself onto your face, as you push your hair behind your ears before gazing at her like some shy schoolgirl. “you’re calling me beautiful? have you seen yourself?” you ask her, and that’s the moment that seems to solidify it for melissa.

the way her heartbeat picks up as the words leave your lips, and something in the pit of her stomach bursts, as if a million cocoons hatched into butterflies inside of her. she began to feel something she hasn’t felt since before she married joe. she couldn’t believe some western twenty something year old kid was making her feel this way.

you appear to be able to read melissa like an open book. she doesn’t have to tell you how she’s feeling for you to know. you’re the only person who’s ever been able to figure her out, and it’s scary. melissa also wasn’t an idiot. she could tell judging by the gleam of adoration in your eyes, you were growing quite the crush on her. sometimes she wonders why. you’re in your twenties, you’re hot, and you know how to bake a mean banana cream pie… melissa also sees how the doorman and a variety of other men ogle you in the mornings. you could have anyone you want, yet you spend your evenings eating melissa’s various italian recipes.

however, the redhead is very closed off. especially romantically. after joe, she’s dated around but nobody’s ever gotten a second date. she hasn’t been so intimate with someone in so long, even before her divorce, the marriage was falling apart. dinner every night was not an option for her and joe; he always came home late, and by the time he arrived his plate of leftovers were in the microwave. even when he’d be home while she was cooking, he’d eat in the living room in front of the tv. you were so enthralled by melissa, sometimes you could hardly focus on the food with how much attention you paid her.

she tries to hide the way she revels in your attention, and how the glimmer in your eyes directed towards her causes those stupid butterflies inside of her to repopulate. “you do not actually have random baseball bats around your apartment…” you trail off one evening, as you’re both sitting on melissa’s comfortable couch. there’s a glass of wine in each of your hands; you’re both on your second glass, and you’re sure it’s the expensive wine melissa keeps locked away. it makes you feel special when she puts so much thought into the dinners you two share. they mean something to you, and you’re positive they mean something to her as well.

“i do. they’re hidden around.” she explains, taking a sip of her wine. you let out a genuine giggle; your wide eyed gaze is pouring right into her, nobody’s ever looked at her with such reverence. something then flickers in her eyes as she remembers something; “speaking of… i’ve been meaning to give you one. ya look like you can’t swing for shit, but it’s better than ya having nothing to defend yourself with.” melissa rambles as she stands up, disappearing into her bedroom. your brows knit together in slight confusion as you wait for her to return.

when she does, she has a medium sized wooden bat. it was dark wood and looked brand new. “wait, you were serious?” you ask, letting out a breathless little chuckle. “you live on a questionable part of town, by yourself, y/n. you barely even forget to lock your door when you come over.” she scolds, sounding undoubtedly upset by the fact. your baffled features quickly morph into a soft expression, “you worried about me, lissa?” you tauntingly ask, and she lets out this vexed huff, waving the wooden bat closer to you.

“just take the damn thing and keep it by your bed.” she commands, while you gladly accept the strange but thoughtful gift. “it’ll make you feel safer.” she adds, her neck burning as you stare at her with a vulnerable look on your face. “okay. but i’ll have you know i’ve never felt safer than knowing my tough, kick ass neighbor is right across the hall.” you assure her, and something inside of melissa is slipping; whether it’s her resolve or the walls she so desperately tries to keep up. “thanks for worrying about me though. i worry about you too.” you clarify, and melissa would normally scoff at a comment like that.

she’d shake her head and demand for you to know she can take care of herself… but she can’t. as you stare into her eyes with the sole intent of wanting her to understand how much she means to you, melissa finds herself taking a seat beside you again, deciding to let the comment slide. maybe she enjoyed knowing someone as sweet as you cared about her. it’s been so long since anyone’s cared for her in this way; it was sort of foreign to her by now. yet it was also comforting.

though melissa often found herself thinking about what things would be like when you finally met somebody. if you’d opt to spending your evenings with your new girlfriend or boyfriend… if you’d look at them with the same gaze you’d look at her with. some evenings she’d catch herself staring at you, and she’d think of being in the shoes of some younger woman… someone who can give you the start at life that you need. you’re in your early twenties, and there’s no way you’d ever want someone old and used up like melissa.

so naturally, the night you invite melissa to your place for dinner instead of just heading to hers… she feels an odd bundle of nerves knotting up in her stomach. she changes after work; which is something she never does. she puts on that sundress she likes to wear when she’s feeling good about herself. as soon as you open the door, your eyes nearly bug out of your head. you have a grease stain on your cheek, she assumes it’s some kind of cooking oil. the apron you’re wearing is hiding the tight top and jeans you’re wearing underneath, but melissa thinks you’ve never looked more cute.

“you’re early! i— i’m still making dinner, please sit down.” you urge her, and melissa offers you that soft smile that seems to only be reserved for you these days. she looks around your place; taking in the pictures on the walls, and the flatscreen that’s too big in melissa’s opinion. she barely watches tv, and when she does it’s in bed on her phone. “yeah, i left a little early because ava hired some of the teachers some new assistants.” she tells you, and you cock a brow, flashing her an amused grin. “an assistant? how do you like that?” you question curiously, knowing how difficult it was for the redhead to warm up to new people.

she snorts, “the kids fine. she’s a little younger than you. can’t understand a word she says but the kids like her.” she murmurs, shrugging, before she looks over at you. you’re stirring whatever’s in the pot, and she quirks a brow. “you actually might like her.” melissa’s comment rolls off your back easily, you don’t seem to notice the difference in her tone. you laugh lightly, “i doubt that. i’ve never gotten along with girls that well. guys either.” you confess, and melissa snorts. “oh yeah, sure, the girl who makes conversation with the mailman doesn’t have any friends. who do you think you’re lying to here, kid?” she questions, and you frown, rolling your eyes. “i’m not a kid. and just because i know how to make conversation with people, doesn’t mean i have a lot of friends.” your voice is light, and lacks any sort of defense or malice.

melissa sort of envies how easy it is for you to talk about things. “i mean, even in high school i had like three friends. they all still live back home, and we talk from time to time but it’s not like we can just hang out every weekend, you know?” you begin to ramble as you stir the searing food in the pan. “you’re the only person who i hang out with, and i’m lucky you even wanna hang out with me.” you add half jokingly, and you turn to see an inscrutable expression etched onto the older woman’s face.

“anyone would wanna hang out with you… i mean one day you’re gonna find someone who can’t stay away from you.” melissa says in an abnormally gentle way, there’s a hint of sadness in her voice and you cock a brow at the redhead. “does it count if i’ve already found someone i can’t stay away from? i’m literally making beef stroganoff for her, and i almost burned down the kitchen twice just to impress her.” you admit, and on cue whatever is in the pan begins smoking.

melissa’s eyes widen as a blush coats her beautiful face. she rushes over to your side, “jesus, y/n! why didn’t you tell me you wanted beef stroganoff? i could make this in my sleep!” she begins to shoo you away, and you frown, shaking your head stubbornly. “because you always make dinner; i wanted to cook for you.” your fervent voice causes melissa’s heart to lurch in her chest. “i don’t just cook for just anybody, yanno’? i cook for you because i like ya, and don’t know how else to show it. i’m not all sweet like you.” she clarifies, and your heartbeat quickens as her words sink in.

she’s trying her hardest to avoid your eyes, and you can’t help the uncontrollable blush on your cheeks. “you like me?” you ask her, and she rolls her eyes. “like it wasn’t obvious when i cooked mac n cheese as a main dish. seriously, kid, your taste buds are strange.” she mutters, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the grin on your face. “yeah, well, as strange as my palette is, you like me.” you taunt her, and notice the way her focused stirring falters ever so slightly. she scoffs, forcing an exasperated expression on her face.

“don’t make me take it back.” she murmurs, and you can’t seem to stop grinning at her like an idiot.

the seasons change and so do things between you and melissa. it isn’t a significant enough change for you to mention it, but it is enough for you to feel the difference. melissa is so soft, and carefree around you now. before she was so tough and prickly; she’s still a bit prickly but you don’t mind getting poked in order to see her true self every now and then. you two appear to be doing this slow dance around the obvious feelings you have for one another.

melissa is way more reluctant than you are. she hates the way her mind works, but it’s not like she can control it. usually how cute and thoughtful you are washes away any doubts she has about herself, except for one day she runs out parsley, and has to run to the store. of course you offer to come along with her, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater and excitedly trotting by her side.

“you sure you don’t need anything else from here? you’re running out of juice.” you remind her and she mentally scolds herself. “you’re right! thanks hun.” she sweetly thanks you, making your face hot as she reaches for the orange juice. you both make your way to the checkout line, and you aimlessly look around at the chocolates. “y/n! hey!” a familiar voice causes you and melissa to turn around. you eyebrows rises slightly as you run into a woman who you went on a few dates with when you first moved here.

“tracy! hey!” you greet her, and she hugs you before you can even think. melissa is watching the interaction like a hawk, and as soon as the raven haired girl hugs you, there’s a burning sensation of pure rage deep rooted in her belly. her eyes narrow as “tracy” pulls away from you, and looks at you as if she wants to ravish you in the supermarket. “you never called me again! i had a lot of fun mini-golfing with you.” she says, and you sheepishly rub the back of your neck, clearly racking your brain for a flimsy excuse.

that’s when realization hits melissa; you dated this woman! the thought alone nearly makes her scoff. this was your type? mid-twenties, soft skin, hippie wannabe? “i just got really busy adjusting to living here and all that… but how are you?” you try to steer the subject away from the awkward final date you hated. it wasn’t fun for you; you had to force yourself to be some cool girl you clearly weren’t. “i’m good! how are you? what are you up to tonight?” she asks hopefully, and you smile.

“i’m good as well. this is melissa, we’re here picking up some parsley for dinner tonight.” you introduce the redhead, and tracy’s demeanor immediately shifts as she assumes the older woman is your girlfriend. “oh. hi, i’m tracy.” she introduces herself to the grade school teacher, holding out her hand for the second grade teacher to shake. melissa only nods curtly in in tracy’s direction, “hey.” she flatly responds. and you notice the tension in the air right away. “well, it was nice seeing you again, tracy.” you say suggestively, and tracy nods.

“yeah, you too. you should call me sometime.” she squeezes your arm before she leaves, and melissa looks as though she wants to murder you with her eyes. “next.” the checkout clerk calls out, snapping the redhead out of her thoughts. she places the orange juice and parsley down much harder than she intended; it even causes the middle-aged man to jump slightly. “rough day?” he questions with a goofy grin, trying to lighten the mood. melissa shoots daggers at him with her eyes, causing his smile to fall as he clears his throat.

he scans the items quickly, “that’ll be $8.97.” he states; not a single slick remark left in him. melissa inserts her card, finishing the transaction without another word. she storms out of the supermarket with you in tow, trying to catch up to her as you follow her to her car. when you’re both strapped in, the car starts and the ride is quiet for the first minute and a half. you hate awkward silences, especially with her. “i honestly forgot i even tried dating when i first moved here.” you pipe up.

“well maybe now you can give her a call, since you’re no longer busy and adjusting.” she mocks your lame excuse from a few minutes ago, and you frown. “i didn’t— the reason i didn’t call her back wasn’t because i was adjusting—“ you try to explain yourself, but melissa cuts you off. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. we’re friends, i don’t care who you go on lousy dates with.” her voice is harsh, and it’s a tone you recognize all too well. it’s the same one she uses when she used to have her walls up high, refusing to let you get even a glimpse into her mind.

she doesn’t allow you to tell her it was solely because you didn’t want to call tracy again. the dates were terrible; the entire time you were just pretending to be someone you’re not. you only forced yourself to go because you had been living here for a month, and hadn’t made a single friend. melissa stubbornly cooks dinner, and the conversation through the night is short. you aren’t used to it, and it hurts. but you convince yourself tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk about it.

but the next morning, melissa must’ve left for work earlier than usual because you don’t see her in the elevator. you text her to have a good day, but never get a response. throughout the day you can’t help but think about her, and you wonder why she became so closed off after finding out about your meaningless dates with tracy. you understood she might’ve been a little jealous; sometimes you got jealous whenever she spoke about joe. but she seemed so genuinely upset, all you wanted to do was figure out what was going through her head.

you decide to make her some pumpkin carrot cake before heading to her apartment for dinner. it’s nearly six when you’re finished, and you place it in a tupperware nicely for her. you’re practicing in your head what you want to say to her tonight, and how you should assess the situation. by the time you knock on her door you have a simple smile on your face, and the door swings open, the sight nearly causing your eyes to bug out of their sockets.

melissa was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her body perfectly, and enhanced every single curve. the exposed cleavage caused you to force your eyes on hers in order not to sneak a longer peak. your hopeful smile falls a bit when you notice the hard expression on her face. before she can even ask you anything, you begin blabbering like you usually do. “look, i know you said we’re just friends, but there’s more to us than just that… we both know it. we may not have ever talked about it or what it means, but i haven’t dated anyone since this started…” you ramble, and melissa’s eyes soften for a split second, her hard facade slipping as a wave of panic washes over her.

“y/n—“ she tries, but the voice behind her is interrupting, causing your heart to fall right into your stomach. “everything okay, red?” a deep, unfamiliar voice asks, causing you to freeze. melissa suddenly has this unrecognizable expression of regret on her face. “y-yeah everything’s fine, gar.” she says back, “gary? as in the vending machine guy who’s been flirting with you all year, gary?” you ask in disbelief, and a slight bit of anger is mixed into your voice. she had been so upset about you going on a few dates with tracy before you two were even friends, and now she was here having a romantic dinner with gary. you could even smell the type of food she made him.

“he’s been asking me all year, and i decided since it’s been awhile since i’ve been on a date, i should get back out there.” melissa says the words she’s practiced saying to you in her head. she knew you’d come over today, you always do. she knew you’d see her with gary, and maybe she wanted that. she wanted you to feel how she felt when she saw you and tracy. though as you stare up at her with this kicked puppy-dog expression, she knows you aren’t feeling what she was feeling yesterday. you’re just straight up hurt and it’s written all over your face.

you glance down at the stupid dessert you spent all afternoon perfecting. “well, this is for you, because i wanted to apologize for upsetting you. i can see now you weren’t upset at all.” you have to force yourself to speak, and you surprisingly hold it together as you shove the tupperware in melissa’s hands. you turn to walk back into your apartment, and a wave of regret flashes over the redhead. melissa reaches out for you, “y/n, wait—“ a firm but soft hand wraps around your wrist, but you pull it away from her as you spin around and flash her a dejected look. the sight breaks her heart in two.

“it’s fine. you were right; we’re friends. you don’t have to explain yourself to me. i don’t care who you go on dates with.” you throw the words back in her face, and there’s a flicker of emotions on her face but you turn away and disappear into your apartment. melissa stands there staring at your door; she looks down at the cake in her hands and she hates how tight her chest gets. it’s like her heart might pop in her chest. she doesn’t feel the way she thought she would, and suddenly she mentally curses herself for thinking it’d feel good to hurt you.

melissa is off her game at work the next day. she texts you, and for the first time since you two became friends, you’re the one who doesn’t reply. the redhead realizes she made a mistake. instead of talking about her insecurities or how hurt she was when she saw you and tracy, she ended up jumping the gun and going out with the safest option. gary.

in truth she did like gary; maybe not enough to want to date him, but she found him moderately attractive. she also thought he was pretty funny, and he appears to like her a lot. though none of that was anything compared to what she felt for you. melissa could not stop thinking about you and that hurt face of yours all day. she even decides to cook your favorite food for dinner.

but when six-thirty rolls around, and you still haven’t knocked on her door, there’s a sinking sensation in her stomach. melissa huffs as she looks at the dinner she prepared, and thought of it going to waste angered her. or maybe it was the thought of you just standing her up, even though it’s not like she personally invited you tonight. maybe you think she’s with gary again.

usually melissa is very stubborn, and she would never consider going across the hall and begging you… but she can’t get you out of her damn head. so she takes her ass straight to your door, not even bothering to close hers. she knocks on your door vigorously, not stopping once until the door swings open to reveal you. your hair is damp, and you’re in an old oversized tee shirt; the printing was faded but the hem reached just below your thighs. melissa had to refrain herself from gazing down at your smooth legs.

“i cooked dinner and you’re ready for bed, what gives?” she questions, hating how she sounds like a petulant child. you look a bit surprised to see her, “don’t you have a date with gary and his mustache?” you ask a bit bitterly, and melissa scowls. “it was just dinner, y/n.” the redhead says, and you gaze up into her eyes. “dinner like we have?” you ask, and she huffs in response. “that’s different and you know it! you said it yourself yesterday, there’s more to us than just that.” she reminds you.

“i was clearly wrong.” you sound abnormally stubborn, and melissa sighs in frustration. “i’m not going to see gary again, kid. so just come on over and sit down for dinner.” she commands, and you shake your head defiantly.

“no.” you retort, and she raises a brow, obviously shocked by the disobedience. “no?” she asks you in the warning tone she uses whenever one of her students is testing her. “that’s right, i’m saying no. ever since this started, i’ve always done what you say. i go at your pace, i wake up earlier just to see you, i don’t bake anything with chocolate because you hate chocolate. did you know it’s my favorite? i do whatever you ask to satisfy you. i put my feelings to the side, just to make sure yours are valid. all for my efforts to be outweighed by a guy who restocks the gushers in the vending machine.” you stress, sounding reasonably upset.

“why did you even get so upset about tracy the other day if you were planning on going out with gary? i don’t understand you.” you add, and the dam melissa built to keep her emotions in abruptly bursts. “exactly! you don’t understand me! you’re this young kid who has her whole life to look forward to. this is just a passing moment in your life; this apartment, this city, our dinners, me.” her voice lowers, “you got your whole life ahead of ya, you shouldn’t waste it tryin’ ta’ understand me. you should be dating girls like tracy who are equipped with all sorts of emotions, and able to give you what you need.” she adds, and you frown as she pours her heart out to you. she appears to be full of regret, and vulnerability.

“and what exactly do i need, lissa?” you can’t help but ask, and she runs her fingers through her soft red locks. “you need someone who’ll take care of ya, and show ya how much they care about you. you need someone who isn’t old and afraid of what everyone else thinks. maybe someone who wouldn’t completely embarrass the shit out of ya whenever you decide to take them back to your hometown…” she trails off, now she’s avoiding your eyes and the abnormal, unconfident demeanor causes you to frown. you practically worship the ground melissa walks on; even if she didn’t know it, you were completely enamored by her. it frustrates you to know she doesn’t put herself on a similar pedestal.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on. when i met you, i felt this instant pull that i had never felt before. god, i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone as pretty as you, and it makes me so mad that you don’t think of yourself that way. i love you, you know? everything about you; the crinkles by your eyes whenever you smile, the way you curse when you’re angry, your southern philly accent… that irritated frown on your face whenever you’re upset.” you begin to get lost in your words, the space between you both getting smaller and unnoticed. her heart palpitates as you rave on and on about her with this genuine expression of stringent affection.

“you have all these amazing qualities, and you sell yourself short. you’re the best freakin’ cook in the world; the best and sexiest teacher in the world; you’re tough as nails; you have this energy that follows you, it’s fierce and warm. just like you. and as for your age, it’s hard for me too…” the last comment makes her eyes harden, and you’re quick to add, “… but it’s not because i think you’re old, mel. it’s because sometimes i feel like you don’t think of me as your equal. you just think of me as this young kid who’s a burden. but i know who i am, and what i want. i keep a memory of everything you do in the back of my head, and the space in my mind you take up is only getting bigger and bigger. you’re it for me, i’m positive, because how can i see anyone else when you’re engraved in my mind and heart?” you ask her, pouring your whole heart out to her.

your eyes widen when you see the tears threatening to fall from her delicate green eyes. “that’s— that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me… you— that was more romantic than the vows at my wedding…” melissa’s voice cracks and she tries to put on that stony facade, but it doesn’t work. your words seemed to have broken one of the steel walls she puts up; it’s crumbled into millions of pieces and left her exposed in front of you. her eyes are unguarded and her expression is fragile. she feels so small.

“you can’t just say things like that!” she snaps, her voice higher than usual. you shake your head, “why not? you deserve to hear more good things about yourself, and i can go on all night.” you sheepishly admit, and melissa’s eyes soften when they meet yours. “you really feel that way about me? even though i’m probably older than your mom?” she half jokes, but the self-doubt is leaking through her tone. “you are definitely way hotter than my mother.” you mutter, and melissa gasps but can’t manage to fight to the grin that’s tugging at her lips.

“gee kid, you feel all of that for me and have never even tried ta’ kiss me? what gives?” you can hear the genuine curiosity behind the playful question, and your cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of pink. “i didn’t… i didn’t think you wanted me. i mean, yesterday when i saw you with hulk hogan—“ she cuts in, “gary.” she corrects and you scowl cutely, “whatever. when i saw you with him it kind of reminded me you’re a woman who needs someone to take care of you and i… i’m just a kid.” you look down at your sock covered feet, and before you can even think about anything else, melissa is cupping your face and making you face her.

her lips are on yours in an instant, and the butterflies in your belly begin to repopulate one by one. she pulls away before you can think twice, “you’re not just a kid to me. you’re a good person, y/n. i’m sorry i was so immature about everything.” she sounds ashamed, but the sincerity in her voice makes your heart speed up. your cheeks burn and maybe the kiss sweetened you up a bit. “it’s okay, lissa. i understand… next time just talk to me.” you assure her and she smirks. “or i can just kiss ya again and see where that gets me.” she half jokes, making you grin.

“or that too.”

#melissa schemmenti x fem reader #melissa schemmenti x fem reader angst #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter #lisa ann walter x reader

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spamgyu · 4 months

Text

BACKBURNER // PART 4

DESCRIPTION: She had grown tired of being on his back burner, the person that he had kept warm until he gotten the girl he has had his eyes set on for years... And with a little help from her friend, maybe... just maybe she'll finally be the first choice. PAIRING: Seungcheol x Reader | Mingyu x Reader GENRE: Angst & Fluff PART 3 | SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

When he had told Jeonghan that his roommate had convinced him to go over to his best friend's house to finally tell her how he felt, he wasn't lying.

It wasn't just for show – to tell a fake story to make their lies believable.

"Seungcheol fumbled, are you going to do the same thing?" Minghao asked him, keeping his eyes trained on the screen while they worked together to complete their game's mission.

For the past few months, they had almost always circled back to one topic.

Y/n.

It was almost as if a switch had turned on in his head the day he realized that she was the one he loved this whole time. Just as has his mother predicted since their high school days, Mingyu had fallen in love for the one constant that was in his life.

"It's complicated, Hao. Shoot shoot– fuck." Mingyu cried, chucking his controller to the side as the screen flashed "MISSION FAILED".

Minghao shrugged. "How complicated could it be?"

"Well for one, it's one sided." He listed. "And then what, I lose her? Rather not have that."

"Just give it a shot. I doubt she'll cut you out anyways. She's stuck around this long, hasn't she?"

He was right.

She had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly and yet, she was still here. She still stuck by his side through it all.

He brought his fingers up to his lips, biting his nails – a bad habit he had developed whenever he allowed his thoughts to consume him.

The worst that could happen was that she could reject him, which he was 99% sure she would.

He just needed to get this damn weight off his shoulder.

Now more than ever.

Sighing, Mingyu stood from his seat. "Alright, I'm going to do it."

He had all the intentions of doing so that Valentine's Day. Showing up to her doorstep with a small bouquet of tulips he had picked up at Trader Joe's along with her favorite sweet treat from their bakery section – the brownie cookie combo that he swore was far too sweet for anyone's taste buds.

But instead, he was greeted by a girl with red eyes – it was clear that she had been crying just minutes before his arrival.

"Are those for me?" She sniffled, pointing to the contents in his hand.

"Yeah, I figured you were going to be upset this Valentine's day." He chuckled, lying through his teeth.

It wasn't the right time.

Mingyu wanted to tell her how he felt.

He wanted to finally feel the weight come off his chest but he knew it wasn't right.

Not when he still plagued her mind.

"Thank you." Y/n smiled, using the sleeves of her sweater to wipe her eyes. "No plans today?"

Mingyu shook his head, plopping down on her couch. "Today is for couples."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"Fake dating?" Minghao repeated what his friend had just debriefed him after his arrival. "At your big age, you're going to pretend to fake dat– You know you've had many bad ideas before but this one takes the fucking cake."

Mingyu groaned, putting his head in his hands. "I know okay? I know, I just– She– I don't know. You know I'd do anything for her."

"Including helping her get Cheol back?" He cried.

"I just want her happy."

Minghao sarcastically clapped. "Let's give it up for the stupidest boy alive."

"Leave me alone." He pushed his friend's hands away from his face.

"This is going to be so fucking messy." He shook his head as he headed for his room, leaving his friend in the living room to wallow in his own thoughts.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

After three days of non-stop activities, she was ready to tap out – groaning in her bed as she flipped laying on one side to the other. She had mistakenly agreed to go hiking with Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol the day before and as someone who rarely did any physical activities, she was regretting her decision – feeling her thighs ache under the covers.

"Let's do something." Mingyu suggested from his bed, growing bored of the show he had been watching on the television.

Everyone else had left the hotel early in the morning to go ziplining, and considering her current state and his fear of heights, the duo had opted to sit this one activity out.

Getting the rest they deserve.

"I'm tired." She whined.

"Come on, I wanna go back up north and look around the shops." He pouted dramatically, batting his lashes at her.

They had all been so busy trying to complete the itinerary Eunji had so kindly organized that day that they weren't able to fully enjoy all the small town had to offer – Mingyu making note to pay it another visit during his free time.

Which was now.

She never could resist him.

Letting out a sigh, she sat up in her bed – trudging over to her suitcase. "You better fucking buy me something."

"I'm your boyfriend not your sugar daddy."

Grabbing the nearest article of clothing, Y/n turned around and threw it at him – hitting his face.

"I'm the luckiest man alive." He chuckled, tossing it back at her – making it perfectly into her suitcase.

"You sure are, baby." She winked, heading straight to the bathroom – outfit in hand.

"I thought we won't use baby!" He called out as the door slammed shut – a wide grin on his face.

He didn't care if it was in pure sarcasm. Mingyu felt his heart skip a beat.

Just as it had been the past few days.

Oh he was down bad.

Within an hour, they were back on the same road, blasting the same playlist – the two taking turns singing obnoxiously along to her favorite songs.

"I like it here." She reached over to dial the volume down, turning to point her film camera at him. "Smile– oh my god don't pose– ew!"

After a year of nothing but pure heartache, riding the roller coaster of emotions that Seungcheol had managed to strap her into, this was the first time in a while that the girl had enjoyed her time.

She couldn't help but dread the thought of the trip wrapping up, having to face the music of her reality – going back in to work, coming home to an empty apartment... and be alone with her thoughts.

With no Mingyu to distract her.

In the past few days, she had gained a new appreciation for her friend – noticing the small details of his actions. Especially after voicing this to Seungcheol on the beach, in attempts to defend their lie.

And even more when Mingyu had confirmed this two days ago.

At the time, she was simply saying what was at the top of her head. She had always known that he was there for her, answering all her calls in an instant and showing up with no questions asked.

Even if it was to help her get a bird, that had accidentally flown in and wreaked havoc, out if her apartment.

She remembered how stressed and terrified he was of hurting the poor thing as he used a broom to usher the small creature out – recording the whole thing on her phone for future entertainment purposes.

"Thank you." She glanced over at him, a soft smile on her lips.

"For what?" Mingyu's brows furrowed, confused at the sudden change of tone and air between them.

"Just being a good person." Y/n shrugged.

"Are you going all soft on me, y/n?" He teased.

"Don't make me take it back."

"I'm kidding." He chuckled, reaching over to give her cheek a poke. "I should be thanking you. You bullied me into being a good person."

Aside from his parents and his sister, she had a big influence on who he was and the man he had become today.

Y/n had never once let any of his mistakes go by without a single lecture. He remembered all the times he would sit in silence while she talked his ear off, even if it was something minor as forgetting to clean the lint trap out of his dryer.

Something about starting a house fire.

Before, when he was in his teens and still unappreciative of her nagging, Mingyu would simply roll his eyes – letting her words go in one ear and out another. As time had gone by, he had learned to appreciate it.

Welcoming it even; beating her to the punch to text her of his mistakes and asking for advice on how he could make it right.

"Not enough though. How many girls have cried because of you?"

"Don't make me take it back." He jokingly threatened, using her line.

Laughing, she allowed for the views to distract her once again – snapping a few more pictures.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"We should come back here. Make it a tradition." She said, as the treaded through the small tide pools, pointing out the small school of fish that swam along their legs every now and then.

"Holding you to that."

The two had many traditions that they had set in place, one of them being spending a week during their summers camping with both of their families. A tradition that began when he had tagged along during one of her family trips – it wasn't long until his family joined in the following year, their fathers instantly becoming friends during the first day.

This would merely be another trip that they would continue on until they were old and grey.

"Do you think our kids will be friends? Like us?" Y/n asked aloud, stopping him in his tracks.

"I haven't really thought that far."

A lie.

He has.

Though, he would much prefer if their kids were siblings rather than friends.

They say a man knows in an instant whether they want to marry a girl or not.

Mingyu was no different.

He remembered that day so clearly. She had dragged him along to the mall to help her find the perfect dress for Jeonghan's wedding, and with nothing better to do he had agreed.

She had stepped out of the dressing room in a one shoulder satin maxi dress, fitting perfectly on her body. It was a simple dress, no ruffles, no sequins, no lace. Just a plain satin dress; but somehow she made it look like it was worth far more than the tag attached at the seams.

Mingyu remembered his heart skipping a beat that day, the breath in his lungs didn't seem enough as he took in her beauty.

He didn't know what triggered it, maybe it was the constant talks of the wedding, but his brain was instantly flooded with the thought of being the one at the end of the aisle – waiting for her as she made her way down in a white dress.

This soon then spiraled to thoughts of a married life with her; spending the rest of his life with his best friend.

It took him nearly a week to snap out of this day dream, his mind constantly wandering back to that day and the whirlwind of emotions that hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Have you at least thought about what you want for dinner?" She laughed; bringing him back to reality.

"Poke probably." Mingyu muttered.

"Sh.. the fish can hear you." She feigned shock as another school of silver fish swam by her toes.

"Yummy yummy fish." He cooed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Sitting atop of the roof of the car, the two picked at the various small bowls for cubed fresh cut of the day that they had picked up from the local market – humming in content each time they took a bite.

Instead of meeting the rest of the group for dinner, Mingyu and Y/n agreed it would be best to simply pick up the poke he had originally suggested as opposed to racing back to the city.

Watching the sunset while parked by the sand was far better than the chaos, anyways. The two needing a break from all the voices that seemed to always talk over one another.

"Hold still," He picked up his phone and pointed it at her. "This would look good on my story."

While they sat in silence, digesting the dinner they had just finished not too long ago, Mingyu couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked under the soft orange and yellow hues of the sun that had dipped halfway into the horizon – illuminating her face in a new light.

Both metaphorically and literally.

Without a second thought, the girl listened to him – holding her pose of looking straight into the shoreline, a soft smile on her face. "Lemme see." She held her hand out as he handed her his device. "Send this to me."

Mingyu swallowed as his heart battled with his brain to do the unthinkable.

Maybe it was the fact that they had spent the whole day alone, acting as though they were still around their friends – pretending.

Or the fact that this his trip had given him a glimpse of what his life would be if they were actually together, the flirting, the hand holding, the soft whispers, waking up to her in the morning; the sweet moments he yearned for.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he's been wanting this for so long – unable to hold off any longer.

"Bug?" Her head tilted to the side, seeing the gears turn behind his eyes.

There goes that nickname.

The one that they have sworn to use just as part of the act that soon became a part of their daily vocabulary. Even when it was just the two of them.

"Let me just–" His mumbled, leaning down – which wasn't hard as they were already only inches apart, capturing her lips in his.

She didn't pause.

She didn't push him away.

In fact, she kissed him back.

Bringing a hand to cup her face, Mingyu moved his lips against hers slowly. He had been dreaming of this for a while now, and he could have sworn he thought their first kiss would be much rougher – thinking he would be hungry for her lips.

But this moment was delicate. He knew that it could all come crashing down the minute he pulled away, so he proceeded it with caution – his thumb caressing her cheek as his tongue swiped her bottom lip for permission.

She allowed it.

Mingyu's head was spinning at this point, wanting nothing else but to stay in this moment forever.

But he knew he couldn't.

They needed air.

Pulling away, Mingyu swallowed; preparing himself to receive an earful from her.

Instead she sat in silence, blinking at him.

He had fucked up.

"I'm sorry." He croaked.

Mingyu knew that if he wasn't the first one to speak up, she would let the tension swallow them whole – leaving them to drive back to the hotel without uttering a single word to each other.

"I think we should head back." She cleared her throat, scooting towards the moon roof they had slipped through.

"Hey–" He placed a hand on her shoulder.

She turned her head, lips pale. It was clear that she had regretted what had happened, a lump forming in Mingyu's throat as the worst had finally come.

"What?" Y/n asked softly.

"Just wanted to see if you were foaming at the mouth." Mingyu joked. "Since I have rabies and all..."

A small smile formed on her face, a wave of relief washing over him. "You're so fucking stupid." Y/n ducked into the car.

"No rabies?" Mingyu called out.

"Get in the damn car, Mingyu." She called back.

They were going to be alright.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

For the first time in a while, she was confused.

She should have listened to the voice in her head when it had warned her that pretending to date her best friend was a bad idea.

At her ripe age of twenty six, she should have known this would happen.

Maybe it was the close proximity, or the fact that they had spent the whole day absentmindedly pretending to be a couple despite none of their usual audience being around, or maybe it was that he kissed her.

No.

They made out.

Either way, her mind was in a mess.

It wasn't like she's never had feelings for him before.

But the last time didn't count.

They were in high school — and everyone had a crush on him.

It was tiny crush that she had soon gotten over when she met her first boyfriend.

But this time was different.

There was more on the line.

Their friendship, their whole group's dynamic.... and Seungcheol.

The man who had been the main reason why she was in this predicament in the first place.

A part of her wanted to dismiss the moment atop of their car as a moment of weakness, the sunset and island hypnotizing the both of them.

Besides, it was Mingyu. He had plenty of girls in line, waiting to get a chance with him.

He must have simply been caught up in the moment.

If it was anything genuine, he would have acted differently instead of jumping back into the sense of normality as they drove back to the hotel.

But no, he made a joke out of it all.

It was a mistake to both of them.

But another part of her wanted it to be real – falling into the trap of their own acting.

While he had excused himself to the hotel gym, to work out with Joshua and Soonyoung, y/n was left with her thoughts – wanting nothing more but to silence it all.

She didn't want Mingyu, even if his actions was everything she wished for in a man.

It was– It had to be Seungcheol.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

It was as if the universe read her mind, opening the door to see him standing with a plushie in hand – nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Hi." He greeted softly, holding the t-rex stuffed toy out. "I uh– it reminded me of you."

If her mind wasn't a mess before, it sure was in pure chaos now.

It reminded him of her.

She recalled back to the one good week they had. No fighting, no tears, no mixed signals.

She had come down with a nasty cold and he had doted on her while she was bed ridden – staying over at her apartment to nurse her back to health.

They had spent that whole week binge watching all the installments of Jurassic Park, cuddling on her bed despite her protests of not wanting to pass whatever virus she had come down to him.

He didn't care for it, showering her with kisses.

"Thank you." Y/n accepted the plush.

She picked up on his nervousness, stepping aside to let him in. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck – trying to find the right words to say. "I– I want to say sorry. For all of it. The pain, the confusion..... I– I'm sorry for being a dick."

"It's fi–"

"It's not." Seungcheol shook his head. "I had some senses knocked in me and–"

Y/n watched as he licked his lips, pacing in front of her before he came to a stop.

"It's you." He breathed. "I– I choose you."

Her world came into a halt.

The metaphorical glass shattering.

"What?"

"That night, when you asked me to choose, I– I shouldn't have hesitated. I should have stopped you. I'm sorry." He continued, pain evident in his eyes.

He was being genuine.

Y/n tried to search for any signs of lies on his face, unable to comprehend the words that left his lips.

This was the moment she had finally been waiting for, but why was she so afraid?

"I know an apology can't fix it. But if you'll allow it–" Seungcheol hesitantly took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "If you'll take me back, I'll spend however long trying to prove that it's you."

taglist closed

@thepoopdokyeomtouched/ @scuzmunkie / @yunjin0 / @morkswatermelonnnn / @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan / @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken / @naturelvrgfstealer / @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter / @musingsofananxiouspotato / @f4iryjjosh / @gatorgirl007 / @girlwithimaginarybiaslist / @daisawa / @ttragiquee / @luchiet / @loveforred /@vannabanana1995 / @uniq-tastic / @porridgesblog / @haolistic / @bbl32 / @calumsfringe / @alsktudy / @chansbaybygirl / @alwaysalmostthere / @listxn / @soupbinlily / @hanniebaby95 / @yonabutnotyuna / @buffhoshi / @kawennote09 / @wwwellacom / @hanniebaby95 / @winterbeartaehyungbestboy

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 2 months

Text

Holding You

Boys in the Boat

The cast from the movie: Joe Rantz, Bobby Moch, Don Hume, George “Shorty” Hunt

Fluffy cuddling sessions with some of the boys

Enjoy this garbage!

Joe Rantz:

He’s such a busy body that it’s hard to get him to slow down for 10 whole seconds. He’s always had to work, it’s the story of his life. So comfort is foreign to him.

The first time he holds you of his own, unassisted accord is during tryouts. He can’t get a good reading on his position and is fretting over the money and schooling. He’s practically tearing out his hair trying to make it all work out. He’s so frazzled that his brain goes numb and he can’t seem to make decision on anything.

He goes for a walk through the library and finds you tucked into a deserted corner. It’s quiet, isolated, and finally a thought pings off the blocked thinking centers of his brain.

How about a hug?

You noticed his labored footsteps approaching and then to him with a smile. And then he’s draping himself over you, letting his arms find the curve in your spine and nestle there. His chin fits perfectly on your shoulder where his cheek can brush past yours.

And then he sighs, leaning more of his weight on you. He’s clearly exhausted. “You alright there, big guy?”

“No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I just…” he closes his eyes and relishes the moment, “just wanna be like this for a bit.”

His rough hands smooth down the back of your sweater. His hair tickles your ear. You can feel the swell of his chest as he takes in deep breathes. He relaxes and straightens up, pulling you against him. His lips meet your temple stay planted there.

This is just what he needed. His brain starts to function again. He takes careful note of how you feel tucked into him, the scent of your hair and sensation of your breath on his jaw.

Eventually he’s back at an equilibrium and pulls away. He presses a kiss to your forehead and fiddles with some strands of your hair, eventually he starts peppering kisses all over your face.

“Thank you,” he says between each peck, “‘feel so much better now.”

Bobby:

Bobby always kept his room unearthly cold, leaving his windows wide open all day and through the night. It’s because he piles blankets on his bed. And also because he spends a lot of time cuddling with you. He’s a devout cuddler and would prefer to never get out of bed. Most days you get up first and leave him to wallow by himself.

So, he hypothesizes that he can make you stay in bed longer if getting out is much less favorable. Therefore, the room must be frigid.

This is how most mornings go. Bobby shifting slightly in your grasp. His wiggling rouses you. A cold clamminess clings to your cheeks and makes you grateful for the heap of blankets over your shoulders. It’s wintertime, and even the blankets would not be able to keep you warm if it wasn’t for the doubled body heat trapped under them.

Bobby is tucked flush against you. He’s touching you from his face tucked into your neck all the way down to your feet which at sandwiched between his.

You shrug the blankets up a little higher, the morning is still so young that you can afford to sleep in a little.

Bobby grunts, squeezing you between his biceps. You kiss his temple and stroke his shoulder blade, fingers skating over the thickened muscles of his back. He’s a little stiff from the extended practice he had yesterday.

“You’ve got to stop leaving your windows open.” The cold nips at your ears.

Bobby grumbles unhappily, “No.” There’s an audible hiss as he sucks in a frustrated breath and wedges himself into that warm crevice between you and the mattress.

As you’re forced on top of him, coldness rushes to the surface of skin the sheets had protected. “Bobby!”

You can feel his lips curling into a smile against your neck. You cling to him, buying right into his wicked little scheme. It doesn’t help that he’s arguably more comfortable than the mattress. He’s all dense muscle and soft skin and warm smiles and sugary words.

“You’re a menace, an absolute terror.” You pout, letting him hug you fully.

“You love it. Don’t even try to lie.”

You mutter and lift your head so you can look into his sleepy eyes.“I don’t know, might love this a lot more if I could sleep without getting frostbite.”

“I’m not closing the windows. Not ever.”

“C’mon can’t we—”

He peels his hands from your sides and cups your face and says real slowly, “no.” Then his sunshiny smile dissolves as his lips greet yours good morning.

Don Hume:

He’s a secret cuddler but this surprises no one. I just get the inkling that he’s such a softie and craves touch and gentle words, even just the slightest morsel of affection.

He tracks you down after work, feet aching and back sore. Long day of classes, long day of practice, and then a full shift of tedious labor. He’s been banking on the memory of you all day long.

His feet grow cold, the newspapers stuffed in the bottoms of his worn out boots not insulating the ragged leather. All he can think about is how much his body hurts and how he would just like to drape himself over you and listen to you talk and finally feel better.

You’re lounging on a sofa in an empty common room when he finally stumbles upon you. You peek over the top of your book and see his lumbering figure, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets and shoulders hunched. The tired has seeped from his stiff gate up into the lines of his face.

“Hey, Donny,” you set the book aside and lean onto the armrest, “long day?”

He hums. The distance between him and the couch seems increasingly difficult to cover. But he’s determined to make it there and he does. He squishes you into the couch cushions, hands still crammed in his pockets. He releases a big sigh. Your heartbeat drums steady in his ear; your fingers comb through his hair, tangled from a windy practice.

Eventually, he works up the energy to abandon his pockets and snake his arms around you. Don revels in the newfound ability to breathe easy. He soaks up the calmness like a sponge. His brain goes numb and all he can think about is the sensation of your fingers in his hair.

He’s always hungry for these moments. Life is hard on him but there are times when it’s kind and you are one of them. Your fingers brush over his nape and he shudders. And then yours massaging his tense shoulders. He grunts as you work at the knots. You want to tell him to take it easy but you know he never will. His conscience worries him into overworking himself. It doesn’t help that he’s been living this way for so long and is now hardwired that way. You know it won’t matter what you say, he’s too driven. So all you can do is take care of him after.

You can feel him melting into you like ice cream on a hot summer day. The fatigue is kicking in. After a while you leave his shoulders be and settle one hand on his lower back and the other on the crown of his head. His hair is gossamer soft and he smells heavily of wood shavings. You wonder what job he’s picked up now.

He’s tucked himself up under your chin, arms still wrapped around you. “Can I sleep?”

“You want to sleep here?”

“Mmm…”

You sigh, he’s nodding off a soon you won’t be able to get him up. “How about we get you cleaned up and you can stay in my room.”

“Really?” He shifts so you’re now cheek to cheek.

“Really.” You rub his sides, encouraging him to get up. “C’mon. It won’t take too long.”

“Can we…. Can we sleep…together?”

You quirk a brow teasingly which makes him blush.

“I didn’t mean like that.” His eyes match his pouty lips.

“We can sleep whichever way you meant.”

He slowly clambers off, “Not funny.” He mutters, allowing you to drag him by the arm up to your room.

By the time you’re both crawling into bed, his eyelids are drooping and he’s almost knocked out before he can lay his head down. He pulls you onto his chest and takes his turn of playing with your hair. But before long his hand stills and he huffs in his sleep. You eventually drift off too, cradling in his arms.

George “Shorty” Hunt:

He will cocoon you in a baking hot swath of muscled arms and fluffy blankets. It’s positively sweltering. You worry about sweating to death, passing away of heat stroke but Shorty doesn’t fret over such things.

He’s such a hugger, always touching you really. As much as he enjoys all the attention he gets from the girlies he prefers to hang off your arm like a one-of-a-kind handbag. He doesn’t mind being an accessory as long as he’s yours.

Naturally, George loves cuddling. He was born to be a big spoon. It’s just so easy to curve around you and squeeze you tight. You fall asleep like that most nights. His cheek rubbing against yours as he settles in.

“Have a good day?” He asks, lashes fluttering on your temple.

His hand is rubbing your shoulder, relaxing the muscles, “yeah,” you murmur.

“Tell me about it.”

You grown, “Nothing exciting happened.”

“Tell me the mundane, then.”

He loves hearing about every little thing you do. He’s longs to be involved in absolutely everything but he’s got so much to do in a day that he has to settle for this. Maybe that’s why he clutches you so tight, like you’ll slip through his fingers. He just wants to make up for being busy and not spending each second with you.

As you talk to him, George’s hand leaves your shoulder and rubs down your side. He thumbs at your hip and pokes your ribs. “Do I get to hear about yours?” You squirm as he tickles you.

“Went to class, then I had to row an unholy distance with Moch screaming bloody murder at me. Little prick.” Your laughter fills his ears. Shorty loves Bobby but only outside the boat. “Didn’t know such a small guy could be so loud and lewd.”

There’s hardly room for his chest to expand as he breathes so you feel every flex of his muscles. At this point he’s mostly on top of you. You feel the soft curve of his lip on your jaw whenever he speaks. He’s so warm and smells so good. You both slowly talk each other to sleep, nodding off some time after he finishes complaining about Ulbrikson’s lectures.

He’s awake only a short while after you fall asleep. He can finally feel the tension easing out of his upper body. He’s comfortable and sleepy and the weight of you against him is, perhaps, the most peaceful he will ever feel.

Dear Reader

This is my first piece for The Boys in the Boat. If you want, feel free to request something for them (meaning the dudettes from the cast). Thank you so much for reading and have a good day.

- the author

#the boys in the boat #joe rantz #Joe Rantz x reader #don hume #Don Hume x reader #Bobby Moch #bobby Moch x reader #George hunt #George shorty hunt

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sofiareidings · 7 months

Text

Coffee Runs

Summary: The guy who's been coming to the cafe you work at finally asked why you've never called him by his name.

A/N: I'm sorry this story is so late, especially since I missed Monday's post. School has been so busy this week and I've also had a bunch if extracurricular lately. I'll try and be more on time from now on (Don't hold me to that) Also! I got the idea for this one shot from @hanllo-kitty

Word Count: 0.8k

Song Suggestions: Invisible String - Taylor Swift

It was a good job, a great job really. The cafe was in a nicer part of town and people would subconsciously give nice tips so your pay was good. Rarely were customers terrible. Most people that came in were students or really busy people rushing in and going.

There were a few regulars. Like Joe, Joe was an eighty year old man who came in everyday for a coffee and a sandwich. While he waited he would talk about the lotto numbers and how his kids were doing. There was also Lola, she was a journalist who spent most of her day sitting in the corner of the cafe while refilling the same cup until closing.

But there was only one regular you would think about while getting ready for work.

Come on, I don't know his name. Don't shoot the messenger.

He'd been coming in for the past three months almost everyday, right after the cafe opened for a coffee. He always looked a little tired and acted like it too. He barely made conversation and normally shuffled out of the store in the same fashion as the other overworked people; quickly.

You hadn't learned his name yet. He always seemed to forget to say it when you asked, which resulted in you making up something.

"Guy with the sweater vest!"

"Guy in the purple!"

"Guy with the scarf!"

You get the point.

He was your favourite regular because of his looks. God, even when he was incredibly sleep deprived he looked beautiful. He had brown hair that fell just below his sharp jaw. Brown eyes that always happened to be in the light from the cafe window, making the small gold flakes in his eyes shine. He was normally dressed in a sweater vest and neutral pants, he probably worked at some type of office. The one part of him that stood out in his outfits were his converse, odd for the rest of his outfit. You could've sworn a few times you saw brightly coloured mismatched socks.

***

The sound of the cafe bell echoed through the nearly empty shop, having only opened half an hour ago. Smiling in the direction of the person walking in you quickly noticed it was 'Guy with *whatever he had on*" who came in. Something was different, he had thick glasses on. That was new.

"Hey, just the regular coffee and donut?" You put the order into the computer, looking back up at him. Taking in the new look.

"Yeah, thanks." His lips creased into a line, you called it a tired smile, the same one he made everyday. He handed over his money and poured the change into the tip jar then stepped back to wait for his order.

A couple minutes later you came back to the counter with his order. "Guy with the glasses!"

He did his usual, smiled and grabbed his order saying bye. But just when he reached the threshold of the door he paused and turned. "Why do you do that?"

Having already turned around you paused, this was the first time he'd talked to you in a clear voice. You weren't really sure what he meant. "Do what? Did I get your order wrong?"

He cleared his throat and seemed a little frustrated. "You never say my name, you just call me guy with something. Is it just to annoy me?"

"What? No, you've just never told me your name." Laughing a little, realising the misunderstanding.

"I didn't?" His face changed to confusion, "Oh my gosh, I didn't." He realised his mistake then his face flushed a shade of red.

"Don't worry, it's okay. Guy with the glasses." You laughed, looking around the cafe for a minute, strange it was still pretty empty.

"I am so sorry, I thought I told you and you just wanted to annoy me. I feel like a jerk, you seem so nice." Genuinely sorry he apologised profusely. "Can I make it up to you?"

Deciding to take the chance, you'd been daydreaming about this guy for months. "Well, maybe you could take me on a date." A little shocked by your own boldness, your face went up like twelve degrees.

"Uh, yeah…" He trailed off, clearly flustered. "Yeah, I would really like that."

"Well then, it's a date." You beamed, internally jumping up and down out of excitement. Since when were you so forward? He made that smile he made everyday before turning towards the door again.

That's when you realised.

"Wait!" You shouted, louder than you expected. Causing your coworker to drop a cup. "You still haven't told me your name."

"It's Spencer. I'll make sure to be back tomorrow." He nodded again and chuckled lightly before finally walking through the door.

God could tomorrow morning come any quicker.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #fandom #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn!reader #sofiareidings

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nunalastor · 25 days

Note

On the subject of people from Alastor's past showing up at the hotel, may I propose we shove the sheep girl in there, right alongside Mr. (not so) Clueless Detective?

(For those who don't know, the sheep girl is a nameless character from a dubiously canon prequel comic that shows Alastor going about his day in Hell.)

One day there's a knock on the hotel door and Charlie excitedly greets the sinner who's come to the hotel of her own volition; a petite, sheep-like woman in a purple sweater with a shy smile on her face. Charlie is thrilled to welcome her to the hotel. But the second that Alastor shows his face in the lobby, the sheep woman breezes right past the princess. Everyone is stunned as this timid-looking woman goes right up to the cruel, bloodthirsty, sadistic Overlord and begins to babble out a very clumsily worded 'thank you' to Alastor while he just stares at her blankly. She goes on for a few moments, tripping over her words, stopping and starting over, face getting redder with every passing moment until Alastor cuts her off.

Alastor: Apologies, my dear, but have we met before?

One could hear a pin drop in the hotel. The poor girl's face is completely red and after a moment she croaks out a only slightly less frantic apology because, haha, of course he doesn't remember her, why would he? After all, they barely said a thing to one another, and that was nearly ten years ago now...

Vaggie cuts in and asks to know what the hell she's talking about. The commotion has drawn some attention and more than a few questioning stares, so Charlie gets the sheep demon a glass of water and they all relocate to the parlor so the sheep girl can explain. Angel, Cherri, Husk, Niffty, and Lucifer join in, all curious about what this woman's about to say for various reasons.

She tells the story, nervous at first but gaining more confidence as she speaks. How she ran into Alastor when she'd only been newly dead and hadn't known who he was at the time. How he'd held open the door to a butcher shop for her and she found herself thinking that it was a relief that there seemed to be some decent people in Hell.

How the moment the butcher laid eyes on her, he'd flashed this eerie grin that made her skin crawl.

How the butcher had grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and tried to drag her over the counter.

How, before the butcher could eat her or rape her, Alastor had swept back inside, body twisted into a grotesque form, tangible darkness rolling off of him in waves, and he slaughtered the butcher where he stood while she was reduced to a teary-eyed wreck curled on the floor.

She'd been too scared to say anything at the time, thinking if he saw her then he'd attack her next. It was only long after the incident was over when she replayed the events in her mind that she realize that Alastor had saved her. Granted, in a more sadistic manner than she'd have liked, but nonetheless, he was her savior. And she'd never thanked him. Never even gotten his name.

It wasn't until after Vox broadcast that video of Alastor losing his fight to Adam that she knew that the man in red who'd saved her and the Radio Demon were one and the same. She'd only ever known the Radio Demon as a voice, and he'd vanished just a few years after her own arrival in hell! But the moment she learned that he was the manager of the Hazbin Hotel, she just knew she had to come and thank him in person.

And, well, here she is.

Everyone just sort of stares at Alastor before someone musters up the will to ask if it's true.

Alastor: I can't say I quite recall. I suppose it could be.

Charlie: How could you forget something like that?

Alastor: My dear, if what this young lady says is true, she and I exchanged a few words years ago. You can hardly expect me to remember every short interaction I've had in my lifetime.

Angel Dust: And I guess killing some random Joe is just Tuesday for you, eh?

Alastor: Precisely!

They chat a bit more after that, with Charlie inviting the sheep demon into the redemption program, but Lucifer remains silent. He's just staring at Alastor, unable to formulate a thought as he processes what he's just heard. Something shifts, and he hates the fact that he knows right now he's not going to be able to see Alastor the same way after this.

(comic mentioned!)

#hazbin hotel #alastor #nunalastor asks #sheep girl #serial roommates #lucifer #radioapple #appleradio #radio apple #apple radio

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beeslibrarycorner · 2 years

Text

Joe goldberg obsessing over a shy/quiet reader Hcs

He thought you were so vulnerable, like you needed to be protected from this cruel world.

|He spied on you from the counter at the bookstore, you looked so small in your sweater and his heart fluttered when you got excited over a book you were looking for. He could make you that happy, he could protect that happiness.|

He will find everything out about you from what your hobbies are to how you like your drink made at starbucks.

|”y/n likes to read a lot of different genres, I could totally talk to her about that!” Joe thought as he scrolled through your instagram looking for things about you.|

He will always be your shoulder to cry on when things get hard.

|”I think Amy is a bad friend y/n” Joe said while wrapping an arm around you in a side hug. He pressed you into his side, your face shying away and hiding in the space of his shoulder and neck. “She can't keep using you as a therapist when her life turns to shit.” he continues while rubbing your back comfortingly.|

He loves when you start to come out of your shell around him and is angered when you tell him why you hide your bright personality.

|”She's so sweet, why did she hide this part of herself from me” Joe thought as he watched you putting books away at the shop. Later on he complimented her and told her how sweet she is. “Thanks Joe, I’ve had way too many people say I talk too much and that I’m too energetic so I choose to hide it.” Joe could feel his blood boil at that, he hates to think you have been hurt like that.|

Will invite you out to lunch every week so the both of you can catch up. AKA: Joe trying to get new information out of you.

|”so, how’s everything going?” Joe asked as the two of you sat in a cafe waiting for your orders. You take a sip of your drink and Joe couldn't help but smile as he could see the wheels turning in your head. Well, Julia has been-”|

When anxiety strikes Joe helps you out, he will always be there.

|“Deep breaths y/n, you got this” Joe said, holding you close and petting your hair. You got yourself worked up over some college class presentation and Joe was quick enough to notice the symptoms before it became a panic attack. Joe distracted you enough for you to calm down and you cuddled together until you were able to get up and do the assignment; with Joe's help of course.|

Joe's obsession grows when you invite him over to your place to stay the night.

|As the episode's credits roll you yawn and stretch, looking at the clock you make the realization that it's eleven thirty. Joe is lazily sprawled out on the other side of the couch, when he catches you looking at him a smile spreads across his face. “You could stay the night if you want, I wouldn't want you falling asleep behind the wheel on the way back to your place.” You said, smiling back at him. Joe's heart fluttered, He was so lucky to have such a sweet girl in his life; his sweet girl.|

When Joe stays the night he steals your clothes and puts them in his bag he brings with him.

|It started with small things like a shirt or a hoodie that smelt like you, but then Joe would get bolder and bolder. He would steal your underwear and bralettes when the doubt dissipates and the confidence takes over.|

It's game over when you tell him you have a crush on him, he's never letting you go.

|”Now I know she'll never leave me” Joe thought as she looked at your relaxed form lying against him. He squeezed you in his embrace smiling when you squeezed him back.|

#joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg

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youssefguedira · 19 days

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i dont know when ill get around to writing the larger fic this is part of but you know brain worms have this

Nicky offers to pick him up at the airport like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been almost ten years since they saw each other, because he knows Joe hates planes and won’t want to try and navigate the two trains and two buses it’ll take to actually reach their hometown after the flight. And Joe doesn’t even try to protest, just texts him Thank you before he gets on the plane and then tries not to think about it for the entire flight. He fails.

When he arrives he’s exhausted, because it never really gets easier no matter how many times he does it. Moves through the airport like a zombie, operating mostly on muscle memory. He hasn’t been here in a long time. Still knows it well enough to navigate without really thinking about it.

His suitcase is one of the last to come through on the carousel, but it does come through, and then he’s walking to arrivals with his heart in his throat.

Nicky’s hanging back from the crowd, hands in his pockets. His hair is a little longer now, and at some point in the last decade he’s gotten his ears pierced, which Joe didn’t know. He’s wearing a dark green sweater and blue jeans. When he catches sight of Joe he smiles, small and restrained, straightens slightly.

“Hey,” he says as Joe gets closer, voice soft.

Joe has to swallow. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.

And he doesn’t even need to say anything else, because Nicky pulls him into a hug before Joe even has to ask, and Joe buries his face in Nicky’s neck and tries to breathe around the sob catching in his throat. One of Nicky’s hands comes up to cup the back of Joe’s neck, his thumb moving back and forth gently, and Joe is fragile enough that that gesture alone almost undoes him.

Nicky pulls back first. Smiles at Joe. “You look good,” he says.

Joe has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak. “You too.”

They linger just a moment longer, Nicky’s hand still on the back of Joe’s neck. Ten years ago, Joe would’ve kissed him; now there’s a gap neither of them quite know how to fill.

Finally, Nicky steps back fully, and Joe feels the loss of contact sharply. “We should go,” Nicky says. Joe nods, and follows him out of the terminal.

The car Nicky heads for is the same battered old thing he’s been driving since he got his licence. Joe wonders to himself how the car is even still going, and the look Nicky gives him tells him he knows exactly what Joe’s thinking.

It does something funny to Joe’s heart. He looks away, and gets in the car.

“I brought you something to eat,” Nicky says before he starts the car, reaching for the bag by Joe’s feet.

“You didn’t have to–” Joe begins, but Nicky cuts him off with a knowing almost-smile.

“You hate plane food,” Nicky says, “and it’s almost two, and the other option would be whatever we can find on the way. I thought you might prefer this to service station food.”

It makes Joe want to cry a little. “Nicky,” he says, and can’t manage anything else.

Nicky seems to understand. He pulls out what he had been looking for - a silver thermos, and a fork - and hands it to Joe. The contents are still warm when Joe opens it: pasta, warm and comforting.

“Good?” Nicky asks, watching him.

Joe nods. “Good.”

“Okay.” Nicky looks at him for a beat longer, then turns away and starts the car.

There’s a moment of delay before the CD player starts up, but when it does, Joe knows it from the opening note: he bought Nicky this CD from a thrift store the summer before he left for university, when they’d taken off for two weeks, just them and the car and the road. And there’s no chance that Nicky’s kept it in his car for ten years, but as they leave the airport and turn onto the motorway it makes it feel like they’ve done this a thousand times before, even though Nicky never picked him up from the airport when he came home, only met him at the station once or twice.

Joe finishes the pasta and tucks the thermos back in the bag. “Thank you,” he says, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means it to.

Nicky glances at him. “We’re still a few hours away, if you want to try and sleep. I will wake you when we’re almost there.”

Joe might protest under other circumstances, but the flight was long, and he doesn’t sleep well on planes anyway. So he takes off his scarf and folds it into a makeshift pillow before leaning back and closing his eyes. Nicky drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, hums along with the tune, and Joe lets the sound of his voice and the tapping of the rain on the window wrap around him like a blanket, carrying him off to sleep.

----------

Joe wakes to Nicky shaking his shoulder gently. “We’ll be there soon,” he’s saying. The rain has stopped; the radio is on, now, chattering in the way in the background. They’ve left the motorway behind for a much narrower road. Joe has to blink a few times before he catches sight of a sign and realises what Nicky means.

He sits up. The position he’d been sleeping in hadn’t been great for his back or his neck, and he’ll probably regret it soon, but he’d slept a lot better than he might’ve expected.

Being back always makes the rest of his life feel like a dream, like he’d never left at all. When the sign for their town passes Joe sits up, panic coiling in his stomach. He’s had days to prepare himself and still isn’t ready.

“Wait,” he says when they turn a corner two streets away from Joe’s parents’ house, “Nicky. Wait.”

“What?” Nicky asks. He doesn’t stop, but he does slow down.

“I can’t– I can’t do this.”

Now Nicky does stop, pulling into a lay-by. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, I just. Not yet. I need time.”

Nicky looks at him for a long moment. “When are they expecting you?”

“I didn’t give an exact time. Just sometime this afternoon.” He’d told his sister Nicky was coming to get him over the phone; she hadn’t said anything, but the silence had been enough.

Nicky doesn’t say anything, but he’s got the look on his face that means he’s thinking.

“I’ll be okay by myself,” Joe says then. “If you need to work.”

Nicky shakes his head. “I have today off.” And then, before Joe can really think about that, he turns the car around and heads back the way they came. This time, he recognises the path Nicky’s taking almost immediately, turning away from the area Joe’s parents live in and towards the outskirts of town, where it starts to become mostly farmland.

“I can park the car by my uncle’s house,” Nicky says, glancing at Joe. “Then we can go from there.”

Joe doesn’t need to ask where; they’ve walked the same route so many times he could probably do it in his sleep.

The sheep are out in the fields by Nicky’s uncle’s house, but he doesn’t see any of the lambs yet, though they must be coming soon. Nicky’s uncle let Joe try and help with lambing once, up until the point where Joe saw what exactly that entailed, and immediately lost his nerve. But he’d still let him help Nicky feed them every year.

There’s a little paved yard outside the farmhouse, where Nicky parks the car before grabbing the bag that had been by Joe’s feet. “I’m going to drop these off,” Nicky says. “You can come in, if you want?”

Nicky’s aunt and uncle have always been kind to Joe, but they will inevitably ask about his father, and Joe cannot quite bring himself to talk about that, not yet.

“I’ll wait,” Joe says.

It’s a few minutes before Nicky reappears, this time without the bag, but carrying a different thermos. He smiles apologetically as he jogs over. “I didn’t mean to make you wait long,” Nicky says. “But you know how they are.”

All Joe can do is nod. Nicky sets off down the path towards the woods that border the farm and Joe falls into step beside him. They don’t talk much on the way there, but they don’t need to: the silence is comfortable enough.

It’ll be spring soon. It’s cold but not cold enough to be uncomfortable, and the snowdrops are in full bloom, bright shards of white in the grass. The rain has stopped, but the smell of it still hangs in the air. They must’ve spent hours walking this path, enough that Joe doesn’t really need to look to know exactly where Nicky’s going.

This part of the river is just secluded enough that he can’t hear cars passing by anymore. The bench by the path is still there, though at some point they’ve built a shelter over it, which probably leaks but has kept it dry even after the rain. Nicky makes for it immediately.

If he looked at the back of the third slat from the left he’d find their names carved into the wood, side by side. Joe very deliberately doesn’t look.

Nicky sits down. Nods to the space beside him. When Joe joins him, he holds out the thermos.

“Tea,” Nicky says. “If you want.”

How many times have they done exactly this, over the years? In summer, they’d wade into the river; in winter, Joe always wanted to try skating on it, but the ice was never quite thick enough. Every time Nicky got into a fight with his father, every time Joe couldn’t bear to be in the house one second longer, they’d come here.

Joe gives into memory and rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky brings one arm up to hold him close, hand on Joe’s upper arm.

Joe closes his eyes, listens to the birds, listens to Nicky’s breathing.

Nicky says, “When is the funeral?”

“Thursday,” Joe says. He doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to think about the last conversation he had with his father, doesn’t want to imagine walking into his parents’ house and finding him gone. Of all people, Nicky will understand. It’s what brought them together when they were younger: being the only two students in their class who spoke English as a second language, and difficult fathers.

Silence falls between them, and Nicky doesn’t let him go, and Joe’s missed him, more than he really knew. He’d tried to stay in touch, and they had, for the most part, but it’s not the same as having Nicky beside him again.

Joe doesn’t think there’s anyone in this world who knows him the way Nicky does.

He doesn’t know why he says it, but they haven’t talked about it, and it feels like something they should, if only so Joe can lay this all to rest.

Joe opens his eyes. “You, uh. You seeing anyone?”

Nicky doesn’t pull away, but Joe feels the way he goes still, tense. Slowly, softly, he says, “I don’t think this is the right time, Joe.”

“Is there ever a right time?” Joe asks, half-joking.

Nicky doesn’t laugh.

Joe clears his throat. “I’m not. So.”

Nicky exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself. His thumb moves back and forth, back and forth where it’s resting on Joe’s arm, catching on the fabric of his coat. “Me neither.”

Joe’s not sure if that’s better or worse than if Nicky had said he’d found someone. If he had, perhaps Joe could put to rest the little part of him that will always be in love with Nicky. Not get rid of it entirely, but fold it away in a little corner of his heart and leave it there. This, though – this is possibility he doesn’t know what to do with.

“How long are you here?” Nicky asks quietly, moving his hand up to run his fingers through Joe’s hair, like he used to whenever Joe needed something to keep him grounded.

“I got two weeks off work,” Joe says. “After that I don��t know.”

Two weeks feels monumentally long and yet vanishingly short at the same time. And after?

They don’t talk about much after that. Small talk, more than anything else: Nicky’s still living in the same apartment, still working the same job, but Joe knows he loves it from the tone of his voice when he talks about the shelves he built for his most recent client, how he’s starting to make more of his own stuff, how his boss has been talking about retiring and leaving the whole business to Nicky. Joe could listen to him talk about it for hours. Maybe he does.

It settles the frantic thing that had woken in his chest when they crossed the town line, and eventually, Joe says, “I think I’m ready.”

Nicky turns his head inwards and kisses the top of Joe’s head. Lingers there for a moment. It isn’t anything; it doesn’t have to be anything.

“Okay,” Nicky says. “Okay.”

The walk back to the farm is largely silent, just as the walk there had been, passing the thermos of tea back and forth between them. They get back in the car, and Nicky drives them back to Joe’s parents’ house.

Nicky pulls up on the curb outside the house. “Call me, if you need anything. Or just– call me.”

“I will,” Joe promises. He has two weeks; he’s not going to waste them. They haven’t been in the same timezone in a long, long time.

Nicky smiles, small and hopeful, and there’s nothing really to say, after that.

Joe gets out of the car, and prepares to face his family.

#neon writes #the old guard #kaysanova #the setting and language of this one is deliberately deeply vague i don't know where it is the point is the Vibe #i call this one someone took le otto montagne 2022 a bit too personally! this is the first 'section' of this fic #there's a second part after a little time jump (not more than a year) which is what i like to call the past lives segment of this fic #anyway. enjoy #userlyde #userlinax #OH ALSO. the song is amore che vieni amore che vai #not for thematic reasons it's just the first track of ostinata e contraria #and its funny to me

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stackofeggs · 2 years

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getting over my intense months-long art block by doing whatever i want to do ≈ quantity >>> quality

don't look too hard, you'll find the mistakes ;_;

1: this was from the hermit palette ask game! i had the idea in the back of my head since that ask but it took me literal months to execute (and i hope no one requests if i post this ;_; because its been 3 months)

2: for a joe hills palette, his sweater felt so empty... so i wrote a "B00" on it. also took me months before i thought of something

3: outing myself as a genshin impact player... no, i don't have zhongli. i don't think mumbo even has the same personality as zhongli. i just think zhongli's suit is really really nice and i Love to draw mumbo in Suits

4: based on this post: https://gertritude-art.tumblr.com/post/614534158195245056 , thank you op

5: inspired by Heaven is Here by Florence + The Machines (check out Dance Fever !) i can't fully execute the animatic in my brain for this song but i drew something anyway

#bdoubleo100 #bdubs #mumbo jumbo #mumbo #grian #grianmc #watcher grian #hermitcraft #double life #double life smp #am i forgetting any tags @_@#3/5 of the drawings are bdubs #sorry in advance for the confusion to the mumbo and grian tag perusers #they look a little lazy . because I Am Lazy #but i want to get back into drawing <(_ _)> so. ya #egg's carton

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mystcldydrms · 8 months

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SLOW AUTUMN MORNING - EDDIE MUNSON

summary: you get to spend a very slow autumn morning with your favourite person

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

words: 1k

warnings: none, except for fluff (cuddling, kissing)

notes: i'm in my autumn mood. + I've seen these photos of joe today and I just had to write something about our boy eddie.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly. They tried to adjust to the morning light as an almost inaudible yawn escaped your lips. You stretched your arms and legs until you rolled to your side and were suddenly met with an empty bed.

You raised your eyebrows lightly as you sat up properly in bed, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. A quick glance around the room confirmed your suspicion that you were alone, however, a comforting smell entered your nose, making you smile.

Coffee. Someone was making coffee, and you knew exactly who it was.

You threw your bedcover away from your body as your legs swung to the side and slid into your slippers. You got up from your bed and stretched your arms one more time.

It was a bit chilly, so you grabbed a sweater from the floor and slipped it over your head. It immediately warmed you up. You looked out of the window and noticed the raindrops on it, as well as the fog that prevented you from looking any further than a few metres. It felt comfortable. Autumn was finally here.

You put your hair up with a hairband that you kept around your wrist during the night in case it would annoy you before you finally made your way out of the bedroom.

The smell of coffee came closer and closer until you finally saw a mug full of black goodness on the kitchen counter. You wrapped both your hands around the mug. You moved it closer to your mouth, ready to taste the coffee when all of a sudden you noticed that the person who had made you this coffee wasn't even around.

You furrowed your eyebrows and scrunched up your nose while you looked around the trailer. There was no sign of your boyfriend. You tried to remember whether he had told you about some plans for today, but nothing came to mind.

You just wanted to turn around and search for Eddie when you suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around you. A bright smile placed itself on your lips as your back met his front. You felt him press a soft kiss on top of your head. Luckily, you had put your mug down or else you would have dropped it by now.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”, your boyfriend whispered in your ear, placing a few sweet kisses down your neck.

Your eyes were closed while you enjoyed Eddie’s touch. His lips made you feel alive whenever they touched your skin. You slowly turned around and cupped his cheeks with your hands.

“Good morning.”

You leaned in and pressed your lips on his. A soft moan left Eddie’s lips as he deepened the kiss almost immediately. His hands landed on your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. Your hands glided from his cheeks down to his shoulders, which you squeezed gently before you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with his long curls.

“Good morning indeed.”, your boyfriend mumbled against your lips, pressing a few more kisses to them. You couldn’t help but giggle once he squeezed your waist a bit more. He knew you were ticklish there hence you tried to push him away from you, luckily succeeding in it.

“Thank you for the coffee.”, you told him honestly, turning around to take the mug into your hand and finally take a sip of it. The black liquid filled your whole body with heat.

“No problem. I’m glad it’s still hot.”, he mentioned, kissing your temple gently before he made his way over to the couch.

“I was a bit worried you were gone. It was too quiet in here.”

You put your drink down on the counter again before you walked over to the couch, sitting down right next to your boyfriend, who grabbed your legs and put them on his lap, pulling you even closer to him.

“I have no plans for today. And to be honest, when I look outside, I don’t really want to leave.”

You nodded your head, taking another glance out of the window, and although everyone else would hate this weather, you enjoyed it. It made you feel calm.

“Then let’s just stay inside. I could bake us something delicious, while I do that you can play your guitar. And we can watch some movies later. I still have some in my bag. Don’t tell Steve, though. He would kill me if he knew I still got them.”, you confessed, making both of you laugh lightly.

“My lips are sealed. Harrington will never find out.”, Eddie promised before he leaned in and pressed another sweet kiss on your lips.

You took one of the blankets from the couch, throwing it over yourself and your boyfriend while you cuddled up to him even more, your head finding a spot on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you. The young man next to you pressed a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“For now, I don’t really want to move though.”

Eddie’s body shook lightly from chuckling, his hand caressing your arm while he nodded his head. If he could, he would stay like this forever. The only thing he needed was you, maybe food, something to drink and a bathroom break, but nothing else. Ever since he first saw you, he knew that you would be his. His everything. He was head over heels in love with you. Dustin sometimes teased him about it, but Eddie didn’t care. He would show his love for you whenever, wherever, and however he wanted.

“How about a morning nap? I think we’re both not fully awake yet.”

The only thing you could do was nod your head. Your eyes were already closed, and you felt yourself slip into dreamland again. You felt Eddie’s lips on your head before you fell asleep again.

You loved slow mornings, especially when you got to spend them with your lover. Didn’t matter if you were awake or not, the only thing that mattered was that you were keeping each other company.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

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andreafmn · 4 months

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12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 6

Word Count: 3.5K Paring: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader Prompt @12-days-of-ficmas: fighting while setting up the christmas tree/soft emo reconciliation

Summary: (Y/N) took her girlfriend's death very hard. But when Emily reappears seven months after everyone thought they had buried the agent, things between the couple seem to go back to how they were. (Y/N) always understood how important her girlfriend's job was and she never complained. Still, it can be hard to remain understanding when yet another plan is canceled and another promise is broken.

A/N: well, another sad one with a happy ending... I told y'all it'd be a sorta sad Christmas 🫣

<- Previous | Next ->

There were so many things that (Y/N) was that Emily loved. She was smart, witty, and understanding. Over all things, she was understanding.

After Emily’s supposed death, she had been devastated and had found it hard to get her life back during the seven months she was by herself. Although life went on, (Y/N) was stuck mourning for her partner without any knowledge that the woman would walk through the door alive and better than ever. Everything in her life had fallen down a monotonous spiral of dread, and suddenly she was there.

And (Y/N) understood. Even after she had lost seven months of her life, she understood. Even if she had mourned her girlfriend that entire time, she understood. Even if she had prepared to go the rest of her life without the woman she had given her entire heart to, she understood.

Because that was Emily’s job. It entailed high-risk situations, secret keeping, and even the potential fake-death scenario. Simply unavoidable work problems. And, of course, she just understood.

Two months had passed since the woman’s return, and things had seemed to settle down. They had fallen back into their normal routines, living as though they hadn’t lived completely different lives for over half a year. As though Emily hadn’t been only a continent away when (Y/N) thought she was six feet under. And with the holidays coming up, it was no use bringing up the past.

“Hey, baby,” (Y/N) said through the phone. “What time were you getting home tonight? I got us some matching sweaters and another one for Sergio. Oh, and I made some chicken pot pie, and I had Joe bring up the tree. So we can decorate it tonight. And…”

“(Y/N), honey,” Emily interrupted. “I’m not gonna make it home tonight.”

“No, but… you said you’d be home tonight,” she chuckled softly. “You told me you’d taken the week off until Christmas so we’d have some time together.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry,” the woman said. “We just got this massive case, and it’s out of state. It’s probably gonna take the entire weekend. But I promise I’ll be home by Monday —Monday night at the latest.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) said, swallowing the anger that was bubbling in her throat. “I understand. Just be safe, Em. I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey. Thank you for being so understanding,” Emily responded. “And don’t decorate that tree. I wanna do that with you.”

”Of course. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The second the dial tone sounded, (Y/N) crashed onto the couch, sighing as Sergio climbed onto her. She ran her hands over his fur, allowing the purring to unwrench the coil of anger that was tightening in her chest. It was just another missed promise, another day where work was more important than their little family. And she couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer she could withstand being a family of one.

Once upon a time, all (Y/N) had wanted was to spend the rest of her days with Emily. Then she had died, and (Y/N) thought she’d never find anyone to love like she had loved Emily. Only for the love of her life to rise up from the dead and settle back into her life like she had never been gone. It was as though the distance had not made any difference. Emily’s job came first, and everything else, including her own life, came second. And the woman didn’t know how much more she could take.

There was only so much cleaning (Y/N) could do to pass the time. Only so many garlands she could decorate without touching the tree. Only so many songs she could play to forget just how empty the apartment was. She couldn’t even go to work as she had taken the week off to be with Emily. And there she was, no girlfriend and all the time in the world.

“I don’t know what to do, Jess,” she told her friend that Monday morning when Emily hadn’t come home. “I thought this was the person I was going to marry. But after everything that’s happened… I don’t know what to do. And I’m trying. I’ve been trying for the longest time.”

“Have to talked to Emily about this, (Y/N)?” her friend asked before taking a sip of her coffee. “Since she came back from everything that happened last year, have you actually sat down and talked about how you felt during that time?”

“Well, not exactly,” she shrugged. “It’s just… I know why she couldn’t tell me that she was alive. Telling me would have put me in danger. And I know her job is really important and that she has to be away a lot. But I just wanted to spend some time with her this Christmas. Try to make up for all the time we lost.”

“Honey, if you don’t work through what happened before, how do you expect to be good now?” Jess stopped for a beat, setting her mug down and taking her friend’s hand. “Can I be honest about something, and you won’t get pissed at me?”

“Why do I get the feeling that I won’t like what you’re gonna say?”

“Because there’s a very likely chance that you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just say it,” she gave up. “If it’s something you think I need to hear, then go ahead.”

“I think you’ve been too understanding in this relationship,” the woman said. “I know that Emily’s job is very hard and that it requires a lot of her attention. But I also feel like there are times when you have to come first, (Y/N). And I know you don’t want her to think that you’re making her choose between you and her work, but you need to have your needs met. You need to tell her how you’re feeling regardless of how she’ll react.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Jess. Her job is literally saving people. How can I tell her that I want her to save people less and be with me more?”

“You know she’s not the only one on that team, right?” her friend continued. “The world is not gonna end just because Emily took a couple of days off. There will still be bad guys, and there will still be people to catch them. I mean, she disappeared for seven months, and the team kept working.”

“But she loves that job.”

“She should love you more, (Y/N),” Jess insisted, squeezing her friend’s hand comfortingly. “If not… honey, I’m sorry, but that’s not the person you should start a family with.”

“This is crazy!” (Y/N) sighed loudly. “This is not the way I should be thinking during the holidays. I love her so much, Jess. I can’t lose her again.”

“Then talk to her,” her friend pressed. “That’s the only way things can get better.”

As morning turned to night, Jess’ words kept swirling inside (Y/N)’s head. The last thing she wanted to think of was breaking up with Emily days before Christmas and only a few days before they hosted a holiday dinner in their place. She was terrified that saying what she felt would break them apart, and she’d actually lose her girlfriend forever. She wanted to spend the rest of her life by Emily’s side, but she understood she couldn’t do it at her own expense.

The hours passed, and (Y/N)’s disillusionment turned into anger. The bare tree mocked her presence as it reminded her of the reason it was still unadorned. Its branches shuddered under the A/C, needles of pine sprinkling onto the floor as the tree reminded her how much time had passed since it had been resting in their living room. She wanted to tear it down, to tear everything she had decorated down. She wanted Emily to see how angry she was the second she walked through the door.

Instead, she turned off all the lights and went to bed, with the tree still naked and no Emily.

The next morning, she awoke to the loud pang of a pan, and her heart sank. She remembered locking the door and checking it three times before going to the bedroom. Whoever it was outside had definitely broken in.

(Y/N) took Sergio into her arms, using a hand to dial 911 as soon as she confirmed there was someone in the apartment and it hadn’t just been a pan she had left too close to the edge. Slowly, she peeked her head out of the door, making sure there was no one on the second floor before quietly making it down the top couple of stairs. She knelt on the ground and looked to the kitchen to find something she had not expected.

Emily was trying her best to make breakfast quietly. A task she was failing immensely. She had her back turned to (Y/N), and that gave the woman the advantage to walk down the stairs without being noticed.

“So, you’re home,” she said, clearing her throat, making Emily jump and drop the pan on the stove. “A whole day late.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Emily started as she turned to face her girlfriend. “We got stuck in Washington and couldn’t get the plane out until very early in the morning.”

“And did your phone stop working, too? ‘Cause I didn’t even get a simple text.”

“Honey, I’m sorry. I was exhausted, and I forgot to call you last night. We spent so many late nights on this case, and it finally caught up to me. Can you forgive me?”

With a sigh, (Y/N) found herself falling into the same pattern. “It’s fine,” she said as she let Sergio down. “Let’s just eat breakfast so we can finally decorate the tree. We have the party on Friday, and there’s so much to do.”

The couple ate in silence, pushing their food around on their plates rather than enjoying the meal. The air around them was tense, filled with unspoken words and frustrations. But, as always, it was easier to move past it rather than talk about it because (Y/N) always understood.

Still drenched in silence, (Y/N) dragged the boxes of ornaments from the corner of the living room to the tree. She pulled the lids off the containers and started decorating without saying anything else. And Emily followed suit, working around her to help but keeping out of her way.

“Why don’t I put on some music?”

“Sure,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“O~kay,” she said, connecting her phone to the speakers. “Actually, I just remembered there’s something I got for us.” Emily pulled a box from her purse, handing it to (Y/N) with a bright smile on her face. “I got it before leaving Washington, and I thought you’d like it.”

From the box, (Y/N) pulled a snow globe ornament with a lit-up Christmas tree inside, the tiny specs of white making the entire scene look like a winter wonderland. And where she would normally love a present like that, that specific morning, it felt like a slap to the face.

“Thanks,” the woman said. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s the first ornament of our new place, baby,” Emily cooed. “It even has the year engraved under it.”

“Yeah, I see. It’s… yeah, it’s great.”

“Is everything okay, (Y/N)? I feel like you’re somewhere else today.”

“I’m fine,” she shrugged. “Just fine.”

Emily wouldn’t have had the kind of job she did if she didn’t know how to read people’s emotions. She could tell (Y/N) was holding something in. Her shoulders were tight, and her expression was stoic. But it was her eyes that she could see held the most pain. They didn’t have their usual glimmer, and she knew it was her fault. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” she pleaded, tentatively closing the distance between them. “I know there’s something wrong.”

“I don’t wanna fight today, Emily,” (Y/N) sighed as she took a step back. “I just wanna finish what we have to do and move on from this.”

“Who said anything about fighting? I just want us to talk, (Y/N). You’re angry and upset, and I want to resolve things.”

(Y/N) slammed the ornament onto the couch, placing her hands on her hips and turning around as she took steadying breaths. She knew if she kept looking into Emily’s eyes, she’d simply break down before she could get a single word out. “You wanna know what’s going on? Fine. I’m mad, Emily,” she started. “I asked you –begged– for one week of your life, and you decided to take another case. You were gone for seven months, and all I wanted was one week.”

“Is that what this is about? I thought we were over that.”

“Over it? We haven’t even talked about it, Emily!” she exclaimed. “You were dead for seven fucking months! I grieved for you. I had to get used to being without you. I had to plan the rest of my life without you. And then you walked back in like nothing had happened. But something did! You died. I buried you. I lived without you. While you were in Europe, people here had to get accustomed to you not being here. And after all that pain and suffering, you came back. “I wanted to be fine with it, Em. I really did,” she sighed, feeling tears fall from her eyes. “But you just picked up where we left off, and I had to change an entire mindset that had been ingrained into my mind. For you, it was business as usual. You went to work, you took your cases, you were good. Meanwhile, I had to get used to waking up next to you and not thinking I was hallucinating or dreaming. I had to go back to worrying if your next case was the one that would take you from me. I had to be fine with you putting your job first and hope that one day you had any time left for me.”

“(Y/N)...”

“No, Em, you have to listen to me first. I need to get all of this out of my chest before I explode,” (Y/N) cried. “From the moment I entered this relationship, I understood what I was getting into. Your job… it’s one of the most important ones out there. So, I bit my tongue, and I said I was fine with canceled plans and broken promises because it was all for the greater good. But when you died, it put everything in perspective. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the moments we had missed because of your work and all the moments we were never gonna have. And I don’t know if I can go back to that. Because I love you, Emily. I love you like I haven’t loved anyone before, and I want to build a family with you. But if the work-life balance is not something you can do, I don’t know how we could build anything together.”

(Y/N) crumpled to the ground as she felt the weight of her emotions take over her. Her shoulders slumped forward, and her chest heaved, and the tears streamed from her eyes faster than she could stop them. As Emily remained quiet, she thought that was it. That was the moment that would break them. Three months before, she was still wondering how she would spend the holidays without Emily. And now, it seemed her fear had come true, even if her girlfriend was standing right before her.

But, suddenly, (Y/N) was enveloped in arms and warmth. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Emily whispered against her hair. “I never… why didn’t you tell me? I never wanted you to feel like my work was more important than you–than us. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through when I was in hiding, and I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that without me. But I want you to know that if I had been able to take you with me, I would have. Because at the end of the day, once the job is gone and all those responsibilities are put to rest, you are the only thing that I want in my life to be there still. I want the family. I want the future. I want everything with you. (Y/N).”

“It doesn’t feel that way most of the time, Em,” (Y/N) breathed as she leaned into Emily’s touch. As much as she had put space between them, she couldn’t help herself from sinking into her. “We moved in here only two months ago, and I think you’ve slept here a handful of times. All I asked was for you to take this one week so we could find our center again, and you took a case that you didn’t need to. It was a choice you made, Emily. Your days had been approved already, and you still took an out-of-state case. So, I think you can see how I would feel like you care about the BAU more than your own girlfriend.”

Emily’s arms wrapped tighter around (Y/N), her own tears falling and staining the fabric of her girlfriend’s shirt. “God, I know. I’m so sorry, baby,” she sobbed. “I just… I guess I’ve been trying to make things feel like they did before, and it seems my way was to throw myself into work. I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t value you because you’re the only thing in my life that I want to hold onto until the day I die. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sor…”

(Y/N) swallowed her words as she turned and crashed her lip onto Emily’s. She kissed her until her worries melted away. She kissed her with all the love and passion they had been lacking for months. She kissed her until they both understood their love for each other was the one thing that remained intact.

It wasn’t until Sergio jumped onto their laps that they finally released each other, chuckling as the cat meowed for attention. (Y/N) traced Emily’s lips with a smile, finally allowing herself to stare into the woman’s eyes. She caressed the skin of her cheeks, smoothing every worry line that had painted her face. She kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, her nose, her jaw, and finally her lips. Because she was there. And she was alive.

“I promise things will be different,” Emily whispered as she rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s. “I’ll take another week off. Hell, I’ll take a whole month off if you want. But I want you to know just how much I love and care about you, (Y/N). And I’ll do anything to prove it.”

“Wait here,” (Y/N) said as she got up from the floor and ran to her bag by the door. She rummaged for the red velvet box that had been inside for an entire week before March 7th, and she had kept it as a reminder of the woman she loved and would never get to wear it. But she was there now, and there was no better promise than what was inside. She ran back to where Emily sat with Sergio, taking her spot once more. “Do you mean it? Do you really mean anything?”

“Of course, baby. I love you.”

“Then, marry me,” (Y/N) said as she opened the box to reveal the ring she had carried for seven months on a chain and had put it back in the box when Emily came back. “I love you, Em. And I want everything with you. I want a house and a family. And I wanna grow old and wrinkly with you by my side. So, Emily Prentiss, will you marry me?”

“Yes! God, a thousand times yes,” she exclaimed as she crashed her lips onto hers one more. “And, well, I guess there’s no point in waiting until Christmas,” Emily chuckled as she stuck her hand under the couch cushion to pull out a similar blue velvet box. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me? Because I don’t want to ever know life without you. Not now, not ever.”

“How could you steal my idea?” (Y/N) chuckled. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this since the start of the year.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I bought this ring after our third date?” the woman smiled. “And I’ve been carrying it around for almost two years now. I wish I would have given it to you so long ago. But no better time than now. Will you marry me?”

“Can’t believe you have to ask. Of course, I will.”

With matching smiles on their faces, they each slipped a ring onto the other’s finger and took the other in their arms. There, in front of their half-decorated tree and their cat, Sergio, they professed their love for one another and cemented their most important promise yet. They were in love, and that, (Y/N) understood.

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