#and I realize that I think I'm not doing too hot mentally | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ugh-yoongi · 11 months ago

Text

a word from our sponsors | knj

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

5K notes · View notes

mywritersmind · 1 month ago

Text

GOOD SIDE - FC43

summary : She hates him, he’s intrigued and doesn’t understand why anyone would distlike him. Franco tries to win Charles’ sister over with coffee and good racing.

listen up : no warnings!! my first franco fic <3

word count : 1067

⋆｡‧˚⋆

All eyes have been on Franco Colapinto for the past three weeks. All eyes including mine.

I watch the boy walk across the pit lane, grinning widely at his team. My arms are crossed in the ferrari garage, Charles is talking my ear off but I'm not even listening.

I miss my paddock best friend. All the boys on the grid are like my brothers, but Logan was genuinely my friend. I didn’t even go to Monza and fucked myself while boycotting because I missed my brother win.

I watch the team embrace the boy. I never realized how young he looks until now. He’s a year older than me, found that out when I was stalking his social media.

Charles noticed my stink eye and nudges me, “He’s a good kid. Don’t be mean!” I know Logan wasn’t performing well. I’m not blind.

But I can’t help but be salty for him.

“I won’t be mean.” I turn to see Alex and Franco walking towards us, I try to walk away but the hoodie for my sweatshirt is grabbed by Charles and I'm yanked backwards.

“Franco, This is my baby sister, Y/n!” Charles swings his arm around me, I roll my eyes and look back at Franco.

He’s cute and as he smiles at me I have a weird feeling that I need to make it stop. I turn to my new favorite william’s boy.

“Alex!” I smile wide and I can see my brother eyeing me already, “Nice Quali! Proud of you.”

He nods, “Appreciate it Y/n.” He glances at Franco, forcing me to say something. I give them what they want and look at him.

“Colapinto, is it?” I blink. “You’ve got an interesting driving style.”

Franco’s smile doesn’t falter. “Interesting enough to earn me P9.” My eyes narrow at him, “Nice to know you were watching me.”

I cross my arms but before I can say more, Charles interrupts me.

He laughs loudly, trying to drown out my voice, “Alright! Don't mind her, Franco, she’s been a little salty recently- well actually she’s always like this.” He shakes his head and leads the men in blue away.

Franco looks back at me as Alex starts talking rapidly, and I swear I’m hallucinating because I think he winks.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m sitting on the pit wall, Susie is talking me through all the little buttons and graphs. Even though I'm Ferrari till I die, Susie is like family and has always been there for me. I feel an unexpected tap on my shoulder which makes me whip around.

I look down to see Franco holding two cups of coffee. “Morning Mrs. Wolff!” He smiles at Susie, then me. I didn’t even know he met her. My eyebrow is already raised, “Mind if I borrow Y/n?”

Susie laughs softly, looking at him then me, “Go ahead.” I get off the chair slowly and he motions for me to take the cup.

“Charles mentioned you liked coffee.” I hesitate for a second, taking the cup. I sip it and mentally groan because I’ve been needing to get some today.

“Buying my affection already, Huh?” I glance at him as we walk down the pit lane. I'm wearing a short, flowy, white dress and a Ferrari cap, happy since it's so hot.

“Don’t be silly, This was free.” I sip my coffee to stop myself from laughing, “I do have to get on your good side somehow.”

I look away from him, “You took my best friend's seat.”

“He lost it.” When I look back at him, he’s already looking at me.

I sigh and keep walking, he catches up quickly, “So… You’re Charles’ Sister.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder, “You’re sherlock?”

“You’re pretty.”

I let out a dry laugh, “You’re straightforward. I’ve seen three interviews of you flirting and you haven’t even made it to your second race yet.” He laughs and it makes me feel good that I made him do that.

“What can I say? The people love me.” He shrugs and it's my turn to laugh now.

“I’m sure your media crew hates you.”

“I can confirm they definitely do.” He stops when he gets to his garage, “I don’t want you too though.”

I take a breath, “Let’s see how you do in the race and we’ll see.” I hear someone yell his name from inside the garage.

He doesn’t move, “You base all your relationships off of driving results?”

“Relationships?” I scoff as he licks his lips, “Don’t get too cocky now.”

Franco shakes his head, a curl falling into his face, “Not cocky. Just a glass half full type of guy.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I hug Oscar as he walks out of his garage at the end of the day, “You fucking rocked it.” He laughs as I pull back, “Seriously, I'm proud and you beat my brother!”

Charles practically spawns, “We all know your loyalty is not to me.” All the boys have changed and are starting to leave. Carlos disappeared after crashing on the second to last lap but all I can do is smile for Lando who got bumped up to fourth.

Speaking of, Lando joins us with Franco by his side, his mouth running per usual. Everyone starts talking and congratulating Oscar again.

I find Franco by my side, he leans in slightly, “My result good enough for you?”

I look up at the sky, “Pretty good. I hate to say it but… you did well.”

He grins, “Well enough to get your number?”

I look to my brother to make sure he isn’t listening, “You’re playing with fire here, Colapinto.”

“Burn me.” He says it so quick that I almost don’t register the look on his face. He looks at me so genuinely with those hazel eyes and speaks again, “Por Favor? s'il te plaît? Please?”

The ‘Please’s’ makes me laugh. One in Spanish, one in French, and one in English to cover all his bases, “You’re such a flirt.”

“For you.”

“Don’t lie. You flirt with everyone.” I give him a look, he pulls a slow smile.

“If you were mine I'd never look at anyone else again.” Oddly enough, I believe him.

“If I were yours?” I step closer and he nods, “Hm… If I were yours- I think we would see pigs flying.”

He just grins, “I can arrange that.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader

981 notes · View notes

rezitio · 2 months ago

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 w/ gojo. geto. sukuna. toji. nanami & choso

━━ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 fingering, begging, use of limitless

Gojo's fingers are magical, and he knows. He prides himself in his fingerwork.

His hand thrusts deep inside you while his other hand pins you down on the bed.

However, that wasn't enough to hold you back. Your hand was wrapped around his wrist. You didn't do anything to move it, but you still restricted him from going at the pace he wanted to.

And your legs closing every damn thrust, preventing him from seeing what he was doing. At first he was sweet with it.

“Baby, please open ya’ legs so ’can see.” He whispers, a smile still on his face, for now. He shook your hand off and separated your legs away from each other.

You looked at him, promising to keep it open through your teary eyes, trusting you he goes down again. One thrust into you, and his trust is completely shuttered.

“Baby… I'm givin’ ya’ one last chance; keep ya’ legs open.” He warned. His smile wasn't there anymore, he got serious.

“But Sat'ruuuu... is too much.” You moaned, crying out his name. He repeated himself. The glare in your eyes warning you.

You nodded and once more, and he tried again. You kept your hands to yourself and legs open as his fingers worked inside you. You even stayed resilient when he thumb massaged your clit. You were doing so well, until his finger grazed a part inside you.

You yelled, grabbing for his arm and closing your legs immediately. You and Satoru looked at each other for a good second. He didn't speak.

You didn't know what he was going to do, but you knew you were fucked. He shook your hand off him and forcefully parted your legs.

In the blink of an eye, his head was in between them. You felt his hot breath, and a wet muscle grazed your folds.

You immediately reached for his head, but you couldn’t get any closer. As his tongue then went inside you, you tried to close your legs, but that didn't work either. They were all stopped at a point.

"Turuuu, put it off!" All you could do was scream and beg your boyfriend till he was done.

━━ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 manipulation, pet name [daddy], overstim, oral f!, toys,

At this point, you’d know better than that.

But it took a while to get to the point where you two are.

In the beginning, you would always move about, push his head away, or arch in a position you didn't even know the human body could bend.

Getou warned you the first few times, with glares or a simple. “Stop.” But apparently, that wasn't enough for you. When I think of Getou, I think of the mental state of anyone who has interacted with him

Whether he manipulated it or it was even sane to begin with. You definitely fall in the manipulated category. It has been planted in your mind that you sit there and take it like a good girl; otherwise, it would only get worse

You remember the first time you came to this realization.

“Su’ please! please! get it off!” You begged; you tried to move your hand, but they were caught by the rope holding you to your bed. You couldn't even move your legs; just try and twist your body around as the vibrator mercilessly shook on your lips even inside them too.

All this while a didlo was tirelessly being pumped in your ass at a pace you barley could with Getou’s bigger length.

“How many times did you push my head away?” He questioned you, as if your mind was the right mind to answer questions right now.

“Dunno twice?” You cried, you didn't even realize it, but you orgasmed again. How many times has it been? You don't remember, there you did it again.

“You've got a few more, keep going, baby." He echoed so sweetly like he wasn't the cause of all this overstimulation. No, he wasn't. You were.

You denied him relief. You deserved this punishment. You deserved to be taught a lesson, You should thank your daddy for making sure you were disciplined.

With your mouth quivering and another orgasm erupted, the words softly left your mouth. The rope around your wrist tightly loosens as you stop resisting the warm liquid all over your leg and folds getting cleaned as you're still producing more.

“Thank you, daddy.”

━━ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 spanking, mention of asshole ex, so much consent here

Nanami, unlike most, is a man of understanding and patience.

But he is also a man of discipline and principle.

First time, tolerated it. He knew your first boyfriend was an asshole and only made you pleasure him, not the other way around. So he knew feeling pleasure, just by sitting down, done by another person besides yourself, was a new experience.

And he tried to guide you through it, you guys had a solution that worked for a few days. You would hold his neck and kiss him, distracting you while his finger played with your pussy.

But that only worked for so long till you started breaking the kisses and attempting to move his hand away.

But shit was like stone staute. It didn't budge so you moved away, and that's what disrupted him. When he asked you whether you wanted this and that this wasn't by any means forceful.

You told him how you appreciated it but you had a problem with thrashing about, and you knew you had a problem. Your ex knew it too, and he handled it effectively.

Whenever he was inside you and you would move around, he would slap you, pull your hair hard, or even degrade you.

Nanami said he would never hit you or insult you to make you feel worthless in anyway, well, unless you like it.

And you do. You told him you liked it, and it was effective. If you wanted to be disciplined by anyone, it would be by someone you trust. Like how they say a true friend tells you off sometimes.

In your case, your lover would degrade you every time you moved. People were different.

First, he was hesitant to try it out, I mean, you were asking him to go against his gentlemanly standards, stooping to lengths far lower than his white-headed nuisance.

Incipient he thought he was doing you a favor, he would get this over with and give you real pleasure. Ultimately, he was the one enjoying this the most.

“What did I say, hm?” Nanami cautioned, his hand captures yours, throwing it away from your bare ass.

There you were, bent over his lap. He couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it with the way his other hand was already wandering around your ass. Sending tiny contained shockwaves of pleasure wherever his skin touched. Preparing it with gentle touches. Gaslighting as if the only reason you were over him wasn't so he could spank your ass sore.

“mmhph~…” You squirm even over his legs, in his grip. “Kenny… I said I won't move again! Forgive me!” You plead covering your ass.

His hand moves to capture both of your hands, gently raising them up. His touch was soft and misleading. Making you think you were safe, maybe he forgave you.

Till his hand came down, striking your ass. A tinge of pain, but a shockwave of pleasure, it was time for your punishment. And you would take it like a good girl.

━━ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 random fucks, paid sex mentioned, p in v, brief m! oral

Let's be real. If you are not fit for him, you won't see him again.

The first time you guys fucked was at the back of a bar, sucking his dick.

Your lips wrapped around him, you were the one on your knees physically, but mentally, Toji was on cloud nine.

The wall could barely support this man. The distant music from the bar, the cars eventually passing by, and his grunts. He’ll never forget the sensations he felt all at once.

Although you were his best head, he's ever gotten. He wasn't looking for you again. Hell, he didn't even know your name that night. But when you approached him again at a different club, he didn't mind fucking again.

This time he decided to try something new, he decided to try and put it in. When his dick entered you for the first time, he swore it was like heaven.

Your body looked perfect, your arch was perfect. Maybe you were a little too loud for just him entering, but he could tolerate the noise. Fuck, he's sure he has earplugs somewhere.

You almost got Toji thinking maybe he could collect your number and it would be a frequent thing. But don't try calling him for anything else.

Like I said, almost. Immediately he started to move, so did you. He genuinely worried for your back because how could you keep arching away and away from his dick

It's like each thrust would send you off him. And he has to quickly grab your thighs and pull you right back.

Only for you to keep doing. No. Toji wasn't nice about it. It got to a point you guys were fucking fighting and he was wondering if you wanted this, but anytime he got up to leave you would offer more money.

He kept shouting at you and eventually put you in a headlock. With no mercy, he began beating into you. All you could do was scream, and he got tired of that too, a hand right over your jaw, keeping it closed.

Rest assured, after that night, even though you saw him, when he saw you, he would disappear. He was not about to do all that work all over again.

And he still doesn't know your name.

━━ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 there's always something to expect. It's him.

If you can even move.

Your hands are tightly held together at your back by one hand, another on your hip keeping you in place on him, that same hand that was controlling you, moving you on his dick, a third hand on your clit, another wrapped around holding your hair, holding your nape, making you look up at the blood titled ceiling.

But as your eyes drift down, you see many others, just bowing down. In Sukuna's presence, not daring to look at your naked body, Sukuna’s toy’s body. They didn't want their eye sockets empty.

He continues to push you into him faster making you cry out. He pulls your head aside and echos in your ear “See, this is the pace I expect you to be going when I put you here.” He pushed your head aside harshly and let you go on all hands. “Try again, slut."

Holding your tears and sniffles, you turn to face him, not even looking in his eyes. You wrap your hands around his neck. You had difficulty placing him inside you due to teary eyes. And avoiding looking at the monster and his extension that was about to penerate you. After a few missed tries, you could tell he was getting pissed. He pushes himself in you, and you get to work.

You continue increasing your pace till you don't feel his eyes on you and continue at a constant speed. Although his attention is not on you, you don't stop.

“Continue.” His voice booms in the room, and the person who's directed at, speaks up. “My Lord, please, we have countless riches, gold, many women, and other allies. Let's us-”

The voice breaks your heart. Hearing that voice beg, hearing him on his knees pleading, You know who it belongs to, so you held back your tears. You will not let Sukuna win.

“Look up.” He simply commands. Your screaming ‘No, no, no, no’ repeatedly in your mind. You can't let him see you like this, you don't want your husband, the one you truly loved, to see you in such a state. But neither does he.

He puts up a confident font wherever he goes, Sukuna knows that. It is why he took you, his wife, someone he was vulnerable with. But that didn't break him. Sukuna wants the realisation to kick in. Sukuna wants him to realise that his wife is never going to be home again, waiting for him with open arms, ready to listen to his vents.

He wants him to know there would be no one but a cold futon at night.

Your husband's voice quivers, “My Lord, please...” It broke you. You only heard him like this in closed corners when you're hugging him tight as if it were enough to protect him from the curse plaguing your town.

“I said, Look. Up.” You didn’t see him look up, but by his cries and the smirk on Sukuna's face, you could tell he did. Now you felt naked and bare, you felt like a whore. You disappointed him. A tear runs down your cheeks onto Sukuna's body

His attention turns to you. In your vision, you could tell he was smiling. “Don't waste your tears over a man like him.”

He laughs.

“He's crying, but he's aroused and got hard by the sight of your naked body and suffering.”

━━ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 subby, virgin curse choso, dom reader, oral m!, whimpering and begging from choso

This little virgin can't help but shudder, jerk, or even arch to your touch.

A face teeming with red blush and watery eyes. Lipstick stains all over him; even with restraints on his wrists and ankles, he can't help but writhe from the overwhelming pleasure your lips grant him.

Thinking back all those years, he doesn't believe anyone from his attracted gender has seen his bare body before. He would succumb to blushing and embarrassment before anything like that happened.

But a few years into the future, the 150-year-old curse, someone who can barely kiss for a minute without getting all rosy, massive blood rushing to his face and below, has someone, not even someone. He has a lover, touching a body part he himself is still too shy to touch.

She was sucking it, pumping it, and licking it everything to farm pleasure for her lover. And what did he do in return? Cry.

“Please- aghh…” Your lips over his dick. It was too late. The curse got what he asked for. He asked how it felt to love someone's body, how to appreciate it like how much he does yours. And you taught him, by telling…rather showing him, how much you appreciate his.

Choso felt how your pulpy soft lips sensitised his skin, then the pleasure of his skin contacting the walls of your mouth and his length being sucked into what felt like a void.

The virgin began to scramble on the bed. His wrist repeatedly cutting themselves on the handcuffs and his other hand all over your hair, ramaging it, pulling your hair back, messing with the rhythm.

The pleasure toned down. You were now softly and slowly stroking him, but he knew by your eyes it was a warning to behave himself.

Once you sensed he got the idea, you went down again. And props to Choso, he was doing so well until he wasn't.

Until he started getting close, that's when he started it again. “Choso.” You warned.

“Please, [name]... I need a break!” Then you just stopped. You lifted your head and left him alone, not even your hand on him.

You focused on his lips toying with them. He tried to kiss back as much as he could.

His attempts were appreciated but not needed, as you already took control of his lips.

He came down from his high, thinking he was fine and just needed a break from the overwhelming pleasure, and then it hit him as hard as every time. That aching sting he wanted needed relief. He began to beg you through the fierce kiss.

“Hphh…[name] it hurts.” He repeated each time more desperate than the last. And there began the cycle again

rezitio ©. you're welcome. I'm tired. I will forever see toji as a random man on the street.

I was so sleepy I mistakenly published it without any tags so I pray the algorithm doesn't let it flop 😭😭

#꒰꒰ : REZITIOWORKS #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna #toji smut #nanami smut #choso smut #jjk headcanons #geto smut #getou smut

748 notes · View notes

sweetnans · 3 months ago

Note

What do you think Bakugo’s reaction will be to a reader who cant stop looking at his buttons, cause like dude HE LOOKS SO HOT WITH THE WHOLE NO TIE AND UNBUTTONED UNIFORM THING HE DOES HOLY

I do love it when you ask me about my opinion. We all know that Bakugo is not an idiot. He notices right away when your gaze lingers for more time than you usually do (and that you usually allow yourself to)

You are gathered in the common area, and most of your classmates are dozing off on the couch, a few of them talk about the day while the others stay in silence with their eyes close almost drifting to sleep

His presence doesn't go unnoticed for you when he claims a seat in front of you. He has a magazine on his hands with the headline that says something about the ten top heroes with the best outstanding battles each.

You don't plan to watch him like he's your prey. He would never be the prey of anyone, but you still can't help but look at him intensely. He's got something weird on him. You can't quite decipher what it is.

The days are warm, and a heat wave settled in the city, so everyone has been peeling off layers of clothes through the day.

The sun is setting right behind him, and a cold shiver comes through your spine. Spring days are weird. There must be a window open because there's a sudden breeze of cold air coming in from somewhere. You hug yourself and mentally curse because of the lack of reasoning you had to take your cardigan off preventing a heat stroke.

Bakugo is still reading his magazine, impassive. He's smarter than you obviously, and he did not peel his clothes off when the sun started shining, but he did something, he took off his tie and unbuttoned the first three button of his shirt.

God damned you.

You've been too busy focusing on the flies that now the mere fact of him doing something so mundane like coping the warmthest days of all hot you all flustered in your seat.

You can't react like that just for the sake of it.

"Oi" he grunts. "Quit fucking staring you creep"

There's no nonchalant way to save yourself from this.

"I'm sorry," you mumble. You weren't going to argue because it will carry a long tiff between the two of you, and just by the sight of his skin, you know you'll be out of words in a second.

"So you, in fact, had been staring at me like a damn creep," he says, not even taking his eyes off his lecture.

As you foreseen it, you are out of words.

"It's not every day that you get so free about how you wear what you wear in front of us," you tiptoe in your words, and it comes out more like a tongue-twister.

"Hah?" Now he lowers his magazine to stare at you.

The statement in front of us pales because there is no one around you. It's just you and your half digged grave. The colors rise to your cheeks, and suddenly, the couch is not deep enough for you to disappear.

How can you come clean when he catches you being a psycho and an hormonal bitch?

"Nothing, I just -" you stumble in your own words, trying to dissipate the tension while your braing tries to come up with a better idea than running away.

"Quit that shit, if you're staring me, I want you to say it to my face, what's your fucking deal with me?"

In a matter of seconds, he's right in front of you. A big scowl on his face fumed from reading the room wrongly. Poor and emotionally constipated Bakugo, he wouldn't realize your big and fat crush on him even if you tear your heart out in front of him.

His face is now inches from yours, trying to read your factions, but he only sees that you're laughing at him. The unbuttoned shirt is now under your gaze with the skin showing right in front of your nose.

The way he's looking at you is making you mad and flustered. You don't know what force possesses you, but when you roll your eyes at him, you know something big is coming.

"You can be so fucking dense sometimes, jeez, I was staring at you because I fucking like you, damn"

The two of you stay static. You because what the fuck was that and him because he couldn't believe what was listening.

Squirming, you grab his arms that caged you a while ago and move them from their position to slide out of the couch and hopefully leave the country.

Unfortunately, you don't even reach the stairs when he's pulling you backward.

"You said what?" He pronounces very clearly. Not grunting, not mumbling.

"What you heard. You push me to say it, walking around like a bitch wearing your shirt like that and-

Silence.

His firm lips crash with yours in a quick and tender kiss. You are speechless. Probably your face shows more than you're capable to describe.

"Fucking heat waves" he smirks at you and your astonished state.

925 notes · View notes

stanswifeirl · 2 months ago

Text

NERD GETS APPRECIATED AND WHIPS IT OUT!

notes: cross-posted on my ao3!

contains: stanford pines x gn!reader

warning: masturbation, some self depreciating talk, him feeling guilty about thinking about you while he jerks it

Glass Shard Beach was rarely kind to him, and there were few normal scenarios he could recall throughout his life.

But now? Here he was, reduced to a stuttering, nervous wreck at the simple words of praise that seemed to flow from your mouth with ease, just like the process of diffusion with non-polar molecules (which, for your information, is pretty damn easy).

This type of reaction is expected, he thinks. How often did a guy find someone as attractive as you in a Fifth Dimensional Calculus class? Of course you would attract his attention!

He didn't like to audibly put down the work done at Backupsmore University, but it wasn't often he'd find someone so... smart. Maybe well-read is a better word? Someone who viewed his work not only with interest, but from a new perspective.

It was dangerous. The way your voice filled the space with intelligent dialogue made him wish it was the only sound he ever heard. The way your scent made him lose focus on his work whenever you leaned in to assist him on a project was simply intoxicating.

He could think up plenty of flowery phrases to describe what he's feeling... Actually expressing them was where his expertise fell short.

To put it simply, the guy was head over heels, and he didn't know how to handle it.

Inviting you to conduct research for class was probably the worst possible decision he could've made. It was absolutely thrilling to spend an afternoon with you, but the growing tightness in his pants only proved to sully his mood. He was sure you noticed. There was no way you didn't, even if you decided to carry on like you didn't know what you were doing to him. Surely, he couldn't be the only one feeling the chemistry!

He didn't know how you worked up the courage to call him sweet names, or pat his shoulder politely at the end of the night when he dropped you off in front of your apartment complex.

More than thankful for the dim lighting, he was only able to mumble out a hurried "Goodbye!" before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, ready to get the hell outta there.

Ford drives, things pressed tightly together in shame, into an empty parking lot. He parks.

"Sweet Moses." He whines into his hands, patting down drops of sweat with the cuff of his shirt. "Goodness. I'm horrible. You don't deserve this. God, I can't believe I'm..."

His hand shoots for his pocket, pulling out a 38 sided die. To freak, or not to freak? That was the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his seat, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

Ford mentally cringes it when he rolls it onto his dashboard, realizing how lame he must look as he uses his game dice to decide on if he should masturbate or not.

Mind running a mile a minute, the poor guy was always a bit too self aware of his actions, he realizes how lame he looks allowing a dice roll to tell him whether he's allowed to jerk off or not.

His face scrunches up in disgust as he unzips his pants, hand hesitantly hovering over his painfully erect dick.

"This is so embarrassing." He groans, feeling the length of his dick as it twitches under his touch.

Ford’s face flushes as he slowly moves his hand up and down, humiliated. His back straightens as his thumb brushes over the head, already leaking in precum.

He grits his teeth, feeling his face burning hot with shame as he strokes himself to the thought of you. As much as he admires your fiercely intelligent mind, he can't help but be captivated by how fucking hot you are.

Leaning back in his seat, his eyes flutter closed as he imagines hands brushing against his skin, comforting eyes looking up at him in that way that made him feel so, so safe. His hand moves faster as his breathing grows ragged.

"God, I'm such a loser." He whispers to himself, face growing hot as he realizes how pathetic he sounds.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew what was happening right now? Would you enjoy it? Maybe you'd entertain him. He'd like that.

Oh. Oh. That idea really sticks with him.

Your presence always seemed so commanding. So sure of yourself. Maybe, he hopes, you'd like taking charge of him when he was at his most vulnerable.

His back arches as he bucks into his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to imagine it was you touching him. He should be allowed to indulge a little, shouldn't he? He doesn't know anymore.

It's almost this primal instinct that keep his thoughts out of logic mode, and far more acutely aware on the shockwaves of pleasure coursing throughout his body.

His chest feels tight as he imagines your hand slowly running up and down the base, teasing the head. Tears prick up in the corners of his eyes as picture after picture of you enter his mind.

He curses, stuttering your name as he twists his hand, quickening his pace.

"Thank you." He chokes out, face burning in humiliation as he feels his orgasm building. He didn't mean to think if you this way— the least he could do was thank the image of you.

His head slams back into his seat as he reaches his climax, body trembling as his hand and car floor is stained with long ropes of cum. The mind fog quickly clears, and makes quick work of grabbing tissues from the glove compartment to clean his mess up.

Ew. He'd have to clean properly in the morning.

#stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you

690 notes · View notes

gukisbabe · 4 months ago

Text

112:45am] jeon jungkook x fem!reader, 18+ smut!!! mainly face riding

completely absolutely obsessed with jks nose can you tell?

•••

"your nose is so pretty."

you find yourself mumbling at your boyfriend before your brain can even overthink those words and yet you're glad you didn't hesitate.

there's absolutely no reaction from jungkook for a whole minute as you absentmindedly trace his sharp features with your fingers, not quite able to handle just how handsome he is.

you've been observing his side profile for a while now and every time your eyes found their way to his nose, you couldn't help but bite your bottom lip at the mental image of its tip nudging against your clit whenever he's got his face buried in your cunt.

jungkook has been playing his video game for about an hour now and despite wanting to give him some space, you simply couldn't resist the craving of being close to him.

it's not like he minds your presence at all; jungkook loves having your legs in his lap and your hand in his hair, playing with the soft beautifully blonde strands as he enjoys his daily screen time away from all of his incone responsibilities.

usually you're quick to fall asleep, yet this time you seem to focused on him to even let the actual thought of sleep cross your mind.

you know it's because you can't stop thinking about your boyfriends lips, his hot tongue and his perfect nose, your head full of thoughts about how good he makes you cum over and over again once he's gotten a taste.

whereas jungkook remains absolutely clueless. he's also a little too focused to pay complete attention to your words but he does appreciate any compliment coming from your way. ever since the two of you started dating you've made it your mission to remind him how perfect he is

jungkook places a quick kiss of gratitude into your palm before he pushes his lips into a thoughtful pout and focuses on his game again, not realising how much you've been pressing your thighs together in hopes of releasing some of the pressure on your needy cunt.

there's just something about the way he scratches the sides of his nose whenever he's slowly getting excited, poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue and nibbling on his lip like he's purposely trying to torture you.

"j." you mumble sternly and reach for his hand, grateful he's quick to play into your neediness as he grabs your inner thigh and gently strokes your skin,

"i wanna ride your face, please."

usually you're not one to be this bold with your requests but after watching him for the past hour it's been incredibly hard for you to maintain your composure and even your patience has limits.

jungkook is absolutely stunned at your words. for a second he's not sure if he even heard you right, giving you a double take just to realise your current state.

eyes glossy, lips pushed into the cutest pout, thigh firmly pressed together and your cute nipples poking through the fabric of your pyjama shirt to the point where not a single thought is left to imagination.

just out of curiosity jungkook lets his hand wander in between your legs, gulping harshly at the way they fall apart like you've been waiting to be relieved and once his fingers graze your soaked panties, he knows exactly why you're reacting the way you do.

without even missing another beat, jungkook throws his controller as well as his headset to the side, turning his game off and almost instantly laying on his side of the bed.

"I'm sorry for not realizing sooner, baby", he whispers as you shakily make your way to straddle his handsome face, his cheeks and lips tinted in the sweetest shade of pink, "there you go, baby."

his praise elicits a soft whimper from your throat, your hole clenching in absolute despair and the second the tip of his nose grazes your flesh, you throw your head back with a loud moan of relief.

"fuck, baby", jungkook grunts against your cunt, his tongue lapping up your sweet juices and if it wasn't for his tight grip on your waist, you would have thought he passed

out, "you're so wet for me, angel, so perfect." all you can do is whimper in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and grinding yourself against his tongue, whining every time his nose nudges your hardened clit.

"you're so wet for me, angel, so perfect."

all you can do is whimper in response, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair and grinding yourself against his tongue, whining every time his nose nudges your hardened clit.

"that's why you love my nose so much, hm?", jungkook smile turns into a smirk as he pushes his tongue inside of your clenching hole, groaning and moaning against your wet flesh like a man gone mad.

"mhm, y-yes", you whisper and feel the sweet sensation of your release climbing up your spine in the sweetest way possible, "love sitting on it."

and for a moment jungkook movements stop, as he appreciates your sweet compliment, head cloudy from all the arousal floading his brain and his cheeks burning from excitement.

"that's my good girl", he grunts and finally wraps his lips around your sensitive clit before he pushes the tip of his tongue against the nub and applies just the right amount of pressure, making sure to have you cum all over his face to make you feel as loved and appreciated as he does.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook bts smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook smut #bts x fem!reader #jungkook bts #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #Jeon Jungkook smut

743 notes · View notes

kaciidubs · 1 year ago

Text

Walking in on Roommate! Chan

❣ Summary: Random hard thought of accidentally walking in on your roommate, Chris, while he's masturbating. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 928 ❣ Warnings: Non!Idol AU, Roommate! Chris, fluff, slice of life, slight humor, slight smut; masturbation and being caught, embarrassing moments turned funny ❣ ❣ Gender Neutral! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris and Channie, mention of Jisung, Felix, Jeongin, and Changbin, barely edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Pt. 2

You should have knocked - you knew your manners, you knew the sanctity of privacy when living with a roommate, but in all honesty this wasn't your fault.

You'd heard him talking over the phone not too long ago, you could hear the sound of laughter and the mention of Jisung's name which meant it wasn't a serious call.

All you needed was the answer to a question; you just wanted to know if he wanted to host another game night at the apartment for your collective friends.

"Hey, Channie, can I ask-"

Pushing the door open, you were met with the sight of your roommate - your funny, silly, hot, attractive roommate - laid back on his bed with his joggers tugged to his knees and his dick in his fist.

Holy Shit.

His head was tossed back against the headboard of his bed, black hair beautifully messy and pretty lips parted with his tongue poking out between them.

Holy shit.

Emphasis lingered on was, as his head snapped up and the eyes that were once closed were now glued to you standing in the open doorway of his room watching him jack off.

Your name flew from his mouth with a shout, the embarrassed shock on his face was evident, but it all seemed to melt away when his breath caught - gaze faltering with fluttered blinks.

"Fuck- Wait- S-Shit-"

It didn't take you long to realize what was happening, and your hands flew to your face to preserve whatever privacy was left for you both.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Oh my god- I'm so sorry!"

Blinded by the almost painful way you squeezed your eyes shut, and the added weight of your hands, you did your best to block out his panted breaths while navigating your way out of the doorway; slamming your shoulder against the frame as you ran back down the hall.

The door was left open but the damage had already been done, shouting another apology as you swung yourself into your room.

"I'm sorry!"

Two hours.

Two hours of hiding away in your room before the incessant growling of your stomach forced you out into the open - if you could just grab a bag of chips, you would be fine, you could go back to pretending whatever you just saw was a trick of your mind.

However, life seemed to enjoy laughing in your face as you ventured into the kitchen to see Chris already standing there, fingers drumming against the countertop.

Noticing your presence, he stood straight, staring at you as if you were an easily frightened animal - worried that if he moved in the slightest way, he'd scare you off.

"Uh, hey."

Swallowing thickly, you nodded, "Hey."

Normal.

All you needed to do was act normal and push away the mental image of your best friend in the throws of pleasure, the way his face looked or the way his shivering breaths played on loop in the back of your mind.

"I ordered takeout-"

"I'm sorry I saw your dick."

Great.

You smacked your forehead with a loud groan, "I didn't mean to just blurt that out! Oh my fucking god, Chris, I'm so, so sorry - this whole thing is so embarrassing."

The burden of your anguish was curbed by the sound of his high squeaks of laughter, prompting you to peek between your fingers to see him leaning against the counter for support.

"I- It's-" Steadying himself with a deep breath, he looked at you with warm eyes, "It's okay, really - it's my fault for not locking the door, you know? Think of it as payback for me accidentally walking in on you in the shower that one time."

You couldn't help the burst of laughter that rose from the memory, "You were half asleep, that's not the same!"

"So what?! I still walked in - I didn't even think about the steam until you screamed, I almost had a heart attack!"

The mental replay of him jumping like a frightened cat made you laugh harder - to this day you were both still surprised that your neighbors didn't call the cops from how loud you screamed.

Soon the once tense atmosphere was warm and comfortable, familiar, and you found yourself settling back into your usual self.

"Really though," smiling softly, you stepped further into the kitchen and leaned against the opposite side of the island, "I'm sorry, I should've knocked, I heard you talking to Ji earlier and thought you were still free."

Chris waved his hand passively, giving you a dimpled smile, "Like i said, don't worry about it - I've experienced worse, trust me." Mirroring your slouched position, he cocked his head to the side, "Did you want to ask me something, though? I heard you say my name before the whole, you know, incident."

Your eyebrows furrowed for a moment before you gasped, "The game night! I wanted to know if we could do another game night with the guys! Felix and Jeongin asked me about it and I told them I'd ask you when you weren't busy."

"Of course, what?! I've been dying to get back at Changbin for his cheap win at Smash!" A knock at the door interrupted him before he could dive into his plan for revenge and he sprung up, "Let me pay for the food then we can set up a date for it, yeah?"

Nodding happily, you watched as he headed for the front door and let out a sigh of relief, happy that your dynamic remained unphased through the minor slip up.

...Right?

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bangchan smut #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut

2K notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 2 months ago

Text

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away.

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night.

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily.

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved.

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else.

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone.

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around.

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet.

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late.

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard.

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave.

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay.

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question.

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away.

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter.

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart.

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine.

Until she’s not.

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine.

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck.

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down.

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out.

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers.

“What?”

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home.

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind.

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight.

April 2033

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age.

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word.

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her.

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen.

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes.

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room.

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse.

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too.

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever.

“Why would this be about Clémence?”

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again.

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown.

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen.

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks.

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?”

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave.

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off.

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had.

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years.

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown.

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again.

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it.

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp.

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could, “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze.

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever.

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too.

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back.

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk.

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug.

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face.

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs.

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests.

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women.

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins.

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking.

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world.

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette.

“Clém-” Azzi sighs.

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home.

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand.

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip.

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless.

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up.

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly.

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently.

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns.

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door.

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles.

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand.

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally.

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously.

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much.

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound.

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells.

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi.

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first.

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs.

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice.

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

341 notes · View notes

elllisaaa · 6 months ago

Note

something crazy came to me bc of this video i need to share

rockstar!heeseung hear me out… he’s the bassist and once he lays his eyes on you he knows he wants you for the night. you know that gaze he has on stage sometimes he can be such a flirt… if he was in a rock band dressed like this and playing the bass i wouldn’t survive

this fucking outfit has been all over my fyp these days and i'm dying a little more inside everytime i see him, especially when it's the fucking hip thrusts from paradoxx invasion choreo (yummy).

ROCKSTAR!HEESEUNG who is cocky as fuck because he knows he can have whatever girl he wants. but the moment he saw you in the crowd, he knew that tonight, it was you that he wanted. contrary to what everyone thinks, he's not taking girls back to his place that often. yes, he loves the attention of his groupies, and he likes to flirt with them, but only some of them are able to catch his interest. plus, it is even hotter to know that he could pick anyone but that he will do it only if he wants to.

but tonight, he knows who he wants to take home. throughout the whole concert, his eyes are on you, grinning whenever your gaze crosses and your cheeks heat up a little at the way heeseung is licking his lips while he's entirely focused on yours. and honestly, by the time the band goes out of stage, you're dripping wet and dying to see him again at the after party.

and of course, heeseung is there, waiting for you even if he doesn't want to admit it. he's still wearing the same outfit he had on stage, the sleeveless shirt showing his arms muscles and you had to mentally stop yourself from drooling over him. you only have the time to sip from your cup of alcohol one time before heeseung comes to you, shamelessly checking you out.

"hi, baby." if it was everybody else, you would've only rolled your eyes and turned away, but his playful smile and his charisma had you hooked. so you only smiled back and started a casual conversation with him.

usually, heeseung disliked this small talk thing. but with you, it was different. he could've listened to you all night, your voice enchanting him and the way your lips were moving hypnotizing him. his eyes hadn't stop roaming around your body, it was as if he was undressing you with his eyes, and you didn't mind because you were doing the same to him.

"why don't we go back to mine, baby ?" a cheeky smile spread on your lips as you looked at him, cocking your head to the side. "and why would i do that ?" - "maybe this will convince you." heeseung put his cup aside and immediately grabbed your hips, pulling your body flush against him while his lips crashed on yours.

he didn't care about all the people watching you, he just wanted to taste you. and the moment his tongue danced against yours made him realize that he will need way more than one night with you, because you were too addicting to stop there. "so, are you ready to go ?" - "yeah, get me out of here."

but both of you were too excited to wait until you were somewhere private. so heeseung laid you down in the backseat of his car, his hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt as he continued to devour your mouth. "fuck, you're already so wet for me baby. you liked the show that much ?" - "yes, you were so sexy on stage." a proud smile was eating his face as he pushed your panties to the side, rubbing his fingers against your clit and spreading your juices everywhere. "couldn't focus with the way you were watching me, baby, you were fucking me with your eyes. did you thought about how i could use these fingers on you rather than with my bass ?" you simply nodded, scared of the sounds you might let out if you talked as heeseung pushed one of his fingers inside.

"you're so fucking pretty like that, letting me touch you where everyone could see." his filthy words had you whining so easily, and by the time he added another finger, you were already going dumb. "heeseung, please…" - "what do you want baby ? use your words." his hot breath hit your neck, and seconds after, he was sucking on the tender skin, making you moan uncontrollably. "i want your cock, please, please…" - "there we go, good girl."

heeseung got rid of his shirt, and pulled down his pants just enough to free his cock, rolling a condom onto it before teasing your entrance with only the tip. the way your walls were clenching around nothing everytime he pulled out had him biting his lips to the sight. you were truly the prettiest thing he had ever seen, and when he finally pushed his cock all the way inside, he was certain that he could never get enough.

"you're squeezing me so tight, baby, fuck !" heeseung groaned in your ears, holding your thighs open for him to pound into you. "f-feels so good." - "yeah ?" he only received another loud moan as an answer, and when he found your sweet spot, you cried out his name one more time, spurring him on to quicken his pace. your nails were digging into the skin of his back, and heeseung loved it all, encouraging you to leave your marks on him too.

"'m gonna cum, i'm so close hee, please…" - "shit, wish i could give you my cum and fill you up, baby." these words were enough for the wave to crash over you, moaning loudly. the way you were clenching around him drove heeseung crazy and he started to ram into you, chasing his own orgasm as he gripped onto your hips as some leverage. he swore he saw heaven when he emptied himself into the condom, laying on top of you and catching his breath as he tried to regain some consciousness.

the windows of his car were fogged up, and everyone passing by could guess what the two of you were up to. "fuck, baby, you're incredible. i need to take you home and ruin you." - "please, yes." and so heeseung did just that. and he didn't want to see you leave, so he fucked you again in the morning. and for the first time in forever, he asked a girl for her number. but you were not just a girl, and you casted a spell on him.

#i could go on and on about the rockstar!enha agenda #eli answering your questions #eli's moots #dinna's asks #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts

533 notes · View notes

rroseselavyyy · 6 months ago

Note

then, could i request: Yoongi and yn go to the beach, she's wearing a small bikini, Yoongi can't resist her tits and starts touching them (in front of all the people there). pinching nipples, sucking, fondling...untill the both of them are so horny that they just fuck right there in front of everyone? if its way too kinky I could tone it down a bit? haha

honeysuckle - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut, breast play, exhibitionism, unprotected s*x

a/n: here is your request dear anon :) I hope you like it! 🩷🥹

His eyes lingered on your bikini top as he tried to hide his fascination with your barely covered tits. You were reading a fashion magazine under your sunglasses as he applied sunscreen to your legs, his fingers inadvertently digging into the flesh of your thighs. There were drops of water from your wet hair dripping down onto your breasts and Yoongi wanted to look away but the sight was too captivating.

Yoongi knew it was impossible for him not to give in to his animal nature when you asked him to put sunscreen on your breasts.

His hands felt gentle on your skin, massaging your breasts with great care until you let out a trembling whimper. As his touches grew bolder, his eyes found yours as if to ask your permission.

Yoongi realized you were as eager as he was by the way you tugged at his hair, eyes closed and panting heavily. He made you lie on your back while he crawled on top of you. Soft kisses on your nipples became much more aggressive as if he was sucking the milk from them. The thought of it alone sent blood rushing to his cock as the mental images of you feeding his baby with your beautiful tits flashed through his mind.

You bit your lower lip to muffle your moans as his wet kisses traced a path between your collarbones to your jawline. His hands found their way to the swell of your breasts, squeezing them shamelessly.

"Baby, do you feel it?" Yoongi brought your hand to his growing bulge as if you two were in your own bedroom and not on a beach where anyone could walk in on you. "I'm so horny for you."

You were not like this at the beginning of your relationship with Yoongi, on the contrary, you would freak out the moment he laid his hands on you in public. But you seemed far from feeling ashamed when he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, making your body tremble in the summer breeze.

Your mother was right in everything she told you about him. He had been a bad influence on you.

"Don't you think it's hot?" You looked at him under your lashes, your mind too dizzy to make out any of his words as his fingers skilfully toyed with the hem of your bikini bottoms. As he smiled confidently over your lips, the sight of his wet hair and sunkissed cheeks made your pussy ache with desire. "I mean, the risk of getting caught?"

You almost cried as he pulled the bottom of your bikini aside and teased you with his middle and index fingers. "It's okay beautiful, I've got you." Your sand covered legs brushed against his in a delicious way as he pushed his wet shorts down far enough to get his dick out. "Let me take care of you."

Yoongi planted wet kisses on your cheek as he slid the head of his cock into your pussy, which was already soaking wet with the evidence of how much you wanted him. It didn't seem like getting caught by someone was on your plate, considering he was ready to explode when he felt your heavenly walls fluttering around him.

You kissed each other to muffle the sound of your moans. Even though you were making love in a public place, keeping the sounds of the declaration of your love to yourselves was your way of maintaining a kind of privacy.

His hips picked up a pace that made you see stars. As your body spasmed with an intense orgasm, your legs were wrapped around his waist as if you didn't want to let him go. Soon his cum filled you to the brim and then you felt the familiar sensation of his embrace, his arms wrapped around your form in a way that made you feel at home.

"You're a freak of nature, you know that right?" You played with the hair at the back of his neck as you teased him with a weary smile on your lips. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you recovered from your orgasm, his chest heaving from your earlier activity. "And you love me for that."

#bts smut #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #min yoongi #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfic #yoongi #rroseselavyyyasks #rroseselavyyyrequestedfics

490 notes · View notes

steviebbboi · 2 months ago

Text

Once Upon A Friendship

Pairing: Childhood Bestie!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.6k~ guys i obviously have a problem, my fics just keep getting longer and longer and idk how to stop

Rating: Teens and up!

Disclaimer: Well, well, here we are~ submitting this lil ficlet for @witchywithwhiskey's Slasher Summer Writing Challenge using the following prompts: carnival/county fair + forced proximity + "You think that's blood?". & Because I also wanted to engage with our writers community even more cuz <3, -- I'm also submitting this to @the-slumberparty Sundae Bar challenge: Chocolate (secrets will be REVEALED), butter scotch (childhood friends and the feelz is real 🥹), french vanilla (cause forced proximity trope was inevitable for our reader), w/ toppings of chocolate syrup (established relationship), graham crackers (flashback-backstory heavy), and toasted almonds (🫣get ready for some angst).

Summary: Growing up together, you and Steve were inseparable. Where did it all go wrong?

***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't cuteeee~~~~

Warnings/Triggers: Minors just be mindful that this has mentions of teenage sexual activity but not explicit (all age appropriate) but adding my warning below just in case, explicit language in few pieces of dialogue, ANGST with a happy ending, childhood besties to enemies/strangers, bucky, wanda, and nat are your besties too, steve is a shit communicator, both steve and reader are young and a bit naive, cheesiness ensues, fluff, work is not beta'd so any grammar mistake is my bad!!

*Any comments/reblogs are much appreciated and are so encouraging - more than you know. Pls don't hesitate to interact with me <3

“Argh, Wanda, no– I told you, I hate these things!” You whined despondently while grabbing at her arm.

“Look, you only have to go straight in and see it all the way through! It’s not like there’s any detours.” Wanda replied while giving you a deadpan look.

You returned the look with your own mocking face, “Wan, you know that isn’t the reason why I hate these things! They grab at you and try to scare you.” You shivered at the thought of one of the maze actors dragging you away somewhere where you couldn’t be found.

“Well…that is their job, y’know?” Wanda said, holding her chin in mock thought. You scoffed and shoved her playfully while she giggled at you.

“Plus, it’s so hot out! It’s probably so stuffy in there, especially if we go in with a random group.” You complained while attempting to fan yourself while holding your hair up off your neck. This summer was brutal, you couldn’t believe that anyone would be at the carnival fair today. But alas, everyone seems to want to enjoy the last throes of summer.

“We won’t go in with a random group - Nat said that they’re going to meet up with us before we go in.” Wanda said distractedly while taking out her phone, assuming that she was going to be checking in with Natasha.

Your brain took a second to process what she just said before you froze, your mouth agape, “Wait, ‘th-they’re’? Don’t tell me…”

Wanda stood ramrod still as if lightning just struck. The finger that was twirling her own hair froze its mindless motions as she stared at her phone unblinkingly as she realized her mistake.

“Argh, Wanda!” You hissed out and covered your face with both of your hands in genuine despair.

Wanda held a guilt-ridden expression, “Oh no, I’m so sorry, chip – I completely forgot that he would be coming-- honest!”

You released a heavy sigh and closed your eyes to mentally prepare yourself for dealing with the person that you despised the most in this world.

Steve Rogers. The bane of your existence.

Well, not really (-ish).

He also happened to be a guy that you have been crushing on since you were 10 years old.

Did he know this? No. But even if he did, you would be the last person on Earth that he would pick. How do you know this, do you ask?

You and Steve knew each other since you were basically in diapers. Alongside Bucky and Nat, the four of you grew up together. Although, that didn’t stop you from drawing the short end of the stick when dealing with your pre-pubescent teen years.

You were a late bloomer– while Nat developed boobs and became a natural flirt at 13 years of age, you were still dealing with the bullies at 13 years old whilst trying to navigate hormones, underdeveloped boobs and pre-teen acne. Bucky quickly developed a barely there mustache and a smirk that made all of the other girls swoon (though, you were convinced that it was really just for Natasha instead). And Steve…well, Steve was like you. Underdeveloped, skinny, no hair to be found on his face. He was as tall as you, and dealt with the bullies way worse off than you ever had to do.

But that didn’t stop you from falling in love with Steve Rogers.

Steve was one of your best friends. He always looked after you, whether it were mean girls coming to pick on you again or making sure that you got lunch together. You walked home together, stayed at each other’s houses to study or play video games. You developed a routine where one day in a week, you would order a chocolate chip milkshake while he got a vanilla whip at your local diner, and stayed there for hours just talking about your common interests together. Steve gave you your nickname, ‘chip,’ since he constantly made fun of the fact that you got the same milkshake everytime.

You also remember when the both of you decided to be each other’s first kiss. It was awkward and weirdly coordinated, but it was nice and you trusted each other. You both laughed afterwards and hugged, swearing to each other your friendship was still intact. When your parents would make playful jokes or tease you about when you and Steve were going to be a couple, you blushed and would shy away.

Where Steve was, you were there too.

You were basically inseparable as you both knew that you two were the underdogs of the group. Bucky and Nat quickly became the ‘It’ power couple as you all entered into highschool. Steve and you were the glue to your little gang and it just felt so nice to not be alone.

Thankfully, you were able to grow more into yourself by the time that you were 16 years old. Your skin cleared up a bit as you learned to develop a skin care routine, and your boobs started to actually look like there were two of them. Though, you never could quite get past the social isolations (despite the fact that your two best friends were the hottest and the most popular kids at school).

And while you changed a little bit, Steve…well– Steve changed alot. It was like one day he just woke up and became the guy that he was always meant to be. He started developing a build and grew a beard, had a huge growth spurt and joined the football team. He became strong and capable of anything. But, he was still Steve. He continued fighting for the ‘little guy’ even though he became on par with Bucky and Nat’s social class at school.

Unfortunately, with Steve’s new social status came the one thing that you couldn’t compete with: Sharon Carter.

Captain of the cheerleading team, it was almost natural for Steve and her to become a couple. You remembered the day that Steve and you hung out after school for your regular milkshake when he told you quietly that Sharon asked him out to the junior year annual dance. He blushed beautifully as he told his best friend the news, and you made sure to plaster on a fake smile and told him that you were happy for him.

After he took you home, you did your homework, took a shower– and as you got into bed, you cried yourself to sleep feeling utterly alone for the first time in your life.

Things changed after that. Steve couldn’t walk you home because he was walking Sharon home. He couldn’t play video games with you at yours because he was at Sharon’s. Then, he started canceling your daily milkshake hang outs.

“I’m sorry, Chip- I have practice to get to.”

“Sharon mentioned that she needed my help today. I’ll see you next week.”

But next week came and went, and still no Steve.

You quickly realized that Steve was blowing you off when you caught him making out with Sharon at the library in school when he told you the day before that he was going to be at football practice.

You didn’t mean to catch him at all - but you heard noises and glanced over to see him and Sharon behind the well-known ‘hook up’ section of the library. You squeaked in surprise since they were only half clothed, Steve with his shirt off and Sharon in only her bra. As you stood there shocked, you caught Steve’s widened eyes as they both turned to look at you. Sharon was pretty annoyed that you interrupted them (clocking her narrowed glare), but Steve at least had the decency to look embarrassed as they both put their clothes back on.

The shock of catching him in the act wasn’t as surprising (as much as it broke your heart, you knew that people in relationships would typically take it to that level fairly quickly). What was surprising was Steve’s reaction. You thought that maybe he would apologize for lying to you, or for blowing you off as many times as he did. But instead, he cleared his throat and his eyes became more stern as he didn’t say a word. He took Sharon’s hand in his and left.

You remembered standing there for another 5 minutes until you saw another couple glare at you as they took Steve and Sharon’s space. You didn’t even get what you came for– you walked straight home, crying, despondent over losing your best friend. (It was the movie scene where the side character gets discarded and cries silently in the rain - you felt so pathetic).

From that point forward, you didn’t bother texting Steve anymore. And he didn’t ever attempt to text you. He ignored you in the hallways and you didn’t ever look up at him when you would pass each other either.

Throughout all this, Nat and Bucky were there for you when you came to them about what happened and your waning friendship with Steve. Nat was pissed while Bucky looked confused as to how your friendship could change so quickly. Even though they were still close with Steve too, Nat and Bucky made sure to include you more during their hangouts or offer to take you home, which you felt grateful for, but it didn’t change the fact they had each other. And that you were still alone.

College was your wake up call to move on from Steve Rogers. You applied to universities that were all out of state, intentionally left your decision last minute so that no one could talk you out of it. Your parents didn’t approve but ultimately respected your decision.

You remembered graduation where all of your parents made you take a group photo on the bleachers. Nat and Bucky were on the higher step as you and Steve took the lower one. It was awkward as you two barely looked at each other, and fumbled on where to place your hands. It was Bucky who eventually groaned exasperatedly and placed your hand on Steve’s back while he placed his around your waist.

You recall the moment that really ended things between you and Steve, which was a party at one of Bucky's friends’ places. Nat and Bucky invited you to come in order to have your ‘last high school experience’ (whatever that meant). Unbeknownst to them, you were leaving the next day for settling in your new university halfway across the world.

The party was blasting obnoxious EDM and the house was littered with red solo cups and other kids yelling at each other as they played beer pong. Feeling so displaced, you took a beer and headed upstairs to look for an empty room.

Just your luck, you would enter the one that had Sharon (again, half-naked) on top of Steve (who was again, also shirtless) on the bed. You obviously interrupted them in the middle of something again. As they both turned to look at you, Sharon groaned your name in annoyance with an ‘ugh, seriously?!” and for you to ‘‘get out.’’ You couldn’t help but ignore her as you looked at Steve once more.

He had this same look of annoyance in his eyes as he sat up on the bed that was so unfamiliar. You’ve never seen Steve look at you like that before– as if you were a nuisance or some sort of insignificant thing. It was the same look that he gave you at the library. He became the bully that he used to protect you from when you were kids.

Something took over you in that moment where you felt your already fragile heart just shatter into several pieces. Though, somehow, all traces of self-pity and loneliness left your body as you coldly looked over at this stranger that you realized you maybe never really knew in the first place. In that moment, you tuned out Sharon’s nasty words, and only looked at Steve with an intentional, apathetic glint in your eyes.

The words just slipped out before you could even process them:

“I wish that I had never met you.”

You could mutedly hear Sharon scoff and give some sort of insult (you couldn’t really remember honestly) since the only thing that you waited for, and wanted to notice, was Steve’s reaction. You watched as the traces of annoyance in his eyes glazed out and changed into something that looked akin to shock, panic and something else that you couldn’t place.

Satisfied with finally being able to impact him for once, and to let him know how much you hated him in that moment, you turned to leave determinedly– you were pretty sure that you heard him yell out your name before you left but you slammed the door hard, ran down the stairs, and out of the house until you made the trek home.

You told yourself that night, as angry tears fell out onto your pillow in your childhood bedroom, that you would move on from Steve Rogers. That you deserved more and that you were going to make space for yourself in your own way.

As you settled into your new apartment, met Wanda as your new roommate (and now your certified best friend), you received a call from Nat and a text from Bucky.

Natasha was, naturally, upset at you for leaving without telling her. She made you promise to never do that again and to come to her more when you needed her. You felt one piece of your heart pull together again at how sincere and emotional Nat was on the phone. You realized that you may have also neglected your best friend when you and Steve were close, and promised her on the phone to never let that happen again.

Bucky sent a text saying, “Dude, what the fuck,” which is pretty polite for him, considering the context. You apologized and explained to him your desire to build your own life and while he was still mad at you, he expressed his understanding and respect for your decision.

Bucky and your relationship was never very close like Steve’s and his was, but he always looked after you (in his own way). You felt protected by Bucky in ways that you couldn’t with anyone else, and you knew that he would always ultimately support you as he would his younger sister. He told you to text him if anyone were to bother you, and you promised that you would check in with him daily.

You did receive one text from Steve: “I’m sorry for everything, chip.” That was all he wrote.

You glared at your phone and deleted his text, so overwhelmed with your anger and determination to remove Steve Rogers from your life. It seemed as if your lack of response was enough for him to get the message that you were done since he didn’t text you since that day.

At Uni, you really grew and developed into yourself. You became involved in college campus life, got a job as a TA, had a boyfriend or two. You dated one guy for six months before calling it off since you were better off as friends, and any other flings that you’ve had were short-lived or just didn’t land well enough to be in a committed relationship.

But you learned alot from these relationships and ultimately felt grateful to connect with people as you proved to yourself that you were something without the people back home. That you were more than the girl who loved Steve Rogers. You were proud of yourself for that.

Flashforward to now, you’ve just finished your freshman year of college. You’re visiting home for the summer to visit your parents, and to visit Bucky and Natasha, both of them ultimately decided to attend one of the local colleges. You kept your promise with them and stayed close, and even brought Wanda back with you– since introducing her to them last week, she became fast friends with your childhood friends.

You haven’t really spoken to Steve since that last stint in high school. Considering that your two best friends were still close with him too, and your families were all close, you couldn’t exactly avoid him. But you never talked about what happened in highschool. At the chance that you would see and interact with each other, you would greet him politely even though there was still some animosity there.

Steve wasn’t outwardly mean or rude, and he would try to talk with you more than once before in the past year, but you were evasive everytime in avoiding anything deeper than a “hello, how are you doing?.” You would stuff down the guilt from his disappointed and hurt expressions as you actively avoided him. You brushed off your friends who were begging you to try to repair your friendship with Steve– and just go back to school, blissfully living in ignorance.

But now, as you stood in line awkwardly waiting for the Summer Queens County Fair’s haunted corn maze with Steve (your friends suddenly “needing” to get some drinks or go to the bathroom while Steve and you waited for tickets in line), you felt like you wanted to pass away from the how thick the tension filled the air.

You could practically feel Steve’s tense energy in attempting to engage you in conversation. And damn him, he looked good. His muscles looked even fuller as they were accentuated by a basic white tee, and his beard- argh, his beard- only made his features even more rugged and handsome.

You hated the way that he could still make your heart flutter, even after all this time had passed.

“So,” you almost jumped when he finally broke the silence. “How have you been, chip?”

You felt yourself take a minute to defrost your stiff and frozen body as you turned to look at him. You met his curious gaze and said blatantly, “I’ve been okay.”

Silence filled the space again as your bluntness seemed to envelop the air around you. “Uh, that’s good. Are you…–how are you finding your classes?”

You looked back at him with narrowed eyes and just felt a rush of frustration move through you seeing his eager expression, that puppy dog look that always made you feel empathy for him suddenly made you feel annoyed and impassive.

“We don’t have to do this, Steve.” You said to him bluntly while crossing your arms defensively.

Steve’s own eyes narrowed in confusion and he swallowed heavily. He seemed to be thrown off by your comment. “I’m just trying to get to know you again, chip–”

“Well, I don’t want you to get to know me, Steve, okay?!” You interrupted him as your voice raised before lowering in the latter half.

Looking up at him, you met his eyes for the third time that night, but what you didn’t expect to see was that he looked so crestfallen and sad.

The guilt that has built up over the past few years swooped in and rested heavily in your chest. Instantly regretting your outburst, you sighed, “Look, I just think that we may be better off just not talking to each other, okay. We don’t have to try to be friends again just because our friends forced us to finally interact with each other since highschool.”

Steve winced at your cutting words, and he still had this sadness on his face as he looked down at his feet before he said quietly, “I’m not trying to…–I just…it’s been a long time, chip. The last time that I saw you, with Sharon and with what you said, I–,” you both winced in that quick rehash of the incident. Steve finished with a weary sigh, “Honestly, I just miss you.”

You frowned when listening to his words as the sincerity behind it felt displaced, and out of nowhere. You also couldn't help but feel concerned as you really looked at him. Outwardly, Steve looked as put together as he usually did. But people weren’t used to seeing him the way that you had growing up.

Looking closer, his eyes weren’t as bright as they could be, and they looked tired. Slight dark circles were forming underneath his dim eyes, shading his fully bearded face that was just a tad unkempt. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well and his shoulders had a hunch to them that could be perceived as calmness when you knew that it more resembled a tiredness or despondence.

Your frown was still on your face as you elected to ignore his declaration of missing you and simply asked, “Are you okay, Stevie?”

At your question, Steve noticeably straightened up and his mouth parted in surprise that reflected in his eyes. You both stood there for a moment as you stared at him with concern and him looking at you with…mirth? With your lips pursed, you glanced at him with narrowed eyes at seeing the humor alight in his eyes, brightening them a bit more towards its familiar shade of cerulean blue.

“Okay, what just happened?” You asked suspiciously.

Steve’s eyes brightened more and the grin that was growing on his face grew even larger into a soft smile. “You called me Stevie.”

You lurched back a bit as you replayed the moment briefly in your head and stuttered a bit at the realization. You hadn’t meant to call him that at all, but when you saw that sad look on his face and the signs of it on his body, you couldn’t help but recall moments similar to when you were just kids, walking home, checking in with each other during similar moments, but experiencing these things together.

“Uh- I– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you–,” You blushed and stuttered as you tried and failed at attempting to save your slip.

“No,” Steve interrupted you, his smile wilting a little bit. “Please, don’t apologize for that. I,– I miss us when we were just kids. Nobody calls me that anymore, well, beyond Nat and Buck, of course.” He said sheepishly while running his hand through his hair, disheveling it even more into a natural, annoyingly perfect quaff.

You gave him an assented hum and cleared your throat as you looked back down at your feet, giving the flattened grass an invisible kick. You both were quiet again but the awkward animosity wasn’t as present as it was before. You both shifted on your feet a bit more before glancing up at each other from time to time, barely missing each others’ eyes before finally, your gazes met each other at the right time.

He was looking at you differently– this time with that good-natured smile and levity in his eyes that glinted at you with that same ‘something else’ that you couldn’t quite put a finger on a year ago.

His small grin was reluctantly infectious as you felt your lips start to curve upwards as a response.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes trying to stuff down your smile as you replied with a cheap response. Memories surfaced again of your witty banter that you used to share that always started with Steve’s little smile, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as you opened them again to meet his own humorous gaze.

Steve’s soft smile grew into a teasing smirk, “That’s good, at least I got a smile and a laugh from you before you start to avoid me again.”

You only gave him an incredulous look at how blatantly out of pocket that sounded before letting out a sudden, full belly-laugh with him. You couldn’t believe that you were laughing again with Steve Rogers.

You felt this feeling again too - it wasn’t heartbreak, but rather, the shattered pieces that were shoddily put together again throughout the years felt solidified just a little bit more.

The laughs died down and the both of you remained standing there with genuine grins on your face. Before you lost your nerve, you felt a sudden urge to have him listen to you, to hear you, and to understand what really happened between you two.

“Steve–,”

“Chip, I–”

You both looked at each other and laughed for a moment before he indicated for you to go first. His grin looked so boyish and sincere, you couldn’t help but smile back at him as you two were just high school kids in Brooklyn again. Comfortable and authentic, together.

About to open your mouth, you get interrupted again by the person that you least expected to see on your visit back home.

“Chip? Steve? Oh my gosh, is that you two? Wow, chip! Look at you, you certainly grew into yourself!” Sharon’s pitched voice pierced the mutual bubble that was starting to form between you and Steve and flattened its existence.

You gave her a quick glance over and were internally surprised to see that she seemed to be exactly the same. Her eyeliner framed her hazel brown eyes that were widened in what looked like surprise, and with a hint of condescension (cause why wouldn’t she look down upon you with all of that pity). Her blonde hair resting softly down her back as she stood there in her floral skirt, her friends right behind her glancing over at you and Steve disinterestedly.

You stood there and gave her a fake shoddy grin as you greeted her back politely. “Sharon, wow, hi.” Your monotonous tone couldn’t be covered up in time before the words left your mouth.

She only gave you a dull hum before she glanced over at Steve with a smirk. “Hi Steve, how are you?”

The curious part of you couldn’t help but try to catch Steve’s reaction to her presence. You had no idea where things left with them since you left that day, and you never bothered to ask your friends either. Assessing him, he was looking at her with a nonchalant expression, and you were unsure of how deliberate his reaction was as he made small talk with her.

Trying to gauge his expression, there wasn’t any sadness present in his eyes anymore, nor was there any mirth. But, you did notice a stiffness there. The corner of his eyes crinkled a little too harshly as he forced a polite smile onto his face. You could see his jaw clench as Sharon droned on about her college experience.

Time couldn’t erase the fact that you did know Steve Rogers for some time– and when he was uncomfortable, he wasn't able to hide it at all.

The theatrical tunes of the fair and the echoes of people screaming in mirth and laughter suddenly came back in as you hear the booth employee for the haunted corn maze (this line was way too long for what it was worth) call for you and Steve to step on up.

You couldn’t stifle the quiet mutter under your breath, “thank god” as a wave of relief flooded through your body at being able to escape the dangers that you just experienced as you turned around to follow the employee to the front of the maze. You didn’t even say bye to Sharon, and you didn’t even realize that your friends hadn’t returned from their supposed tasks.

Your mutter may have been louder than you thought as you heard a snort from beside you. Glancing over, Steve was looking down at you with a returned humor that you just rolled your eyes at him. “Well, it’s not like you wanted to be there anymore than I did. Your tells are still exactly the same, Stevie.” You said derisively.

Ignoring the harshness of your tone, Steve only smiled more as you slipped boundaries again. You only caught it when you saw that he was simply just staring at you in response. Only then did you catch it and you rolled your eyes again with a small smile. His smile grew more as he intentionally leaned and walked into your path as you both followed the employee. You stumbled to your left at his deliberate clumsiness and shoved him away from you playfully before you could stop yourself.

You’re teasing around with Steve Rogers. And reluctantly admitting, you weren’t unhappy about it.

You both continued to shove each other away as Steve kept teasing you until you reached the front of the maze. The employee turned to face you before you went inside to explain the rules and you were listening attentively until you heard a throat clear from behind you. Looking back, you see that it's Sharon and her friends.

Trying to, but unsuccessfully, cover your agape mouth at seeing that they were actually following behind you this entire time, you clenched your jaw with annoyance and turned to face forward again.

The despair that you felt come in earlier from Steve’s arrival has returned tenfold with Sharon’s presence. Paired with the fact that you’re being forced to have entered a haunted corn maze, your hackles rise angrily at the fact that you’re being forced into a situation with both Steve and Sharon that you didn’t even wanna be a witness to, AGAIN.

Feeling suddenly so tired and exhausted, you let out a despondent sigh, “Okay, are we doing this or what?” The employee merely raised their eyebrows before motioning you to move forward in the maze.

You could feel Steve’s eyes following you as he tried to walk next to you, but you could hear Sharon trying to engage with him again. You could hear him respond but you didn't really care anymore. You didn't mean to be rude, but you were feeling resentful of all of it again. Especially hearing Sharon’s whiny voice trying to speak with Steve right directly behind you, you once again felt utterly alone.

Torches and string lights lit up the corn maze. Although, the night sky was void of any lights or stars, which made the maze really feel like a maze– isolated and desolate. You could hear Sharon’s two friends in the back muttering that they were scared as they let out occasional, little screams at any sounds that could be heard (even if it was just the wind grazing the corn harshly, or honestly, the sounds of their own footsteps, ha.)

Feeling so bored and wanting to leave, you turned around to just go back when you saw Sharon holding on to Steve’s arm with a worried look on her face.

You were passing by some rows of hay with a sticky red substance spilling all over it when you heard Sharon’s small screech.

“Omg, you think that’s blood?,” She said with a genuinely worried tone.

You wanted to laugh so bad as you looked over at Steve, just in time to see the rolling of his eyes and heavy sigh. She seemed to be grasping onto him with an even tighter grip and although Steve wasn’t shaking her off, he did have that uncomfortable look on his face again.

His second aggravated sigh and furrowed brows gave away his annoyance as he attempted to subtly create some space between his body and her touch. You turned forward again as the laughter erupted in your throat, but you managed to stifle it in time with a pursed smile on your face at hearing Sharon’s affronted noise in response.

You could read a mean girl from far away at this point – Sharon’s attitude wasn’t lost on you nor was her sudden closeness with Steve. But it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would, even if you found out that they were still together after high school. Honestly, a part of you felt satisfied that Steve, the one responsible for the existing tension between you in the first place, was finally just as uncomfortable as you were. To see Sharon offended and to see Steve’s discomfort made you feel a sense of justice and a resurged faith in good ol’ karma.

That pride you felt in being able to find your own comfort in your healing made you feel giddy. You weren’t in any sense of a relationship that held any drama. It felt good to know that the forced proximity didn’t just affect you at this moment. Yeah, sucks to suck, doesn’t it?

You flinched a few times as you continued walking throughout the maze with some actors coming out to scare you, but as you saw the glaring red Exit sign, you couldn’t wait to get outta there. Speed walking at this point, you were determined to walk out of this maze with your gaze forward, determined to not look back at the two sore points of the past few years.

You made it to the exit and sighed in relief. You were already a few paces away when you heard Steve call for you.

“Wait, chip! –”

The body is a wonder - your mind was so fixated on leaving but when you heard him call out for you, your mind flashed to the both of you waiting in line, flashed to the sounds of your laughter mixing together, the feeling of him leaning into you. You didn’t want to but, suddenly, your feet just stopped in place and you turned around to look over at him. Hope swelled in your chest…

And there was Steve. And Sharon. Kissing.

You inhaled deeply at the sight, not expecting to have caught them, yet again, mid-kiss. The tension knotting in your stomach finally exploded, and your stomach dropped making your feet feel so heavy. It was like watching a car crash happening in front of you - you felt fixated and couldn’t move, turn away. The hope that was swelling in your chest evaporated like mist, and you felt so foolish. The pieces that were somehow lodged together again from your earlier interaction broke into pieces, and felt grinded into dust. The wind took its opportune moment to breeze through your hair, and it almost felt like it intentionally took your longing for your best friend again with it.

Steve gripped Sharon’s arms harshly, shoving her away from him with an angry expression on his face. “Sharon, what the hell?!” He exclaimed. Turning away from Sharon and her pouted expression, his widened eyes frantically found yours.

Even a few feet away, the panic that you saw in them was familiar. You remember seeing it exactly when you had severed the existing relationship between you and Steve that night.

You couldn’t help your reactiveness– you were feeling so triggered by what you were witnessing. Your vision started to get blurry as you felt that familiar burning sensation building in your eyes. The panic in Steve’s eyes intensified at the sight, and when he made a move to step forward, your feet instinctively took one step back.

Completing the reenacted memory, you felt your mouth press into a hardened line as you met his gaze with a ferocious determination. Familiar numbness rose up and a lethargic apathy just washed over you. You bravely met his gaze and although the words weren’t being said, you and Steve both heard the words.

“I wish that I had never met you.”

The truth was, the anger and rage that you were feeling (and let’s be honest, the resentment that you suppressed and just gaslit yourself into reframing it as healing) was just the surface. Underneath, a deep and hollow feeling of just being unwanted and undesirable bubbled up with a vengeance. You didn’t wanna hear it, but you were tired, were abandoned by your friend(s), and energy depleted from tonight’s event. You knew you couldn’t be there any longer.

Your feet continued to step back slowly as you heard Steve asking for you to please wait - but then Sharon took his arm again needily and you took that as your opportunity to bolt.

You dropped your teary-eyed gaze away from his almost desperate looking one, mumbled out a quick excuse and left with a brisk nod. It was just like when you were 17 again, you heard Steve call out your name again but you don’t stop to look. You didn’t see him staring after you so longingly and looking so dejected, nor did you see him blatantly remove his arm from Sharon’s grip again while they hushed out intense looking whispers at each other.

The parking lot of the carnival was in sight as you wiped away the bitter tears from your face. You knew that leaving was immature of you, and you knew that you would disappoint your friends. You knew that you were breaking your promises to Nat and Bucky (and now Wanda) about talking with them before making any impulsive decisions.

You reached your old pick-up and opened the door harshly. The tears wouldn’t stop as you stood outside the car. Almost child-like, your hands curled into fists as you brought them to your eyes and just sobbed.

For a moment there, you thought that maybe…maybe you could start again. Maybe you and Steve could rekindle your friendship, or at least, talk things through. You thought that maybe you’d be able to continue laughing again. You shook your head, feeling so much pity for yourself.

Heaving out another wilted sigh, you closed your eyes and tilted your head back to allow the fresh winded air to dry your tears upon your chilled face. You needed time to think, and you knew exactly where you wanted to go, and what you needed.

The sweetness of the chocolate shavings melted in your mouth, leaving only the sugary taste behind. You took another sip of your milkshake and made sure to swipe some whipped cream from the top for an extra sweet finish.

The diner was mostly empty, spare a truck driver or two sitting by the bar tops. You mindlessly stir your milkshake some more with the plastic straw and couldn’t help but relieve another sigh from your body. You came to the diner for nostalgia’s sake, and a chocolate chip milkshake was always a huge dopamine boost for whenever you were feeling sad.

But this time, getting your favorite milkshake at the diner left more of a sour taste in your mouth as each sip just reminded you of Steve.

You decided that you would try to bring yourself to feeling better before you left for home, which meant drinking your milkshake, making small talk with Betty (the sweet, old waitress who has been giving you milkshakes for free since you were a teenager), and settling the grievances that you could actually fix.

You instantly texted Wanda to let you know that you had left the carnival, and that you hoped that she was having fun going to the bathroom for the past hour. Instantly receiving an apologetic text back for ditching you with Steve, you figured it was as good a time as any to also let her know that she would have to ride back with Bucky and Nat (given the fact that you also had basically left her there too). She sent you the mouth wide open face emoji, and you knew that you both could call it even.

Nat texted you a selfie of her and Bucky pouting remorsefully. It was enough to make you crack a grin (Bucky looked so ridiculous). You demurely sent them back a picture of your middle finger (because you were the bigger person of course), which only had her text back an apology with an IOU. You knew that they were only trying to be your friends, but at least you would have this photo as blackmail for future purposes.

You started to play a game on your phone mindlessly when you heard the door ring, indicating a new customer walking in. Not even looking up, you proceeded to win the next level of the game until someone set another chocolate chip milkshake down on your table.

“Oh, it’s okay, Bet, I didn’t want–,” you started to say as you looked up. But it wasn’t Betty who dropped off the milkshake.

It was Steve.

Your eyes widened a bit in just processing that he was actually there, standing in front of you. He actually came to find you? The scene from earlier was so crystal clear and akin to your high school memory, you were convinced that that would be it. As you sat there staring doe-eyed at Steve, the scene had felt like it glitched as it was now playing out differently than you had expected.

Heat rose to your cheeks as your gaze focused on Steve’s determined facial expression. You turned forward to face your new milkshake and deliberately avoided his narrowed gaze. You could feel him still staring at you and you shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t say anything but moved to sit across from you in the booth, heaving out a heavy sigh of his own as he did too.

You kept your eyes down as the both of you let the silence permeate the air around you. A few minutes passed before you were about to officially just get up and leave when Steve broke the silence first.

“I swear,” he turned to look over at you with an exasperated gaze. “I had no idea that she was going to be there.”

A disbelieving scoff came out of your mouth and you rolled your eyes blatantly. “Steve stop, again, you don’t have to do this – “

“Stop saying that, chip!” His voice was filled with a sternness that you couldn’t ignore. Your eyes widened at him as he continued, “I’m here because I want to be, okay? Not cause Bucky, or Nat, or your family told me to or forced me to. I found you - and I asked you to wait earlier and you ran away, again!”

A glare scrunched up your face as your fury rose up at the audacity of his scolding, “Excuse me?! I didn’t want to wait because I didn’t want to watch you and Sharon sucking each other’s faces off, again!” You flourished your mocking with a tight expression and only caused Steve to oppose you even more.

“She was the one who kissed me – I didn’t want to be there with her either. I haven’t even seen or spoken to Sharon since you left!” Steve blurted out.

Your heart felt like it was racing in your chest and your mind blanked at hearing Steve’s reveal as you tried to stutter out a response. “What– I don’t–,” words were hard. You thought that they were together for some time during the year in college. With the way that Sharon was acting, you assumed that they were still interacting with each other, somehow, at the very least.

Steve took advantage of your surprised silence and continued, “God, chip. After what happened at the party, I just…I realized then how much I hurt you.” He looked at you with such remorse as you just continued staring at him. The hardness that was built over the years was still surrounding you, trying to protect you, even if Steve was professing his regret.

“When I heard you say that you regretted having ever met me,” you both flinched at the words as he said them, “and this look in your eyes…it looked like you really despised me and I felt it and I just–,” Steve cut himself off with another flinch and pinched his eyes shut.

“I let it get to my head. When I made the team and when people started to pay attention to me, when those bullies stopped bothering me and actually invited me to things, I lost sight of what really mattered to me the most and that was you. I know that that is a stupid excuse, and that I was hurting you, even way before what happened at the party and I was dumb, immature, and just stupid, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, chip.” He spewed out the words faster than he could coherently process them but the sincerity could be heard in his rushed tone.

His downcast, teary eyed gaze met yours and you felt your breath hitch slightly at the sight. Growing up with Steve, he was always the formidable one. He was the one who reached out first to hold your hand if you cried. The one to maintain composure and calmness while you were the one who was more nervous and panicked. To see Steve so out of breath, wistful, and low-spirited was worrisome and unfamiliar to you.

You were at a loss for words as you tried your best to process his words. Steve bit his lip nervously as he tried to gauge your reaction. When you only met him with more silence, the despondent look in his face only grew, “Please. I completely understand if you still don’t want to be friends, and after this, I’ll completely leave you alone. But honestly, chip, I can’t leave knowing that you still hate me. I- I know that’s selfish, but I can’t.”

You moved your stare to blankly look at your melting milkshake, the whipped cream completely evaporated into the cold drink.

“You hurt me.” You blurted out.

Steve almost looked startled at hearing your voice after such a lingering silence. “I know, and I’m so sorry–.”

“No, Steve,” You interrupted him indignantly, “you hurt me.” The tears blurred your unseeing gaze again as you focused enough to meet his own. The whimper dislodged in your throat as you could no longer hide the suppressed pain.

Just like that, the both of you were 15 years old again. You were crying after being teased by other kids or bullied for your flaws, and Steve was there trying to console you. The impact of these experiences were a shared burden impenetrable to your friendship together.

The difference now is that, instead of your tears being spurred by the mean-spirited popular kids, Steve was the one who committed the offense, a betrayal that cut so deep and you were the only one to shoulder the burden.

Steve swallowed heavily as he blinked furiously to hold his own tears at bay. He seemed to understand what you were saying as his eyes glanced over the different features of your face. He knew all of your vulnerabilities and ignored, neglected his care of you by treating you the way that others had growing up. He abandoned you when you needed him the most, and he had to understand the severity of that in the same way that you tried to tell him then as you were now.

Steve exhaled deeply as he looked over at you. His still despondent eyes held a layer of genuine understanding as he apologized despairingly, “I’m so sorry.”

You sniffled as tears fell freely onto your cheeks, your puffy eyes and pained expression causing Steve to flinch in his own despondence. You brought a closed fist to your face again to wipe the tears and winced as you suddenly felt strong, sturdy arms envelop you in a soft embrace.

The tears only came down stronger at the feeling of hugging your best friend. Not feeling so alone anymore, your heart cried out with you in relief as you turned and tucked your face into his chest, your arms moved to clutch his back. Once you did, his embrace only became tighter as he squeezed you to him closer.

You both sat there for a while, just hugging, soft sobs falling from your lips while Steve continued to repeat quiet, but earnest, apologies. After a year of animosity, sadness, and unresolved hurt, the both of you silently agreed to let this moment just be.

Eventually, your tears stopped running so harshly and you sniffled back your snot-filled nose very charmingly as you reluctantly pulled away from his warmth. Steve still kept one muscular arm around your shoulder as you looked up at him hesitantly.

“Stevie?” You began to ask. Steve responded with a soft hum for you to continue while rubbing your shoulder soothingly. It didn’t even seem like he noticed that he was doing it.

Before you could lose your nerve, you meekly asked, “Why did you start pulling away from me when you started dating Sharon?”

Steve’s hand froze and he stilled as if he were preparing for the worst. He sighed while closing his eyes for a moment. Taking a breath, he opened them back up to look at you with a resolved and honest gaze.

“When I told you that Sharon asked me to the prom, I thought that would’ve been the moment that you told me that you liked me the same way that I liked you.”

Your heart thundered so loudly in your chest as you gave him a shocked, glazed over expression.

He liked you.

“But then you smiled at me, and you said that you were happy for me, and, I guess a part of me felt like I was foolish to have ever thought that you would actually like me more than a friend. I continued things with Sharon because I felt like I had to get over you.” He said regretfully.

You blinked up at him a few times before you asked dumbly, “And that’s why you were pulling away? The lies and the fake excuses, or why you ignored me when you were with Sharon?”

Steve flinched with each question as he confessed, “Yes. It was really immature of me to ignore you. If I could go back and do it over, I would in a heartbeat.” An intentional look sat on his face as he expressed his remorse.

You released another speechless hum in return, still processing that Steve liked you. In a spur of your own adrenaline running through your body, you suddenly disclosed, “Steve, I did like you the way that you liked me.”

Steve stilled and inhaled sharply, “...W-what do you mean?”

Mustering up your own fostered courage, you exhaled deeply and said, “I liked you too. But I was your best friend. I thought that you were the one who didn’t like me, so I thought that if I supported you in dating Sharon, I wouldn’t lose you completely.” You felt your face scrunch in confusion as how ridiculously unnecessary this entire separation was.

He only looked at you with incredulity as he realized, “So, because we couldn’t just buck up and tell each other honestly in that moment that we liked each other, we ended up losing each other anyways?”

“Ugh, what a mess.” You revered and knocked your forehead against his chest ashamedly. You both were quiet again as he resumed rubbing your shoulder calmingly.

“Chip?” Steve suddenly spoke out.

Raising your head up to look at him again, still cringing from such a huge misunderstanding, you gave him a soft hum to continue his inquiry.

Steve looked down into your eyes, making you feel mesmerized with how deeply he was gazing at you. From how close your faces were, you could really see the subtle hints of green in his blue eyes. There was still some grief there as you looked at each other but there was again, something else that you still couldn’t point out.

Noticing that unknowing glint in his eye for the second time that night, you questioned him curiously hoping to finally find out, “What is it?”

“I like you.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, his eyes filled with mirth again and an honesty that couldn’t be faked. Your thundering heart skipped a beat as you felt your own spirit restore within you. You could feel those pieces in your heart start to build again.

You looked back at him with such relief as Steve pulled you in closer, you took in another deep breath as you responded.

“I love you.”

His eyes immediately glowed with an infectious joy, a genuine laugh and smile graced his face as he got closer to you. You could hardly breathe as you returned his loving gaze, his nose nuzzled yours gently until the both of you met each other halfway in a tender, first kiss.

A/N: my cue to say: and they lived happily ever after! i would love to know what people thought, thanks for reading :)

Main Masterlist

Captain America/Steve Rogers Masterlist

Tag List is Open :) [submit a form if you would like to be tagged in any of my works]

Tag(s): @patzammit @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @stellar-solar-flare @mercurial-chuckles

#slashersummerwc #navy and roo's sleepover #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve rogers angst #marvel fanfiction #writers summer challenges #fic recommend

320 notes · View notes

brickmvster · 1 month ago

Text

An Old Flame (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

Synopsis: After getting hammered at a club in attempts to repair a broken heart, in your drunken stupor, you call the one person you were trying to get over. He takes you back to his place, taking care of you, and it's then you realize that your feelings for him never quite dissipated.

Tags: breaking up and making up/exes to lovers, angst, fluff, a little bit of emotional hurt/comfort that goes both ways, reconciliation

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Word Count: 6,309

Author's Note: I'm alive 😭 writer's block sucks, but I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things, I think. I hope you guys enjoy this!! Notes and reblogs are appreciated of course. This has been proofread, but if any mistakes still managed to slip by me, apologies in advance, they're all mine.

I imagined RE4R Leon while writing this but please feel free to imagine any version of him you'd like!

(Read on AO3)

Sobbing in a dirty bathroom stall was definitely not how you envisioned your Friday night going.

The fact that you were also considerably drunk and could feel the liquid sloshing around inside of your belly, threatening to come up your throat and all over the floor, certainly didn't make matters any better.

You had come to the club with a group of friends who were all far more enthusiastic than you to be there. You never considered yourself much of a party person; and if you were going to attend a party, it was always a small one with people that you knew or were at least acquaintances with. At a dingy nightclub, you were surrounded by hundreds of sweaty strangers, and the music was so loud that you were sure you were going to be temporarily deaf for a while. To make the long story short – you weren't looking forward to coming here, but you regrettably let your friends drag you out of the comfort of your home.

The stupid leather pants your friends insisted you wore were feeling too tight. The bathroom was so stuffy and unbearably hot. There were two individuals in the stall next to you engaging in… a certain activity that you really didn't want to be around to hear. And the awful, terrible smell of puke was probably one of the worst things you've ever smelled in your entire life. It was all too much, every single one of your five senses being mercilessly attacked.

You shouldn't have let yourself get wasted; you knew that, and you mentally cursed yourself for such reckless behavior. But the longer you sat at the bar, completely by yourself and with your friends nowhere in sight, it was like no one was there to stop you. You still missed him and you thought alcohol would be better at numbing the pain than a tub of ice cream. Both were terrible items for getting over a heartbreak because they both only made you want to vomit, which is something you always learned the hard way.

That's how you ended up in a stall, tears freely running down your cheeks in a drunken haze. Your friends were on your mind, but more than anything you just wanted to be carried out of here. You grabbed your phone out of your bag and opened up your contacts. But for some reason, instead of clicking on one of your friend's names, you kept scrolling further down, subconsciously searching for that specific name that you knew you should've just deleted a long time ago.

You clicked on the little phone icon, and listened attentively to the ringing on the other end. It rang and rang and rang, and it went on for so long that it almost snapped you out of the very stupid thing you were doing, but then–

"Hello?"

Leon actually answered. And even after all this time, his voice was still the most soothing sound in the world. You cleared your throat before attempting to put together a sentence in response.

"Hey… I'm… I'm, uh, in a gross bathroom at, um… fuck, what was the name of this place…" you trailed off, your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment. You rubbed your forehead, trying to think despite how hard it was to do.

Leon was silent for a bit on the other end before speaking up.

"___? Are you okay? It's… really late."

You chuckled, a burp coming out alongside the sound. "I know, right? What the fuck am I even doing here?"

"___, listen to me. Are you alright? Why did you call?" Leon asked. You could just faintly hear shuffling on the other end, and the unmistakable sound of keys jingling, as if he was already gathering his things before you even told him the location. Your heart fluttered at that and even more warmth was sent to your cheeks.

"No. No, I'm not alright. I feel really fucking sick right now and I don't know where my friends are and I fucking hate being here and-"

"Slow down, sweetheart," Leon said. If the alcohol didn't kill you, the pet name that Leon apparently still liked using for you would.

Leon fell quiet on the line, almost as if suddenly realizing the word that had slipped from his mouth.

"Sorry, I mean– look, tell me where you are. Do you want me to come and get you?"

There was a voice in your head screaming at you to just say no. Your friends were a text message away. If they saw the state you were in they'd take you home in a heartbeat. You knew the right thing to do was apologize to Leon, hang up, and get your ass out of the bathroom stall to find your group. But the alcohol was clouding your judgment, and the rational part of you simply didn't exist right now. Going back to Leon's apartment was like reopening a wound that had just healed. But you couldn't deny how much you needed him in this moment, no matter how pathetic it sounded. He had been on your mind the entire time you were at the club, and hell, even if you had been sober you probably would have ended up back at his place anyway. Because you simply didn't know how to stay away from things that you walked away from.

"Yes. Please come and get me." You replied softly, your words shaky with sorrow and guilt, your voice cracking.

"On my way. Stay put, okay?"

____

"___?"

Your eyes opened slowly. The side of your mouth felt wet with drool. Your brows furrowed as you took in your surroundings.

"___, are you in here?"

Your eyes widened a bit more upon registering whose voice was calling for you. You immediately sat up, trying to adjust your hair and straighten your shirt – before quickly giving up, because you knew no amount of adjusting would make you look like less of a hot mess.

"In here," you called out, not bothering to get up and open the door as your legs felt like they didn't work and any small movement would've caused you to expel your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

You saw two feet stop right in front of the door. You recognized those boots anywhere. They were your favorite pair.

"Are you… decent? Can I open the door?" Leon asked. You nodded, before quickly realizing he can't hear the movement of your head.

"Yeah," you replied weakly. Leon did just that, opening the stall door slowly.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you up right then and there. You knew you looked terrible, disgusting even. Your ex, on the other hand, still looked as gorgeous as ever, with his dirty blonde hair slightly longer than the last time you saw it and prettily falling into his deep blue eyes. He was wearing a form fitting black shirt that left nothing to the imagination with a pair of blue jeans and his expensive brown coat.

You averted your gaze out of pure embarrassment. Leon had never seen you in this state and you wish he hadn't. You wished you could turn back time and call your friends instead of him.

Leon kneeled in front of you in the cramped space, gently lifting your chin and making you look him in the eyes. The action only made you feel smaller.

"Hey, let me see you," he started, his gaze softening as he observed you.

"What happened? Nobody-" his jaw clenched. "Nobody did anything to you, right?"

You shook your head. You didn't trust your voice enough to speak.

"Okay, good. You just drank too much?"

You nodded that time.

Leon seemed physically relieved, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he stood back up. He held out his hand.

"Can you stand?" He asked. You muttered out something that sounded like a "yes," taking his hand and slowly rising off the toilet seat. You almost toppled over, but Leon was there to steady you.

"Put your arm around my shoulder." He instructed, but he was already moving your arm for you. You gladly took ahold of his shoulder as his hand held your wrist; his other arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly. The two of you walked out of the bathroom together, ignoring the stares from other club goers.

The both of you made outside, and the cool air was a pleasant sensation to your extremely warm body. Leon helped you into your car, handling you like you were made of glass, before getting into the driver's side himself. He buckled you up first, leaning over you to pull the strap across your chest. His breath was fanning across your face, and you felt your heart rate skyrocket. You gazed at him with tired eyes, and he returned the eye contact briefly, his eyes mostly unreadable, but definitely filled with concern no less.

Once he was buckled up himself, he took off, and you just closed your eyes, hoping and praying that the motion of the car wouldn't cause any sudden hurling.

The car ride was mostly silent; aside from the radio that Leon had turned up slightly, playing some rock song, you were far too exhausted to say anything. You didn't even know what to say, anyway, and it seemed like Leon didn't either.

Eventually, when he stopped at a light, he spoke for the first time in several long minutes. "Your friends – did they abandon you?"

You shook your head. "No… I was the one who split from them. Told them I wanted to be alone."

"But they didn't even check on you?"

You glanced at him and noticed his tense jaw had returned, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"They're all probably shit-faced, too." You replied dryly.

Leon sighed. "I… sure, I guess. Then that brings me to my next question… Why did you go over your limit? You could've put yourself in danger."

You shrugged, gazing out the window.

"I really don't know," you lied.

"God, ___, don't do something like this again. Please." Leon replied.

"I'm… sorry." You said. What you were apologizing for exactly, you weren't sure. For worrying him? For making him come all the way out here to save you like a damsel in distress? The more you thought about it, the more you leaned toward all of the above.

Leon seemed to relax again upon hearing your soft-spoken apology. "There's no need for that, I just…" a sigh. "You should rest. We're almost home."

Home.

You let your eyes slowly drift closed again. The last thing you saw was the sight of Leon driving with one hand, still wearing that unreadable expression.

____

Leon was quick to help you out the car after finding a parking spot. He guided you up the steps to the second floor of the complex, walking to his door. You leaned against him while he fiddled with his keys.

He eventually got the door open, helping you walk through the door. As he walked you through his living room to the bathroom, rather slowly as your feet were slightly dragging across the floor, you took in the familiar space around you. Leon's apartment was, of course, just how you remembered it. He had few decorations, most of them put up by you. His raggedy, but deceptively comfortable couch was somehow still standing strong. His place looked well lived-in; not terribly disorganized, just slightly cluttered. Given the nature of his career and how often he was away, he was never home long enough to let huge messes pile up anyway. You felt a smile tug at your lips as memories crawled back into your mind.

You remembered shopping with Leon for his decorations shortly after you moved in. He pretended to be indifferent, but you'll never forget the grin on his face as he helped you hang up some abstract paintings with poorly hidden amusement. That very couch was often where you spent your time resting your head on Leon's shoulders, or sometimes his head on your lap. The kitchen was where you and Leon made huge messes together, doing more kissing than cooking.

But your smile slightly faded as memories of the tail end of your relationship tainted your mind. Waiting alone for Leon to return home for a mission, worrying yourself sick. Sometimes Leon was distant, going from attentive and caring to cold and unresponsive in a heartbeat. You knew his trauma made it difficult for him to be fully present in the relationship – but sometimes you acted harshly anyway, both out of frustration and out of concern. His career was eating away at you, too.

The sound of running water pulled you out of your thoughts. You quickly registered that Leon had sat you down on his toilet. After wetting a washcloth, he leaned down in front of you again.

"I'm just gonna wipe your face, alright?" He said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

Leon wiped your face with the washcloth ever so gently, dabbing away dried drool and removing the light sweat that had formed across your forehead. He even went as far as to brush your teeth for you, thoroughly reaching every inch of your mouth to the best of his ability. Somehow, even during this, you found yourself dozing off a few times.

"You don't have to wash up now if you're too tired." Leon said once he had finished a portion of your nighttime routine for you. He stood in front of you while you were still seated, waiting for your next move.

You wanted nothing more than to wish the stink of the nightclub off your skin, but your eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

"Take me to bed, Leon." You muttered, wrapping your hands around his waist and leaning against his torso.

Leon found himself grinning at how much of a koala you became when sleepy and drunk. With one hand, he played with your hair for a bit as you continued holding him. You sighed contently as you felt yourself slip away in the sensation. Leon looked down at you, feeling something tug at his heart strings at how vulnerable you looked like this. The warmth from your arms around his waist brought Leon to a painful realization – that he missed your touch more than he thought.

Leon tried to store that thought away. You'd be gone by the morning, right? He couldn't allow himself to open up to you after all this time. You had made the choice to walk away and as far as he knew, you hadn't changed your mind.

He gently tapped your arms, causing you to stir a bit.

"If you want me to take you to bed, you have to get up first." He said teasingly. You groaned, but reluctantly did what he asked. Even while standing, your eyes were barely open.

"Do you wanna change?” He asked.

“Into what?” You said sleepily, words slurring together.

“I can give you one of my shirts and a pair of my pants. I don't mind.”

You just nodded, leaning into Leon's side, your head falling onto his shoulder.

Leon walked you to his bedroom, grabbing some clothes for you as you stood there patiently, your eyes half open. He gave you an old shirt of his and some gray sweatpants.

You began stepping out of your gross nightclub clothes right in front of Leon, who didn't seem to mind – he helped keep you from stumbling as you got dressed.

“This is so much better.” You said, feeling free and unconstrained now that you were out of those awful leather pants. Leon found himself holding back a grin at the way you were happily rubbing at the fabric of his shirt.

“Let's get you to bed.” He spoke.

He assisted you in getting cozy under the large comforter, even going as far as to tuck you in.

Leon's scent washed over you as you sunk into the softness of his mattress. You almost instantly succumbed to slumber, subconsciously burying your head into Leon's pillow.

For a long time, Leon just stared.

You were safe now, finally out of that awful nightclub and resting comfortably. He felt the tension leave his body, and he could finally go about his nightly routine at ease knowing you were taken care of.

Seeing you in his bed like this reminded him of the nights he came home late. Those nights, he'd crawl into bed next to you, holding you close as if you'd disappear into thin air. Strangely, despite the fact that he was looking directly at you, this was another moment where he felt like you'd cease to exist if he so much as looked away.

But he eventually forced himself to look away, sighing to himself as he went back to the bathroom to freshen up himself. He decided to sleep on the couch, falling asleep with you in his mind and still feeling the phantom touch of your arms around his waist.

____

Upon slowly opening your eyes, squinting slightly at the sunlight filtering through the room, it didn't take you long to notice the splitting headache that pulsated uncomfortably right behind your eyes. You also took note of the fact that you were clad in Leon's clothing.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your face bunching up in pain at your awful hangover. You were mentally chastising yourself, as you knew that this terrible headache could've been easily avoided had you not gone past your limit the night before. It was at the moment, as you were lying on your back and staring at the familiar sight of Leon's apartment ceiling, that all of the memories from last night came rushing back to you.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You barely remember anything from last night, but you knew that when you were shit-faced you turned into a giant child, and you were already feeling apologetic for putting Leon through your drunken antics. You didn't even want to get out of bed and face the man.

So, you did just that; you lied there for a few extra minutes, absolutely dreading the moment when you would have to get up eventually. You sighed, rolling over on your side, facing the closed bedroom door. It was then that you noticed the tall glass of water and bottle of painkillers on the bedside table.

You sat up slowly, feeling your heart warm at Leon's thoughtfulness. You took one pill from the bottle, swallowing it down in one large gulp of water.

You also noticed your phone on the table. Curiously, you checked to see if your phone was even alive – which it was, much to your surprise, but the battery was low. You saw numerous text messages from your acquaintances last night. Some of them were just talking about how much fun they had and thanking you for coming out. Others seem concerned about where you had gone. You didn't feel like replying to any of them, so you promptly shut your phone off. You needed to save your battery, anyway, as you didn't have a charger. You left your phone in its place on the table.

You sat in Leon's bed for a little longer after that, sighing to yourself, before getting up to go find where he was.

You didn't have to look very far after opening the door; there Leon stood in the kitchen, occupied with making breakfast. It seemed like he didn't notice your presence at first, so you took that opportunity to gaze at him, grinning softly at the concentrated look on his face as he flipped over a pancake, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked cuter than ever, clad in his well-loved plaid pajama pants and a loose black shirt. It felt strange, seeing him like this again after so many months.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Leon suddenly spoke, still turned away from you. You were slightly startled, quickly averting your gaze.

“Morning,” you said softly. “Did you know I was standing here the whole time?”

“Of course I did,” Leon replied, finally turning to you with a pretty smile on his face, one that you couldn't help but immediately return. “Government training helped me with my awareness, y'know.”

You chuckled at that, making your way over to the dining table and taking a seat. Resting your chin in your hand, you watched Leon lovingly, a comfortable silence settling between you.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, it's alright. I'm almost done, anyway.” Leon replied. “By the way, how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby. I forgot how comfortable your bed was.” you said.

Leon grinned. “That's good. And your head?”

“It's feeling better. Thanks for the medicine, by the way.”

“Of course.” Leon replied.

Eventually, he carried to the table two plates of food, along with two tall glasses of orange juice. It was a simple breakfast, consisting of just pancakes, but it was totally fine by you. They looked fluffy and perfectly cooked and you didn't hesitate to dive in.

Leon just watched you eat in silence, a small grin on his face as he watched you do a little happy dance upon taking a bite. He wasn't really showing it, but he was very pleased with himself; not just because he made you a decent plate of pancakes but because you were here with him, out of that grimy nightclub, content and being taken care of. Leon felt a tug at his heartstrings as he realized just how much he missed taking care of you.

“Leon. Are you gonna eat?” you said with a chuckle, nearly done with your food. Leon seemed to snap out of whatever trance you had put him in, quickly glancing at his untouched plate of food.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He said in a slightly bashful way that made you swoon. He finally had begun eating, thoughtfully chewing, taking his time.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling completely satiated. For a while, the two of you just sat in comfortable silence. It dawned on you that eventually you'd have to leave, sadness beginning to wash over you like waves.

“What's the matter?” Leon suddenly spoke. “Be honest, were the pancakes actually terrible?” He said jokingly. That got you smiling again, and you let out a small, half-hearted laugh.

“Leon, they were fucking amazing,” you replied sincerely. You smiled then faltered a bit. “I just… I still feel bad.”

Leon, who was also sitting lax in his chair, had straightened up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he gazed warmly at you.

“About?” He inquired.

You sighed, looking down at your lap. Suddenly eye contact was too much right now.

“For last night. I know I've already apologized but… seriously, I'm really sorry for making you drive all the way out there. And for worrying you.”

Leon shook his head, looking at you with an expression that could only be read as sympathetic.

“I've said it before and I'll say it again – you don't have to apologize, okay? If anything, I'm glad you called me. It meant that you trusted me to ensure your safety; and that made me feel good.”

You felt your heart warm at that. You continued to stare down at your lap, twiddling your thumbs, still hesitant to let him into your gaze.

“Can you look at me? Please?” Leon said ever so softly. The gentle, almost desperate tone of voice was enough to get you to finally raise your head and meet his eyes.

“There you are,” he said fondly. “I want you to know that you can always call me. For anything. And if you need me, I'll be there. We're not… together anymore but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna step out of your life, okay? I still care about you. Always will.”

You were effectively silenced, so deeply touched by Leon's words that you couldn't even produce any of your own. Suddenly your vision began to blur and your bottom lip was quivering.

Your friends – really, just your co-workers – who had practically forgotten about you at that club? They probably didn't care about you all like they claimed to. But if there was one person that would always stand up for you, help you, tend to your needs – it was Leon. It had always been him.

With a shaky voice, you responded, “Thank you, Leon. I… still care about you, too. So much. I totally owe you after last night.” you said with a playful smile, although you were honestly very serious.

“No, it's okay. You don't owe me anything. I was just doing what a good friend is supposed to do.”

Friend.

You brushed the word off, ignoring the pang of disappointment that hit you. You simply smiled at him.

Clearing your throat, you started another topic. “So, um… I guess since I'm here, we should catch up a bit. It's been so long since I've last spoken to you.”

Leon shrugged. “Honestly? I don't have much to catch you up on. I've just been doing what I always do, lounging around, working, occasionally going out with Claire and Chris. You know me, I'm a boring guy.”

“You are not at all boring, Kennedy,” you said teasingly.

“You know, it's okay to admit it.” He replied, and you could only shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

“You're literally a government agent. That's the opposite of boring.”

“Well, what a lot of people don't know is that being a government agent also comes with a shit-ton of paperwork.”

“I suppose,” you said with a completely playful roll of your eyes. “Anyway, Claire and her brother doing well?”

“They're doing great. They're always asking about you.”

You felt guilt begin to rear its ugly head at Leon's comment. “I haven't spoken to them in a while too… God, I'm terrible.” You said.

“Hey, don't make it a huge deal. They know how busy you are. They still care about you too. You could go a thousand years without speaking to them and they'd still be excited to hear from you.”

“That's nice to know.” You replied. You made it a mental note to get in contact with them soon.

The dining table fell quiet again. There was this undeniable tension in the air, one that the two of you couldn't shake. As much as you hated to admit it, you had missed sitting at Leon's dining table, sitting across from him specifically, sharing peaceful mornings together. You knew that eventually you'd have to leave; you'd part ways with Leon once more. You wish you could say that'd be easy to do.

Leon pulled you out of the recesses of your mind when he suddenly stood up, grabbing the two plates and cups. You silently watched as he went over to the sink, turning on the faucet.

Without even thinking, you stood up as well, joining him in the kitchen.

“Let me help you,” you said, not even giving him the choice.

Leon shook his head, like you knew he would. “It's alright, I got it. I know you've probably got things to do, so I understand if you need to go-”

“Things to do? Like what?” You interrupted with a playful grin. “I want to help, Leon, please.”

“It's only a few dishes.”

“I know– look, stop being so stubborn and let me help. Please.” You said, taking a plate out of his hand and grabbing a washcloth to help with drying. Leon just chuckled, having paused his washing for a bit to admire you.

“You haven't changed.” He spoke.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you put the plate back in its respective cabinet. You didn't even need to ask where it went – it was muscle memory for you.

“I mean… always wanting to help with stuff. It's what I've always liked about you.” Leon replied, handing you a newly washed cup. You took it, slowly, still processing his words. You felt a certain warmth throughout your body, trying to distract yourself from the feeling by rather furiously drying the glass.

“That's just how I am. Can't help it.” You replied shyly, your voice coming out small.

“I know. You should consider being an agent since you like helping so much.” Leon teased. You were putting the glass up when he had said that and weren't looking directly at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. It made you smile.

“Absolutely not.” You replied immediately, to which the both of you broke out into laughter, the sound filling the kitchen.

The two of you finished doing the dishes fairly quickly, falling into an easy rhythm. It all felt too familiar. The both of you fell into your usual banter so easily, and it was almost like you two hadn't just spent months apart.

You ended up helping Leon clean his entire kitchen after the dishes, chatting with him every second and moving around each other with the sort of ease you can only get when you've spent enough time in one place to memorize everything. You told Leon that you didn't mind helping him knock out a few chores, which was true; you knew how busy he was and how he was usually too tired to take care of things like this himself. But deep down, the true reason why you were still here was because you just didn't want to leave. But you kept that part buried within you. It was difficult coming to terms with what that meant and you didn't want to think about it.

“Does anything else need tidying?” You asked him once you finished wiping the kitchen counter. Leon looked around, seemingly thinking for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Nah, it's all good. But I appreciate it.”

Your grin faltered a bit. You knew you had to go. You had been here for hours now.

“Ah, okay,” you said, trying to hide the dejection in your voice. “Well, um… I guess I should get out of your hair then.”

Leon perked up at that. “You don't have to leave.” He said quickly. He then cleared his throat, looking away. “I mean, uh– if you don't want to, you can stay as long as you want.”

You wanted to more than anything else. But the right thing would be to leave, even though that went against your heart's desires. Who knows what you'd end up saying– or doing– if you stayed. Whatever it'd be, you'd probably regret it.

“I should really go.” You said quietly. Leon just silently nodded. His expression was unreadable yet again.

After making sure you had all your belongings, and unfortunately having to change back into your cursed club outfit for the time being, you now stood in front of the door. Leon had changed out of his pajamas too, looking as handsome as ever in a simple pair of jeans, a black shirt, and boots.

Since your friends had driven you to the club, and Leon drove you to his place, he'd have to drive you back. You were waiting for him after he had said he had to find his keys. You took one long, final glance around his house as you stood there with a heavy heart.

Quite a bit of time had passed, though, and you were about to call out to Leon, as you noticed he seemed to be taking longer than you expected. You figured he just needed help searching for his keys, so you jogged over to his bedroom, where you saw him enter.

When you walked in, he was kneeling in front of a cardboard box. His closet door was open, so you presumed that's where the box came from. Your brows pinched together in confusion.

“Leon? I can help with finding your keys-”

“Oh, I have my keys. I just, um… suddenly remembered something.” He said, a bit cryptically.

You were still visibly puzzled. “Remembered what?” you asked, walking a bit closer to see the contents of the box. And then you realized.

In the box was some jewelry of yours, one of your shirts, and a bottle of perfume that you had forgotten at his home ages ago.

Your heart warmed at the fact that Leon kept them safe and tucked away in his closet, almost as if he was waiting for the day to return them to you.

“I completely forgot about these,” he said, standing up to face you. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I've been meaning to give these back.”

You just smiled, feeling so incredibly touched and endeared.

“It's okay, Leon. I didn't even realize I was missing these items.” You said with a chuckle. You kneeled down yourself, sifting through the contents of the box and reminiscing. The perfume especially reminded you of so many date nights and all the times Leon told you how nice you smelled.

“You know, that reminds me,” You began, feeling the cotton of your old, worn t-shirt that lay perfectly folded in the box. “I think I still have one of your sweatshirts. The old RPD one.”

You knew you did. It was still in your closet, hidden away. Not forgotten, just out of sight.

“You can keep it.” Leon said. “You looked better in it anyway.”

You felt that familiar heat rush to your face again. Even after all this time, his words still affected you.

“Well, um… thanks.” You replied.

“It's nothing.”

You stood up, holding the box, and the two of you walked back to the door. Every step felt heavier than the last.

You watched as Leon was about to open the door for you. But in that moment, as he was about to turn the knob, something within you snapped.

“Wait.” You said.

Leon paused, turning to look at you. “Did– did you forget something?” He asked.

You shook your head. You slowly put the box down on the floor, gently kicking it aside.

“I don't wanna leave, Leon.”

Leon still seemed perplexed. “I told you, you can stay as long as you-”

“No, I mean… I'm not leaving… again.”

It didn't take long for the realization to hit Leon. He was silent for a bit, unsure of how to proceed, or what to say.

“I need you to be more clear.” He said simply.

You stepped closer to him. You nearly reached your hand out, wanting to gently stroke his hair like you always used to do, but you weren't sure if he was ready to jump back into physical affection like that. You restrained yourself.

“I want to try again, Leon. I'm so sorry for how I treated you. At the time, I didn't understand your trauma – I failed to accommodate you. When I left… I realized how shitty I had been. How much I had missed you. I dated other people and none of them gave me what you did. You were too good to me and I was too selfish. I'm sorry, and I want you to know that I've grown. I will try my best to meet you where you are from now on if you just let me back in.”

You said all of this while staring directly into Leon's captivating eyes, sincerity in your tone and in the way you gazed at him. You hoped Leon could feel your guilt. Your remorse.

Leon just stared back, stunned into silence. You could tell his mind was racing, searching for what to say, processing everything you had told him. You were prepared for him to say no. You were bracing for the heartbreak. You wouldn't be upset, no. You'd be understanding. You were ready to leave for good if that's what he wanted.

But heartbreak isn't what you got.

“Thank you. For apologizing.” Leon said. “I should, too. I wasn't being totally honest about my line of work. And dating a government agent isn't necessarily an easy thing to handle. It was probably traumatic for you, too, seeing me come home so damaged, physically and mentally.

“And for the record, I don't think you were being selfish. You wanted to help, I know you did, you just didn't know how and it was frustrating.”

You felt a stinging sensation in your eyes, your emotions nearly meeting their boiling point, tears threatening to spill. Deep down, you didn't think Leon had anything to apologize for, considering everything he's been through and seen, but you were appreciative of his apology nonetheless. It warmed your heart to know that he never resented you when you were together, like you always thought he did.

“So… should we try this again?” you said, a playful glint in your watery eyes.

Leon grinned. “We should.”

At that, you couldn't hold back any longer. You went in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck snugly. He wasted no time in wrapping his around your waist. Being back in his arms again felt like a dream.

You brought a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through it. You felt Leon relax even more at the soft touch.

With your lips close to his ear, you whispered:

“I never stopped loving you.”

Leon pulled away a bit, his hands just lightly resting on your waist.

“Neither did I.”

A pause. You felt his breath fan across your face.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, already grinning like a lovesick teenager.

“Please.” Was all Leon said before you leaned in, your lips finding purchase on top of his, bodies pressed close together.

You had a hunch that making yourself at home again wouldn't be difficult at all.

#leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 4 #re4 #re4make #re4 leon #re4 remake

336 notes · View notes