#these two are so in love it’s a lil concerning

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls - Chris Sturniolo

Babydaddy Chris - Positive - Mama - Changed Woman Pairings - Babydaddy!Chris x Fem!Reader Summary - You and Chris put a last minute scavenger hunt together for the boys as a way to reveal your pregnancy. Warnings - Strong language, pregnancy announcement, lil fluffy, Word Count - 2419 Authors Note - Looking for a new label for the reader!! 🤔 give me suggestions! At first I had Changed Woman and Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls as once big ass post but I broke them up lol. I hope everyone like it! I had a lot of fun putting the little notes together. Masterlist Current Series - City of Love Check out my dividers!

“They’re pulling up,” Chris beams from the living room, rushing to the kitchen island where you were sitting. He had been running around like a jittery school kid all day. Finally deciding it was time to tell Nick and Matt, you two pulled together a last-minute scavenger hunt in hopes it’d make the news a little less intense. Chris had no clue how they’d react, telling them they’re going to uncles for the first time was going to be shocking news, but he knew it had to be done. Both of you were tired of making up excuses when Matt would complain about you in the bathroom almost all day, every day. Or when Nick asked why you were wearing Chris's wardrobe and taking a hiatus on drinking.

Everything was prepared. All the envelopes were placed in their designated spots around the house, sealed with a piece of scotch tape, and marked with either your neat handwriting or your boyfriends sloppy handwriting, each one leading to the next. Chris sent his brothers on a few errands after breakfast which made sense because they had a few errands of their own. The three being so close, they took notice of Chris moping around the house, attempting to get it out of him but he suppressed his true feelings every time, refusing to confess the secret he had been holding in the last few weeks. Needless to say, when Chris asked them to pick up a few things for him, they didn’t object. He made sure to give them a long list, keeping them out for a few hours so the two of you could get everything ready. Chris taped the first envelope on the front door just minutes before they arrived, your neat handwriting scribbled across it - “let the games begin. The first clue is where you store your shoes. Good luck twin!” 

A mixture of anticipation and nervousness boiled deep down in your gut. At least that's what you thought it was since the feeling was quite different from your constant state of nausea you had been in the last few weeks. You hear the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, “is this for a video?” Nick asks, poking his head around the corner, “I need to change first if it is.”

“No. No video,” Chris stutters, breaking eye contact to look at you. His face said he was second guessing it all, so you put on your best reassuring smile and nodded him on, trying to give him as much encouragement as you could without physically saying it. Matt takes notice pretty quickly, “what’s wrong with you, kid? You look sick,” his voice laced with concern and his eyebrows scrunched together. Chris swallows the lump in his throat, shaking his head, “got a big surprise for you guys. C’mon, find the next clue,” he eggs them on while wrapping an arm around you, desperately trying to wipe the ghost-like expression off of his face. 

You and Chris walk into the living room, watching as his brothers absolutely destroy the organized shoe rack. It was nearly impossible to find the next note, you had stuffed it in a pair of Nick's shoes that he barely ever wore. Matt jumps in excitement as he pulls the crunched up sticky note out of a pair of old, dusty sneakers. You laugh as he thrusts it in the air and shouts, “got it!” 

He brings the note back down to eye level, clearing his throat, “‘now that you found the second clue, go to the fridge and crack open a Mountain Dew,’” he reads off the words you pieced together. You weren’t much of a rhymer, Chris told you what to say on most of them because he knew it would’ve taken you all night. The scavenger hunt being a spontaneous whim of his, you didn’t argue when he sprung the idea on you, you were just happy he was ready to tell them. “Who drinks Mountain Dew?” Nick snorts, knowing it was only in the fridge for company that came over. 

“It rhymed,” you retorted back to him, shrugging your shoulders, “and we have Mountain Dew in the fridge.” Nick and Matt were too excited over the silly scavenger hunt, and they were really letting their competitive sides show. They resembled little kids running around the playground at recess as they raced each other to the fridge, earning laughs from you and Chris as they pushed one another out of the way. Nick gets there first, swinging the fridge door open, “my hand is literally on the door!” You let out a laugh as he argues with Matt, making him pout and cross his arms over his chest, “it’s okay, buddy. You’ll get the next one,” Chris tells him in a playful tone before rubbing a hand down his back. Matt quickly shrugs it off as Nick begins to read the third clue aloud, “clue three will keep you on your toes, check where Matt keeps his clothes.” 

Before you or Chris can say anything, Matt turns on his heels and foots it to his bedroom, “this one's mine!” You erupt in laughter, Chris following quickly behind as you watch Nick chase after Matt. It was funny how competitive they were, not even knowing the prize would be finding out they were becoming uncles. Just as you’re about to walk up the steps you hear Matt yell at Nick, “back door! It says ‘wanting more? Check by the back door,’ hurry up!”

Before you have the chance to get out of the way, Nick is barrelling towards you, jumping down the last few steps to get a head start. Chris snakes a hand around your waist, swiftly yanking you out of his way, “watch the fuck out! It’s not that serious!” he calls after his brother who dismisses his words by waving a hand over his shoulder. Chris looks at you, “you okay?” You force a smile, nodding to him, “I’m fine. Let them be excited.” 

Matt stomps down the stairs, calling out to Nick, “did you get it?!” Nick shouts from the back of the house, “‘no bitchin’, take that ass to the kitchen!”

Matt picks up his pace, quickly making his way to the kitchen. You and Chris follow behind him silently, refusing to give out any hints. The boys had one more clue until they revealed the big secret. So many thoughts run through your head as Matt inspects the kitchen - what were their reactions going to be? Were they going to hate you? - you felt like you were telling Chris all over again, like you were telling your overprotective older brothers, and that felt even worse. Matt puts his feet in action, moving across the kitchen in long strides. You watch as he picks up the white envelope you had taped to the cookie jar. Before he tears into it, you open your mouth to stop him, “read that last one together, Matt.” 

He looks up at you, nodding as he clenches the note to his chest as if he didn’t trust himself. A few moments later, Nick appears around the corner, giving Matt all the initiative he needed to tear open the envelope. He holds it out, “‘hopefully this isn’t too heartbreaking, check the oven to see what’s baking,’” he reads loud enough for the room to hear. His face crunching in confusion, “heartbreaking?” 

You had a feeling Nick could care less about what the notes said, it was obvious his competitive side had taken over. He rushes to the oven and swings it open, revealing a leftover cinnamon roll from breakfast. Chris put it in there hours ago after he realized buns were the only thing you didn’t have. You watch as Nick doubles over to pick the rock hard cinnamon roll up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, “a cinnamon roll? Why would a cinnamon roll be heartbreaking?” He looks between you and Chris, “they were pretty good at breakfast, probably stale now.” 

“Well,” Chris chokes out in a nervous manner, “we didn’t have any buns.” You let your eyes bounce around the room - Chris scratching the back of his neck like the nervous mess he truly was. Matt rereads the last note over and over again, trying to put two and two together while Nick was looking at the stale dessert dumbfounded. As much as you wanted to scream out your confession, you decided to let Chris do all the talking. Besides, telling his family was something you wanted to leave to him, after all it was his family. Telling your own family was something you were dreading.  

“What the fuck?!” Matt spits out, making you and Chris look at him. The color flushes out of his face like he’s the one who just found out he was about to be a father. Nick was still staring at the cinnamon roll, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, “I don’t get it.” 

“Y/n’s pregnant, dumbfuck!” he chews out. You couldn’t tell if he was pissed or just taken back, and by the look on Chris’s face, he wasn’t sure either. Nick drops the roll, letting it bounce off the tiled floor before he slaps a hand over his mouth, “what?!” 

A strong silence casts upon the kitchen. The familiar feeling of anticipation is no longer in your gut as the four of you eyeball each other, struck for words. You didn’t know what to say or do, but the need to break the tension was weighing down on you like a thousand bricks placed on your back. Deciding to break the awkward silence, you force a toothless smile, letting your small voice croak out, “surprise!”

“You’re fucking joking! Where’s the cameras?” Nick pushes out a shocked laugh, looking around the room to see if he could spot any hidden cameras. Chris clears his throat, “we’re not joking,” running a hand through his hair. His serious demeanor made his brothers come to a realization; this silly scavenger hunt wasn’t a prank, and you were for sure pregnant. He was the most unserious out of the three, his goofy personality is what attracted you to him the most. He was a major goofball and if you were being truthful, this did seem like a prank he’d put together for the hell of it. Except, it wasn’t a prank at all - it was the real deal. 

You let your worries get the best of you. Feeling hot tears brim the waterline of your eyes, you quickly blink them away before looking down at your hidden bump. Chris’s hoodies did a fantastic job at hiding your baby bump these last couple weeks. You panicked when you started showing, even though your bump was barely noticeable, you didn’t want anyone to catch on before your announcement. The only indication you were pregnant was the constant puking in the hall bathroom Matt and Chris shared and you wanted to keep it that way until you were ready to confess. All eyes were on you as you smooth a hand over your bump, making the hoodie hug at your waist, showing your small. You could easily say you were bloated and get away with it. Nick and Matt gasp in harmony as you lift the hoodie up to expose your growing bump. It wasn’t much, but it was still proof of your baby's existence, proof that your baby was growing. Nick peels his hand from his mouth to speak, “you’re already showing?!” He makes his way to your belly, holding out a hand like he’s asking if he can touch. You nod him on, “yup, it’s real,” he says out loud, making you snort. Nick was really trying to convince himself this was reality. The last few weeks, you felt the same, so you couldn’t blame him. 

“How far along are you? Why didn’t you guys tell us?!” Matt shoots out questions like a disappointed father. He wasn’t upset that you and Chris were expecting, he was upset that Chris would keep such a big secret from him when they told each other everything. Some things they didn’t even tell Nick or you. “We’re telling you now bud. She’ll be eleven weeks this friday,” Chris jokes until he realizes Matt’s hard expression isn’t budging, “I don’t know. I was scared, didn’t want you guys to be mad at me.” You can hear the sadness in his voice, almost like a kid who was apologizing to his parents for bad grades. “I’m not mad you’re having a baby. I’m upset ‘cause you didn't tell me sooner. We all could’ve been figuring this shit out together Chris,” he lectures him like the true big brother he is. Matt moves his feet to walk towards you, “how long have you known?” 

“We found out at 7 weeks,” you manage to get out before he places a hand on your belly without warning, “yea that’s real,” he confirms, shooting looks between his brothers and back down at you. “I want to know about the next one as soon as it happens,” he grumbles, keeping his hand on your stomach. Nick snorts, “please,” taking a hand off your belly so Matt could get better access, “you were probably in the next room as they conceived it.” 

“Don’t call my baby an ‘it’. He’s a boy,” Chris argues, a grinning spreading from ear to ear. His comment makes both Matt and Nick look at him. Already knowing what the next question would be, you decide to chime in, “we don’t know yet. He’s just been manifesting the whole time.”

"Hold on," Chris nearly shouts, rushing out of the kitchen, and quickly returning with two extra copies of your first ultrasound you had gotten a few weeks prior. The same bright smile stretched across his face as he hands over a copy to each of his brothers, "doesn't he look like a boy?"

"Chris, it looks like an alien," Nick snickers, earning a playfully gasp from Chris. Matt studies the black and white printed picture, "yup,” he pops, "looks just like you, Chris."

"Funny 'cause you look just like me," Chris shoots back quickly. He still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, you were bringing a new life into existence in just a few short months. He wasn't ready for it at all, but he was glad his brothers were there to help him, and you, through it.

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4

© All Rights Reserved to m00nl1ghts1vt. Please do not copy my work.

[nervermim]

Okay but a second son and prince that grow up with a crush on you knowing that you are in love with his old brother, also knowing that his brother would break your heart.

Yandere stuff, male x male (makes sense in the context be that so hard to pretend it's a FEM reader), medieval times, bad English idc that its

Okay but he totally fall in love with you. He was younger than you and you were his old brother cool friend, a son of a high noble that made you be always in the castle, visiting his old brother and playing

And he always tried to look cool but you just saw him as the cute young brother, the lil baby and whatever, it's was a little frustrating

Become more frustrating when he got older and older and start to realize that you are in love with his brother.

He was happy that you also like boys but... He was not happy that the man you decided to love was his older brother...

Ofc would be his brother. Why you never gave him a chance instead? He wasn't just a boy anymore, he was already a knight and respectable second prince... Why he still a little kid for your eyes?

It wasn't a secret for anyone in the palace, besides wall having eyes and ears nobody was totally sure about that was happening between you and the heir of throne.

But he knew.

He saw you two, holding hands, kissing, hugging, smiling and changing love words.

He heard you two, the way he made you breathless, the way he touched your skin and made you moan, the beautiful sounds you made.

You made for his brother.

But he wasn't worried about losing you. Because he knew his brother is going to break your heart. Oh he was sure of it.

And when his brother break your heart, he is going to hold you in his arms, and make you realized that you should had chosen him, not his stupid old brother.

And how he knows his brother is going to break your heart?

Well it's not hard, his brother is the heir of the throne, the next king. And a king needs a queen, and needs a heir. And a queen it's something you can never be as a man. And giving him a heir is also something you can never give him since you don't have the body for that.

He just needs to wait in silence, waiting and hoping the day you be free to be his... Finally his.

And didn't take too long. The marriage of his old brother is soon public, with a princess from a close kingdom, she is beautiful and a woman, and she is going to marry the first prince and blah blah blah

The last time the second prince see you is when you and his brother are fighting. He wasn't supposed to see that but he is a little happy to see. Now he can finally see his brother letting you go so he can have you!

Then his brother says.

"I don't understand why you so angry, I thought it was obvious that I would never stay with you! You are a man, I could never assume a man, I'm a future king, a need a queen, a women to give me a heir"

"what we have were just... Some fun... It never supposed to look like I love you"

His mind goes blank, he didn't even realize that you ran away after his brother saying that. He sees red, he wants to kill his brother right now... But he won't. That's just a time waste for him, he has more important things.

And you are this important thing.

The next months he tried his best, letters, visiting your family house, presents, invites. Nothing. You put not only him but everyone in a full radio silence.

Even your parents and siblings are starting to get worried, he heard how the maids are worried with you, not leaving your room and refusing to eat, to talk, just wanting to be alone.

Soon doctors are called to your house, your father looks really concerned about your health and your mother even stops going in parties just to take care of you.

He sees how your siblings get more protective about your situation but he knows the truth, nothing of what they are trying will help you get better.

He underestimate the love you felt. You're not just a silly heart broke man, your heart can be cured, because his brother smashed your poor heart like nothing.

He was dumb, he should thought that this could happened, he could tried something to avoid making you suffer so much. But now you are in a serious depression and he has part of that.

Because he wanted his brother to break your heart... But he never wanted to see you like that.

Then the news hit him like a bomb. Your parents after not knowing that to do, will move you to the city to a small house in village, some maids and one of your siblings will go with you to take care of you.

This could look like some vacation, but it's not. Not in the noble society.

They are portraying you as an invalid, an incapable, someone who will never be able to join noble society again.

It's almost like they gave up on you. But he doesn't blame your family, not when he knows how they tried to help you.

It's all his brother fault. If he hasn't played with your heart nothing of that would happened. Yes... With all his fault.

The life as... As like living at same time you still sleeping. You didn't wanted to talk, so you stayed in silence most time, sometimes you would cry then your sibling you hold you, some maids you try read you a story.

They would help you to eat, even bath you. And again and again you would sit in a chair outside, just watching the trees and birds, living like something has destroyed your life.

Maybe it was a little too dramatic right? You feel pathetic for acting like that after what happened... But everytime you closed your eyes you would heard his words again.

It's a cloudy day when the second prince came to visit you. You not sure how he found out where you were staying, yours parents said they take care of it so nobody would know. But he is the prince, probably they could hide this from him.

For a moment you think he will say something about the first prince, but he doesn't, and you don't know if you are happy or not about that.

He stay for dinner, saying he will stay just more one or two days to visit you and make sure you are fine. You still don't talk, and he don't make you do it too, he still smiling even when you are ignoring him while he talk to you.

At night you and him still outside, it's not too cold, you are watching the fireflies and just seeing the moon. Nothing too amazing. He sit next to you, smiling and looking at the sky.

Still hurts. He is not like his brother, not in look or act, but he still his young brother and hurt you just remembering him.

"you know? It's okay know, it... It can imagine it's hurt for you, but you can have all time you need, you don't need to overcome this trauma just because they say you should" he says smiling at you.

"I'm going to take care of you, and besides that, now no one can hurt you again, so you can be free to try be happy again" he says and you don't understand his words, then he hold your hands and put something on them.

Rings. He put two golden rings in your hand, one is smaller the the other... They had blood stains and have two names you can recognize immediately.

The first prince name and the princess name. Those are their marriage rings. With blood.

And the second prince still looking and smiling at you. And for the first time you wanted to be able to talk again, because you want to scream.

[eternal-work-in-progress]

me when pirate lesbians

Famous Pirate Captain Sealaim Wvrin-Levonne (the blonde one (imagine being blonde?????))

Disgraced Commander War Criminal Teyji Ranoko (the one that belongs to @ruler-of-the-glorious-memepire )

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Finally catching up on the Horizons episodes I missed 👍

[finncakes]

a bit old and a redraw of this, but i miss these guys

[indelicateink]

i am just so earnestly curious. i read the books a long time ago, i am struggling to put myself in the shoes of someone who doesn't know what's coming. the latest promo that has the sinister projection of L: does this come across as menacing to people who are book-innocent? do those audience members have anxiety about him showing up in paris?

i know he was fucking excoriated by a lot of viewers for season 1 and ep 5 especially (no matter one's experience with the canon), and a lot of people now despise the character.

but does like. anyone actually have concern abt the guy showing up and making trouble? it seems to be the reaction they want people to have, I'm curious if it's working?

[allylikethecat]

Hey Ally, I see you’ve seen the satvb stuff and especially the wax figure bit. I’d love to hear your pov of it in a fic form if that makes sense sort of like an introspection into his “nightmare” ie. being vulnerable and feeling exposed and naked but also trying to protect himself. I know that probably doesn’t make sense but I would still like to hear your thoughts and theories regardless. Hope you’re having a good day :)

Hi! My day was pretty average, I went to work and then Pop got his fall vaccines today and is always extremely mopey and dramatic about it, so I felt bad for him even when he was being a little terror. I hope that you had / have a good day and thank you for sending in this ask!

SO, I haven't really watched much of the satvb coverage and I purposely didn't watch any of the live streams so there would at least be *some* surprise when I went to my first show. I did however see way too many pictures of the wax Matty figure laying in the fake grass and am very stressed about how I am going to explain THAT to my casual fan friends that are going to the shows with me. 😂

And on that note, I'm going to my first show of the tour next week and I can't make any promises regarding a fic dealing with the wax figure situation (I have some other projects up my sleeve now that the A&E Fic is nearly finished- one of them while still a Gatty situation is very different from anything I've ever written 👀) however, that's not to say that inspiration won't strike when I'm confronted with a life sized, naked, fake Matty in person 😂

I will report back after my show- but from what I understand, despite the shocking, absurdity of it all, it is actually a rather sad moment? Regardless, if I do decide to write something relating to it (whether a fic or just me over thinking and having ~feelings~), it will for sure be after I see the entire thing go down in person. Thank you so much for like... caring what my thoughts are on this! I'm excited to form a more complete opinion on it after the show! Thank you again for reading and sending in this ask!

❤️Ally

[radiance1]

By all accounts, it shouldn't have worked.

By all bloody accounts, that should not have worked.

Constantine will repeat.

That, by all accounts, should not have worked.

The warehouse was shitty. The materials were shitty. The summoning circle was shitty. The chanting was shitty. The magic was shitty.

By all accounts, the summoning should not have worked.

So Constantine couldn't give much of a shit about really stopping it because the summoning was so shitty it shouldn't have worked by an means possible.

So what. In the ever-loving fuck. Was the Ghost King, known tyrant of the Infinite Realms. Standing in the middle of the circle and not, last he checked, imprisoned?

That was another thing that he thought would have made it fail, actually. Because the Ghost King was incapacitated, asleep, gone, unavailable, nada.

So what. The fuck. Was he doing. Here?

Constantine knew the day was going to well to stay that way but wow. The universe loves to fuck him over, apparently.

Or the Justice League in specific.

Or both.

Doesn't matter, because now he has to bullshit his way out of this or get ready to brawl for his life.

Good thing he's good at both of those things, then.

Mostly the bullshit-

"Phantom what the fuck are you doing-" Constantine wheezed out, watching one of their newest members-a ghost going by the name Phantom-fly over in front of the known tyrant and-

Oh.

Oh, holy shit this won't end well.

Ghost King.

Phantom. A ghost.

Well, shit.

This is fine. This is totally fine. He just needs to bullshit his way out of this or face two powerhouses.

This is fine.

He's done worse.

"Sup War" Phantom said, floating around the summoning circle that contained the king of all ghosts like it wasn't a problem. "Didn't expect to be seeing you here."

"Ward." The Ghost King inclined his head slightly, eyes trained on Phantom. "I would not have come here if not for Time's insistence and I have been meaning to..." The King paused, hands gripping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword. "...Check in... on you."

"Aww, were you worried about lil old meeeee?" Phantom, ever the little shit and holy shit did Constantine want to go over there and shut him up, said. Floating around until he was staring upside down in the Ghost King's face. "Didn't know you were so soft, pa."

"I am not soft." The King huffed, flame dancing at the edges of his hair. "I was merely... concerned. Over how you would be acclimating to your circumstances. This world's League of Justice covers far more than your small haunt."

"Weeeell, it's not that bad honestly." Phantom admitted. "Haven't really done anything too big yet just some smallish things here and there. So, you know." The ghost boy shrugged, swinging back in the air to turn upright and crossing his legs. "Nothing too bad."

"Good." The Ghost King nodded, shoulders slumping so slightly that if Constantine wasn't looking, he wouldn't have seen it. "That is good. Yes. Good." The King slightly cleared his throat, grasping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword.

Silence echoed in the warehouse as the King seemingly looked for words to say.

"Would you..." He cleared his throat again, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. "Would you like to join me and Time for a meeting? It has been some time since you had last joined us." The King shifted slightly before adding. "Of course, if you're busy you do not have too."

"Sure." Phantom said, rolling back and forth in the air as he hummed. "Been a while since we've had some family time-"

"Family time?" Constantine caught someone-who he thinks was Green Lantern-say. He was just as bewildered.

"And if Time sent you here then it must be important." Danny paused before shrugging. "Or maybe not, can never know with him. But yea, sure. I'll come."

"Wonderful." The Ghost King smiled. Smiled. At Phantom. "Then I shall. Leave. Now. To do. Things. Yes. Things." The summoning circle flashed a familiar green, the same green when the King was first being summoned. "Goodbye, ward."

"You can call me son, you know."

The King paused for a moment, blinking slowly before hesitantly nodding.

"Then goodbye. Son."

The circle flashed and just like that. The king was gone.

"Kid. What the fuck." Whoever said- okay wait no that was Constantine, him. But yea fuck it he agrees with himself. "What the fuck." He repeated.

Phantom, the brat, only gave him a shit eating grin and a peace sign before disappearing on the spot.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

fem reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th — virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART ONE | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

pairing: mattheo riddle x berkshires!sister

summary: mattheo’s conscience can only hold him back for so long.

warnings: 18+, hogwarts uni (putting this even tho it’s obvious), jealous mattheo, flirting, tension tension tension, “we can’t do this” type of vibe, “your brother is right over there” type of vibe. bestfriends lil sister trope. part one of two.

Morality—what is it, really? How is it measured? Is it a linear scale? Could someone be morally sound yet sometimes make an exception when the situation called for it?

Perhaps it's subjective. Anything that falls outside of the law, that is.

Mattheo forced a breath from his lungs, the drink in his hand was tasteless, some watered-down excuse for a cocktail. But that didn't matter, not really—what mattered was the way you kept laughing, the way your hand lingered a second too long on that random bastard's sleeve. The sight made something concerning coil tight in his chest, but he stayed where he was, back against the wall, sucking down drinks like he'd been tasked to it.

God, this was stupid. Morality. Right and wrong. He knew the difference, of course he did. Just because he was a Riddle didn't make him a monster. Not yet, anyway. But that line, the one between you and him—the one drawn so clearly in the sand—was practically mocking him with its absolutes and daring him to cross it. Forbidden, off-limits, the one thing he shouldn't want.

His best friend's little sister. The good girl. A virgin, no less.

"Riddle—you coming?"

Mattheo's head jerked slightly, but his mind was miles away.

He waved a hand. "I'll catch up in a bit.”

Malfoy and Zabini nodded, slipping into the night, leaving him behind in the dim, crowded ballroom. Spring dance. Hours past dusk. He didn't even know why he was still there. Normally, he was long gone before the clock struck twelve, but tonight the room pulsed with bodies and the music hummed under his skin. His drink was half-forgotten in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on a group across the room.

Or, more specifically, on you.

You were standing, black dress to your mid-thighs, half-listening to boys from your year drone on about quidditch tryouts and the usual chatter that filled the space between your breaths. But your eyes—your eyes weren't on them. You were looking at him. A soft smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, like you knew something he didn't.

His heart kicked against his ribs. Where was that line again?

You winked, and he sipped his drink. He'd always said bad decisions made good stories—but even if this (unnameable thing between you) was a story worth telling, the people to hear it would be few.

The tension grew suffocating and he finally looked away. You took that as a win, but you weren't about to let the game end there—not after you noted the tense of his fingers around his cup. You excused yourself from the group, your body moving through the crowd like water, fluid and unhurried, weaving your way toward him.

You knew the line well, the one Mattheo pretended so hard to respect. Restraint wasn't his nature—it never had been, not in the decade you'd watched him take whatever he wanted without a second thought. He wasn't made for holding back, and it showed every now and then—every time his lips crashed against yours in some hidden corner, whispering confessions of how badly he wanted more, how he ached for what he couldn't have.

You loved pushing him to that point. You loved knowing how bad he wanted you. Your brother would lose his mind if he found out. But that didn't matter, not even a little. Not when Mattheo looked at you like that.

"Having fun?" He asked upon your approach, his voice a shade too flat.

"A little." You leaned against the wall beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, your presence seeping into the space between you. "What about you? You seem a bit...tense."

"Tense." The word came out bland, barely audible, and he took a slow sip of his drink, like he needed it just to find his voice. "Why would I be tense?"

You wet your lips, slow, deliberate, studying him with that sidelong glance that made his pulse skip. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those beautiful, dangerous brown eyes—scanned the room with something too close to desperation.

"Good question." You tilted your head, gaze playful, curious, like you were dissecting him right there in the half-light. "Maybe it's because you've been watching me like a hawk. Like you're waiting for me to do something...wrong."

"Maybe I'm just looking out for you," he muttered, his gaze sliding to your brother across the room, lips locked with some brunette. Mattheo's eyes flickered back to you, just for a moment. "Your brother's a little...busy, after all."

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into an amused, almost wicked smile. "Ah, so that's it. You're just being my big, overprotective babysitter."

"I don't need to babysit you," he grumbled, though his gaze betrayed him, darting over to the group of boys you'd been talking to. "Just keeping an eye on the company you keep."

It was almost amusing—the way Mattheo stood there, sizing up your guy friends like they were targets in a lineup, probably mentally noting who he'd hit first if any of them dared to step out of line. He was different tonight—and you could have brushed it off, could have let that flicker of vulnerability slide, but that wasn't how this game was played. Not with him. Not with you. There was no room for naivety here.

You turned to face him now, full-on, shoulder resting against the wall as you raised a hand, fingers brushing lightly up his arm.

"Keeping an eye," you repeated as you traced the hard line of his shoulder, then down, lower, over his chest. "Ever my hero, Mattheo Riddle."

When your fingers grazed his abdomen, his breath caught and he grabbed your wrist—hard—the suddenness of it making you gasp. Then, he turned to face you, and his gaze finally met yours—really met yours—for the first time since you'd crossed the room.

"Don't." His voice was low, strained, like he was fighting himself as much as you.

Your eyes widened in mock surprise, that innocent look you'd perfected like a sport. You wore it like a halo you knew you didn't deserve.

"Don't...what?" You damn-well knew what.

His grip tightened, just enough for you to feel the heat of it, pulling you closer, so close you could feel the tension radiating off him. He wet his lips, and you melted—remembering how it felt to kiss them.

"Don't play games with me." He said. "Not tonight."

The warning was clear, but instead of pulling away—heeding his words and letting that heat simmer down—you leaned closer, defying every unspoken rule. The thrill shot up your spine, into your brain, turning everything hazy, electric. You were drunk on it.

"Why not?" Your free hand traced up his other arm and his gaze followed the movement, lips parting ever so slightly. "...afraid you'll lose?"

Before you knew what was happening, he had you spun around—so fast you barely registered the movement before your back hit the cold stone wall. His drink found the table beside him, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't to this to me. Not here," he whispered. "Your brother is right over there."

You glanced toward Enzo, still too preoccupied with the brunette to notice a thing.

"He's a little distracted, don't you think?" Your fingers on your free hand resumed their path, this time up toward his collarbone. But his other hand found them, too. You looked down. Two large hands, wrapped tight around your wrists, like he could stop the fire running through your veins if he just held on hard enough. Your thighs shook. "Gods, you really are tense tonight, aren't you?"

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, two embers gleaming in the night— his lips twitching in a way that made your pulse stutter. There was need in him now, a raw, visceral energy that vibrated between you. Untethered.

He leaned in, closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "You're impossible."

"Impossible..." you echoed, the space between you shrinking with every second. There was no choice in it. It was magnetic, inevitable. He leaned closer, and you—against all reason—matched him, drawn by a force you couldn't name. "Impossible to...resist, Matty?"

Your lips were so close, you could almost taste the flavours lingering on his breath. The heat of him drew you in like gravity, pulling you into that dangerous space where everything blurred—boundaries, rules, reason. His eyes flickered down to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that felt instinctive—

And then, the world snapped back.

Cheering—loud, raucous—followed by the sharp crack of glass splintering against the floor. It cut through the moment, pulling you both back to reality. Mattheo's gaze jerked toward the sound, and in an instant he took a step back, his hands releasing your wrists like you'd burned him—like you were the danger here, a fire he'd gotten too close to.

"We can't," he whispered, and it sliced through you. It hit harder than the crash of glass, harder than the noise around you. "You don't want this. I promise you don't."

You stared at him. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to say, the warning etched in every tense line of his body. The two of you had been over this before. You knew Mattheo Riddle was not the man who would love you, not the man who would stay, who you'd call your forever. You weren't that naive. You weren't looking for forever—you just wanted a beginning. A first. A first that would teach you the edge of desire, with someone who knew what to do.

Someone experienced.

"I do," you whispered, barely holding steady under the weight of it all—the realization that you'd almost kissed him, right here, where anyone could've seen, where your brother wasn't far. "More than anything, I do."

His jaw clenched, that flicker in his eyes darkening. He ran a hand through his hair, curls falling messily back into place, his face twisted in thought, already calculating the fallout, already seeing the inevitable consequences.

"Your brother will kill me," he muttered. "He'll kill you."

"He’s not my dad, Mattheo. I’m an adult. He doesn't have to know." The words came out firm, too firm for how fast your heart was beating. You didn't dare move closer, but the tension between you was still electric, still alive. "No one except us."

For a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto yours, and you felt it—that gravity pulling you both back to the brink. It was visible—the weight of his indecision, the way he was measuring the risk, the pull of you against the walls he was trying to keep intact. It'd been months of this. You were relentless. His scowl deepened, but he didn't pull away. He let the silence stretch, your words simmering between you like a match lit, waiting to catch fire.

And then, a nod.

Barely there, just a sharp dip of his head, almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge it himself. You couldn't tell if it was for you, or some silent permission he was giving himself, a final surrender to the pull that neither of you could fight.

"Room of Requirement," he said, vibrating with the tension that still hummed in the air. "Ten minutes."

Your stomach leapt into your throat, every bone in your body suddenly weak. After a moment that felt as though it went on forever, you nodded, and he took another step back.

"Ten minutes." You repeated.

"Ten minutes." He confirmed, before turning and heading out of the ballroom.

[chelseeebe]

just a taste

18+. mdni. smut. kinda perv!eddie x fem!reader. he is a lil freaky in this i'll admit.

a/n: i just love the idea of the citrus six all living together lol idk i think it’s so nice also i have never watched cheers i just googled 1991 american tv shows and picked one at random LMAO ++ for the movie, i thought it’d be a nice lil easter egg for them to watch something with winona in:,)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

eddie doesn’t know who you are or why you’re coming to visit or why exactly it was him that was being made to vacate his room for the two weeks that you were here. 

“c’mon eddie,” robin pleads, nay, demands, “you sleep on the couch most nights anyway, what’s the difference?” 

“uh, maybe because it’s my room? i don’t want some random girl in there touching my stuff,” almost flabbergasted that she’s even asking. 

“she’s not a random girl,” robin frowns, “she’s my friend and she needs somewhere to stay.” 

“tell her there’s a great hotel in town,” rolling his eyes, trying to leave the conversation before she breaks out the puppy dog eyes. "i'll even give her a ride if you ask nicely," no longer interested in entertaining this conversation.

“i’ll give you fifty bucks,” robin deadpans, using her last resort.

this was bribery of the highest order but eddie's not stupid. fifty bucks is fifty bucks.

“now?” 

she sighs, sliding her wallet from her pocket to reluctantly hand over the bill. she stops just before it touches his palm, “promise you’ll clean your room.” 

eddie goes to grab the paper but robin’s faster, jolting her hand into the air, “and change your sheets.” 

“okay,” he huffs, holding his palm outstretched. 

she graciously places the note down, smiling wickedly as she does so before skipping off back to her own room. 

he can only roll his eyes, turning around to the shit hole that was his room, wondering if fifty dollars was worth having to tackle it. 

-

eddie’s sat on the couch when you arrive, barely looking back as robin begins to fuss, talking loudly about your journey. he doesn’t really care enough to involve himself, besides, elvis presley had just given sam a very important message. 

“eddie,” robin hisses, standing in front of the screen, “don’t be rude, say hello,” her hands firmly on her hips like she was his mother or something. 

he looks up at the looming figure by the couch, hoping his eyes hadn’t given his immediate shock away too much. 

you flash him a sheepish smile back, waggling your fingers in a short wave. 

two weeks on the couch didn’t seem so bad now. 

not if you were sleeping in his bed. 

it’s just a shame that he wouldn’t be in there sharing it. 

“hey,” he stands, hoping to indiscreetly catch his breath, “i’m- uh, i’m eddie,” offering his hand out, though he regrets it as soon as it’s done. 

who shakes hands now? christ. he needed to get a grip, and badly. 

“hey,” you reply, your name dripping from your tongue. though you do shake his hand, not bothering to hide your confusion in the process. 

“eddie very kindly said you could have his room,” a bright, big sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“yeah.. no biggie..” christ, he’s almost panting. “do whatever you want in there.. or you know, just- just make yourself at home.” 

his desperate pleas for the earth to split open and swallow him whole go unanswered. instead, robin shoots him a concerned glare before ushering you away from his weird, longing gaze. 

'pull it together loser' she mouths before disappearing, leaving him to reflect upon how utterly hard he had just fumbled that entire situation. 

-

when everyone’s home from work and you’ve exchanged niceties and greetings with the rest of the house, robin brightly suggests a movie. 

eddie usually hated movie nights in the house. 

jonathan would want to watch some indie cult classic that no one else had ever heard of, steve wanted to watch some dumb comedy that only he’d find funny and then nancy and robin typically opted for the romance genre. 

leaving eddie and argyle with absolutely no choice but to sit in silence as they bickered. 

tonight it’s different, you get to pick. 

and now he’s not saying that whatever you choose will forever change the way he views you but.. well, that’s actually exactly it. 

you land on edward scissorhands. 

not the worst choice you could’ve made, and hey, his mom used to call him edward when he was in real bad trouble. 

in the end, it doesn’t really matter what you had picked because eddie can’t muster up enough energy to actually care about the film. not while your thighs are peeking out from underneath your oversized shirt. he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around his ears. what previous sounds would fall out of your mouth in response.

at some point during the movie, you stand up and walk out of the room to the kitchen but that doesn’t stop him. staring through the open door, marvelling at the way the hem of your shirt lifts, exposing the tiny shorts you had on underneath. 

he’s practically hanging over the back of the couch to get a look, craning his neck at a ninety degree angle just to get a glimpse of your soft, pillowy skin. pinching himself as he tries to resist the urge to just sink his teeth into your inner thigh.

robin jabs her elbow into his ribcage, drawing his eyes back to the room with a grunt and a harsh glare thrown her way. 

“you’ve been staring at her all night,” she whispers angrily into his ear, “stop it, or next time it’s your balls,” a harsh warning he didn’t find entirely necessary. 

you sidle back into the room, drink in hand and eddie can’t help but let his eyes wander over again, short glances that robin hopefully wouldn’t pick up on. 

he can’t help it, some magnetic force swaying his gaze in your direction. he wishes so badly that he could just crawl out of his head and tell you how much he wanted you. 

unfortunately for eddie, he’d instead spend the night dreaming of your ass and all the ways he could have you if he’d only grow a backbone. 

-

living alongside you is an entirely new feat eddie’s not sure he’ll survive. 

it’s torturous. 

testing the limits of how ridiculously horny one man can get without self-imploding. 

so close and yet so far. each night you’d tuck yourself into his bed, doing god knows what in between his sheets all without eddie getting a look in.

of course he’d made up a hundred different scenarios to fall asleep to each night. 

his favourite being the one where he walks into his bedroom to find you mouth open, legs apart, too encapsulated in your pleasure to notice him. only until you do, inviting him closer, between those supple thighs of yours, a forbidden nirvana he’ll never get to know. 

though more often than not he’s cruelly forced back into reality by robin ripping the curtains open at the ass crack of dawn, blaring sunlight on his face as you slip away from the grapples of his dream land. 

now is his opportunity, the house quiet, bar the muffled giggles of you and robin upstairs. he’s safe for now, he thinks, rather foolishly. it’s late, the rest of them asleep or too busy in their own rooms to catch him in the act. 

eddie’s never done anything like this before. it’s disgusting, perverted to the core. 

good grief, this is prosecutable behaviour. 

tiptoeing down the hall to his room, the door open just a crack, enticing him in further. he can still hear you on the floor above, giving him enough confidence to push it open a little more, edging inside with a quick glance back down the hall, just in case. 

gratefully it seemed that you were just as messy as he was, your clothes strewn across the floor. his eyes immediately turning to the peeking of lace from under the pile. glancing one last time at the cracked door, ensuring that absolutely nobody would see him. 

reaching down to gather the fabric in one quick swoop, bunching them in his palm as he lets out a quick sigh of relief. 

oh fuck. they were so soft, fingers spreading to really get a feel. he wasn't even going to take them, he'd just wanted a little look, something to help his overactive imagination get all the important details right.

“what are you doing?” startling him in this precarious position, the lace of your underwear entangled around his fingertips. 

eddie freezes, he can feel the heat rising through his chest, all the way up to the tips of his ears. scarlet red. 

“uh.. i..i-i don’t know..” he hasn’t done anything like this before, he swears. 

your mouth is open in a sort of half-smirk, half-perplexed gawp, closing the door before he could bolt. 

you move around the mess, creeping closer until he can feel you brushing against his side, peering over into his hand. 

“oh wow..” you remark, breath hot and sweet against his cheek, “what were you gonna do with those?” 

eddie feels sick, trying not to projectile vomit across his room. there’s no way you wouldn’t tell robin. fuck. he could hear you now, voice full of disgust, robin laughing at how pathetic he was. 

“n-nothing i swear..” stumbling through his sentence, “i was just..” excuses fail to come to mind, “i was uhm.. looking for something,” the absolute best his flustered mind to muster up. 

“oh really?” reaching around to untangle them from his hand, “you sure about that?” 

there’s no anger to your voice, but he doesn’t dare turn around to look at your face. afraid of what he’ll find. your eyes pitying, sad that he has to root around your dirty laundry to get off. 

“i’m- i’m sure,” though the crack in his voice gives him away. 

you hum, coming around to stand in front of his gormless face, “so you don’t wanna keep these?” holding the evidence up to his face, the hem just barely grazing his cheek. 

eddie’s knees almost buckle, his breath shuddering as any semblance of composure he had left, floats right out the window. 

“here,” reaching forward to tuck the baby blue fabric into the waistband of his sweatpants, your eyes never once leaving his as you do so. “you keep those.. but next time just ask, okay?” 

he nods like an obedient dog, lapping up the scraps you were throwing him. he could stand here all night long, keeping up the weird little power game you’d started. 

“goodnight eddie,” you smile, giving him a gentle nudge, a sign for him to get the fuck out. 

you were the master, he was just the lap dog, eager to please. 

-

at breakfast the next morning, he struggles to even keep his eyes open. having spent an embarrassingly long amount of time on the couch last night shamelessly sniffing the lace you’d gifted him. 

you don’t even acknowledge it, or him for that matter. happily chatting along with nancy about some news article. 

“oh and eddie,” robin begins, flashing him a stern look, “i don’t appreciate finding your fucking panties in between the couch cushions,” 

he chokes on his mouthful, his knife clattering against the table in shock. a multitude of eyes turn to stare at the spectacle he was making. 

“they’re- they’re not mine,” clearing his throat as he clears his name, though he doesn’t dare look in your direction, terrified that he’d absolutely lose his mind if he did. 

“well whoever’s they are, i don’t care, stop leaving them on the couch.. i’m sure our guest doesn’t want to sit amongst dirty underwear,” she bites, calming down now she had gotten her point across. 

if only she knew. 

eddie must’ve fallen asleep with them still attached to his hand, thanking his lucky stars that no one had walked in on him with them pressed to his nose.  

he keeps his head low, focusing on the plate in front of him. nothing had ever been as mortifying as this. not even the time he had slipped off the dinner table in the middle of the cafeteria. 

cutlery scrapes and clinks against the china, uncomfortable silence until argyle clears his throat, “gnarly meal robin, thanks dude,” seemingly settling the tense atmosphere, for now. 

everybody hums in agreement, getting back to their food without another word. but your eyes peek up, meeting his with an indescribable glint. and really, the worst part is that eddie would sit through this horrific situation a hundred more times, just for one more measly sniff at your panties. 

-

eddie can’t take it anymore. 

he’s never been so pent up in his entire life. and he’s tried to hold on until he could move back into his room but he couldn’t last any longer. 

but he’s careful, waiting for everyone to trundle on off to bed, listening carefully for the muted click of the light switch and even then, waiting another hour to be sure. 

the clock glares an alarming 1:04 by the time his belt clinks and his jeans come down, the first of them would be awake in just a few hours, ready to take you on to the airport. 

he wishes it would’ve played out differently, that he wouldn’t be sat here on the last night of your stay alone. but alas, eddie’s never been particularly brave and especially not in regards to hot women. 

your panties wrapped around his right hand as he spits on his left, wrapping around his stiff cock while his fingertips play with the lace in his other hand. 

“ohh fuck,” he hisses, wanting nothing more than to start hollering the house down. 

robin wouldn’t be too pleased if she ever found out what he’d done. and he can’t really afford to get the entire couch dry-cleaned so he really must be careful. 

thinking quick, he shoves his t-shirt into his mouth, muffling the chorus of grunts and groans threatening to spill over into the dark room. the muted light from the tv illuminates his face, breathing loudly through his nose 

he hadn’t heard the door open or the soft sound of your feet padding down the hall, only made aware of your presence when he reopens his eyes, near enough jumping out of his bones. 

how long had you been there watching him shudder and whine?

“fuck,” he exclaims, fist still wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, too aroused to care about it too much. 

“you want some help with that?” 

eddie looks at his dick, then back at you, mouth hung open in a mixture of awe and confusion. 

it’s not very clear but you move closer anyway, sinking to your knees and nestling in between his spread legs. 

“okay?” maintaining eye contact despite how difficult it was, eyes bright and eager. 

he nods, unable to comprehend what was happening. knowing he’d wake up from this twisted dream to some soggy boxers and a whole lotta shame. 

your palm wraps around the base of his cock, shooing his hands away to make room, smiling as your lips wrap around the already leaking tip. were you a psychopath? were you placed on this earth to goad and tease him?

this isn’t real. this isn’t real. the voice repeats around his head though it’s quickly silenced by your tongue swirling circles around the tip of his cock, readjusting his t-shirt to bite down harshly on the fabric. 

eddie’s hands lay useless on his thighs, twitching to intertwine with your hair, still doubting the reality of the situation. this could all be a dream and the second he touches your hair, you’d disappear from in front of his eyes.

the t-shirt falls from his lips, “fuuck,” grunting into the tense air, gritting his teeth so as to not expose your precarious position to the rest of the house. 

the wet sounds of your lips wrapped tight around his cock make his toes curl, his hands find your hair, not without prompting from you. tugging gently at the tendrils as his head starts to spin. 

when your eyes look up to meet his, eddie thinks he might just cum right down your throat then and there. he can see that troublesome glint in your eye, a roaring fire that he so desperately wants to keep stoking. 

your fingers slide up his thigh, finding his neglected balls and with a slight smirk, you grab ahold, gently fondling them as his brain melts out of his ears. 

no one had ever, ever made him feel so good. collectively losing brain cells when you hum on his cock, getting just as much out of this as he was. 

“oh yeah, fuck- shit fuck, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming,” eddie’s mouth rushes, louder than he ever should’ve been. bright flashes of light fill his peripheral, using your scalp as leverage to keep himself on the couch. 

his hips stutter, thrusting into your mouth with his fingers tight in your hair, yanking harshly in an effort to get your lips off of him before he came everywhere. 

you don’t budge, nails digging into his thigh as his release seeps down your throat, his eyes squeezing shut as his fist instinctively comes up to muffle his mouth, moaning into his clammy palm instead of alerting the entire house. 

eddie’s other hand lets go of his strong hold on your hair, allowing you to get off of his dick, panting happily as you sit up between his knees and with lips glistening with his release, you kiss him. all soft and gentle while his brain fails to compute. 

it should be gross. but eddie just can’t find it in himself to care, because in reality, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened in his measly little life. 

“please let me taste you,” he begs between kisses, grasping desperately at your waist, the fabric of your shirt slipping between his desperate fingers.

you giggle, pulling back to look at him through the dimmed light, “not now,” you hover just above, constantly teasing and unobtainable

“well when?" jutting his bottom lip out in hopes it'd convince you to change your mind.

"when i'm back," letting him down gently. eddie'd count the seconds till you came back if that was what it took to get even a tiny glimpse of your pussy.

“what time do you leave?” he pants, chasing your lips. eddie was nothing if not a chancer, though if it hadn't happened already, there's a miniscule chance of it happening now.

“seven,” whispering back, a hint of annoyance that this build up had only crescendoed now, just as you were about to leave. he'll blame robin for that, poking her nose in and trying to turn him off. it shouldn't have worked. he should've been braver.

“but it’s your turn,” an awful sadness and regret overcoming him. someone better, someone like steve, would've had you pinned to that couch by now, his head between your thighs and your slick dripping down his chin.  

“next time,” only repeating yourself, smiling coyly before you plant one last kiss to his longing lips before standing fully upright and disappearing back off to his room, leaving him reeling with a story nobody else would ever believe.

[pearlymel]

A baby ?!

Summery: his departure always bugs you, and surprise, it was just your lil hormones messing with you.

Wc: 3.4k

Warnings: Fem!reader, sfw because we decided to be sweet, pregnancy, reader is pregnant, there are some suggestive comments but that's all. Happy ending because i love yall.

Part one and two if you missed it my loves.

Notes: welcome to part 3 which i believe is the last part. I am kindly asking not to ask for a part 4 because i have run out of ideas. If i ever decided to write for capitano again, it wouldn't be part of this series, it would be like headcanons instead, you could imagine the reader being the same, apologies for spelling errors and thank you. :)

Credits: the art of the left panel is by @/reaperpie

Fall was slowly approaching in Snezhnaya, and you had already expected it to be colder than the normal autumn. Which to your bad luck, it was not a suitable place for your picnic’s.

Your husband has continuesly rejected your date ideas, but you expected that anyway, you knew he couldn’t. He had duties to attend to, responsibilities to the Fatui, to the Tsaritsa, to the world. He couldn’t stay, as much as you—he wanted to.

It's not fair, You think while pouting as you stare outside the window with your chin resting on the palm of your hand, looking like a princess in need to be rescued from the tower. Your thumb toying with the diamond ring resting around your ring finger.

“Ugh, it's unfair baby.” You slump back on the bed, while your little fur baby only meowed at you in return, the orange cat jumping on the bed to make itself warm on your lap. “meow back if he doesn't love me.”

You're met with silence, only happy purrs reach your ears, and you grin, “obviously he loves me, obsessed even.” Your hand reaches to slowly pat the kitty.

“I miss him.” You sigh dreamily, deciding to stand up while carrying kitty with you so it doesn't feel left out. You make your way towards the desk in the corner, pulling the seat to take your place before pushing yourself closer to the desk.

You rest the kitten on your lap again—who quickly adjusts like nothing happened, looking as sleepy as ever.

You open the drawers to take an envelope, some wax, a stamp, a paper, and a quill.

Yeah, you're going to write him a letter, he said he didn't mind recieving even hundreds of letters from you.

How romantic.

“Dear, husband.” You start, dipping the quill in ink to brush it along the neat surface of the paper.

“i miss you.” you narrow your eyes at the empty page, saying that you miss him felt too boring.

“i utterly miss being next to you.” Hm, it lacks excitement.

“Please come back soon or i will run away.” Huh, you could already imagine the army's he would send to search for you.

“i want you inside—” okay, now you're being desperate.

You rest your arms on the desk, leaning your head on them while sighing.

—

“Do you know when will he return?” You politely ask one of the guards in front of the estate’s gate. Your hands together behind your back.

A leaf flew by in front of the guards with still no answer from them, and you narrow your eyes, wondering if they even heard you in the first place.

Finally, one of them shook their head and you only sigh in resignation, “thank you.” You mumble before heading your way back inside the estate.

It has been more than two weeks since he left, and he would sometimes send you neat letters to inform you about his well being, but the last letter you received was about a week ago, it was worrying you.

“My lady, are you okay?” Your personal maid, Marina, asked out of concern, watching you put an apron with a frown plastered on your face.

“Just hungry.” You take the glassy bowl, eggs, flour, butter, and sugar. Then you set them on the table. “I can help you.” Marina stands next to you, taking the butter to melt it.

“you want to make cookies, correct?” She asks, and you nod with a small smile. With the butter fully melted, you begin mixing in the sugar, beating the mixture until it becomes light and fluffy. The repetitive motion of stirring is almost meditative, and for a brief moment. “Baking is rather calming, i should've tried it before.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, a knowing smile on her face. "Yes, baking can be quite therapeutic," she stated, watching as you mixed the sugar and butter together. "I've found that working with your hands, especially when it involves creating something good to eat, is a great way to clear your mind," she continued, adding chocolate to the bowl.

You had both finished combining the ingredients, and the room was now filled with the warm, comforting fragrance of cookie dough. Marina stood beside you, watching as you shaped the dough into small balls and placed them on a baking tray. As you finished placing the last cookie onto the tray, you and Marina stood together, admiring the array of small, round cookies waiting to be baked in the oven.

The sounds of the gates opening is what catches your attention next, making you stand up from your chair to immediately abandon the kitchen and rush towards the entrance, your eyes searches him when you reach the front door, and surely enough, your husband has arrived.

He looked almost disheveled, tired, yet he still held a straight posture.

Capitano's weary eyes widened behind his helmet as you rushed into his arms, his body stiffening as if caught off guard by your sudden affection. But the tension in his form swiftly melted away as he wrapped his strong arms around you. His grip was tight, as he pulled you against his body. He was silent for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he held you.

“I…” you want to break the silence, you want to tell him how much you missed him. “I missed you.”

Capitano's grip intensified as your voice reached his ears, he was more than relieved to hear those words. To know that somone dear is waiting for him, someone as precious as you that he's willing to risk his life for.

He exhaled deeply, "I missed you too," he whispered, making sure the words only reached your ears. He pulled back slightly to look down at you, his gaze raking over you as if to confirm you were real and not a trick of his tired mind.

Capitano allowed you to lead him inside afterwards, his hand careful to be gentle when holding yours. The weariness in his body was evident as he stumbled a bit as you pulled him along. However, he matched your pace as best he could, following obediently as you guided him to your chambers.

Being greeted by the familiar room before him made his shoulders relax, the only place where he can be himself.

"How was is it? Being away from your wife for more than two weeks?" You ask while your hands started working on helping him out of the thick layers of his heavy, dirty clothing. Each layer you removed revealed more of his muscular, battle-worn physique, the scars and marks on his body a testament to the dangers he had faced.

He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he noticed your pout. He reached out a calloused hand and gently tugged at your lip, "It was a long two weeks," he admitted gruffly. "I have missed you sorely.”

“I'm sure you did,” you hummed, walking towards the closest to grab a sweater for him. "Don't pout like that," he chided gently, "You're making me feel guilty.”

You try hiding your smile when you hand him his new warm clothes, your arms crossing next, “as you should.”

"I've missed that pout," his lowers his voice, "but I don't miss your little attitude.”

You shrug, “i don't know what you're talking about.” Capitano's gaze held yours unflinchingly, his eyes studying your expression. He knew you were baiting him, daring him to guess your reason for being upset.

"Let me see.." he started, his voice taking on a tone of mock contemplation. "Perhaps it's the fact that I was gone for more than two weeks and left you here all alone. That's a start, is it not?”

“maybe.”

"Or perhaps it's the fact that I didn't send you a letter everyday and left you wondering about whether I was alright or not. Hmm, that could be it, couldn't it?”

“Go on.” your raise your eyebrow while tapping your feet impatiently.

"Or maybe," he stepped closer, taking a few strands of your hair in between his fingers, "It's because I didn't come home and ravish you as soon as I returned, instead letting you pout and sulk and complain like a spoiled little thing.”

He could see right through you; the way you suddenly straightened your stance and tried to act nonchalant only confirmed his suspicions.

You gasp, ”whaaaat? Nonsense.”

"Is that so?" he drawled, his hands now taking your upper arms, his thumb thumbs rubbing circles around your skin "i will make it up to you, my wife.”

Despite his promise that you could do later, you wanted him to rest more than anything, so you make him sit down on the bed while you leave to get the cookies you baked together with Marina.

“You have to tell me your opinion.” you hand him one of the chocolate chip cookies. Capitano let the taste of the chocolate chips and the buttery cookie dough settle on his tongue for a moment. He swallowed, his gaze still fixed on you, before giving his verdict.

"They're good," he admitted, "Better than good, actually. Well done.”

Praise kink goes crazy huh? Your smile widens, and it makes you feel all giddy, as you took a bite of the cookies as well.

He leaned back against the plush bedding of the bed, his strong arms resting on his lap as he observed you. "You've been busy while I was away, hm?"

“Not really, more bored than busy.”

“… i am sorry. I do not mean to leave you alone.”

You scoot closer to him once you see how guilty he looks, you sit next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Capitano's silence spoke volumes, pausing before answering, "My duties are unpredictable, and there's no telling when the Tsaritsa will call for me again. I cannot give you an exact timeline, and that is the reality of what I do. I am a warrior first, a husband second.”

Ouch, that's fine. Totally fine.

You knew what you were getting into when you married him, after all. Still, a part of you couldn't help but wish for more. The thought kind of makes you sick… quite literally.

“I think the cookies had too much sugar.” You put the dessert back on the plate before standing up from the bed. “Shall i go get you wate—”

“no, thank you. I can do it.”

—

You were rotting in bed. From the morning, and now it's afternoon. It makes you feel useless since you barely did anything.

Capitano left before you woke up, even though he promised to return later today.

You felt miserable, your body weak and your spirits low. It was a mixture of loneliness, hormones, and the unease bubbling in your stomach. Capitano's absence only made it worse, adding to the feeling of helplessness that had settled upon you.

You tossed and turned in the bed, the plush sheets tangling up around you as you tried to find a comfortable position. But no matter how much you shifted, the discomfort in your stomach remained, persistent and nagging.

“Make the pain go please, I'll take any disgusting medicine,” you tell Marina weakly as you look up at her while she sat on the wooden stool next to you.

"I can give you some ginger root. It might help soothe your stomach.” she offered gently, handing you the ginger root she prepared just for you.

“… i lied i can't take anything disgusting.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, "I thought so," she said, setting aside the ginger root. “Have you considered telling Lord Capitano?”

You shake your head, “not that he's here. It's not that important.” you cover half of your face with the blanket, “why though? Isn't it just a normal cold from the change of weather?”

It was clear that you were trying to downplay the severity of your symptoms, perhaps not wanting to worry anyone or admit that something might be seriously wrong.

"Dearest, it's not just a cold," she chided gently, "the symptoms you're describing are not typical of a mere cold.”

You frown, “is it not?”

She shook her head, her voice soft but serious. "No, it's not. The nausea, the fatigue, the changes in appetite...these are all common symptoms of something else." Shee paused for a moment, "my lady, have you considered the possibility that you might be... Pregnant?”

You immediately rise from the bed, sitting down with eyes wide to stare at her, "what? Pregnant?” you ask in shock.

"I shall ask for a healer right away, my lady.”

—

You stare outside the window at the dark skies, although your eyes fixated on the gates opening, indicating his arrival.

You almost flinch when he dashes inside your shared chambers, taking his helmet off but not bothering to take the rest off before he's gently grabbing you by your arms.

“where?” He asks urgently, “where are you injured? Who did it? Do not hesitate to tell me.” He says in a dangerously sharp tone, his eyes searching for even a single scratch on your body.

“what… are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow, and your unbothered state made him confused. “the healers were here, yet you're not injured?” he blinked before sighing, his hands caressing your arms instead, “then why? Are you sick?”

“Sick… no not sick.” You tell him, your hands ever so gentle taking a hold of his face, “… but pregnant. I'm pregnant.”

You both stare at eachother, both of you holding your breaths. You have never seen him so distracted, like he didn't hear you the first time.

Does he hate it? You never thought of the possibility.

“Capit—” before you could continue, he's down in one knee and you're bewildered, unsure of what to do.

“you're carrying our child.” he utters out so softly that you think you might tear up—and you really are in the verge of tears. He takes your hand, he's held your hand many times, but this time it feels different, he holds you like you're glass, he's so careful with it.

“I swear to protect you both, and put you both first. Should anyone hurt you, i will not hesitate to draw my sword, if i ever hurt you… then you should not hesitate to draw your sword on me.” his words hung in the air like a sacred vow.

You tried to speak, to respond, but only a soft gasp escaped your lips. Tears welled in your eyes, and you could only stare at him, utterly overwhelmed.

Capitano's gaze softened even more as he saw the tears falling down your face. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his hand still holding yours in a gentle but firm grip, he reached out with the other hand, his large palm cupping your cheek to brush your tears away. “Don't cry, I'm here.”

His embrace, so warm, so protective around you that it eases every single thought in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. With him, it will.

—

Months passed in a blur of morning sickness, cravings, and blossoming excitement for the new life growing inside you. Capitano, as promised, was by your side through it all and he went away for more than a week.

He attended to your every need, from getting up in the middle of the night to find the most ridiculous late-night snack, to comforting you on days when you felt overwhelmed by the changes happening to your body.

You rest back against the bed’s headboard while tracing random shapes on the skin of your swollen belly, a hum of some sort of song followed after. You stop once you hear the sound of slow footsteps, catching your husband freeze.

“I'm sorry, i didn't mean to stalk you like that—”

“you're so silly. Come here, honey.” You pat on your empty side with a smile, inviting him to share this moment you.

Capitano took his place next to you then continued watching as you gently caressed your belly, tracing over the stretch marks with your fingers.

“They're beautiful, you know.” he speaks first, as if sensing what you were about to say. “Beautiful?” You repeat. He lifted your hand to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on your knuckles before he replied, his voice a soft murmur. "Yes, beautiful. They're a sign of life growing within you. A sign of strength. Of creation. That's beautiful.” he continues his trail of kisses to your arm up to your shoulder, “I want to kiss every inch of you, stretch mark or not.”

You've come so far with him that it feels surreal, it feels right, “i love you.” You whisper to him, turning your attention to him again. “I love you.” he doesn't hesitate to say it back, the declaration coming out of his tongue smoothly like it was meant to be.

His hand then moved to your growing bump, "and I love this," he added. “This?” You giggle.

"Mhm," Capitano confirmed, his hand now rubbing your belly in slow, soothing circles. "This. Our baby." His eyes flickered up to yours, "We created this," he continued, his voice with pride and awe. "Our love made this.”

Love.

—

Were toddlers always this fast? Because one second he keeps an eye on her then the next he looks around before she's gone right from infront of him.

He was supposed to play tea party, but a little butterfly flying creature must've caught her attention.

Capitano, despite his size and strength, found himself struggling to keep up with your energetic three-year-old daughter.

He chuckled as he chased her around the garden, his large frame a stark contrast to her small, fleeting form. As she ran past you, you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of your husband's face, "almost got her," he panted out, his hand on his knee as he attempted to catch his breath.

“You got this old man!” You decide to tease him from behind, laughing endlessly from the sight. Though he shot you a mock glare through his labored breaths, “old man, huh?" he grumbled, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I'm old now, do you?" he continued, raising an eyebrow playfully. "I'll show you 'old,' darling." With that, he took a step further to sweep you off your feet, carrying you effortlessly in his arms, and your smile only widens.

“Me!” Your little girl raises both of her arms at her father, and he kneels down to carry her in his other arm. Now carrying you both in each arm.

“Oh, how strong.” You tease, poking at his bicep and he shakes his head almost shyly, “papa, butterfly.” Your daughter proceeds to show you both the butterfly she caught, the little creature doesn't seem scared of her as it rests on her tiny fingers.

“Looks pretty,” Capitano smiled, his expression amused as your daughter leaned toward the butterfly, attempting to kiss it. "Careful now," he warned gently. "Don't scare it away." He watched as the butterfly fluttered its delicate wings at her attempt and she giggles.

"You have to be gentle," he told her, his voice soft. "Just like how you handle the kittens.”

She gasps, suddenly remembering the cat that's half asleep on the grass with the three of you. “Kitty!” She shouts at the cat, jumping off Capitano’s arm so suddenly that it makes him gasp, worried that she might’ve injured herself.

“she's fine.” You pat your husband's chest and just like that, he's relaxed again. “i think our cat is tired of her sometimes.” You get down as well, watching how your daughter carried the lazy cat in her arms to run in circles with her. The cat that grew within these years, from a mere kitten to a big cat now.

"I think we should just be glad the cat hasn't hissed at her or swatted her yet," he sighed, and you hum in reply, “i don't think it ever will. That cat has been clinging to my belly ever since i was pregnant. Kept me warm i must admit.”

You grin when your daughter runs back to both of you, carrying the cat in the air, it's eyes almost closed, unbothered, "meow."

Tags: @duchessofherself @itsjustnikkixoxo @erasme143 @yvesswoo @mooshbb @bigboygoose

[ugh-yoongi]

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~ ♡

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jake x fem!reader

cw: smut, daddy kink, manipulation, corruption kink, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: hihi i got a lil carried away w this one! it’s inspired by these two asks here and here! :3 reposting this cause it got community labelled!

Jake is sweet, almost too sweet to be true and that’s why you trust him blindly with everything. The way he never hesitates to give you prolonged hugs, the way his eyes always provide you with comfort and his words sound like sweet melody to you, it’s a given fact that you won’t want anyone else to teach you how to kiss but your best friend Jake, you simply want to be good for your crush, Heeseung, and so you most certainly didn’t wish to be totally clueless when it comes to such things.

Jake was more than willing to help, “of course i'll help, we don’t want Heeseung to be unsatisfied now, do we?” He’d chuckle, hating the fact that you wanted to do it for another man, yet he had his own ways to keep you close to him, one being-providing you help for his own benefit. “But Jake, won’t it be wrong if I use you for this?” You’d ask, genuine concern plastered on your face and he finds it cute how you think it’s you who’s using him, when in reality, it’s quite the opposite.

“Oh, princess. You don’t have to worry about it, I just want to help you,” he’d smile, making you feel at ease as he starts proceeding with his plan, the first step—kissing.

He’d pat his lap, making your eyes go wide but you’d follow and sit on his lap, straddling him on the couch as his big hands would hold you in place and he’d ask you to kiss him, smiling when you lean in for a delicate peck, groaning when he bites your lip, eliciting a weak moan out of you.

“Jake—” you’d whimper, unknowingly pressing your clothed cunt on his hardening cock, feeling a newfound feeling erupt in your lower abdomen, even more so when he cups your cheek, tilting your face to get a better access to your lips, his plush ones serenading you like there’s no tomorrow, “that’s not what you should call me, princess,” he mutters.

Your eyes widen, looking up at him in question, “Heeseung would love it if you call him daddy,” he smirks, “say it, baby.” He’d urge you, throwing Heeseung’s name to strengthen his case. “D—daddy?” You’d whisper, allowing him to caress your swollen lips. “That’s right, princess. You’re such a good girl for me.” He makes sure to take his time kissing you dumb that night, to the point you lose your sleep, clutching your chest as the vivid images of Jake come back to your mind, you wanted more.

And each day, he taught you more, touching the expanse of your body, getting rid of your clothes turn by turn. The wetness returned each time you tried something new with him, your body felt as if it was on fire as he pushed you into your subspace in all the right ways.

“Daddy!” You moaned, gripping the bed sheet when he tasted your wetness for the first time, his warm breath made it tingle to the point you were shivering. “That’s it babygirl, just trust daddy, yeah?” He said against your folds, accent deeper than ever as he immersed himself in eating you out, giving you your very first orgasm.

You were dazed, wanting more and more. Then came the day you finally saw his cock, his eyes staring at you with such intensity as you could only look at his veiny, leaking cock with innocent and curious eyes.

He grunted when you held him, “you’re doing so well, princess. So good for daddy,” he lets out, holding the back of your head gently as you continued to do just as he directed, smiling once he fills your mouth as his thick cum spurts out on your tongue, making you want to gulp it down, “wanna be so good for daddy always.” You’d smile, forgetting about why you were doing this in the first place, Heeseung wasn’t the one you thought about these days, rather, it was your daddy Jake.

“Tell me what you want, princess?” He’d ask with a sweet smile, which almost looked like a smirk, “daddy,” you’d cry out, “want y—your cock in m—me, I can't wait anymore,” you’d tell him as he’d kiss your tears away, “daddy will give you everything you want, babygirl,” he’d pat your head lovingly despite being in such a compromising position, his tip rubbing on your entrance. He doesn’t rush, he loves seeing you squirm, blabbering out words which do not make sense just because you’re so enraptured by the man on top of you—your daddy who’s more than willing to provide you with everything you need.

He loves it, how fucked up his princess looks with her smudged lipstick and mascara running down her cheeks with her crystalline teardrops, which keep on flowing with the immense pleasure you receive. He loves that he’ll get to fuck you, that his cock will be the first to enter your prettiest cunt, which is his and his only. You were reliant upon him for pleasure, nothing else felt good without your daddy and when he finally gave you the taste of his cock buried deep in your pussy, it felt more pleasurable than it hurt.

“Daddy—” you whisper, eyes closing as you let him take over and kiss you, his hands all over your body, as if he had memorized you completely, touching the most sensitive spots as he thrusted even harder in your leaking pussy, your walls squeezing his cock to the point he couldn’t help but groan out, “so wet for daddy’s cock, yeah? You like it, baby? That’s my good fucking girl, all mine.” He’s right, you’re all his now and you won’t want it otherwise, making a creamy mess on his cock.

Your mind fuzzy with his thoughts through and through, ruining your innocence as he moulded your brain in such a way that you couldn’t help but yearn for him.

And just like that, Jake had successfully corrupted you to the point of no comeback.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[les4elliewilliams]

Happy together.

Officer!Ellieㄨ fem reader

a/n: i honestly don't know how to feel about this but it took me ages to write so i'm going to post it anyway. also enjoy the trashy lil pic i edited of my wife😌// @sapphichotmess is gonna get soapy boobies pics for proofreading this. i love you you're amazing.

cw/wc: 17k ! murders/violence, mention of blood (I don't think it's that bad but if you're sensitive to this type of stuff just scroll), officer!ellie x waitress!reader, (tw) Eminem, smut, breeding kink, handcuffs😔, strap-on sex (r!receiving), thigh riding (e!receiving), use of pet names like (mama, princess, babe etc), and uhhh that's it i believe?? lmk if i missed something.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

The Police Station – Late Night – September 11th, 2018.

The auburnette released a heavy, exaggerated sigh, her weariness palpable as she delicately brushed the rough, calloused palms of her hands against her fatigued face, a few stray strands of hair cascading gently across her features, capturing the attention of her colleague. His eyes lifted towards his friend, a concerned furrow appearing on his face as he took in the haunting purple shadows under her eyes, a poignant reflection of her exhaustion.

"You look like shit, man," He suddenly exclaimed, the tips of his fingers dancing on the smooth plastic caps of his laptop.

"Awh, thanks, that's so sweet," She reclined in her office chair, the weight of the day's paperwork momentarily forgotten. It felt as though she had been sitting there for an eternity, each and every cell of her body yearning and longing for her wife. With her shift drawing to a close, she could hardly contain her anticipation of returning home to you, just so that she could feel the warmth of your embrace and perhaps resume the intimate and passionate encounters you had shared last night.

The boy leaned back in his chair, and a smug smirk spread across his face. "You look like you haven't slept," His gaze shifted back to his friend, who was sitting at her desk across the room, her eyes tired and her shoulders slumped.

"'Cause I haven't," she uttered, shaking her head. A light, airy puff of air escaped her chapped lips as her fingers danced through her locks, coaxing burnished stray strands away from her face.

"How are things going with your girl?" He gave her a questioning look, as if silently asking what was going on. It struck him that she hadn't complained about her marriage in a while.

Her response was a mere nod as she admitted, "Pretty good, actually." However, her gaze remained unfocused, her mind elsewhere as she replayed the previous night's memories in her head. Your moans echoed in her ears while the image of your ecstatic expressions played on repeat, like a broken video tape stuck on a single scene.

"Really?"

He was the one she trusted wholeheartedly. In the darkest hours of her marital struggles, she sought refuge in Jesse's ever-present presence. Hours would slip away as she poured out her heart to him until the early light of dawn or until their shift was over. Yet, he never seemed to mind 'cause his friends' problems were his problems.

After a great four years together, where you and she shared an uncanny kinship and complemented each other like two puzzle pieces, things took a gradual turn for the worse. Heated arguments began to erupt frequently, fueled by petty disagreements about insignificant matters such as the shoes left by the door, piles of unwashed dishes on the living room coffee table, or the kitchen table. Over time, both of you grew tired of this never-ending cycle of conflict. 

Dr. Diaz was remarkable in his ability to guide both of you in honing your communication skills and learning how to make each other feel truly heard. It felt like a fresh start with someone you already knew so well and had shared countless memories with. Initially, walking out of your first session was an uncomfortable experience, leaving you feeling almost overly exposed, as if you had revealed too much. The ride back home was filled with an awkward silence that was unfamiliar, never in your life you felt awkward around her, not even once. A few small sighs escaped occasionally, both of you remaining silent until you finally returned home.

"Yeah."

His warm smile spoke volumes as he offered reassuring words to her, "Told you it was just a matter of time. Dina and I have been through it, too, before."

She sat comfortably in her weathered chair, leaning back slightly as she pushed herself away from her sturdy wooden desk. "Speaking of Dina, how's she holdin’ up?" her mind suddenly shifted to a very pregnant Dina who was already eight months along and was about to explode at any second.

The raven-haired man imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders "Y'know, pregnancy hormones—what the doctor said."

She let out a soft snort, a half-smile gracing her lips. "Have you settled on the names?" she inquired.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "We keep fighting over it," he admitted, "She wants to name him-" before he could finish his sentence, an announcement echoing through the hallway of the department caught Ellie's and his attention simultaneously. They stood up abruptly, exchanging concerned glances and rushed out of the small room with a sense of urgency.

"A 140, where?" Ellie's voice quivered, her heart hoping against hope that she had misheard the news. Worry painted itself across her freckled face, etching lines of concern amidst the constellation of her pretty freckles.

It couldn't be. No, it couldn't.

Color drained from her face, and she grew paler than the moon, the realization hitting her like a sudden storm. It was the same diner where you worked, and worry consumed her like a relentless tide. 

They made their way towards Jesse's car with lightning speed, both fully aware that Ellie was in no condition to get behind the wheel. She urged Jesse to drive faster, her heart thudding like crazy in her ribcage. She tried to call you countless times, but you never answered. Her palms turned clammy, her hands trembling like fragile leaves in the wind.

"Fuckin' hurry up." The car swerved erratically, anxiety emanating from every pore of her skin. Her voice grew louder and more forceful as she shouted at Jesse, who held the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"We’re gonna crash if we go any faster than this," he raised his voice back at her, feeling all the pressure and tension of the world on his shoulders, but at the same time, he couldn't blame her.

The Diner – Late Night – September 11th, 2018.

As they reached the crime scene, her eyes were immediately drawn to the stark sight of yellow tape cordoning off the area. The tape fluttered gently in the breeze, creating an almost surreal barrier. Beyond it, the solemn figures of police officers moved with purpose, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. 

A lone officer stood at the forefront, diligently jotting down notes, while another leaned in to share crucial details about the tragic event. Their hushed conversations hinted at the weight of the situation as they sought to unravel the enigma of the killer's intentions. "I've never seen anything like this 'round here before. The killer must have acted out of rage or passion. There must be a reason," The freckled girl strained to hear the officers' hushed conversation, her stomach sinking with each word. 

As she moved closer, they swiftly barred her way. The scene unfolded like a haunting painting—the diner's floor marked by crimson footsteps. She couldn't tell if it was the officer's grim descriptions or the frigid night air that sent shivers down her spine.

"Williams, they are already taking care of it, just wait here and-"

"No, no, no, listen—I have to go in there. My wife works here."  She desperately attempted to push through the two middle-aged men, but they held her back with ease. Her voice quivered with fear as she begged to reach you. Were you harmed? Were you in pain? Were you...alive?

Her face was like a canvas of worry, etched with lines of concern. With a graceful shrug, she brushed off the unwelcome hands on her shoulders, "Who's the victim?" she feared what the answer to her question would be, but she needed to know. Her brows were furrowed with worry as she waited for a response, her eyes brimming with fear. "Pleaseplease—Tell me it's not her." She pleaded with such desperation and worry on your behalf that the two men couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. They saw the depth of her love and concern for you, and what touched them the most was that they knew you.

Every day, you would lovingly pack a lunch, a sweet treat, or even a hearty dinner to bring to her at work. Your kindness shone through like a warm beam of sunlight, always in a cheerful mood with a genuine smile on your face as you chatted with her colleagues, asking them about their day and thanking them for their service before returning to your routine.

Ellie stood before the men, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. One of the men heaved a deep, mournful sigh that echoed in the stillness, and he shook his head gravely, his lips drawn into a tight, sorrowful frown. 

"Your wife is currently being interrogated as she was present when the murder occurred," Officer Johnson explained to the younger girl, his voice low and measured. She let out a long sigh of relief as his words reached her ears, finally being able to remove the image of you lying in a pool of blood from her mind.

While she felt guilty about it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that it wasn't you the one who had been brutally murdered. It was a twisted and sick feeling, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders even though a girl had been brutally murdered. She was grateful that you were still alive, safe, and healthy, at least as far as she knew. She longed to be there for her wife, to wrap her arms around you and hold you tight. She wanted to comfort you, to reassure you that everything would be okay, even though she wasn't entirely sure herself.

"Please, I need to see her." She kept pleading and pleading until her colleagues finally relented and let her slip past the bright plastic tape. She raced into the diner and quickly scanned the scene. Blood stained the floor, and the door to the back room was left wide open. Blood was pooled on the floor, with a corpse lying beneath a white sheet. Vanessa Harding was now a lifeless corpse. As Ellie surveyed the carnage, her heart ached at the sight of you sobbing on the retro sofa as an investigator tried to coax answers out of you. But you seemed completely lost in your own world, clearly shaken.

The sound of her voice calling out your name as she approached you with a mix of eagerness and concern seemed to blend with the rest of the background chatter as you found yourself unable to shake off your daze. Her trembling hands found their place on your shoulders, gently pushing the agent who was interrogating you aside. A glimpse of concern crossed her eyes as she took in the blood stains on your once-blue waitress uniform. Her heart ached at the sight of you. She hesitated, fighting the urge to pull you into a comforting hug, knowing that maintaining some distance was best in such moments. What mattered was that you were okay, healthy, at least.

The investigator began to speak, but Ellie quickly turned her head towards him, fixing him with a death glare. Her body stiffened as she shielded you from his view. "Can't you see she's having a full-on mental breakdown? We're not supposed to interrogate people in this state," she stated firmly, her voice cold and harsh. 

The officer took a step back, sighing in frustration. "I'll be back in a minute." He announced, and with that, he left the room, leaving the two of you alone beside a few medical examiners and other colleagues doing their job, the light chatting becoming a white noise for the both of you.

You sat there, absentmindedly consumed by your thoughts, when a melodic voice penetrated your haze. You lifted your gaze to find a concerned Ellie standing before you, her presence initially unnoticed. Despite her ongoing comforting words, you were too engrossed in your own thoughts to truly register her. It wasn't until she drew a chair and sat right in front of you that your focus shifted completely. When your vacant eyes now met hers, you broke down again.

Your voice quivered as you whispered, "E-ellie..." as tears streamed down your face and your bottom lip trembled. You felt a sudden wave of relief as her hands gently cupped your face, and her thumb caressed your cheekbone. 

Her comforting voice soothed your soul as she whispered, "I was so worried, baby. I'm here now, ‘m here." You cried harder, but this time, it was tears of gratitude and love. Her presence made you feel like nothing could hurt you anymore because she was there. You felt safe in her embrace like everything was going to be okay.

"I was getting off my- and she… she... I tried, I really tried-" Your words were tangled and muttered, barely above a whisper. You shook profusely, completely consumed by the traumatic event that had just unfolded. Ellie could sense the terror and dread in your voice, and she swiftly drew you closer, encircling you in a comforting embrace. She held you tight, her palm soothingly stroking your head, creating a soothing effect that gradually calmed your trembling. She whispered gentle words of reassurance in your ear, imploring you to calm down and promising safety. Her voice was a soothing balm, its effect helping to assuage your rattled nerves. It was all you needed, she was all you needed.

It was as if she had an uncanny knack for dispelling your fears and nerves "Shhhshh" She quieted you gently, her words evoking a profound sense of gratitude within you for having someone so attuned to your emotions in your life. "You're safe, you're safe." As she drew back, she slipped off her jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders, ensuring you were warm and at ease, hoping to stop your turmoil. "S'okay…I gotchu." She continued to softly whisper reassurances in your ear, soothing your worries away with the knowledge that everything would turn out alright. In that instant, the entire world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in the present moment.

After a few moments had passed, you had noticeably calmed down, prompting Ellie to allow the officer who had been interrogating you earlier to resume his task. She stood closely beside him as he launched into a string of questions, his pen scrawling diligently on his notebook.

"So you got off your shift, you returned to retrieve your keys, and found her dead, is that correct?" The old man recapitulated your statement, his gaze shifting between your barely exposed uniform beneath your wife's jacket and the bloodstains marking your clothing. He further inquired, "And you slipped on the blood?" His eyes remained fixated on the bloodstains that adorned your uniform, while your gaze remained locked on the bloodied footprints on the floor, you responded with a small shake of your head.

"I was kneeling in the blood, trying to bring her back, but there was no heartbeat. I freaked out. I wanted to do something, anything, but she was already gone"

"Any additional details that you recall?" he questioned, his eyebrows arching inquisitively in your direction.

"There was a..." In a feeble voice, you began to reply, only for it to falter and crack. You cleared your throat, attempting to regain your composure before speaking in a firmer tone, "There was a man." You sniffed, looking up at him with a frown tugging at the corners of your lips "He had his hood up, so I couldn't see his face. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, and he looked to be about 5'7," You strained to extract every possible detail, and he diligently recorded them in quick succession. 

The only sound filling the crowded diner was the scratching of his pen against the paper, while the ambient chatter of the other patrons added a surreal yet comforting hum in the background. The scene felt utterly unreal, like some messed up vivid dream.

"Sir, there are no files from the security cameras' system. Whoever it was made sure to leave no traces," another officer interjected, halting the ongoing interrogation.

"Was anyone else there? besides you and well… Vanessa." He gazed at you with a furrowed brow, and you responded with a subtle shake of your head. Your lips formed a taut line as you revisited every fleeting moment preceding the end of your shift.

"I was about to finish my shift, and usually, no one shows up around that time. Before he arrived, there was a lady with a kid, but I don't think they saw each other." You explained, taking a moment to glance at your wife, hoping to find comfort in her eyes. A faint smile appeared on her face, accompanied by a small, supportive nod. She was there for you.

The officer hastily transcribed all the details, his pen scratching against the paper. "I'll give you a moment," he said, casting a furtive glance at Ellie before quietly exiting the room, making his departure alongside his steadfast colleague.

She stepped closer to you with a gentle grace, reaching out to lift your chin with the utmost care. Her touch was as light as a feather, almost as if she feared causing you any harm. "You're doing great, pretty. We're almost done, okay? Just hang on," She gazed down at you with a smile that could light up the darkest sky, her eyes filled with tenderness and warmth. Your gaze met hers, and in that moment, it felt like time stood still. Her delicate touch traced the contours of your face, evoking a sense of serenity that enveloped you. As you closed your eyes, a gentle sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned into her caress, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders.

After a few moments, Jesse entered the crowded diner, his footsteps echoing softly on the floor. He exchanged a few words with the man who had been interrogating you the entire time. Ellie briefly glanced at him, and a faint smile graced her lips as they locked eyes, holding each other's gaze in that fleeting moment.

"So whatcha wanna do when we get back home?" she asked in an attempt to steer your thoughts away from the stress and chaos.

"I don't know... I wanna sleep," you pouted, your words soft and heavy with weariness. She looked down at you with tenderness, gently brushing a stray piece of hair out of the way and tucking it behind your ear. 

"Tempting. But I was thinking of your favorite movie and pizza?" she suggested, her hopeful gaze meeting yours, her voice carrying a whisper of warmth.

You forced a half smile at her suggestion, your eyes still looking more tired than ever. "What about tacos? You know that Mexican place down the street?" You recalled the Mexican restaurant that recently opened down the street. For about two weeks, you had been telling her you wanted to try it, yet you still hadn't gotten the chance to.

She brushed your hair with her fingers, each gentle stroke feeling like a soft caress. A gentle smile formed on her lips, making the apples of her cheeks more pronounced. "Good idea, babe," she praised, her voice as soothing as a summer breeze, as tender as her touch, and you couldn't help but smile back at her, feeling the warmth of her affection enveloping you like a soft blanket.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally let you go, and Ellie refused to leave your side for even a moment. Jesse drove you both home in solemn silence, punctuated only by the occasional light banter between him and Ellie. The weight of the impending visit to the police station loomed over you, and you couldn't fathom the reason behind the barrage of questions that awaited you. Perhaps it was due to the absence of eyewitnesses, but you were ready to cooperate nonetheless. That night, she held you gently, wrapping you in a comforting hug until you fell asleep.

The Police Station – September 12th, 2018.

The very next day, your wife stood by your side as you both headed to the police station. Her hand gently rested on your thigh throughout the entire ride, silently expressing her unwavering love and support. The warm sunbeams that usually provided comfort through the car windows didn't have the same effect on your nerves. Your stomach felt heavy, as if a knot had formed within you. Anxiety and restlessness consumed you. Her green emerald eyes frequently flickered towards you as she attempted to soothe your nerves with soft whispers, promising to stay by your side the entire time. 

"It's going to be okay, honey." Her lips, delicate as rose petals, gently pressed against your forehead. She reluctantly let you go, watching you disappear into the interrogation room. Her colleagues' words echoed in the air, emphasizing the need for her to stay out so she would not interfere in any way.

"How did you sleep y/n?" the detective in front of you asked, turning on the recorder player before reaching for a pencil and starting scribbling on her papers.

"Awful," you exhaled, the weight of the word hanging heavy in the air. Your index finger delicately traced the arch of your brow as you gazed downwards, lost in a moment of profound contemplation.

"It must've been a traumatizing experience for you." 

You nodded barely, your tired eyes meeting hers, "It was." Your face was less radiant than usual. The detective had seen you countless times before in this exact station, searching for your wife to deliver her something. Sometimes, it was a carefully prepared meal, other times, it was a bouquet of her favorite flowers or simply a thoughtful gift. And then there were the times you were there just to check up on her, your unexpected visits filled with love and concern.

"Let's attempt to retrace your steps together. Shall we?"

"Okay"

"Let's start from the beginning," she said, giving you the chance to speak at your own pace, without any pressure, so that you could fully elaborate on your memories and feelings.

////////////////////

The Diner – Early Night  – September 11th, 2018.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling utterly exhausted from the long hours of the shift. You had barely slept the day before, managing a measly 3 hours of restless sleep that did little to ease the heavy weariness on your tired shoulders. Every inch of you ached for the comforting embrace of your bed, and your eyes longed to shut for just a moment. 

As you wiped the counter clean, you glanced towards the door that seemed to swing open all too rarely during this late hour. The clock ticked closer to 4:04 am, and you knew it was unusual for people to come around this time of night. Just a few customers here and there was all you could expect, and you preferred it that way. 

The background noise of chatter in the late-night diner was enough to lull you to sleep, but you kept going on autopilot, moving to the sink to wash the few dishes that awaited you. Another heavy sigh escaped your lips as you thought about the hours that separated you from your pillow's comfort—the night seemed to stretch on infinitely.

"Ready to run back home to get laid?" the shorter girl teased you playfully, nudging you with her elbow as a small smile played on her red lips. She noticed the exhaustion written on your face, the fatigue in your heavy eyelids, and the dark circles under your eyes. You let out a dry chuckle, trying to hide the exhaustion that had settled deep within you. 

"Just wanna go to bed," you responded with a weak but playful smile

"Right. go to bed with your hot wife—wonder what y'all freaks will do." Vanessa continued to playfully tease you, her liking for your wife a little too evident in her words. Ever since Ellie stepped into this diner for the first time, the brunette set her eyes on her. However, Ellie had always made the fact that she wasn't interested obvious. Your friend was pretty unlucky in this sort of thing; the best she would get was a phone number scribbled on a piece of paper by a middle-aged, beer-bellied man, who was likely just looking for a quick hook-up. And despite her initial attempts to draw Ellie's attention, Vanessa could sense that her interest was unreciprocated, leaving her feelings unreturned for the time being.

You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at Vanessa's words, and you nudged her lightly with your hip as a playful gesture. She moved closer, taking over the task of drying the dishes you had just washed, her hands methodically working alongside yours to complete the chore "Oh, handcuff me, Ellie, I've been such a bad, bad girl." She imitated you in a high-pitched voice that was nothing like yours, and you responded with a dramatic gasp, feigning shock and surprise at her teasing. The exaggerated reaction only seemed to amuse her more, and she broke into a wide grin, her laughter echoing through the diner. 

"Oh my god, shut up!" 

She burst into a fit of laughter, her amusement so intense that it drew the attention of the few remaining customers in the retro-looking diner. Some of them shot her strange looks, narrowing their eyes disapprovingly at the disturbance, while others simply ignored her and continued with their conversations.

"I swear, you shouldn't even be allowed here. You're embarrassing.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her, secretly appreciating her exuberant spirit. Her laughter died down; her blue eyes shifted toward the table where an older woman and her child had just finished their meal. The brunette approached the table, wiping it clean and pocketing the generous tip the woman had left her. She shot a wide smile her way, thanking her before returning to your side behind the counters.

"Hey, not fair," you complained, turning off the faucet with a huff and drying your hands on a cloth before facing her. "Let's split." 

She grinned at you unapologetically, "Sorry, finders keepers." You sighed, turning towards her with one hand on your hip, with a playful disappointment on your face.

"Whatever—my shift is almost over anyways. Guess who's gonna be stuck here for a while longer? Hah! Not me." The lighthearted taunts cut short as a man suddenly entered the diner, his dark clothes and raised hood casting an eerie shadow over his features. You exchanged a glance with your coworker, silently agreeing that the stranger's appearance was suspicious, but decided to brush it off.

"Liz is gonna be here in a bit. Want me to wait here with you until she arrives?" you offered thoughtfully, your fingers skillfully untying the frilly white fabric that had been wrapped around your waist throughout the entire shift. Your eyes darted discreetly towards the man sitting at one of the tables, completely engrossed by his phone as he typed feverishly, his fingers dancing across the screen. The dim lighting of the diner cast shadows on his face, making it difficult to discern his expressions or intent.

“Naaah, I'll be fine.” she gave you a reassuring smile, and you nodded in acknowledgment, murmuring a quick "alright" before disappearing into the back room. The sound of the door creaking echoed softly in your ears as you entered the staff area, immediately shedding your frilly apron and gathering your personal belongings.

When you exited the small room, you saw Vanessa pouring steaming coffee into the mysterious man's cup. Navigating your way towards the exit, your shoulder bumped against hers, and she whispered playfully, “Eminem wannabe,” and you couldn't help but chuckle.

You had barely made it halfway down the road when the sickening realization hit you like a brick—you had left your keys at the diner. Ellie wouldn't be home anytime soon, so there was no way you could get in. You cursed under your breath before reluctantly turning your car around, determined to retrieve your keys. But when you returned to the diner, the scene that greeted you was surreal and terrifying. Vanessa's lifeless body lay on the floor, a gruesome tableau of violence that seemed to defy imagination, and there was no trace of the Eminem look-alike she had jested about only moments ago. 

With a sense of dread and disbelief, you cautiously approached her body, the pool of blood surrounding her seeming to glow a disturbingly bright shade of red in the low light of the back room. You succumbed to the weight of the situation, the strength leaving your body as you sank to your knees. After calling out her name and shaking her in vain, the cold reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. No pulse, no breathing, no nothing. The sticky, warm liquid of her blood staining your bare knees was a chilling reminder of the horror that had played out in the dark corners of the diner. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing as you sat there in shock and the broken sobs that escaped your wobbly lips, echoing in the now-empty diner. It was a moment that you would never forget, a nightmare that would haunt you for the rest of the days.

“911, what's your emergency?”

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The Police Station – September 12th, 2018.

Your face is stained with grief and regret. “I wish I waited with her, I had a gut feeling and-” You hiccupped, your voice choked with emotion, “I regret not listening to it.” The blonde woman before you nodded in understanding, her gaze filled with a mixture of empathy and professional detachment. After a moment, she reached out to turn off the recorder, the soft click cutting off the audio of your emotional confession.

The detective stood up, her words a mere formality in the face of your emotional turmoil. "That is it, y/n. Thank you for your cooperation." With a final nod, she turned and left the room, leaving you with your emotions and thoughts. 

In a flash of movement, Ellie entered the room, her steps quick and purposeful as she slid in just as the detective stepped out. Her eyes softened as she took in your tear-stained face. 

"Hey," she whispered softly, her words reaching your ears and bringing a brief moment of comfort. You mustered a weak "Hey" in response. The weight of the situation was heavy on your shoulders, and you felt a deep sense of vulnerability in her presence, the trauma of the past few hours still lingering in your mind.

“You did pretty good, ma.” She stood right behind you, her touch gentle and reassuring as she rubbed your shoulders. Her presence was strong and supportive, even though you couldn't bring yourself to meet her gaze. But she was there by your side as always, and it was the only guarantee you needed in that moment.

"Just wanna go home." You murmured, your voice barely audible, earning a nod from her; her silent response conveying her understanding of your unspoken need for comfort.

"I'll take you," she offered softly, her voice a gentle reassurance. You tried to protest, not wanting to add to her burden. She was working, after all, and the last thing you wanted was to keep your hot wife from fulfilling her responsibilities. 

"No, it's fine," you said hurriedly. "You're working anyways." But Ellie's insistence was unwavering, her tone firm yet compassionate.

"It's fine, I promise," she assured you, her words leaving no room for argument. All she wanted to do was linger by your side and stay home with you, but duty called, and right after dropping you home, she returned to her workplace.

Police Station – September 15th, 2018.

The raven-haired man approached Ellie, his voice serious as he announced, "Things don't look too good, El." He quickly locked the door behind him before continuing to spill some private matters everyone had kept from her.

The atmosphere in the room turned tense as Jesse placed his hands on the edge of Ellie's desk and leaned closer to her. His serious expression left no doubt that he wasn't joking around. "Are you on ‘shrooms again?" she asked sarcastically, but when he didn't break into a smile, she set down her pen and looked up at him, her expression turning serious. "I'm gonna take that as a no," she said cautiously, her voice still laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Ellie's tentative words broke the silence again, "So? You gonna tell me what's up, or you just gonna stand there and look stupid?" But her playful remark was again met with the man's serious and troubled expression. He shook his head slowly, sighing as if he was carefully considering the right words to use. He leaned closer to her, his voice now a low, hushed tone.

"They think your girl has something to do with it." The seriousness in his voice left no doubt that it was a situation that could not be taken lightly.

Ellie's defensive and aggravated tone filled the room as she stood up from her worn-out office chair, abruptly raising her voice. "What?! That's fuckin’ absurd!" she snapped, "They can't accuse her of that—she didn't do it!" Jesse raised his hand to beckon her to keep it quiet, his expression serious as he tried to keep the conversation from escalating. 

"Listen, don't let them know that you know,” he explained, his voice hushed. "They weren't going to tell you because they think you'll get involved and mess up the investigation,” he explained. The freckled girl's face contorted with a mix of disbelief, anger, and fear as her friend described the situation to her. Her fists clenched as she took in the news, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts at once. 

"What do the police think they have on her?" she interrogated, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Jesse sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out how to answer her question. "Nothing. They said they won't say anything until they find evidence.” The more she pondered the situation, the faster her heart raced, and her palms grew damp with perspiration. It almost felt like a betrayal of trust. These were people who had known you for years, yet they didn't hesitate to place you at the top of their list of suspects despite lacking any evidence.

Ellie's agitation was palpable as she paced back and forth, "So what if they don't find anything, hm?" she demanded, her frustration clear in her voice. "That's complete bullshit, Jesse—My wife… Why would they even think that?" Her voice was low and harsh, filled with a mix of outrage and defensiveness, Jesse visibly tensed at the harshness of her tone. “Just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Well, guess what! It's nothing she can control. She simply happens to work at the diner, for fuck’s sake!" Her outburst reverberated off the walls of the small office, the frustration and anger practically tangible in the air as she forcefully slammed her hand down on the polished wooden desk.

Jesse gently but firmly placed his hands on Ellie's shoulders, his gaze locking with hers "Keep it quiet, dude. You tryna get both of us in trouble? I wasn't even supposed to tell you, but I thought you deserved to know," He hushed her, slightly shaking her to emphasize his point. He understood the sensitive nature of the situation, after all, they were not talking about any other girl. They were talking about Ellie's wife. Jesse's years as a police officer had taught him that stress management was key to handling these situations effectively, something Ellie seemed to lack sometimes. 

Her green emeralds bored into his as she shook her head slowly, attempting to regain her composure. "Sorry," she sighed.

"Listen, there's nothing to worry about unless they find evidence." He reassured her in a soothing tone, releasing her shoulders.

"Well, I can assure you they won't find anything." She stated confidently, her tone still stern as her brows furrowed, and he nodded. 

"I know. I know she has nothing to do with it." He truly couldn't wrap his head around it. How could they ever think someone like you had something to do with it? You were probably one of the kindest people he knew.

St. John's Health | Hospital – September 27th, 2018.

Eventually, the investigators turned their attention away from you, their focus shifting to the mysterious man you had described as the killer. There was no evidence whatsoever linking you to the brutal murder of Vanessa; why would you even harm someone you considered a friend? The text messages between you and your coworker revealed a purely friendly relationship, and there was no apparent motive for the crime. With no evidence to incriminate you, they dropped all suspects within three days. They all witnessed your evident grief when you discovered your friend’s lifeless body, shock and devastation overwhelming you, making them feel… off-track.

You stopped going to work, and even if you had the choice, there was no use; the diner remained shut, never to be reopened after the tragic accident, and the entire town of once quiet and peaceful community seemed unsettled and frightened by the series of murders that followed the diner accident. The once lively eatery now lay abandoned, a somber reminder of the tragedy that had befallen the town. 

They had been trying everything, but the police found themselves chasing shadows. The one consistent detail from witnesses was the description of a man wearing a hood that covered his face, yet no one managed to catch a glimpse of his identity. So the authorities tried diligently interrogating individuals with a history of violence or abusive behavior, but each suspect appeared innocent, their alibis providing a strong defense, and none of them really fit the description. 

Residents began locking themselves in at night, their evenings filled with unease and terror. Pretty soon, the killer and his murders became the main topic of conversation everywhere. It seemed like everyone was completely shaken up and fixated on the news surrounding the mysterious figure. Even the media jumped on the bandwagon, naming him the 'Shadow Killer,' a name that perfectly captured the eerie and unsettling nature of his attacks.

The baby's shrill cries and soft coos filled the hospital room as Jesse turned off the TV, muttering, "This shit’s crazy" under his breath. Ellie nodded in agreement, her gaze momentarily lingering on the news report before returning her focus to you, holding Dina's bundle of joy with love and care. The thought of having kids had never really crossed her mind, but something about seeing you with the baby, making silly faces to coax laughter out of him while rocking him gently, filled her with a desire to try and another type of desire. 

She felt like building a family with you would complete her, despite having said that she considered you her everything and that she needed nothing else. While it was partially true, seeing your maternal instincts kicking in made her feel like everything clicked, like that was the final piece to your marriage and relationship—one she didn’t even know was missing.

A warm smile graced Ellie's face as she observed you interacting with JJ, gushing over the baby boy with a soft voice, claiming he was the most adorable thing you've ever set your eyes on.

“He's perfect, Dee,” you stated for the millionth time. 

The brunette chuckled in response, jokingly telling you, “He's all yours.”

Jesse chimed in with a jest, bumping the shorter girl's shoulder “You're next,” earning a puzzled look from her. He cleared his throat and clarified, “First–they’re holding someone’s kid and next thing you know, they're asking for one.” Raising her scarred brows, Ellie scoffed at the teasing comment, but when her crystalline emeralds returned to you, she realized he wasn’t wrong. The sparkle in your eyes as you held the baby, a look that spoke volumes to your wife, who had known you for years. She could see the unmistakable signs of love and adoration on your face and she knew that sooner or later, you were going to bring it up.

She approached you, her heart melting under the warmth of your soft smile, peering over your shoulder to look at the pretty boy in your arms, “El, look at him,” you whispered, gently cradling JJ in your arms.

“He's got Jesse's eyes,” she remarked, studying the little one's features. 

Jesse couldn't help but burst into laughter, correcting her playfully, “He looks Asian, you mean.” eliciting a burst of laughter from Ellie. 

“Totally what I meant.” she retorted sarcastically. 

"Dunno, looks like the baby from the Ice Age movie t'me"

Your Apartment – October 2nd, 2018.

Ever since that “fateful” night at the hospital, you became the only thought that occupied her mind. Sure, she was your wife, and it was supposed to be that way, but there was one specific thought that consumed every cell of her brain. You, pregnant. Pregnant with her baby, your tummy swelling with the precious life growing inside you and your skin radiating a warm, ethereal glow. It was something that played in her mind nonstop, especially during sex. Especially when she was rutting against your pussy. 

The thought of your juices mingling together, the thought of filling you up with her essence, was something that didn't seem to want to leave her mind anytime soon. And she couldn't seem to keep her hands off of you, always finding excuses to touch you, caress you, grope you, or even grind against the push of your butt when you were most distracted with chores. 

You noticed something inside her had shifted, and on the other hand, she felt like a middle schooler all over again, sex occupying her mind all night, all day like a horny teenager in their puberty. Almost as if she felt the need to claim you and make you entirely hers in every possible way. But you didn't mind. No, of course, you didn't. How could you when she was fucking you so good and hard? How could you mind it when she pounded into you until the early hours of the morning? 

"So good with kids...so, so good," velvety murmurs caressed your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of intimate kisses along the length of your neck. You tilted your head, granting her even greater access to explore you. Her fiery, vibrant locks, reminiscent of autumn leaves, intertwined effortlessly with your fingers as you gently pulled her closer.

"Hmmm." A soft, muffled sound escaped your lips in response "Does that turn you on?" Your voice dropped to a hushed whisper, accompanied by a dreamy giggle that found its way to her ears, prompting a smile to grace her lips against your skin. 

"Does that turn me on?" She echoed your words with a sultry tone; her voice saturated with desire as she intentionally ground against your thigh. Your hands swiftly drew her nearer, firmly grasping her by the waist, the tips of your fingers danced suggestively along the hem of her Calvin Klein boxers. 

"I'll take that as a yes." A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you gently led her to grind against you once more, eliciting a gasp from her as your fingertips tightened on her buttocks. A delicate sigh fell from her lips, caressing you like a gentle breeze, her parched lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a tantalizing shiver down your spine. 

"You'd be such a good mama" the words seemed to slip out of her mouth without conscious thought, tangled up in the web of her own fantasies that had been tormenting her for quite some time. 

"You really think so?" Your voice was as silky as cotton, a stark contrast to the firm yet gentle grip of your hands on her hips as you guided her increasingly urgent motions against your thighs. Soft, languid moans poured against your neck, planting a trail of heated kisses along the length of your neck, her mouth working with a voracious appetite as she suckled on your sensitive skin like a starving bloodsucker, marking you. A low, sultry hum was all you received from her in response. Your nude skin pressed against her, her clad breasts grazing yours, her hardened nipples stimulating yours through the thin fabric of her black bralette.

"You should put a baby in me." 

The words seemed to halt her in her tracks. She leaned back slightly, studying your expression intently, her gaze locking with yours. A playful twinkle danced in her eyes, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Amusement and surprise mixed in her freckled-dusted features. "Strip." with a soft but unyieldingly firm tone, her features utterly devoid of emotion except for the subtle arch of her brows, making you break into a fit of giggles.

"Oh? just like that?" 

With fervent anticipation, you stripped off the remaining garments still clinging to your body, your eyes intensely fixated on the sight before you. The vision of her adorned in the black strap, one of the numerous items you and your wife possessed, never failed to make your pussy clench, leaving your stomach in knots. Such a luscious spectacle. And you were the lucky girl who got to witness all this. Your body sank into the plush embrace of the mattress as you watched her gracefully position herself between your legs, straddling them. With a tender squeeze of your knee, her other hand gently pressed the tip of the silicone toy against your sensitive nub, sending an electric jolt of pressure through you. The unexpected sensation, even in its softness, coaxed a squirming response from you, your hips instinctively trying to pull away.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, the tip of her cock rubbing through your folds, her slender fingers coating and preparing her silicone dick with your slickness. She groaned softly, lost in the alluring haze of her own touch, almost as if the toy were an extension of herself  “It’s so pathetic how much of a slut you are for me.” Her actions prompted a whimper to escape your lips. 

“Fuck you, stop teasing,” you retorted, tinged with a mix of annoyance and desperation, betraying the aching desire that consumed you. The sight of your drenched and soaked pussy made Ellie almost salivate, feeling eager to destroy it and make a mess of you. She loved knowing that even after years of being together your desire for her was burning as fierce as ever. You had never once failed to make her feel wanted, and how could you when she was simply this fine?

A dry, mirthless chuckle slipped out from between her lips as a self-satisfied smirk adorned her features. The soft moonlight delicately highlighted her cheekbones, enhancing her already stunning appearance and making her seem as if she were personally blessed by the moon herself “What, can’t handle a little teasing?” she responded with a playful taunt, she felt her own arousal growing, the back of her strap dampened with her own slickness, feeling a desperate need of friction. 

“This is not teasing, you’re just being a little bitch” you pouted, your body arching eagerly as your pussy sought the sensation of her cock stretching you so amazingly. As she abruptly thrust forward, a high-pitched squeal was wrenched from your lips, and your breath caught in your throat. Her expression was a mask of amusement, witnessing your visceral reaction to her every touch, a reminder of the power she held over you.

“What were you saying? Didn't quite catch the last part,” With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she taunted you, her hands gently claiming your hips as she leaned down, her gaze taking in every angle of your contorted face.

“I said-” You attempted to speak once more, but another plunging thrust stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you speechless.

“Yeah, said what?”

“Hmmpphh.” You could feel her going deeper into you, your eyes shut close and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, arching into her, she looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, licking her lips before pressing damp kisses on your jawline and your throat, savoring all the pretty moans and whimpers you gave her. 

"So pretty," she murmured, a note of possessiveness lacing her words, "And mine. All mine." She captured your lips in a passionate and messy kiss, her tongue tangling with yours as she continued to slide in and out of you, each movement causing you to moan into the kiss, and she gladly swallowed each one of them. You had taken such meticulous care of her, preparing her meals, doing the laundry, and handling the household chores with diligence that she just felt the need to reciprocate and fuck you as you deserved. 

Such a good fucking housewife, she couldn't ask for better.

“Babe, fuuuck,” You cried out, your brows drawing together as her pace intensified. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body writhed in response. 

“Want me to get you pregnant you said, yeah?” With a strained, breathy voice, she whispered, each movement meticulously targeted to hit the exact spot inside you that made sparks fly behind your eyelids and your toes curl. You nodded eagerly, a chorus of whimpers and whines escaping your lips “Then you’ll have to take my cock as deep as you can–want you to feel it all the way up in your womb.” she grunted, pushing the strap in as deep as it could go, feeling your walls clench around it. “But you’ll be a good girl and take it, won’t you?” she purred, her lips leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. Unable to form a coherent sentence, all you could manage was an enthusiastic nod in response, which was clearly not enough for her. A slap was delivered to the sensitive flesh of your thigh, causing you to squeak in surprise “Words, mama.” She demanded, completely captivated by your heavenly expressions and the bouncing of your tits. 

“Y-yes… ’ll be good,” you babbled out incoherently; the sinful sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room. Each movement, each touch perfectly calculated, your body writhing with each thrust. 

“Mmm, fucking love how you take it.” She whispered, her breath coming in shallow huffs as her tongue and teeth worked their magic on one of your sensitive nubs, drawing out strained whimpers from you. Your fingers coiled in her hair, craving the closeness and seeking an anchor in the sea of pleasure that swelled between your legs. Your cunt wrapped around her so perfectly, and she had your legs shaking like crazy—that’s how she knew you were close. 

“Gonna fill you up so good, baby.” whispering filthy promises into your ear, leaning back and burying all her length inside your womb, the tip of her fake cock rubbing your g-spot deliciously, making your eyes roll in the back of your head as she ground against the base of the strap, desperately chasing her own pleasure. 

“Need your babies, pleaseplease…cum inside me,” you whined, the words catching in your throat as you gasped for breath, wrapping your legs around her waist with an urgent need to keep her close, both of your throbbing clits grinding against the base of her strap. 

“Fuckfuck..’m coming.” Ellie’s grunts grew louder, a guttural melody that echoed in your ears. Her head arched back, the muscles in her body trembling and tensing as she slammed her dick inside you, urging you to cum with her 

“Ellie, fuuuck.” Your body rocked wildly against hers, the movement becoming erratic as the heel of your foot pressed firmly into her glutes, trapping her between your soft thighs as waves of pleasure coursed through you. Sweet and breathy mewls escaped your swollen lips, your back arching into her almost painfully.

Dr. Diaz was right after all, you just needed to try new things with your wife, explore your fantasies with her. 

Typically, she made you feel so good, and you gladly reciprocated the pleasure she gave you, but tonight, the tables had turned. She was solely fixated on making you feel loved and worshiped, determined to pull a fifth orgasm from your worn-out body. Your legs shook uncontrollably, and your core ached from the relentless onslaught of overstimulation, and she showed no signs of slowing down or stopping anytime soon. Your arms were pinned firmly behind your back, the cold, hard steel of the handcuffs digging into the delicate skin of your wrists with a biting force. You twitched and writhed involuntarily, the restrictive hold making you feel helpless and vulnerable; it was driving you insane. It was Ellie's idea, and you cursed yourself for agreeing to try something new.

“Babe, please…let me touch you.” A pathetic whine escaped your lips, quickly followed by a guttural whimper as her calloused hands skillfully controlled your every move. You were growing more desperate each second, yearning to play with those perky tits just lying there, right beneath you. They looked so lonely and neglected, it was such a shame. Rough palms find purchase on the softness of your hips, adjusting and re-adjusting your position to her liking. You struggled vainly against the cuffs, trying to squirm free, but the tight binds held strong, leaving you utterly at her mercy. You couldn’t move, and if you could, you know she wouldn’t let you. You were hers, hers to fuck and destroy like a doll. 

A mischievous grin spread across her features, a mixture of pride and amusement, knowing she was the cause of your current state, leaving you deliciously wrecked, her darkened eyes fixed on the milky white ring encircling the base of the black strap, your wetness coating her.  “Thought you said you wanted me to fuck a baby into you?” Her voice was husky and strained, the words escaping her lips in a gravelly purr that seemed to vibrate through your very core, your walls squeezing her cock almost to trap her inside.

“I do,” you choked out. “Ellie, please,” you were so fucking desperate. Ridiculously desperate to play with her nipples, touch her, perhaps wrap your hand around her neck, something that she seemed to enjoy, but what she was enjoying the most was the helpless expressions on your face as you looked down at her, pouting. You were always needy and she could easily put you in your place, but this needy? She was sure she had never seen you this desperate. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t touch her, and she was forcing you to ride her because you needed to earn ‘it.’ You needed to earn her babies, needed to earn her cum inside you. In all honesty, it was just a fucking excuse, and who could blame her? the sight of you riding her strap like a fucking pornstar with your hands handcuffed behind your back was everything, it was all she needed.

“C’mon ma, ride me like you always do. Don’t you want me to fill that pretty pussy of yours, hm?” As your hips started to move, taking her in inch by inch, a dry chuckle escaped her throat, her gaze flicking up to meet your pretty tits as they bounced in her face “Just like that…good giiirl,” the praise dripping with saccharine sweetness mingling with the slick, wet sounds of your pussy, the echoes of your moans and breathless gasps filling the room like a lewd harmony. “Needa work for it, princess,” Ellie says, her hands leaving your hips and finding a new home on your boobs; her thumbs danced across your hardened nubs, teasing and flicking them with a ruthless skill that caused you to writhe and squirm in her hands.

“Please, p-please,” you managed to croak out, begging and pleading for her to fill you up with her babies as if she could. You gasped and whined when the black tip of her strap kissed your cervix, going deeper into your womb. 

“Take every inch of it, baby,” her words flowed like liquid heat against the delicate shell of your ear as you collapsed into her embrace, completely consumed by her slow yet harsh thrusts, your eyes fluttering shut in blissful surrender. 

“Ahhhh-” you gasped helplessly.

“Gonna be such a perfect mama,” She growled, her palms eagerly squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp smack that drew a startled yelp from you. 

“Cum inside me,” you quaked into the crook of her shoulder, warm puffs of your breath caressing her freckled skin. 

“You dirty little slut, you like that, don’t you?” She let out a husky chuckle, her hand delivering another sharp spank before her firm grip found purchase on your hips, running up and down your soft skin as she guided your movements. 

“Mmmhhmmm” you adjusted your position and began to slowly bounce on her cock, ensuring her clit rubbed against the base of the toy, your movements deliberately aimed at eliciting a response from her. Your gaze locked onto the contours of her stomach, entranced by the way each muscle contracted with each painful roll of your hips, causing her breath to hitch in her throat, her chest rising and falling in sharp pants. The soft freckles scattered across her cheeks standing out vividly against the rosy hue, sweat trickled down her scarred brow, mingling with strands of baby hair that clung to her damp skin. 

“Look at your fucking—god… your fucking cunt, taking every inch of…hmmm… me” And oh, how absolutely mesmerizing she was when she was right where you wanted her. The epitome of perfection, a fantasy that surely haunted the dreams of many.

“Please, El… wanna cum with you.” You couldn't help the plaintive and slutty whine that slipped past your lips, her breath stuttered and grew ragged, and her hands, firm and sure, set a rhythm on your hips, expertly guiding you with a purpose. Her own slickness soaked the pastel blue cotton sheets beneath her. Your hazy, half-lidded eyes met hers, “Close?” Your voice came out weak and breathless as you looked down at her, your pace quickening as you ground against her desperately. She nodded frenetically; you could feel your climax approaching like a crashing wave, and you desperately bit down on your bottom lip to muffle the whimpers that threatened to escape, knowing it wouldn't be much longer before you came again. 

She steadied you with each languid roll of your hips, selfishly using you to get off. Each motion a perfect counterpoint to her own, and you could feel sweat dripping down your bare back. 

"Hmmm...I love when you're inside me" 

That was all it took. In a single fluid motion, she pulled you closer, sealing her lips against yours in a kiss that was more desperate and unhinged than any before it, coming simultaneously and swallowing every sweet sound you gave her.

Finally, as you came back down to Earth, you collapsed onto her, your handcuffed hands still immobile behind your back.

"It’s okay, pretty, I gotchu," she says, her voice raw and raspy from the intensity of her orgasm. She reached for the keys to the cuffs on the bedside table. You slowly sat up, the toy still nestling comfortably inside you, and she released your wrists from their tight embrace, allowing you to massage the sensitive, bruised skin with a tender touch. With a weary but satisfied sigh, you slowly extricate yourself from her, leaving behind a trail of your essence covering her whole length. You collapsed onto the soft sheets beside her, and she swiftly discarded the strap somewhere on the floor. You snuggled closer to her, your body molding against hers as you kissed her cheek tenderly. Her lips curled upwards in a contented smile, and she gently pulled you on top of her, holding you close in her strong embrace. 

“Did so good, princess. I love you.” She placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, her heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears as you lay snuggled against her bare chest. 

“I love you more,” you echoed back softly. 

"Don't forget to leave a 5 star review on the app for the ride-" you couldn't help but erupt into a fit of laughter, your body shaking softly as you gazed up at her. 

"God, you're so embarrassing." You gave her arm a playful slap, a grin still spread across your face as you both laughed together. 

"Yet you're still riding my cock." Her eyebrows arched upwards, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Only because I have to." You rolled your eyes at her

"It’s not like you're being held at gunpoint—fuck me or I'll shoot you. Pew pew," she aimed and fired at imaginary enemies with her fingers. 

"I'm dating a fucking kid." You let out a dramatic sigh, feigning disappointment but unable to keep a smile from forming on your lips

“And that makes you a what?” She retorted sarcastically, arching a single brow at you with a smug expression on her face. 

“Okay” you replied with a deadpan, “I think it’s your bedtime,” you added in a fake serious tone, making her giggle. 

“Nooo, I wanna snuggle,” she groaned in mock protest, her lips pouting as she pulled you closer.

The two of you embraced each other, intertwining your limbs as you whispered sweet nothings to one another. The soft hum of the TV filled the air around you, and the cool night air from the open window sent chills down your spine. Both of you gently lulled into a peaceful slumber.

"This is a news flash update! We have received news of yet another fatal stabbing, this time in a local motel. A 25-year-old woman was found dead in her room, brutally stabbed to death. This is the third murder reported in the last month, causing a great deal of panic and concern amongst the town's inhabitants. Police investigations are currently underway, and residents are advised to take caution and keep their doors and windows locked at all times. Now over to our reporter on the scene for further details."

Your Apartment – October 19th, 2018.

Holding Dina's baby for the first time in the hospital was an experience that felt more like signing a contract with an invisible ink pen. You hadn't realized it then, but the moment your arms cradled JJ's tiny, warm body, you became an integral part of his life and his babysitter whenever the couple was too busy or needed some peace. The trust Dina placed in you was immediate and profound, and you were the first person she called when she needed someone reliable to watch over her precious baby potato. 

And how could you ever say no? JJ was an angel wrapped in soft blankets, with eyes that sparkled with curiosity and a giggle that could melt even the hardest of hearts made of stone. Sure, he had his moments of frustration, his small fists clenching in tantrums every now and then, but those were fleeting storms in an otherwise sunny disposition. Most of the time, JJ was a remarkably well-behaved child, a rarity in the world of toddlers.

His tiny hands would reach out for you, his laughter echoing like a sweet melody in the air, filling your apartment. The way he looked at you with pure, unfiltered trust made every impromptu babysitting session feel less like an obligation and more like a cherished opportunity, something you truly enjoyed. And in all honesty, after the diner you worked at was shut, looking after JJ was something that kept you busy and distracted. And a distraction is always nice.

"I'll come pick him up at… is 11 too late?" Jesse asked tentatively, gently rocking his son in his arms. He looked down at JJ, shooting a few silly grins that made the baby gurgle with delight. 

You shook your head profusely, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "Absolutely not. You know I'm a night owl," you reminded him with a gentle smile. Your eyes softened as you extended your arms, ready to cradle the potato-shaped boy.

Jesse handed JJ over, his small weight settling comfortably against you. You could feel the warmth of his tiny body through his onesie, the baby-soft skin of his tiny hand brushing against your cheek as you adjusted him in your arms. His dad's shoulders relaxed, knowing his son was in safe hands. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. You simply smiled, looking down at JJ, who was now cooing contentedly, his little hand grasping your finger with surprising strength.

"Anytime," you replied softly, feeling a swell of affection for the tiny being in your arms. His chubby cheeks and his cute tiny hands were the most adorable things in the world. Who was gonna tell Ellie that you wanted a kid now? 

“Dina really needs to rest, and I can’t be there to help because of work.” You nodded, feeling bad for the brunette, knowing she was home alone with her son most of the time.

"Tell Dina I said hi," you added as Jesse adjusted his uniform jacket. 

"Will do—Ellie's gonna get off her shift at 3 AM," he informed you, his voice tinged with fatigue but still warm, the bags under his eyes said it all; becoming a parent surely wasn’t a walk in the park.

You nodded at his words, then suddenly remembered something. "Oh wait—I almost forgot!" Your eyes widened as you turned your back, hurrying to retrieve a small bag from the kitchen. You returned to the front door, holding the bag out to Jesse, who was now leaning casually against the door frame.

"Oh! What would she do without you?" he exclaimed in a teasing manner, deep down finding the gesture sweet and thoughtful. It was endearing how you always looked after your wife, preparing her meals while she worked tirelessly at the police station, ensuring she wouldn't skip the most important part of the day and that she was well-nourished.

You chuckled at his words. "What would you do without me, actually," you corrected him with a playful smile. "Two chicken sandwiches, one for you, one for her, no tomatoes for you. There's some apples and a few chocolate bars, too,"

Jesse swiftly grabbed the paper bag from your hand and peeked inside. "You're amazing," he said with a grin on his face. "Hope JJ won't be too much trouble," he added, his chocolate eyes shifting to his son in your arms.

"I'll be fine—be careful, alright?" you warned him, your tone turning slightly serious. 

He nodded, appreciating your concern. "Always am. See you at 11," he said, turning around to walk away from your doorstep, the bag of food swinging gently at his side.

You spent the whole evening with JJ, you dedicated your time to caring for the baby boy. You carefully prepared his meal and then proceeded to give him a relaxing bubble bath, hoping the latter would make him somewhat sleepy and ready to go to bed. Little plastic ducks floating on the surface add a whimsy touch to the whole scene. Suddenly, your phone rang, breaking the peaceful atmosphere. With JJ cradled in the bathtub, you quickly reached for your phone, ensuring your free hand was dry after patting it with the folded towel placed conveniently within your reach.

“El?” 

“Hi baby,” her warm and affectionate voice flowed through the speaker; you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and joy.

A soft smile graced your lips, “Hey gorgeous,” your voice was filled with a playful tone, and the sound of Mr. Potato giggling could be heard in the background.

Her voice was husky as she asked, “How’s it going?” 

“Oh, y’know, just giving stinky-boy a bath.” The endearing nickname that escaped your lips elicited an uncontrollable, joyous laughter from the pretty boy. Despite being just a baby, his insatiable curiosity and discerning intelligence were truly impressive, definitely something he hadn’t inherited from his dad. The infectious giggle emanating from the baby brought a warm chuckle from auburnette. “How’s it going for you?” you took the chance to ask back.

“Jus’ stuck with paperwork while Jesse gets all the fun tasks.” Her dry lips parted slightly, releasing a barely audible, airy exhale. “Sucks you’re not here with me,” she added

“Sounds pretty homophobic if you ask me,” You quipped with a charming grin, though she couldn't see it. “Should be sitting on your lap right now.” Ellie let out a low sigh, her breath hitching as your words sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. You knew it didn't take much to get her worked up, and perhaps it was the memories from last night that made her even more susceptible to your tease

“Yeah. I’ll be home in four hours.” A soft huff escaped her lips, a subtle sign of her growing impatience and yearning for your touch

“I knowwww,” You drawled, switching your phone to speaker mode as you carefully lifted JJ out of the bath and wrapped him snugly in a warm, fluffy towel. Soft giggles and coos echoed through the room, “I’ll stay up for you,” you told her

“You must be tired, you should go to bed earl-” 

“No,” you adamantly insisted, your tone unyielding “I miss you”

“Miss you too,” she responded swiftly, her tone matching yours 

“See you soon?” 

“Alright, mama, I'll see you soon.” she exhaled. “The sandwich was delicious, by the way,” Ellie adds, gratitude resonating in her words

A proud grin spread across your face as you replied cockily, “You’re welcome,” savoring the compliment on your cooking skills. She had always appreciated it immensely when you cooked for her, and she never wasted a chance to lavish compliments on your culinary skills. God, if she loved you more than anything. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you.” And with that, you ended the call.

You couldn't help but gaze adoringly at the little burrito in your arms, wrapped up in a beautiful pastel blue towel. The tranquil, content expression on his face spoke volumes of his relaxed state, a peaceful lull radiating from his tiny form. “Daddy’s gonna pick you up soon, let’s get dressed, yeah?” you cooed affectionately, tracing the bridge of his little nose with your index finger, inciting a gummy grin from the cutie as he batted his long lashes at you. You retrieved the bag Jesse had left at your place a few days ago, it was crammed with everything a baby might require and a few extra outfits for JJ. You changed him into a charming giraffe-patterned pjs and wrapped him cozily in a small blanket. Just as you finished, the doorbell rang, signaling Jesse's arrival.

“Howdy!” Jesse stood at your door, visibly exhausted. Wordlessly, you gestured for him to enter the disorganized apartment. His weary eyes immediately settled on the baby in your arms, noting how JJ's eyelids appeared heavy and threatened to flutter shut at any moment. The newborn had been keeping him and Dina up for nights on end, and on top of that, his demanding job had further drained his energy. The stress was evident in his drawn features, making it clear that the past few days had taken a toll on him. 

“He was an angel,” you softly told him with a gentle smile. 

“Oh really?” his voice held a hint of amusement as he raised his brows in disbelief, marveling at how your description of JJ as a 'complete angel' contradicted his own experience. He couldn't tell if his little one was behaving so well out of genuine good nature or if you were exaggerating the truth a bit cause he could sure be a little troublemaker with him and Dina. “Glad he wasn’t much of a fuss,” he chuckled tiredly. 

“I already gave him a bath and all; he’s ready for bed,” you informed him, and he nodded in acknowledgment. 

“Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” A weary sigh escaped his lips. “Mind if I go to the toilet real quick?” he asked. 

“No, sure. go ahead”

A subtle change in Jesse's demeanor was evident as he reappeared moments later. His eyes flickered away from yours, and a tense, forced smile adorned his face, giving the impression that something was troubling him. 

“You good?” You questioned him, carefully placing the sleeping bean in his arms to avoid waking the little one. A hint of concern tinged your voice as you attempted to discern the reason behind his anxious demeanor. He was fine just a minute ago. 

“Yeah, yeah. just tired, is all,” he responded evasively, leaving you to raise an eyebrow in skepticism, but you decided not to dwell on it.

He must be tired, you thought. 

Jesse tenderly held his son, cradling him in his strong, protective arms “Thank you again for watching over him” 

“I told you, it’s no bother, he’s such a cute kid,” You responded fondly, gently caressing the baby boy's soft, round cheek as he rested contentedly in his father's embrace. 

“Alright, have a good night,” he gave you a faint smile 

“You too, Jess.” You remained at the doorstep, leaning against it as you watched him leave, his silhouette gradually fading from sight. 

When Jesse returned home, he cautiously unlocked the front door, cradling a sleeping JJ in his arm. As he entered, his gaze fell upon Dina, softly snoring on the couch, her mouth slightly parted in peaceful slumber. He watched her for a moment, a tender smile on his lips as he appreciated the sight. Closing the door gently so as not to wake her, he approached her, his footsteps silent on the floor. Seeing her there, asleep as she had waited for him, filled him with warmth and love.

“Honey, I’m home”

The Police station – October 27th, 2018.

Jesse rubbed his eyes with the rough palms of his hands, longing to be home with his family. He absorbed the animated discussions among his colleagues, who were fervently speculating about the identity of the elusive killer. With no substantial evidence to support their theories, their efforts felt akin to chasing a phantom. The killer had a remarkable ability to erase all traces, executing each action with meticulous precision.

“What if he's not left-handed and is good with both hands?” As one of the individuals engaged in the discussion took a contemplative sip of his steaming coffee, Jesse's gaze meandered over to the clock adorning the pristine white brick wall.

2:26 AM.

He should be home, in his bed.

He continued to endure the ceaseless barrage of hypothetical scenarios conjured up by his colleagues. Normally, they wouldn't have been included in such sensitive investigations, but they were frustrated and exhausted from pursuing an elusive individual who appeared to never make any mistakes. There had to be something, but no. No fucking slip-ups. 

“The slit starts from right to left, meaning he slayed the first victim—Vanessa—using his left hand,” The woman in her forties leaned back in her swivel office chair, gesturing towards the raw pictures they had taken of the first victim as she explained the details to her coworker. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t add up—Giselle Caddel,” he countered by swiftly sifting through additional files and photographs to substantiate his theory. “See? Left to right.” he softly tapped his index finger on the images and the text printed on the pages that held every necessary information.

The woman let out a frustrated sigh and absentmindedly hummed to herself as she examined the pictures and the papers for the millionth time “Okay, maybe he is dominant with both hands,” she conceded, agreeing with his hypothesis. But again, it didn't make sense how the third victim had been brutalized, shot with an unknown weapon, leaving them with more questions than answers. The lack of registration for the gun only deepened the mystery, leaving them lost on how to proceed.

“Why do we assume we're going after a guy?” Jesse suddenly spoke up, drawing puzzled looks from all his colleagues, who had nearly forgotten he was even there. They gazed at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise, unsure if they had just heard something absurd or brilliant. He couldn't discern the thoughts racing through their minds. But he couldn't help but wonder… was it truly inconceivable for a woman to be capable of committing such a brutal act of violence?

“What are you implying?” dirty blonde brows arched inquisitively, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What if it’s a woman we should be looking for?” he elaborated 

“A woman?” She responded with a mix of surprise and mock disbelief, her voice laced with a hint of humor. “Everyone claims they’ve seen a man at each crime scene before the murders occurred,” 

“But they’ve never seen ‘his’ face, have they?” He replied with heavy sarcasm, making air quotes while emphasizing the word 'his.'

“Ma’am, we don’t have proof that it is a man,” another coworker pondered the situation and concurred with Jesse's theory.

“He’s too brutal, too raw, too strong. A woman can’t be that strong,” she stated, still skeptical. The detective's thoughts raced through possible motives for the brutal murders. It was difficult to fathom how the female perpetrator could commit such heinous crimes without any apparent remorse. Could there be a common connection between the victims, such as… a shared romantic history with the same individual? The officer's mind was filled with questions, struggling to understand the motivations behind the cold-hearted acts. she pondered, the sinister theory making her stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Adrenaline has that effect on everyone,” he stood his ground, refusing to back down from his idea. The room went silent as the towering blonde woman abruptly stood, drawing a deep breath of air into her lungs. 

“You might be onto something,” she declared firmly, her voice carrying a hint of authority. Without further elaboration, she turned and strode out of the investigation room, leaving the officers to grapple with the weight of her words.

He leaned back, feeling the tension ease slightly as she disappeared from view. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were finally on the right track. But even then, uncertainty lingered in the air. They needed tangible evidence, something concrete to confirm their suspicions.

Jesse’s House – November 6th, 2018.

The chill of the night still lingered in the air as Jesse's eyes snapped open, his breath quickening as remnants of a brutal nightmare clung to his consciousness. A sense of disorientation washed over him, but he quickly gathered his bearings, the familiar sights of his surroundings grounding him back to reality.

He was home, he was safe. He mentally reassured himself

Turning his head ever so slightly, he beheld the tranquil scene before him. Dina lay peacefully beside him, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, a serene expression adorning her sleeping face. JJ, nestled between them, let out a soft snore, blissfully unaware of the world around him, tiny hands curled into fists.

With utmost care, Jesse shifted, his movements slow and deliberate as he extracted himself from the warmth of the duvet. The soft material whispered against his skin, a comforting presence in the quiet of the night. As he sat up, a sense of protectiveness washed over him, a silent vow to safeguard the fragile tranquility of the moment. Every rustle of fabric, every creak of the bed frame was muffled by the hush of the night, a sacred stillness enveloping the room like a cocoon. Jesse's gaze lingered on the precious sight before him, the love he felt for his family swelling within his chest; he felt so grateful for them, he would've done anything for them.

He lovingly tucked his wife into bed, her arm instinctively reaching for him in her sleep, seeking the warmth of his presence as it slowly slipped away. Jesse quietly padded to the kitchen, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible in the stillness of the night. Glancing at the clock, he noticed the time and let out an exhausted sigh, the back of his hand moving to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. Opening the cupboards, he reached for a glass, the cool touch of it bringing a sense of relief as he filled it with fresh water, his mouth feeling as dry as the Sahara desert.

It was only 4 AM.

He quickly downed the glass of water, the cool liquid quenching his thirst, before placing it on the granite countertop. This was his usual routine. He was fortunate if he managed to get four hours of sleep, but more often than not, it was only three before he would wake up, haunted by vivid nightmares of the killer, unable to fall back asleep. 

As he strolled his way to the living room, he couldn’t help but notice the pillows strewn across the floor and JJ’s countless plush toys scattered in every corner. Dina had a habit of showering JJ with toys, much to Jesse’s bemusement. He didn't need all those toys; a few were sufficient, and most of them were left unused. There was one particular elephant plush that caught the baby boy's attention. He seemed to be incredibly attached to it, never leaving it alone, carrying it around everywhere, and if he ever misplaced it, he would throw a tantrum until Dina found it.

The living room bore silent witness to their daily chaos. JJ’s little kingdom, with plush animals ranging from lions to bears, was a vibrant display of color against the muted tones of the furniture. Jesse picked up a few toys, absentmindedly placing them back in their basket. 

He sank into the worn, stained couch, feeling the dampness of the fabric from the water JJ had accidentally spilled earlier. The gentle, barely perceptible hum of the refrigerator filled the air, creating a soothing backdrop to the faint sounds of the city beginning to stir from its slumber. He leaned back, his thoughts drifting. Those were the moments when his mind just wouldn't stop buzzing with thoughts. The relentless pursuit of a cunning killer had started to weigh heavily on his mind, leaving him feeling utterly powerless. 

He felt like he was letting everyone down–his family, Dina. It absolutely infuriated him that he couldn't do more to protect them. Especially now that JJ had arrived, his paternal instincts seemed to kick in and his desire to protect his family had intensified, amplifying the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He let his eyes drift aimlessly around the room until they settled on his laptop resting on the scarred coffee table. It was at that moment that a sudden realization popped into his mind.

The missing hard disk.

Jesse’s mind raced as he remembered that day, the rush of events blending together in a haze. He had been at your place and gone to the toilet when he spotted the hard disk tucked away on a shelf. Something about it had struck him as odd. It wasn’t just any brand; it was the exact match to the equipment used at the crime scene. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the potential importance of what he had stumbled upon. He was sure it was just a coincidence 'cause why would you have it? Why would you be possibly hiding it? 

It didn't make sense.

He wasn’t proud of slipping it into his pocket, a pang of guilt gnawing at him for doubting you even for a second and for stealing from you. But his instincts told him it was something worth looking into. Now, as he sat there on the couch, the memory of that discovery resurfaced with a new urgency. Something seemed to scream at him to check it, go through all the files, if it had any. So, he got up to grab it from his desk drawers in the small room that Dina had turned into a cozy office just for her husband. It was his own little space, off-limits to everyone else.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, the late-night quiet amplifying the soft clicks as he navigated through files. His hands slightly trembled as he connected the drive to the laptop. The screen flickered to life, and he began sifting through its contents. The hard disk had been gathering dust in his desk drawer for weeks, forgotten in the whirlwind of everyday life. But now, the potential it held was too significant to ignore. What secrets did it hold? What answers might it provide in the tangled web of this investigation?

With a deep breath, he clicked on the first file, hoping it would shine a light on the darkness they had been chasing for so long.

The last files were recorded the same day of the murder.

Jackpot.

He eagerly clicked on the very last file, skipping through a few hours, fast-forwarding past the mundane bustle of customers and staff. His eyes were glued to the timestamp, searching for the crucial moment. The diner’s atmosphere, usually so lively, felt eerie and heavy through the security camera's lens as if it held its breath for the impending doom.

Minutes ticked by in a blur of motion, the clock on the screen edging closer to the time he knew everything changed. Jesse’s fingers ghosted over the keys, ready to pause at any sign of something unusual. The familiar faces of regulars came and went, oblivious to the dark shadow about to come.

And then, there it was. The whole truth.

He watched the video, his eyes never leaving your grainy silhouette. The footage played out silently, no audio, no nothing. He saw the woman with the kid leave the diner, and Vanessa picking up the tip from the table as you stayed behind the counter. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation gnawing at him.

Moments later, the mysterious man walked in, his face obscured by a hood, just as you had described. Jesse's pulse quickened, a sense of foreboding creeping up his spine, "There he is..." he mumbled to himself. The man's movements were deliberate, his presence unsettling even through the grainy footage. 

When the man left, Jesse's focus shifted back to Vanessa as she walked into the back room. You swiftly made your way to the front door, turning the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the doors with a practiced motion. His eyes followed you intensely as you walked back behind the counter, your actions precise and unwavering.

There was something almost poetic in the way you moved, a quiet determination that made his breath hitch. He watched as you retrieved a knife, the gleaming blade catching the dim light of the diner. With a sense of purpose, you followed Vanessa into the back room.

"No, no, no, no," he kept whispering over and over again, like some sort of prayer.

Jesse's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together—it all felt surreal, as if he were watching a scene from a movie rather than real life. 

The footage left him cold and shaking to the core. He felt a knot in his stomach. How could the woman he once knew as a kind-hearted soul be a serial killer? How could he have trusted a killer, a psychopath, all along? Fear rippled through his veins as he realized the danger he had exposed his son and wife to. He knew he had to act to bring this evidence to his team, but he needed to get Ellie first.

She needed to get out of that goddamn house immediately.

Without a moment to spare, he grabbed his jacket and his gun and swiftly left his home. He then drove hastily to Ellie's place, frantically calling her repeatedly, but she never picked up even though he was sure she was off her shift and definitely home.

“Ellie? Fuck, Ellie, answer your fucking phone! You home yet? You need to get out of there, man. Pleas-” His voice quivered, his clammy hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His nerves were palpable as fear and anxiety coursed through his veins

“Please, if you’re listening to this, get out of that fucking house, don’t tell y/n anything. She’s not who you think she is. She is extremely dangerous. Call me ba-” Jesse's frustration heightened as the beep signified the end of the voicemail, “FUCK” he shouted, slamming his hand onto the steering wheel. 

Your Apartment, 5:06 AM – November 6th, 2018.

When he finally arrived at the apartment building, he quickly bounded towards the door, rapping against it frantically. Ellie opened the door, a puzzled expression on her face. Jesse sighed, relief washing over him as he saw Ellie safe and sound.

“My fucking god, are you–are you alright?” his tone was agitated as he spoke, though Ellie appeared confused, chuckling softly in response. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, scarred brows arched in confusion as she struggled to comprehend the reason behind her friend's agitated demeanor, making an unexpected appearance at her doorstep at such an ungodly hour 

“Look, we gotta go, you’re not safe” He urgently grabbed her arm, attempting to forcefully pull her out of her house but she was quick to snatch her arm away from his grasp, her annoyance evident.

Surprise, concern, and annoyance colored Ellie's face as she exclaimed,  “What’s gotten into you, dude?” 

Your wife is a serial killer, he wanted to shout at her, exposing you for the monster you were, but he knew better. He knew that Ellie would struggle to believe him if he presented it bluntly, attacking what she cared about the most, so he needed to tread carefully and it felt like walking on legos, not even eggshells. He couldn’t risk Ellie getting mad at him or, even worse–shutting the door in his face. If something happened to her, the guilt would haunt him forever. 

“You have an idea of what time it is?” Her emeralds darted towards the clock on the living room wall for a brief second—nearly 5 am.

“Look, we don’t have time for-” he began to speak, suddenly struck silent as his friend turned around for a fleeting moment “Is y/n home?” He inquired with a concerned expression, his complexion noticeably paler than usual. His hands trembled as he nervously peered over Ellie's shoulder, desperate to catch a glimpse of you, but the auburnette blocked his way, shaking her head. 

“No, why?” Her voice was calm and composed, a stark contrast to his agitated and tumultuous tone 

“I’ve been calling you, where the fuck is your phone?” 

“It died,” she responded curtly, running her fingers through her hair, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, lips pressing together. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck are you on?” her hands were firmly placed on her hips; her attentive eyes fixated on Jesse's agitated state—the furrowed brows, clenched fists, and the restlessness emanating from him. Pretty unusual.

“We need to go; I’ll explain everything on the way,” his voice tinged with a mix of desperation and urgency that Ellie had never heard from him. He tugged at her sweatshirt, but she didn't budge, retreating a step backward, distancing herself from him. She let out a deep sigh before reluctantly acquiescing to his request. 

“Let me get my stuff first,” she said, disappearing inside, leaving his restless figure waiting on the doorstep.

He waited and waited and waited, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity. With each passing second, a gnawing sense of unease began to take hold. "Ellie?" he called out impatiently, his voice slicing through the silence, but there was no response.

"Ellie?" he tried again, louder this time, the name echoing eerily through the empty apartment. Still nothing. He let out a shaky exhale, feeling the tension coil tighter in his chest. His hand hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open wider, revealing more of the still and silent space. "Fuck," he mumbled under his breath, his pulse quickening. Reaching for his gun, he stepped inside cautiously, every sense on high alert.

The living room was eerily quiet, devoid of any signs of life. He moved through it slowly, each step deliberate and measured. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any clue, any hint of where his friend might be. Nothing. His gaze flickering to the pictures hanging on the wall, captured moments of joy and celebration, memories of your wedding day, now seeming almost like relics from another lifetime. 

“...Ellie?” he called out again, his voice softer now, almost a plea. The word hung in the air, unanswered, as he continued his careful sweep of the apartment. He checked the kitchen and the bathroom—his mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. It was as if Ellie had simply vanished into thin air. His grip tightened on the gun, the cold metal reassuring in his hand, the silence almost oppressive, pressing in on him from all sides.

Just as he made his way back to the living room, standing in the center of the room, trying to think clearly, a loud thump reverberated through the hallway, and before he could react, his body crumpled to the floor. Lifeless. Blood began to pool beneath him, a dark and viscous river flowing from the neat, round hole between his eyes. 

You were humming a soft tune as you turned off the water, stepping out of the box shower and reaching for the towel hung nearby. The bathroom air was cool, and the contrast with your damp skin made you shiver, goosebumps rising in a wave across your arms and legs. A sharp hiss escaped your lips as the chill settled in.

You froze momentarily, ears perking up when you heard the unmistakable sound of the door shutting loudly from the living room. It wasn’t a sound you were expecting, and a flicker of unease sparked in your chest. 

Did she leave the house without telling you? 

Quickly, you wrapped the towel around your body, the soft fabric absorbing the droplets that still clung to your skin. You could feel them running in rivulets, leaving trails down your back and legs.

Leaving the bathroom, your bare feet left wet footsteps on the floor, as you made your way towards the living room, you began to hear strange, muffled noises—something between a rustle and a low murmur. Your heartbeat quickened, thudding loudly in your ears. The apartment was usually a sanctuary, but now it felt different, charged with an unfamiliar tension.

“El?” you called out, your voice tentative as it broke the silence. You listened intently, but heavy silence was all you got in response.

It was only when you stood by the doorframe of the living room that you saw her knelt down on the floor. You found yourself unable to move, every muscle tensed as if you were being turned to stone by the piercing gaze of Medusa herself. Her eyes were ice cold, piercing right through you, as Jesse's body lay lifeless at her feet. The sight of his still form and the pool of blood around him made your stomach churn.

Ellie stood abruptly, her movement sudden and jarring. Your smooth forehead creased into a furrow, the lines forming a delicate map of concern, both of you staring at each other without daring to say a word. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, each heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears. Your grip tightened on the towel, knuckles white with tension, as you stepped forward 

“Right on the fucking rug?!” you burst out, your voice raising slightly. Ellie winced, the sharpness of your tone cutting through the tension. 

“Baby, I’m sor—” she began, but you harshly cut her off, marching closer to her, careful not to step on the warm crimson liquid staining the fluffy white rug. 

“You better fucking scrub that shit clean,” you snapped, pointing your finger at her, eyes narrowing. Your gaze shifted to the lifeless body of Jesse, lying awkwardly with a dark, spreading pool beneath him. 

Despite the gruesome sight, you felt a strange calm; you knew there was a reason behind her actions; there always was. And you trusted her to death, so no questions were asked, the only thing that bothered you was the thought of having to throw away your favorite carpet of the house.

Ellie nodded vigorously at your demand, her face a mask of determination. You could see the guilt and resolve warring in her eyes, but you knew she would handle it. 

“Look,” she mumbled, her voice steady as she knelt down, reaching into Jesse’s jeans pocket. She pulled out a small hard drive, leaving bloody fingerprints on it. 

“Ah shit,” you cursed, snatching it from her stained hands. The tiny data storage device felt deceptively light in your palm, its importance weighing heavily on your mind. “Wonder when he stole it,” you mumbled, turning the hard drive over, examining it closely. 

“He had always been a sneaky little bitch,” she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. She kicked his thigh, her pretty features scrunched up in anger. The casual violence of the gesture made your skin crawl, but you couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Jesse had been a liability, a snake in the grass.

“Do you think he told anyone else?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Fear flickered in your eyes, the thought of getting caught sending a wave of nausea through you. You couldn’t risk that; no, no, you couldn’t.

Ellie shook her head, reassuring you, “he came here as soon as he found out—left a bunch of voicemails,” she explained. You exhaled slowly, a weight lifting from your shoulders. Relief washed over you; no one else would find out. The bond between you felt stronger than ever. She had always been there for you, protecting you no matter what, hiding evidence you clumsily left behind. 

You stood by her side, looking down at the mess she had made. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Both of you were lost in your own worlds, your thoughts racing in different directions, her mind already strategizing the next steps while your own thoughts swirled in another direction.

“I really want a baby” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop them, a soft pout forming on your lips. She turned towards you, her face breaking into a brilliant smile that illuminated the dimly lit room. 

At that moment, her emerald eyes shimmered with a newfound glimmer, a blend of delight and astonishment that took your breath away, feeling a fluttering in her stomach. “Fuck- are you forreal?” 

You nod your head slightly, unable to contain the matching smile that formed on your own lips “Yes, I thought abou-” you started to explain, but before you could finish, bloody hands moved in a swift motion, pulling you closer by the waist. 

Her lips pressed against yours, the kiss urgent and full of emotion. You melted into her embrace, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her even closer. Your fingers tangled in her ember-hued locks, the softness of her hair contrasting with the gritty reality of the moment. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming sense of connection and the shared excitement of a future you both wanted. Ellie's grip on your waist tightened, her hands staining the pink fabric of the towel still wrapped around your body.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against hers. The room around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared dreams and possibilities.

No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together-

"Alexa, shut it," you commanded, pulling a giggle out of Ellie, her cheeks heating up with a pink hue that only added to her beauty. Your thumb gently stroked her cheekbone, and her slender fingers reached out to teasingly play with the towel still clinging to your body, their silken touch sending a shiver down your spine as they danced along the contours of the soft fabric. 

"I was thinking…" she began slowly and sultrily, a mischievous smirk adorning her face, "How about we keep tryin’ for that baby?" Her tone was innocent, almost as if she were asking you to play a simple game of cards.

"You spoke my mind," you replied, pressing a quick peck on her smirk. Her hands quickly moved down to your butt, making you jump in her arms and wrap your legs around her waist. 

Your soft giggle was interrupted by her lips once again, kissing you passionately, and her hands, strong yet tender, held you securely. You could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric and the cool air of the room contrasting deliciously with your heated skin, making you shiver. Her lips moved with an urgency that matched your own, she was starved, she needed more.

You pulled back for a breath, your foreheads resting together. Her eyes, filled with love and desire, searched yours. "I love you," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I love you more."

With a shared laugh, she carried you towards the bedroom, your bodies intertwined and hearts beating in unison, falling in love with each other all over again. 

No one would ever come between you, and no one would ever know what had happened here. Ellie had your back, and you had hers. Always.

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you

For all my life

taglist: @aouiaa

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

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