#boy i sure do love social interaction

[hihopelessromantics]

Hiya! To all the lovelies who’ve been reading “Through the Wall,” I got a question. A poll if you will. How many times do you wanna see someone / something get thrown through a wall? I’m still working out plot details so there’s plenty of room for fun hehe :) 

more storybuilding nonsense / questions in the tags! 

[fmhobeus]

jjk men and their red flags

a/n: i'm feeling problematic :> tell me what u think (agree/disagree/add more?) this is all for shits n giggles !! non sorcerer au kinda

kento nanami — (over)protective

but like... to the point where it feels like he's treating you like a child! he doesnt like to see you sweat or even work at all for that matter. he loves it when you cook but has bought covers for all the knifes. if he sees a burn on your hand get ready for a 10 minute long lecture. if you accidentally fall he wont let you get up for atleast 3 days to help you ""heal."" it's almost like he doesnt trust you to take care of yourself :') he probably has like 3 separate first-aid kits everywhere.

suguru geto — emotionally unavailable

i feel like this is explainable to his character (sort of.) i dont think that he'd make you feel isolated at all, he's be an amazing listener and probably memorizes every word you say. he listens to you rant and even trauma dump with insane patience. but at some point it feels as though you hardly know him. he's talk to you a lot but very little of it is personal and you hardly know what he's thinking because his ass is not tell you. he also unintentionally distances himself from people from time to time. this applies to you too and you can feel him getting emotionally distant sometimes. it isnt something he does knowingly but it sure ass hell bothers you.

satoru gojo — very clingy and needy

this nigga. he is so utterly clingy. and at first it's perfectly fine, even appreciated by you. you still love him like crazy of course but it is just overwhelming. he is like a child most of the time, he need you around him and is always accompanying you wherever you go, and he expects you to do the same. he also doesn't believe in "me time" because why would you feel better when you're away from him: (? want to hang out with your friends? what do you need them for: (? he's right there. he is also physically incapable of listening but boy is he good at making up.

toji fushiguro — controlling

he is so controlling omfg. it's usually subtle but sometimes he will outright just say no to things he doesnt like, not caring if you like them. it gets to the point where he actually starts to change your personality. he is very caring and that's his justification for this typa stuff. it is usually harmless stuff but he gets paranoid often. he doesnt let you wear miniskirts out if you're not with him. he doesn't let you befriend people he thinks are into you. he barely lets you buy stuff on your own, he usually gifts you whatever it is youre into at that moment. borderline turned on by fear and you being dependent on him.

choso kamo — has no social life outside you

pretty self explanatory. he doesnt have many friends outside you and isn't interesting in making them either. total loser. so taking him out to events, he probably doesnt interact much and chooses to look at you the entire time, which annoys your friends. he answers their questions pretty bluntly. he's never down to have people over and lowkey hates when you are.

hiromi higuruma — workaholic

also self explanatory. he leaves early, comes home late. you barely see him on the weekdays. sometimes he goes as far as ignoring your calls when in between cases. he calls you periodically but has to have an alarm set to remind him. he loves you very very deeply but is just used to working non stop T_T

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[gorejo]

▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU. - forbes gojo!au

synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.

content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.

The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.

“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror. 

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.

Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.

“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.

“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment. 

“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.  

“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.  

It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.

College reunions, who looks forward to that? 

There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.

One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project. 

Poor kid was fired the next day.

The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened. 

No wonder it was so fucking loud that night. 

Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital. 

Never in hell were you going to show up alone. 

And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.

&lt;< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!! 

Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.

Maybe it was an excuse? 

Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it? 

But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world. 

Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”

Was that already eight years ago? 

But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…

… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.

“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.

Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.

Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.

“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.

“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”

“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”

“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”

“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.

“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging. 

“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”

“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.

“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed. 

Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?” 

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.

“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off. 

“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.

“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”

“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”

“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back. 

“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?” 

“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.

“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.

Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”

“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.

But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”

“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”

“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”

“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.

“You think so?” 

“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”

“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers. 

“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.

“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”

Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”

“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression

“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.

“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.

“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”

Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”

Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.

“But would you look at that,�� humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.

“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.

“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.

“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”

Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”

Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat. 

“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko, 

<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.  

Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”

— 

Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours. 

They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.

But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.

Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career. 

He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish. 

When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied. 

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam. 

With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.

And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl. 

Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”

“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”

“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”

“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes. 

“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”

“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”

“Yea, why so?”

“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!” 

Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you. 

For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you. 

Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number. 

And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.

“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”

All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes. 

But with him, you experienced all your firsts.

Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled,  “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream. 

You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day. 

Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?” 

Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you. 

Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity. 

To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.

He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart. 

Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.

You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him. 

So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it. 

And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.

From: Mom.

>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled. 

To: Minako.

<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako? 

From: Minako.

>> Whenever! I can meet now!

>> Is this about our potential engagement?

To Minako.

<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.

You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.

The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.

You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”

how long was this going on for? 

Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?

Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved? 

Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?

The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.

... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day. 

Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”

“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.

The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb. 

After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”

Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.

“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”

“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”

“Says who?” the man challenged. 

“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”

“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.

"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking. 

“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”

“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”

Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.

After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him. 

To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience. 

To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.

—-

“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head. 

Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.

You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl. 

Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him. 

But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.

Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way  —

Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor. 

“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?” 

You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice. 

Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered. 

“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving. 

You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.

“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.

Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week. 

“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.

Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws. 

Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs. 

“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?” 

“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot. 

A ring? you wondered.  

“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.

“Had no excuse not to come.”

“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”

“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.

Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”

Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes. 

Since when did he have that ring? 

Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.

Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —

“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.

“What?” you whispered.

“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”

Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”

Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.   

Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”

“What are you talking —” you stammered.

“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat. 

“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.

“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”

“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?

“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”

“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.

“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.

All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong. 

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.

“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”

“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”

"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.

"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.

"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"

" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.

"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.

"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"

“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?” 

“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.

“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.

“Y-your drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.

His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"

“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.

You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore… 

“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.

The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.

“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair,  his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.

“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.

“… I love you,” you confessed.

Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”

...

You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.

Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.

Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.

“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.

Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring

“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.

“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again. 

“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.

“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.

Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.

Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile. 

And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.

“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you. 

Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."

At least for this night, he was yours. 

You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.

And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip. 

Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed? 

“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.

“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.

“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.

"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.

“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum. 

His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.

Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.

“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”

You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.  

“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.

And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.

“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.

“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured. 

“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head. 

Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.

Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.

“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.

Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.

“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.

… 

How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago. 

“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?” 

Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.

“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”

Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.

“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”

“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.

“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”

“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.

“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.

Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.

"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."

"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.

“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.

“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”

Seven.

He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,

“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out. 

You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.

“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.

“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.

"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms. 

—-

Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.

Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.

Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.

Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.

His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.

His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.

Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing. 

Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.  

Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night. 

“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.

“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.

You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.

And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,

“I’m sorry…”

—- 

It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel. 

You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.

Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.

You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.

You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.

You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.

And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,

“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”

“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.

Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.

You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish. 

But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.

Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.

Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.

Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?

“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.

Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.

“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.

“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”

“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked

“Well, she did ask about us."

“And… did she threaten you or anything?”

“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled. 

Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."

And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.

“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.

"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”

"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.

"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."

“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.

“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.

“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.

“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”

Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”

“B-but you came late to the reunion.”

“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.

“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.

“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."

"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."

"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”

“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.

“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.

“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.

“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”

"I'd like that," you whispered.

“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”

“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes. 

And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,

“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”

author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells

again, i hope you enjoyed it!!

p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:

[grabattheseballsss]

141 and their captain’s assistant

- it all started with a comment made by Laswell, she mentioned to John how tired he seems, how his eye bags are growing heavier each day passing

- she recommended him to get an assistant, John declined the offer and tried to get back to work, but laswell already made the call, she knew how annoying John can be when it comes to getting help

- then enters a pretty little thing, your hair in a messy bun, glasses neatly resting on your pretty face, short pencil skirt hugging your curves perfectly

- John couldn’t help himself from staring, gawking at you like some horny teenager

- the boys began seeing you scurrying around the base more often, the first to approach you was Johnny of course

- his deep voice partnered with his thick Scottish accent made you subconsciously bite your lip, staring up at him with your big doe eyes, you don’t even mean to, it’s just that more than half of the people in here were 6feet+

- Johnny’s flirtatious nature made you giggle, lightened up your day, but not your boss’

- every time the Scott decided to drop by your desk to accompany you, he’d get scolded by his captain

- “don’t need you distracting her from her job”

- “it’s her break, cap, plus, she’ a good lass, I’m sure she’s on top of…all her work” the scott would throw you a wink before his captain orders him to run laps around the base

- next came gaz, since he’s always visiting his captain’s office for reports, he saw you at the new desk in the captain’s office, the aura around you not matching anything in the dim, old and boring office, you gave him a slight smile before returning to your paperwork

- but gaz wasn’t going to let that be the end of your interactions no no

- he’d walk up to you in the mess hall, as you’re loading your plate up, striking a conversation with you, making last long enough for him to lead you to a table with his other teammates

- you shyly but politely sit down and introduce yourself to the masked man who sat opposite of you, his brown eyes staring into yours as his arms stayed locked, he just nodded and replied “ghost”

- you figured he’s not a social one, the Scot and the Brit both kept asking you questions, some may have been a bit intrusive but maybe they’re just being friendly !

- “so why ar’ ye here?”

“Kate laswell requested that I work for John price for a few months to ease the paperwork load on him”

- “I’m sure there’s a different kind of load he’s trying to get you to ease off of him”

- the three of your heads snap to the silent man, his brown eyes seemed to be crinkled, suggesting he was grinning or smirking underneath that mask

- “OI! LT’s got jokes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it” Johnny tried to reassure you, glaring at Simon as you looked down at your food

- you excused yourself as you made your way back to price’s office, you saw him still there, no signs of him moving at all “captain ? Did you eat today?” You asked sweetly

- oh what this man wouldn’t give to have the honours of eating you for every meal of the day, to have you sprawled on his desk, papers sticking to your sweaty skin, your chest rising and falling as you try to quiet yourself so nobody hears what your captain is doing to you

- “captain” fuck he’d love to hear you moan his rank, begging him to be gentle, but he knows deep down you’re a dirty girl and you want your “captain ?!”

- John snapped out of his daydream, he looked up at you, you were leaning to the side trying to check on him “have you eaten today?” You asked again, a worried look in your eyes

- John nods, not looking you in the eyes “yeah yeah” he cleared his throat as he tried to get back to work, but your soft, smaller hand stopped him from grabbing his pen, his brown eyes looked up, ab eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

- “I’m sorry, captain but I can’t allow you to get back to work if you haven’t had food” you stated, your body trembling as you stood your ground

- truthfully, price can easily launch you across the room with one arm, he knows his limits, and you’re nowhere near it, but you were right, he does need to eat, and although he wishes he could order you to spread your pretty thighs for him and let him have his fun, he doesn’t want to lose such a pretty sight so fast

- he let go of the pen, leaning back on his office chair “I haven’t brought any food”

“The mess hall still have some food there”

- “I don’t eat that rubbish”

“Well too bad, you need to eat”

- ooh… I guess his little kitty got claws now

[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~ ♡

[phas3d]

Can you do slytherin boys head canons with ravenclaw reader who info dumps randomly

You're Smart || Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: draco, tom, mattheo, theodore, lorenzo

summary :: you have a habit of saying fun facts and explaining everything in great detail while they listen - it's not super ravenclaw based but u can imagine it :) THANK U FOR REQUESTINGG RAAAHHHH - 🐍 :: masterlist!

DRACO MALFOY

Hated it at first since it felt like you were trying to on up him

Would start to research more topics on his own to make sure you can't one up him on it

Turns this into a competition that's completely one sided for no reason LMAO

Stays up all night up just to learn the most niche and useless information of all time

But somehow, you always know more than him and beat him

Gets so frustrated by this because he can't stand not being the smartest know-it-all in the room

So he decides to try and make YOU seem stupid

Asks you super hard questions that no one could possibly know

But for some reason, you know it

This drives him even crazier cause he can't win LOL

But overtime, he grows to find it really useful and cute at times

He likes to see how passionate you are on different things

And he does like smart girls, so he starts to see it as a pro

TOM RIDDLE

Super annoyed by the fun facts and random info at the start

Mainly because he probably already knows it or he doesn't care for it

Because if he was interested, he would have searched it up already

So in his eyes, it seems like you're call him too lazy and dumb to want to search something up

So he tells you to shut up right away when he knows you're going to info dump

But sometimes, he genuinely doesn't know and he hates admitting that

He's super bad at social interactions, online culture, etc, so he does need help with those

But he's too egotistical to admit that

So he starts to just "ignore you" when you info dump

You'll explain the deep and complicated lore of Trisha Paytas and once you're done he'll say, "Huh? Oh I was spacing out."

But in reality, he was listening in depth and taking mental notes

So he starts to use this to his advantage since you do describe every very well

He starts to silently train you in a way

For example, he'll place a group of items in front of you, like a blue shirt next to a Slytherin hoodie

This will then remind you of Alvin and the Chipmunks so you dive into the deep lore of each actor

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Doesn't really care much at first since he's always been a bit dumber than other kids

He assumed everything you were saying was common knowledge and that he was just dumb

But when others start to mention how smart you are, he's surprised

He has a smart s/o :O

Well, he always knew that but to find out that you were smarter than a majority of people gave him a confidence boost

Starts to rely on you for every single question he has possible

Even if he knows the answer, he just wants to see if he's right

He likes it when you info dump to him

Surprisingly, he's a really good listener when it comes to you

Loves listening to you talk for hours on end

THEODORE NOTT

He's not much of a talker, so having you there to info dump on him is really amusing

You're like a walking podcast for him to listen to

Likes to ask you questions too so you can switch topics

He's super proud of seeing how smart you are

Theo is pretty smart, the smartest out of the Slytherin boy group at least (Which isn't that hard) (Tom doesn't count LOL)

So it's nice for him to finally talk to someone that doesn't ask dumb ass questions every 5 minutes

It's like switching his brain off so he can just listen to you talk and explain

It makes him feel safer with you to know that you're so smart and into so many things

He also loves it because it makes it so easy to buy you a gift since he knows exactly what you like :)

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

You're both kinda in the same boat which is amazing and bad

He's also into info dumping and telling you about the niche history he found out

But so are you, so you two end up clashing and having different ideas

Like for example, you were both info dumping about the brand new live actions Avatar the Last Air Bender and you both had drastically different thoughts

Lorenzo thought a lot of it was inaccurate but you were defending it with your life

But in the end, you both just shut up because you accidentally switch topics mid way

He loves asking you questions about niche topics so he doesn't have to research them himself

Likes listening to you talk while he eats

Sometimes he'll facetime you while he has dinner so he can listen to you talk

And sometimes he even calls you before bed so you can talk him to sleep :)

thank you for reading ! 🐍 :: masterlist!

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hii! I was wondering if you could write something with bartender!reader and spencer? They meet at a bar in one of his cases and he is WHIPPED, she gets drinks for the whole team and he just can´t stop staring at her, maybe penelope also tries to flirt with her? i don't know i love pen and just wanted her to be included in this lmao

Southern Charm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: hiii i love this prompt !! i hope this is something like what you were looking for <3333

main masterlist

After successfully closing a challenging case in New Orleans, the BAU team decides to take a well-deserved break before heading back to Quantico. Will LaMontagne, JJ's beau, invites them to his favorite bar, Jewel of the South, for an evening of drinks and relaxation. Penelope Garcia, who joined the team on this trip to assist with the precinct's outdated technology, is thrilled to unwind with her colleagues in the vibrant city. With the spirit of New Orleans as their backdrop, the team gathers at the elegant cocktail bar, ready to enjoy a night of laughter and friendship, leaving the stresses of the job behind.

As they settled into a cozy corner, Penelope Garcia took it upon herself to ensure everyone had their preferred drink. As she made her way to the bar, Spencer Reid found himself glancing around the room, his mind still half-occupied by the case they had just closed. But his attention was quickly drawn to a captivating figure behind the bar. 

You were busy mixing drinks with an air of effortless grace, your warm smile lighting up the room. Spencer’s gaze lingered on you, his interest piqued by your charm and the way you seemed to effortlessly command the space.

Penelope returned, carrying a tray laden with cocktails and setting it down with a flourish. "Alright, team! Drinks are served!" she announced, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she noticed Spencer's transfixed gaze.

"Looks like our resident genius has found something—or rather someone—interesting," Derek teased, nudging Spencer playfully. "Or should I say, someone has captured his attention?"

Spencer blinked, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "I, um, was just observing how well she handles the bar," he stammered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Emily raised an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Uh-huh, sure. Handling the bar. That’s what we’re calling it now?" she quipped, a knowing look in her eyes. "I think someone should go say hello."

Before Spencer could protest, you approached their table, carrying a fresh round of drinks. "Here you go! Compliments of the house for the amazing work you all do," you said, your smile even brighter up close.

Spencer tried to find his voice, but all he managed was a slightly awkward, "Thank you. You’re so pretty–kind, this is so kind of you.”

Penelope, ever the social butterfly, seized the opportunity to introduce herself. "I'm Penelope, and this is Spencer. And you have impeccable taste in cocktails!"

You chuckled, clearly enjoying the interaction. "Thanks, Penelope. I do try to keep the drinks as interesting as the company. That’s why yours has a special twist," you said, turning your attention to Spencer with a wink.

Spencer flushed yet again, "Oh—oh, thank you. Um, what is it?"

"Pretty boy, why don't you just take a sip and see if you like it?" Derek suggested, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, pretty boy. And don't spare my feelings; I'd be happy to make you something else," you offered charmingly, leaning in slightly.

Spencer took a sip and realized you'd made him an absolutely delicious mocktail. His eyes widened with appreciation. "Thank you so much, this is wonderful."

"Glad you like it!" you replied, your smile warm and genuine.

Emily Prentiss, ever curious, leaned forward. "I have to ask, how did you get into bartending?"

"Yeah!" Penelope added with a playful glint in her eye. "A beautiful thing such as yourself must get a lot of tips."

You giggled at their flattery, clearly enjoying the banter. "Ha! You guys are too much. I'm just putting myself through grad school."

"And the tips?" JJ chimed in, wiggling her shoulders, much to the amusement of everyone.

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially, which put your chest right next to Spencer's face. "I'm not technically supposed to say..." you trailed off, casting a playful glance at Will, who was sitting nearby, "but if Will here promises not to say anything, the tips are phenomenal!"

Will smiled and raised his hand in mock solemnity. "My lips are sealed, good lady," he assured you, playing along with the lighthearted mood.

Spencer was trying his best to keep his eyes forward during the interaction, but they kept drifting over before finally accepting his fate of staring at your chest. His mind was a whirl of confusion and embarrassment, his usual eloquence completely deserting him.

"I'd say Reid over here wants to give her more than a tip," Derek laughed, his voice full of good-natured teasing.

"Morgan," Hotch scolded, though not without a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Realizing how your position had flustered the poor, adorable man, you straightened up, giving Spencer a little space. He was clearly overwhelmed, his cheeks a brilliant shade of crimson.

Spencer, noticing everyone's eyes on him, suddenly felt the urge to escape. "Excuse me," he mumbled, getting up from the table and making a beeline for the bathroom, his heart pounding with mortification and exhilaration.

As he disappeared, Penelope sighed theatrically, casting a wistful look in your direction. "Well, if he doesn't make a move, I might have to!" she declared with a laugh, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the team.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the group's camaraderie and the genuine affection they had for one another. "You guys are a lot of fun," you admitted, feeling quite at ease despite the little whirlwind you'd unintentionally stirred.

Derek grinned at you, clearly enjoying the playful chaos. "Yeah, we're all sorts of fun. But don't worry about Spencer; he'll be back. Probably with a list of reasons why he shouldn't have left," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You nodded, glancing toward the bathroom with a smile. "I'll have to make sure his drink doesn't get warm in the meantime."

—

Spencer stepped outside the bar, seeking a breath of fresh air to calm his racing thoughts. The air was humid, clinging to his skin, but it was a welcome change from the crowded bar where the laughter and clinking glasses seemed to amplify his embarrassment. He leaned against the brick wall, replaying every second from the moment he first saw you, analyzing each word and glance.

The way you'd leaned in, the warmth of your smile, and the kindness in your eyes—every detail felt vivid in his mind, refusing to be ignored. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door open behind him.

"Hey, handsome," came your voice, cutting through the evening air like a melody.

Spencer spun around, his heart skipping a beat. The learned fear of being approached from behind flashed through him for a brief moment before he realized it was you. "Oh, hi," he managed to say, trying to sound composed but failing spectacularly.

"Hey, now," you teased, a playful lilt in your voice. "Don't sound too excited to see me. I'll start to think you don't like me."

"Oh—I, I mean, well," Spencer stammered, fumbling for words. His mind raced to form coherent sentences, but the proximity of your presence and the way you looked at him made it nearly impossible.

"You’re really cute, do you know that?" you said, your smile softening the tension in the air. You stepped closer, leaning against the wall beside him, your eyes glinting with amusement.

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your directness. "Um, thank you," he said, his voice filled with surprise and gratitude. "I don't usually get called that."

"Now that's a damn shame," you replied, shaking your head slightly. "What do you get called? Pretty? Beautiful? Charming? Sexy?"

Spencer laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nerdy, weird, loser," he admitted, the words tumbling out with a self-deprecating shrug.

"Nope," you said firmly, crossing your arms as if the mere idea was ridiculous. "I refuse to believe anyone could have a negative thing to say about you. You’re sweeter than honey."

He met your gaze, slightly bewildered by your unwavering confidence in him. "I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, I can read 20,000 words per minute, and I have three PhDs. No one is calling me anything kind. Other than doctor or genius, maybe."

"Sexy," you corrected him with a teasing smile.

"What?" Spencer blinked again, this time in genuine confusion.

"That's downright sexy, sugar," you repeated, your voice low and playful.

Spencer was at a loss for words, an unusual occurrence for someone who usually had an answer for everything. His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red as he processed your words, his heart skipping a beat at the compliment.

"I—uh," he stammered, searching for a response that wouldn’t sound completely ridiculous.

You chuckled softly at his reaction, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him. "Don’t worry, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable," you said, your tone gentle and reassuring. "I just think intelligence is incredibly attractive."

Spencer nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that someone found him attractive for more than just his intellect. "Thank you," he finally managed, his voice sincere. "That's… really nice to hear."

"You're welcome," you replied with a warm smile. "So, what brings you to New Orleans, sugar?"

Spencer relaxed slightly, grateful for the change in topic. "Work, mostly. We just wrapped up a case, and the team decided to take a night off to unwind."

"Well, I’m glad you did," you said, giving him a sidelong glance. "Otherwise, I might not have met the smartest—and sexiest—guy in New Orleans."

Spencer watched as you smiled, a hint of playfulness in your eyes as you leaned against the wall. The evening air was thick with humidity, but there was a certain warmth in the atmosphere that made everything feel alive. 

"Can I get you a drink?" he offered, feeling a sudden burst of confidence. 

“Sure, honey. I’m off in just over an hour. Will you wait for me?” you asked, your voice a smooth blend of charm and Southern warmth.

Spencer was entranced by your spell, your accent adding an extra layer of allure to every word. “Of–of course,” he replied, his voice tinged with both eagerness and a touch of awe.

Your smile widened, clearly pleased with his response. "Great! I promise I won't keep you waiting too long."

Spencer nodded, feeling a strange ball of nervousness and excitement fluttering in his chest. He couldn’t believe his luck; not only had he caught your attention, but now he had a reason to spend more time with you.

"Just hang tight, and I'll join you as soon as I can," you said, giving him a reassuring wink before heading back inside the bar to finish your shift.

As you slipped back through the door, Spencer took a moment to steady himself. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the heat building inside him, a gentle reminder that this unexpected encounter was real. 

—

Spencer returned to his friends, who were still enjoying their drinks and each other's company. Penelope Garcia spotted him first, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to come back," she teased, patting the empty seat beside her. "Did you have a nice chat with our lovely bartender?"

Spencer smiled, feeling a bit more composed now that he was among friends. "Yes, actually," he said, a hint of bashfulness in his voice. "She’s really nice."

Derek Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Nice? Man, she was practically making eyes at you, and you didn’t even notice."

"She was?" Spencer asked, genuinely surprised. "I mean, I thought she was just being friendly.”

Emily Prentiss laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "Spencer, I think you might need to brush up on your flirting skills. She was definitely interested."

Spencer blushed, his gaze dropping to the table as he tried to process this new information. "Well, she said she’d join me for a drink after her shift," he admitted, glancing around at his friends' reactions.

Penelope clapped her hands in delight. "Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! You have a date!"

"It's not a date," Spencer protested, though his smile betrayed his words. "We're just… having a drink."

"Uh-huh, sure," JJ said with a knowing nod. "But you better be on your best behavior, Doctor Reid."

—

The time passed more quickly than Spencer anticipated. As he sat with his friends, he found himself watching the clock, eager for the moment when he could see you again. 

Finally, as the hour drew to a close, you emerged from behind the bar, having swapped your work apron for a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed to suit you perfectly. Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, your presence a beacon of warmth in the dimly lit bar.

You approached the table with a confident stride, flashing a friendly smile at the team. "Hope I didn't keep y'all waiting too long," you said, your drawl a melodic touch to your words.

"Not at all," Spencer replied, standing up to greet you. "It was worth the wait."

Derek raised his glass in a mock toast. "Look at you, Reid, sounding like a proper gentleman."

You laughed, clearly enjoying the group. "Y'all are such a fun bunch. You might have to make this a regular stop."

Spencer felt a sense of ease settle over him, his earlier nerves fading into the background as he focused on the here and now. You were standing beside him, your presence both comforting and exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for this unexpected twist of fate.

"So," you said, turning your attention back to Spencer, "are you ready for that drink?"

"Definitely," he replied, feeling a surge of anticipation. "Lead the way."

With that, you guided Spencer to a quieter corner of the bar, where the noise of the crowd faded into a gentle hum. The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the wooden table, creating an intimate setting. Spencer felt his heart beat a little faster, knowing that this was a chance to learn more about the intriguing woman who had captured his attention so effortlessly.

Spencer settled into the booth across from you, his hands fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve. He offered you a small, bashful smile, the kind that hinted at both his excitement and nervousness. "So," he began, searching for the right words, "I guess this is the part where I ask you about your favorite drink, but it feels a bit redundant given your expertise."

You chuckled, leaning forward with a playful glint in your eye. "Well, I'm always up for a good mystery. Surprise me, Dr. Reid. What would you imagine my favorite drink to be?"

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the challenge. He considered your question, his mind racing through various options. "Hmm, I’d guess something classic but with a twist. Maybe an Old Fashioned, but with a splash of something unexpected like lavender or ginger."

Your eyes widened in mock surprise, clearly impressed. "Not bad, Spencer. I have to admit, I do like a bit of lavender in my Old Fashioned."

Spencer felt a surge of pride at getting it right, his awkward charm shining through as he said, "I, uh, thought it might match your personality—elegant with a hint of something uniquely you."

You smiled, your gaze softening as you watched him. "That’s sweet of you to say," you replied, your voice carrying a gentle warmth that made his heart skip a beat.

The conversation flowed naturally, with Spencer occasionally stumbling over his words in an endearing way that made you smile. He was unlike anyone you’d met before, his intelligence paired with a genuine kindness that was refreshing and intriguing.

As you talked, you noticed how Spencer's eyes seemed to light up when he spoke about his work and the things he was passionate about. His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself leaning in closer, captivated by his stories and the way he seemed to pour his heart into everything he did.

"So, Spencer," you said, your voice taking on a more playful tone, "do you always get this nervous around women, or is it just me?"

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, I—I suppose it's not every day I get to talk to someone as captivating as you," he admitted, his honesty shining through despite his awkwardness.

You grinned, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him. "Captivating, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," Spencer assured you, his gaze steady despite the flutter of nerves in his chest. "You have this way of commanding attention. It's, um, quite impressive."

You reached across the table, lightly touching his hand with yours. "And you have a way of making people feel appreciated, Spencer. That's a rare quality."

Spencer felt a spark at the contact, his heart beating a little faster. The moment seemed to stretch out, charged with an energy that was both thrilling and a bit nerve-wracking.

"You know," you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a hint of mischief, "I think you're pretty special, too. Not just for your brain, but for who you are."

Spencer swallowed, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. He felt a pull toward you, a magnetic force that seemed to draw him closer with every word and gesture.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot coming from you."

You smiled, your eyes holding his in a gaze that seemed to speak volumes. As if sensing the moment, the bar around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind caught between doubt and desire. But then he saw the encouragement in your eyes, and the decision seemed to make itself.

He leaned across the table, his movements tentative but filled with intent. You met him halfway, closing the distance with a gentle ease that made the moment feel right. 

The kiss was soft and tentative, a sweet brush of lips that carried the promise of something more. Spencer felt his heart soar, the warmth of the connection spreading through him like a gentle tide. 

When you finally pulled back, your eyes locked onto his, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "See?" you teased, your voice a soft murmur. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Spencer chuckled, relief and happiness washing over him. "No," he admitted, his voice filled with newfound confidence. "I guess it wasn't."

You grinned, leaning back with a satisfied air. "Good, because I was planning on doing that again," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Spencer felt his heart skip at the prospect, the evening stretching out before him with endless possibilities. He realized that this unexpected encounter could be more than just a chance meeting.

And as he sat there, sharing a quiet moment with you in the corner of the bar, Spencer knew that he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

—

“Did you guys see that??” Penelope burst out, her eyes wide with excitement as she pointed toward the cozy corner where you and Spencer were sitting.

Emily turned her head just in time to catch a glimpse of the sweet interaction, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Looks like our genius finally made his move," she commented, clearly pleased by the development.

Derek, ever the supportive friend, couldn't contain his enthusiasm. “Pretty boy is putting in the work!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in approval. “I knew he had it in him.”

JJ shook her head with a laugh, leaning back in her chair. "I guess we all underestimated Spencer's game," she said, casting a proud glance toward her colleague.

Beside her, Will LaMontagne joined in the teasing, a playful grin on his face. "JJ, you might have a new travel buddy when you come to see me," he teased, nudging her with his elbow. "Looks like Spencer's found himself a reason to visit New Orleans more often."

JJ chuckled, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Well, I can’t say I blame him. She's a real catch."

Aaron Hotchner, usually reserved and composed, allowed himself a small smile as he watched the interaction unfold. It was rare for Spencer to let his guard down, and it was heartening to see him embrace this new connection.

"Good for him," Hotch remarked, his tone approving as he raised his glass in a quiet toast to Spencer's success.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse

[redbullgirly]

Million Dollar Man [LS18 smau]

Lance Stroll x reader [social media au]

Masterlist

Summary: Lance's girlfriend isn't afraid to show how much her boyfriend loves and spoils her. Unfortunately, "fans" seem to think she's a gold digger. But who would Lance and Y/N bee if they just let it slide?

Warnings: A lot of hate towards the reader by online trolls and just toxic fans, at the end she and Lance shuts them up but if you're not in the right head-space to read this, then please don't.

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartin and 192,344 others

tagged: astonmartin and lance_stroll

yourusername life lately... how about you? 🍰💐

view all 3209 comments

user1 more like: life lately 💸💸💸

user2 LOL

lance_stroll life lately has been great ❤️

liked by the author

user3 Lance don't worry we're going to save you!!

user4 our guy is lyinggggg i can feel it

user5 Oh my god let them live a happy life you trolls🤦‍♀️

user6 how can you know it's happy when she clearly uses him for money?🤨

user5 And how can you know it's not? Besides I don't think she uses him for anything🤷‍♀️

user4 then your just as naive as him user5 lol

user7 she's so classy a love it!😻

user8 Can she even drive or she just wanted to take a photo in his car?

fernandoalo_oficial You are slaying Queen!😉

fernandoalo_oficial Did I do it correctly yourusername?

yourusername it's great nando, just please never use that emoji again and you'll be ready do graduate from my gen-z university!

fernandoalo_oficial Damn it I knew all you use these days is this one: 💀

yourusername 💀

user9 OKAY I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYONE SAYS ABOUT HER AND LANCE CAUSE I LOVE Y/N AND NANDO INTERACTIONS MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE!!

user10 i'm convinced she holds both aston drivers hostage in her basement and is forcing them to comment on her posts

user11 It's probably not even her own basement but Lance's😭

user12 nah she ain't even that pretty

user13 omg no way this post is the way I found out lance mf stroll has a girlfriend?🤠

user14 GIRL you have so much lore to catch up on

user15 Yeah welcome to the worst wag ever fandom xd

user13 wait I'm so confused... why do we hate her???

user14 bc she's basically a gold digger, like from the moment her and lance started dating she's been posting only about shopping and showing off herself and her bf's money

user12 plus she ugly af

user15 Yeah and there are rumors on twitter about her being really mean to everyone and that the whole paddock hates her and stuff...

user13 okay I get that but tbh we can't believe everything that's on f1 twitter

user14 idc she's a bitch even without the rumors

user15 I can tell Y/N is trying so hard to have the rich girly aesthetic... it's actually embarrassing😂

astonmartin Wow you have a great car right there😍

user16 more like her sugar daddy lance has it lol XD

user17 guys be fr if you had a rich boy you'd be spending his money too!!!

twitter

yourusername and lance_stroll posted on instagram stories

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by estabanocon, lance_stroll, astonmartinf1 and 206,948 others

tagged: astonmartinf1 and lance_stroll

yourusername thank you spa for having me! what a race, congrats to my favourite driver lance_stroll on p9 & his teammate fernandoalo_oficial on p5! great team work, hope to see you on another grand prix in the future astonmartinf1 💚🏆

view all 4022 comments

astonmartinf1 we hope to see you on another grand prix as well Y/N!🤩

liked by the author

user1 you don't have to lie admin, it's waste of money on her... better give the paddock pass to someone else

astonmartinf1 well, we definitely won't give it to you user1, so no need to worry about it 😙

user2 daaaamn, the admin is coming for y'all haters

user3 Of course she had to wear the racing suit... c'mon that's so embarrassing🙄

user4 actually it's pretty normal, I'm pretty sure Max's gf also wore his racing suit at some point

user3 Yeah but I at least like and respect Kelly... Y/N is a horrible gold digger

user4 well then I'm pretty sure it's your problem, not hers🤷‍♀️

user5 girl stop pretending you care about racing we all know you do it just for pr and cash xdd

user6 Honestly I'm not a Lance Stroll fan, but he deserves someone better than her...

lance_stroll Thank you to my favourite wag! 🥳❤️

yourusername love you baby!!!💞

user7 favourite wag😂 good joke😂😂

user8 am I the only one who finds their interaction cute??

user9 yeah you are user8... like just look at it, it's so forced... wouldn't be surprising if their whole relationship was fake

user10 You can hate on her all you want, but she's actually gorgeous in the third pic😻

user11 YUUUCCKK🤮🤮🤮

user12 you see I would be fine with this post if she didn't have to show off the aston martin car again!!!

user13 Hey did you notice she tagged Nando in the caption and he didn't reply to her? I call it ✨karma✨ lol

user14 maybe he escaped from her basement😭

user15 💚💚

user16 sorry but I can't help it. There's just something fishy about Y/N and I can't bring myself to like her at all

user17 Guys who is this girl and why does she get more hate in her comments than hailey bieber??💀

user18 I hate how she makes the whole Grand Prix about herself

user19 no but fr... like honey, idc about you and your favourite driveeer

user20 Tf?? She literally called LANCE her favourite driver how is that about her... you haters are so dumb🤦‍♀️

user21 I bet she read the comments on twitter about how she's bad gf for not going to any races and decided to fix her image by this XD

user19 lmfao didn't probably work the way she hoped

messages between Y/N and Lance

lance_stroll posted on instagram

liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel, f1 and 330,219 others

tagged: yourusername

lance_stroll As some of you now, I am not very active on social media. Today I'm making an exception for Y/N, my lovely girlfriend I've been dating for almost a year now. She is one of the greatest, most kind, caring and selfless people I know. I don't know where the idea of our relationship being unhappy, one-sided or even insincere came from, but I would like to make it very clear once and for all that these assumptions are as far from the truth as they can be.

In my life, I experienced a lot of hateful comments and reactions myself. It is not something I wish anyone should have to go through and it's disgusting. I love Y/N with all my heart and I hope that one day, she'll make me the happiest man alive and allows me to marry her, build a family together. No one will ever again speak about her in an inappropriate way, or they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them. I am very serious about this.

Y/N, I'm not afraid to call you the love of my life. I never want to see you cry because of some meaningless hater. Love you to the moon and back, sweetheart ❤️

view all 4823 comments

user1 It's just so heartbreaking how Lance himself had to go through so many waves of hate because of his dad and now he had to watch Y/N go through it too...😓

yourusername love you to the moon and back too lance!!!💖

lance_stroll Wouldn't have it any other way honey!😌

user2 you know it's serious when sebastianvettel shows up

astonmartinf1 once the it couple, always the it couple!💚 proud to say we were never a hater😘

user3 i still think it's fake

fernandoalo_oficial and I think you are fake🤪

user4 LMAO nando come and get the haters lets goooo

user5 That's how you shut them up xd

fernandoalo_oficial how do you children say it? I AM LANCEY/N DEFENDER

user4 yeah yeah nando exactly that or you can say your a lancey/n truther

liked by fernandoalo_oficial

user5 omg I can't believe I just had online conversation with THE Fernando Alonso😭

user4 GIRL ME TOO AND HE EVEN LIKED MY COMMENT😭😭

f1 What a beautiful couple you are!🙌 Hope to see you in the paddock after summer break!😏

user6 "they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them" daaammmnn man is standing on business here

user7 Tbh I never understood why y'all hated on her sm she's literally so beautiful and seems kind as well🤷‍♀️

lilymhe pretty giiiirl

lance_stroll I couldn't agree more!❤️

yourusername oh stop you two I'm blushing

user8 Can we take a moment to appreciate how beautifully the caption is written?🥹 Lance really has some poetic talent!

liked by yourusername

user9 aaah she's still a gold digger and he's too blind to see it😂

user10 Yeah she probably charmed him in bed or sm

user11 Ohh user9 and user10... I wonder how it feels to know Lance and probably some other drivers hate you🫢

chloestroll My brother and my future sister-in-law!🥰

liked by the author and yourusername

yourusername 🥰🥰

user12 im actually so happy to see y/n replying to some of the comments and just being active without so much hate on her now!!!

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, kellypiquet, fernandoalo_oficial and 299,102 others

tagged: lance_stroll and dior

yourusername they say if he wanted to he would... I say he wants to so he does 🌹❤️

comments have been limited

lilymhe she ate you jealous people up with that caption

liked by lance_stroll and fernandoalo_oficial

lilymhe also alex_albon me when??

dior Wow!❤️‍🔥

lance_stroll That's what real men do instead of trolling others on the internet.

yourusername daaammn baby

lance_stroll What? I'm just stating facts 😌

kellypiquet shopping trip to Paris when?😍

yourusername anytime you want!!!💕

astonmartinf1 So lucky to (basically) have you on our team💚

fernandoalo_oficial I call that a slay admin

astonmartinf1 ...should I tell him slay is kinda out dated??

yourusername aaah let him have his moment

fernandoalo_oficial WHAT?! YOU TRAITORS I THOUGH I WAS GEN-Z APPROVED

yourusername 🫢

THE END

Author's note: I hope you liked my first ever social media au story! I'll be glad for every feedback, comment, like, reblog and everything! You can definitely send me asks and requests for another smau's and even 'normal' fanfictions. Have a great day!

[bruciemilf]

I know this is a DC blog but I NEED dad Logan. Get that murder teddy bear some kids ASAP.

Fancast + non canon Headcanons ahead.

BOBBY MY BELOVED / 16

“Sure everything in my life is terrible. But at LEAST I’m gay”

Makes pop culture references Logan doesn’t understand. “Logan threw the first brick at stonewall” “what are you SAYING” “he’s an ally”

Can, will, and has gaslight Logan into thinking he’s homophobic just for not letting Bobby do what he wants

Stole a beer from Logan once and they found him drunk crying at 3 am. He calls Logan to apologize about it. “I’m sO sorryyy. You know I love you??” “Go to bed” “noOoo” Logan is next to him.

Has a secret YouTube channel and everyone watches for Logan interactions specifically

Mabel Pines coded

KITTY… that’s his half pint your honor. / 17

Logan is terrified. Why are you such an easy kid. Why aren’t you rebelling? Why isn’t defiance bleeding on your fists?

Why aren’t you clawing and biting and snarling for your freedom? Why aren’t you being a kid? Who do I have to skin-

Daughters are not supposed to exist quietly.

I hc that Kitty’s family is extremely unsupportive of her being a mutant, — but they’re just traditional in general. Specifically she’s petrified of being around/existing along men.

Certified babysitter when Logan’s not around. She’s so big sister.

“guys!1!11!!!! mr. Logan said not to do that!1!1!1”

Logan BEGS her to be a shitty teenager for like 10 minutes. Be bratty!!! Tell him to fuck off! Throw a tantrum!!!! “But I’m not a kid.” “You’re MY kid.”

JUBILEEE daddy’s girl / 15

Problem Child TM

Plays Rock n Roll by Avril Lavigne at 4 am to piss Logan and her siblings off when they annoy her

Grounded all the time but if she fake cries Logan will shamefully relent.

Always puts Logan’s patience to the test because she anticipates him leaving/giving up on her

Foster child with issues. She spent half her life looking for people and the other half being abandoned by them. This won’t be any different.

Except Logan is very good at fighting destiny.

Your honor I don’t CARE Logan is made to be a girl dad!!!!

“On the spectrum. Not saying which one”

STRONG she/they energy

Most affectionate with Logan out of all the kiddos. Her love language is terrible pancake making (Logan eats them anyway) and cat cuddling.

ADHD icon

LAURA (murder baby) / 7

Brings dead birds/mice to her family members (affectionate)

Charles has the bright idea to enroll her in school with the kids. “It’s important for children to socialize with peers their own ages.” “Can’t socialize if they’re all DEAD.”

That meme of the little boy and his father with an arrow in his shoulder

Youngest child privilege

Steals Bobby’s phone and shoot’s hilariously off angle family vlogs. One of them includes her stealing Logan’s motorcycle while he runs after her

[ozzgin]

Girl I love Daitou but I'm ngl I need more of Yazuya😭 if you can, can you write headcanons about him please? I'd appreciate it thank you <3

Yandere!Yakuza x Reader Headcanons

Ultimate dating guide and palate cleanser featuring the gangster boys (Kazuya and Daitou). For those that have been left hanging for proper romance.

Content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

Tags: @swagbucksjester @lucienbarkbark @moonieper @nu-vino @vee-love @tamaki-simp @pinkazelma

[Yakuza Masterlist]

Kazuya

Kazuya was raised in a brothel, surrounded by women, so he is much more knowledgeable than the average man when it comes to feminine matters. Similar to someone who grew up having sisters, you can talk to him about anything and everything and not only will he be empathetic towards your problems, but he might offer tips and tricks you didn’t even know about. Not too shocking when he’s already heard multiple variations of whatever is bothering you.

The downside to his upbringing is that intercourse has always felt terribly transactional to him. He has a hard time associating it with intimate relationships. He will flirt a lot with you, but despite all the sexual innuendos, he won’t actually do anything until later in the relationship. He struggles with the irrational worry that sex will somehow taint the quality of your bond, making it feel cheap. Dating you has helped him realize that such things can be done out of love as well.

He is extremely affectionate and well mannered when dealing with you. Which may sometimes cause you to forget there’s a reason him and Daitou are good friends. While he isn’t as ill-tempered as his younger self, it doesn’t take much to anger him still. It’s a rare occurrence for you to witness it, but when he has it out for someone, he nearly matches Daitou in ruthlessness. He's very prideful and protective and will not hesitate to crush whoever challenges him or messes with you.

If you have a group of (girl)friends, you can confidently bring him with you with the only risk being that he’ll steal your spotlight. He can charismatically slide his way into any kind of conversation and you can hardly believe that this is the same man cracking gross jokes over his latest murder to his fellow criminal buddies. You might consider him a social chameleon, having no trouble adapting to any environment.

Smokes like a chimney and you have to slap the cigarette out of his hand sometimes because he’ll just light one up anywhere (including your bedroom).

Now this one is for the ones that are into it: God forbid you accidentally call him Daddy because he’ll ride that high until the end of time. He loves the idea and will tease about it with every opportunity. “Terrible weather today. Should Daddy drive you to work instead?”, or “Is that any way to talk to Daddy?” for when you’re out in public.

Daitou

One neat detail about being with Daitou is that you get to see a lot of things you took for granted in a new light. Whatever you assumed was a common experience for everyone, like having a picnic or going to the amusement park, is utterly foreign to him. He was raised by the Yakuza and barely interacted with anyone before meeting Kazuya; civilian past times were never presented to him. So you get to witness his shocked and delighted expression as he tries all these things with you.

Thankfully you don’t have to worry about teaching him the…intimate aspects of a relationship. Kazuya has that covered. And Daitou seems to be a rather fast learner, because he’s incredibly gentle and careful with you. Part of it is due to his own fear of messing it up. He’s only ever been good at breaking and killing people. Despite that, he loves you so much. He has to be the best boyfriend for your sake. Surely these hands of his can do more than just damage.

He might actually be a little too eager to learn the ropes. More than once you’ve walked in on him reading a graphic manga and nearly choked, mumbling an apology for interrupting his…activity. He’ll look at you with a confused expression, completely unbothered and wondering why you’re so embarrassed. He was flipping through the pages for ideas, given he’s never had any kind of experience himself. Ah. That explains the random kinky gestures he’s started doing without shame or doubt. You’ll have to do some tweaking in the near future.

This may come as a surprise, but Daitou is exceptionally good at household chores like cleaning and cooking. Registering with the Yakuza involves a mandatory apprenticeship of several years where you do menial tasks for your higher ups. Additionally, the time he served in jail has left him with a lot of discipline and organization. Somewhere between adorable and comical is how you’d describe the sight of him kneeling on the floor and carefully folding the kitchen towels while waiting for the stew to simmer.

Daitou isn’t exactly what you’d traditionally call jealous. His only frame of reference is Boss, thus he will treat you with the same kind of loyalty and dedication. You wouldn’t expect a mere nobody to walk up to the Head of the Family, so anyone approaching you will, similarly, be violently kept away until their intentions are clear. You are his most prized possession, after all. He’d do anything for you.

[haikyu-mp4]

Foreign

word count; 1664 – f!reader, chubby reader

this is dedicated to the amazing writer and my very good friend, @cottonlemonade <3

You were new to Inarizaki this fall, starting in the middle of the semester. What a great time to try and make new friends, right? It is even better when you’re moving from another country and not fluent in the language. Sure, you understood Japanese well, but you could be quite slow in answering, so many of those you tried to interact with simply couldn’t be bothered, especially teenagers.

So when the principal sent an e-mail a few days before you started school, informing you that Kita Shinsuke would be showing you around on your first days, your expectations weren’t very high.

Needless to say, you were proven wrong. You got along very well with the kind boy who had the patience to wait for you to gather your words. It didn’t take long for him to suggest you join a club, asking if you might be interested in managing his volleyball team. He insisted that it could give you a boost into the social circles, but made sure you knew it was all up to you.

Here you are, two days after starting Inarizaki and standing at the entrance of the volleyball court with a tray of one of your favourite recipes from your home country. The tray was pushing into your squishy stomach as you clutched the sides nervously and tried to take a mental note of all the names you knew and the ones you would have to learn.

Everyone’s attention shifted when Kita cleared his throat and gestured towards you while looking at some of his teammates with strict eyes. “This is the girl I told you about, she will be trying out for manager this week so I expect you all to behave.”

Their gazes went to you and you gulped, quickly lifting the tray. “I brought a peace offering,” you said, having practised saying that in Japanese in the minutes before Kita met up with you.

Most of them slowly started coming over, but one seemed particularly drawn towards you, making his identical twin try and speed past him to reach you first. “What is this?” the silver-haired twin asked while fighting off the other one so he could grab first.

“It’s a recipe from my home country…” and as you explained it to him, you were thrilled to see he didn’t immediately get bored of you taking your time with finding the words. While all the other team members came and grabbed their pieces before settling somewhere in the gym to stretch and eat, Miya Osamu, who at some point remembered to introduce himself, stayed put in front of you to listen while munching on and appreciating the delicious homemade food.

“So you’re a foodie too, have you cooked any Japanese food yet?” he asked, and you tucked the tray under one arm now that it was empty, following him as the two of you walked over to where the manager should be.

“I haven’t, my parents don’t know much about it too,” you answered honestly.

Osamu chuckled. “Either,” he corrected, giving you the right Japanese expression for it. “They don’t know much either.” You blushed, looking to the side and only then noticing that the others were gathering to start practice. “But I could show you sometime? My mom and I love cooking.”

That is how you ended up in this predicament, wearing a matching apron with Osamu while Atsumu sat by the kitchen island with a judgy look.

You were a bit uncomfortable at first, wondering if the apron was too tight and exposed one too many of your curves for him to look at you like that, but you tried not to think about it when Osamu was being so nice and lending his time. After all, Osamu had not-so-subtly touched your waist or lower back whenever he had to move past you even if there really was no reason to do so.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you started, using your kindest voice, not noticing how Osamu sharply looked up from where he was preparing the last fillings. “Since I’ll be the manager, why don’t you tell me about being a setter?”

Atsumu leaned on his hand with his elbow on the counter and let his face slowly fall off it with his eyes closed. “Sorry! Almost fell asleep there, you were taking so long.”

Osamu was about to launch a whole spoon at his brother’s head “Ya stupid-“ when you burst out laughing.

It made Osamu’s stomach do flips as he watched you laugh with one hand leaning on the counter and the other clutching your chubby stomach. “You’re quite rude, aren’t ya?” you asked rhetorically, having already picked up a piece of their dialect.

Atsumu perked up in his seat when you didn’t seem to break under his insult, fighting back a smile of his own at how your laughter rang off the kitchen walls. “Pff, shut up.”

“You seem pretty intent on staying around so I can’t be that bad,” you teased, and it held just enough charm for him to accept it.

Atsumu squinted at you before going back to leaning on his palm. “I was just hoping to steal some food.”

You looked at Osamu with your sweet smile and said “What’s next, chef?”

The redness creeping up Osamu’s neck was not easy to hide. “Uhh, right. Just to shape them, really.”

“Is there a trick to make it nice?” you asked, holding some rice in one hand and eyeing the filings.

“If you count rounds, it’s easier than just squeezing randomly, so work your way around the shape-“ he explained, showing you with his rice ball as he talked.

You stared at your hands before shaping some rice and filling it, before grabbing another half of rice and… not making it quite as pretty. “Sorry, could you show me one more time? I want to do it as well as you without using moulds.”

Osamu started picking up more rice before stopping abruptly, throwing it back in the bowl and moving closer to you. That dummy had watched enough clichés to figure this was the perfect opportunity to wrap his hands around yours and show you. He executed said cliché perfectly, and the way your warm hands felt was almost enough to distract him from the task.

“Disgusting, right in front of my salad,” Atsumu complained before finally walking out of the kitchen to presumably bother their mother instead.

The two of you started filling and shaping the onigiri, bumping into each other now and then and throwing out flirty comments. If all the students at Inarizaki were so welcoming, you would be more than fine.

On Friday, after your last class, Kita stood outside your classroom and patiently waited for you. He bowed shortly after you exited, making you return the gesture. “Kita! What a pleasure,” you said.

He gestured towards the hallway so you could start walking together. “I wanted to ask how your first week has been.”

There’s a little skip in your step as you start thinking of this week. “I had trouble with some girls in the cafeteria, but I’m already feeling like my Japanese is developing much quicker so I’m sure it will all work out.”

Kita hummed under his breath, seemingly in thought for a moment before responding. “I see, I’m glad you’re looking on the positive side.” He turned a corner, making sure you followed as he steered towards the gym. “And the team? How are you feeling about the manager position?”

“They’re all very nice. Chaotic but fun,” you said with a soft chuckle. “Osamu has been especially welcoming, even though Atsumu gave me a hard time at first,” you continued, laughing at the last part.

Kita frowned, slowing down slightly. “A hard time? I hope you don’t feel pressured to accept the position, Atsumu can be… he has an attitude, but he works hard,” he excused, using his hands to gesture, and it was the first time you saw Kita look even a tad unsure.

Your short laughter made him stop, looking curiously at you. “I was going to say that if you’ll still have me, I’d love to accept the position.”

“That’s great news.” A small smile appeared on his face and that was enough for you, as you opened the door to the gym and gestured for him to walk first.

Osamu came jogging over the second you entered. “Hey, captain!” he greeted Kita as he passed him, heading straight for you. “How do you feel about trying something more complicated this weekend?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as if suggesting something much dirtier than cooking.

You shot him some finger guns, smooth as ever as he walked backwards towards the bench area while you faced him. “You’re on!” you responded cheerfully.

“Is my place still okay?” he asked, just as Atsumu walked over and bumped his shoulder, making him trip over his feet. You frantically held your cute, chubby hand out and he grabbed it before you helped him up again. You must have been a sight to see with your matching red cheeks.

“You lovebirds gonna take up the kitchen again?” Atsumu sighed dramatically. You noticed over his shoulder that Suna was filming this as Osamu caught his brother in a headlock.

“Leave our new manager alone!” Aran said in an authoritative yet fond voice. Kita stood beside him with his arms crossed, so you assumed he had told Aran that you accepted.

“So it’s decided?” Osamu asked, and the excitement in his voice was palpable.

“I will was your manager starting today!” you announced, already picking up the basket with their water bottles to go fill them up.

“Will be our manager,” Atsumu corrected, probably about to make another quip at you, only to be interrupted by Osamu chuckling affectionately and coming over to take the basket from you.

Kita shook his head at their antics. This would be a fun year with his team.

masterlist

[starkwlkr]

Can you do max having a son? Nobody knew he had a girlfriend or a child except his mother and sister… until they see him interacting with a child that’s running around the paddock calling him daddy at one of the races.

daddy max | max verstappen

idk if max’s mom lives in the netherlands so for this imagine her and victoria live there 🧍🏽‍♀️ ok? ok 🫶🏼

Noah was a daddy's boy, it was clear. From the day he was born, Noah was declared Max's buddy. They did everything together, except when Max was racing of course. The two parents wanted to keep the young boy away from the spotlight so they never posted about him on their social media. Noah’s existence was unknown to many, fans, press even the drivers. Of course Max and Y/n’s family knew about the little boy. While Max was racing, Noah and Y/n would stay with Max’s mom, Sophie, and his sister, Victoria.

Once Noah had turned four years old, Max had a talk with Y/n. He wanted no more than to show the world his son. He would never admit it, but Max was jealous of Sergio. He got to celebrate his wins with his family while Max had to wait for a phone call from Y/n. But he always looked forward to that phone call.

“Come on, he’ll love it.” Max said over the phone. The next race was the Australian Grand Prix and he really wanted his son and partner to be there.

“He has been asking when his daddy is coming home. We both miss you. And he did ask when he can see the big cars in person.” Y/n sighed. “What about the press?”

“What about them?”

“What are they going to think when they find out the golden boy of Red Bull is a dad? They’re going to put two and two together and find out I had Noah at twenty.” Y/n said. They were young, even Jos was against them having Noah, but Max wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to be there for his son even if his father didn’t like the idea.

“Who cares if they find out we’re young parents. I love you and Noah and I finally want Noah to see his dad race. Sergio is constantly asking when you and I are going to have kids, you know?” Max chuckled.

“Of course. Listen, I’ll talk to you later. You need to rest.” Y/n spoke.

“But are you and Noah coming?”

“Bye, max.” Y/n said as she ended the phone call. Little did Max know, she and Noah were on the way to Max’s hotel room. Noah was almost half asleep, but he claimed he wanted to stay up to surprise his dad. “Go to sleep, baby. We’ll see daddy soon.” Y/n whispered to her son.

Max was getting ready for bed when he heard a knock on the door. He figured it was someone from the team or Daniel. When he opened the door, he immediately hugged his partner and his son even he the little guy was passed out with drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

“Surprised?” Y/n chuckled as Max took Noah from her arms.

“You’re evil. You had me thinking I wasn’t going to see you two at all this weekend.” Max kissed Noah’s forehead then set him on the bed and covered him with the sheets. He then walked to the door to help Y/n with their luggage.

“Don’t you think it’s about time Noah sees his daddy win?” Y/n smiled as she set her bag on the table.

“Don’t be so sure about that. Anything can happen.” Max said, sitting on the end of the bed.

“Yeah and what’s going to happen is you’re going to win. Noah and I believe in you, your family, your fans, you team. We all do.”

And it was no surprise that Max won that weekend. Little Noah was so happy to finally see his dad win. Jos was also in attendance, but the mom and son didn’t cross paths with the older Verstappen. Yes, he was in a somewhat happy mood since Max won, but he still wasn’t on good speaking terms with his son’s partner.

“Look, Noah! Daddy won this for you.” Max spoke to the four year old, showing him the trophy he had just received.

“Pretty.” Noah said looking at his and his mom’s reflection.

“Max, congratulations!” Daniel’s voice could be heard from miles away. Y/n adored the Aussie and his contagious smile. “And who’s this little fella?” He crouched down to reach Noah’s height.

“Tell him your name, baby.” Y/n encouraged her son.

“Noah.” The four year old said in a low voice.

“Hi, Noah. I’m a friend of your parents. My name is Daniel.” Daniel held out his hand for the boy to high five. Max watched the interaction between Daniel and Noah and thought it was the cutest thing on earth. After Daniel said goodbye to the family, Max enjoyed a moment with them before he was pulled away for interviews.

“Say bye to daddy.” Y/n waved goodbye to Max with Noah.

“But I want him. I want daddy.” Max’s heart broke hearing his son’s cries for him.

“I can take him.” Max offered.

“You have interviews. We’re going to go find some food, I think he’s hungry.” Y/n adjusted the boy in her arms.

“I want daddy!” Noah cried even louder.

“Let me take him. Nothing is going to happen.” Max took the boy from Y/n. “Ready to meet some people, Noah?”

Y/n watched as her partner and son walked around the paddock. She could already see the headlines on every news article.

‘Max Verstappen mystery child?’

‘Red Bull golden boy is a father?!’

[kiwi2229]

Mother’s Day

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 620 words)

The calm morning at Potter’s manor gets interrupted by a loud noise of the doorbell. James looks at his parents with questions in his eyes but they both shrug clueless about who it could be. James gets up and walks to the door. He speaks through the window only to see Regulus standing there. He opens the door a wide smile already on his lips.

“Reggie, I didn’t know you were coming over,” James says and places a quick kiss on Regulus’ lips. The boy doesn’t respond with the usual enthusiasm. Instead, he is stiff like someone petrified him. James looks at him closely. He is dressed in a formal shirt and trousers, his hair neatly styled, and he is holding a huge bouquet in his shaking hands.

“Reg?” James asks again which pulls Regulus from whatever trance he was in.

“I’m not here for you. Is… is your mother home?” He asks. Even when Regulus is excellent in masking any nervousness from his voice, James spots how it slightly wavers.

“Yeah, sure.” He gestures towards the house letting the boy in. “Mum?” He calls.

He leads Regulus into the living room. Both of his parents immediately smile when they spot Regulus. James leans against the wall still clueless about what is happening but ready to support Regulus with the task he set himself up to.

“Miss Potter,” Regulus says. He is standing in the middle of the room shifting from one foot to another anxiously.

“Effie, dear. I told you a million times.” His mum smiles and sets the yarn she was knitting with next to her.

Regulus nods but doesn’t address her with her name. Instead, he reaches his hand with flowers handing it to Effie. “I just wanted to thank you for raising James and taking care of Sirius. They both deserve a great mother like you. It… it means a lot to me.”

James doesn’t even try to hide how he melts at the scene. The heart in his chest gives an almost painful thud when his mum gets up and hugs Regulus. He is so in love it sometimes doesn’t feel real.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” Effie asks already eager to tug the boy on the sofa next to them.

“I… no, thank you. I don’t wanna be bother. I just wanted to give you the flowers.” Regulus smiles politely.

“Oh, don’t be silly. You are always welcome here.” Effie insists and Regulus quickly searches a room for any help. James can see how he is rubbing his hands over each other behind his back. An anxious tick he knows at this point.

He quickly closes the distance wrapping his arm around Regulus’ shoulders. He can feel how Regulus immediately leans into the touch as a relieved sigh leaves his lips.

“I think Regulus reached his level of social interactions for today. Right, love?” James says giving his mum a look. “But we can schedule lunch for another day.”

Regulus looks up at him in gratitude. He says a quick goodbye and James is already leading him to the door.

“I love you; did you know that?” James whispers as he brushes the curls from Regulus’ eyes. Regulus just nods and stands on his tiptoes to kiss him.

“You did great, thank you,” James says reassuring the boy. “When you are done hiding in your corner at home, call me, yeah? We can talk before we go to sleep. If you are tired, we can just meet tomorrow like we planned.”

Regulus just smiles at him. James is used to Regulus not talking sometimes. It’s okay, he understands him nevertheless. A soft kiss to James’ cheek for goodbye and Regulus is gone.

[dwaekkicidal]

The Library

˚ʚPerv!Emo!Han Jisung x Cutesy!Fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Second part of 'The Incidents' Series; based off of this ask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: told from his pov, jisung is a huge perv/creep, accidental stimulation (m receiving), (semi)public masturbation (m)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: Italics are Han's thoughts! also the picture is just a reference for the outfit i had in mind :)

The Incidents Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Han wasn’t sure what came over him that first time. He genuinely didn't know when he grew the balls to do such a thing in a public place with his crush not even a foot away— even touching him at one point during it. But as the weeks went on he found himself doing it more and more, to the point where the shame was almost nonexistent from how normal it became for him.

Another thing that became normal was hanging out with the girl outside of class. They even exchanged numbers after the first week. For “studying” purposes. Or whatever lie he told her as an excuse to get her phone number. Part of him was excited, it’s a chance to get to know her better! But the other part of him was dreading the closeness that would ensue. God forbid if she ever found out about what I did..

With that thought lingering around his mind he opens the giant library doors, slipping inside quietly and nodding at the clerk as he walks past. The glasses on his head falter with the nod, but he fixes them in place before fiddling with his chain. He walks to his usual spot in complete silence, not even sparing the packed desks a glance as he focuses on the music in his airpods. Unfortunately for him, this is how he misses a set of eyes that landed him from the moment he walked in.

He also misses the way she interrupts herself from talking to her friends to stare at him wide-eyed, not used to seeing him in anything but an oversized sweater. She looks him up and down in awe, from the glasses that sit on top of his beanie to his black turtleneck that’s decorated with a silver Cuban chain necklace. Then to his long sleeves that are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his watch and shiny rings. “Oh. My. Gosh.” She excuses herself from her friends and gathers her things, running after him.

The boy in question finally makes it to his secluded spot with no extra social interaction and he sets up his study supplies around the table, making sure to put his bag in the empty chair beside him. He looks around, smiling to himself at the lack of people around and the giant window beside him that shows off the cloudy weather. It might be cringe, but fuck do I love this weather. He double-checks his bag for his umbrella and pulls out his laptop. It boots up quickly and he types in the pincode just in time to see a blob of white in the corner of his eye.

“Hannie!!!" He hears it through his music. He turns his head to see you moving towards him with a big smile. Speak of the devil..

He can’t stop his eyes from darting down to her chest, even if he wanted to, and he watches it shake as she prances up to him happily. The girl hugs his arm and looks him up and down again, “You look so good!!” Her right hand detaches from his arm to trace the pattern of his necklace, “I’ve never seen you in anything but a big sweater.. You should dress like this more often!” He flushes at the compliment, looking around nervously because he knows that she never wanders around alone. “T-Thank you.. My friend is having a birthday party later but I wanted to study a little bit before I went..”

Her shiny lips pucker as she continues to shamelessly check him out. He immediately notices that instead of her usual red-pink tint, it's now a light red gloss. “Ooo, that sounds like fun! Can I sit with you? I promise I won’t get in the way!” He watches the pout form on her lips and his gaze shifts up, taking in the full pleading expression and puppy eyes. Their eyes meet and his dick twitches. God damn you. He nods reluctantly, taking one last look around to make sure nobody is near before sitting.

He expects her to take the seat across from him but is shocked as he watches her carefully hang his bag on the back of his chair and take the seat directly beside him. She sets her pink bunny bag on the table and crosses her legs, tilting her head to nosily look at his screen. She smiles and bites her lip to hold back a chuckle at his wallpaper, all black with some depressed emo-lord anime character in the corner. He normally would have flinched at the pure audacity and lack of privacy, but his eyes were too focused on something else.

Who the fuck casually wears thigh highs like those.. and why is her dress so fucking short again?!? He gulps, watching as she stretches and as the dress lifts farther up her thighs. He finds himself in yet another situation where if she opened her thighs even the slightest, he would get a glimpse of her panties. And by whatever god is out there, she actually does. Her legs separate for a moment and she stretches them out too before crossing them again.

His jaw drops slightly and he starts to drool, almost forgetting where he’s at completely. Baby-pink, partially sheer, and lace. I’m going to fucking die.. He discreetly adjusts himself in his pants but is all too nervous this time to do anything more. I know damn well one of her goons is around here somewhere..

He instead revels in the newfound discovery. It only lasts a short while longer due to her speaking up again. She brings up their upcoming project, one that was announced just a few days prior, and confidently asks him to be her partner for it. His eyes widened slightly, I literally just convinced that professor to let me do it alone.. He opens his mouth to respond but is cut off.

“Yo- Who’s this freak?”

Han flinches at the sound of a new voice, a deeper, nasally one that he recognizes all too well. Fucking knew it. He glances over to see one of the shithead frat boys that glues himself to her side in hopes that she’ll fuck him. He stares down at Han with a frown, looking him up and down before turning to the girl.

“That’s not nice, Juwon. This is Hannie! He’s my friend.” Han watches as she turns to the other man. He can’t see her expression but from the annoyed eye roll from him, he can only assume it wasn’t anything good. He hears a faint “Don’t be an ass.” before she turns her back to him and looks at Han with an apologetic smile.

He returns the smile and turns his attention back to his laptop, finally getting some work done as the two of them chat beside him. Han picks up on some words here and there, something about a party next week that his frat is throwing. He faintly picks up on a “plus one” agreement but ultimately pushes it to the back of his head.

He doesn’t get much farther on the document. Instead of focusing on it as he should have, his brain only goes back to those pretty pink panties he got a glimpse of. Eventually, he gives up completely on the work and puts on a youtube video to pretend to watch as he zones out. The two beside him talk for some more time before she shoos him away, teasingly complaining with a “Look! You made me distract Hannie!” and “We were in the middle of something, shoo shoo!”

From the corner of his eye, he watches the boy stare at him angrily for a moment before finally leaving. Once he’s out of sight she turns to Han again, apologizing to him sweetly with those shiny eyes looking up at him. He laughs it off and closes the video, reopening the document to work on his assignment again.

She quietly watches as he finally manages to fill out all the questions, scrolling through her phone while she waits. When he sighs, stretches, and starts to digitally turn in the assignment, she finally places her phone on the table.

He suddenly feels a hand on his thigh. She taps it at first but when he turns to meet her gaze, she rests it flatly across his thigh. “Hannie? About the project, we should meet up at my house tomorrow to work on it.” She smiles and looks up at him. The mere thought of stepping foot into her bedroom has his eye twitching. “Y-Yeah, sure..” Wait. I didn’t even agree to do it with you yet?? 

She pulls his laptop towards her body, leaning in slightly as she creates a new powerpoint document and adds herself to it as a collaborator. While she does so, he lets his gaze fall to her chest. Her cardigan had fallen off her shoulders, giving him the perfect view of her collarbone and upper chest. As she leaned into the screen more, it even gave him a small glimpse of her bra-ridden boobs as her dress fell forward. And they fucking match with the panties?? He subconsciously leans forward, trying to get a look at her nipples-

“There we go!” He jumps and backs away, watching her lean backward and turn to look up at him, “I added myself so we can start the blueprint before you come over.” Oh, I’ll ‘come’ all right. He clears his throat and nods, taking back his laptop so he can pack it away into his bag. He feels her eyes on him but ignores it as best as he can until he runs out of items to pack away.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her perfume now flooding his senses as she leans into him more. He sees her lips move, but his eyes can’t choose which thing to focus on and it leads to him completely ignoring what she said. “H-Huh?” In the distraction of her pretty looks and her delicious smell, he almost missed the way her hand returned to his thigh. He did not, however, miss the way her hand slid up his thigh when she leaned in more.

“I asked if you were okay. You look sick again.” She goes on to describe something about how it looks like he has a cold. He would have cared, and he should have! He was going to until she turns her head away to greet a passing friend, causing her hand accidentally slide against his bulge. It's that point that makes him completely lose his sense of morality.

He freezes in place, body all sweaty as he tries to process what is going on. He knows he should have said something, and he honestly tried to! But the only thing that came out of his mouth was a shaky breath almost followed by a moan until he bit his lip harshly. The warmth of her hand seeps through his pants and he can’t help but soak in it. He turns his head to the window, pretending to watch the passing cars as he leans back to lets her hand rest better against his dick.

He only turns back towards her when he hears goodbyes get exchanged. “Oh, Hannie.. You see what I mean?? Now your face is all red!” She leans forward even more and accidentally pushes down more on his dick, making his breath hitch as he closes his eyes tightly. “Y-Yeah but you…. Your h-hand..” He nods his head down at his crotch, not trusting himself to hold back the moan that he feels crawling out of his throat. It was silent after that, but he could tell the exact moment she realized what happened when she gasped.

She remove her hand and her normally sweet, calm voice becomes panicked, “Oh! C-Crap.. I’m so sorry Hannie! I thought that was still your leg..” He clears his throat and adjusts his sitting position with a red face. Eventually not being able to find any comfort, he just stands up and snatches his bag before moving away. “I-I gotta go! I’ll.. text you..?” He says it in a questioning tone but gives her no time to respond as he beelines it for the bathroom, keeping his head down and covering his crotch with his bag the whole way.

He throws the door open and slams it shut, making sure the stalls are empty before locking the main door. The bag with his laptop is almost thrown onto the sink and forgotten about as he unbuttons his pants, pulling down the fabric alongside his boxers. His dick twitches the second it meets the cold bathroom air and he stares down at it in awe. His tip is an angry red and his whole length twitches repeatedly as he recalls the feeling of her hand against it, albeit clothed.

He wraps his hand around himself to relieve some of the pain, squeezing it even more as he starts to jerk off. He’s so riled up from everything that took place in the span of a singular hour so it doesn't take long to build up his orgasm. His mind starts to wander as it usually does: starting with fantasizing about her pretty, glossy lips wrapped around his dick. But this time it quickly changes to the image of her hand wrapped around him. He wonders how soft her hands would be and if they could even fit around his entire width.

Then he’s overwhelmingly reminded of the other events. Her thigh-highs, her bra… her underwear. He moans a little too loudly at the memory that's now engraved in his mind. The sight of the skin there, covered in sheer, baby-pink lace. Fuck. If only she opened her legs a little more. Maybe I could’ve seen her pretty pussy.. He imagines it. Now knowing what the skin down there looks like leaves little to no room for imagination. He can easily guess what her folds would look like, ugh. and that pretty clit..

He throws his head back, legs shaking and stomach squeezing tightly as his hand speeds up. The sound of wet squelching fills the room as he paints ropes, some of it getting onto his hand, but most of it landing on the two-toned floor tiles. He lets out desperate whines towards the ceiling as he continues to cum even more than usual. When he’s finally finished painting the floor he lets shaky breathes leave his lips. His eyes trace the messy pattern on the floor as the sounds of his breathing echo around the bathroom.

He manages to clean himself up and goes to grab napkins to wipe the floor before he realizes that he still has a birthday party to go to. He glances at his watch for a moment and groans when he realizes that he’s going to be late now.

This girl is going to be the death of me.

Taglist: (purple=can't be tagged)

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina @rylea08 @grandma143 @caught-in-the-afterglow @yaorzu-blog @jabmastersupriseee

@easypeezylemonsquezy @iiriam @soaplickerrr @kimahreummm @seungfl0wer @4l17h4 @moonlightshostage

[serosluv2]

obsessed bf x pretty gf trope hcs w sero & shoto pls & ty 😁😁 (seperately pls)

It’s only 7 months late but here u go anon 😘

a/n: I wrote this in an hour in the bathtub so if it is shit- don’t tell me bc I’m just getting back into writing 😭😭

Shoto Todoroki

He fits this trope so well.

He is THEE resident pretty boy of UA so it makes perfect sense that he has the prettiest girl in all of Japan. (The world)

He is the teeny weeny ist bit dense on like how to take proper photos of you for the ‘gram but trust that he WILL be searching up everything about lighting and angles and exposure and zoom- all that nonsense.

If you’re a social media girly he may leave like one or two comments. He isn’t the best about being outwardly obsessed with you, he is all about those private small moments. Not being able to take his eyes off you anywhere. Always needing to be beside you. If he can’t be with you then trust he is texting you at every free moment and expects a response within 5 minutes.

He loves shopping with you and helping you pick out outfits or jewelry or how to style your makeup that day. He has no real opinion on what looks better tho he just loves seeing you get all prettied up. (Yk that tiktok where the girl is trying to decide on a dress color and her bf is just like “wtv u want mama u look breathtaking in both” ?That’s him.)

I feel like he doesn’t really buy you anything in the beginning of your relationship bc he doesn’t really see the point/value or something in that BUT all it takes is for kaminari to get you some product you’ve been wanting for a while for secret santa and seeing how touched you were by the gesture sends him into over drive:

“OH MY GOD! KAMI!!” You exclaim- wrapping your arms around him. “How did you know? I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Shoto notices how big your eyes got and the slight blush on your cheeks from excitement and he feels, something unpleasant. Jealousy? Envy? Possessiveness? Whatever it is he doesn’t like how grateful you’re acting toward the blonde. I mean sure, he got you something nice you’ve wanted but that’s not his job (he just so happened to get you for secret santa so he kind of had to get you something) he’s not your boyfriend only your boyfriend- HIM- should be gifting you stuff. Then he kinda has a “ohh.” Moment and realizes he has never really gotten you anything just because.

Anyways after that whole interaction he is getting you anything and everything you look at for more than a second. You keep looking at some necklace at the store? Bought. He sees you liking tiktoks about girls getting flowers? Now you’re getting a bouquet every date night. Does he himself have money? No, but that No.1 hero daddy sure does. And let’s be honest he kind of owes shoto for making his childhood - for lack of a better word- awful.

In conclusion, Shoto loves his pretty girl and will do anything she asks of him without question.

Hanta Sero

Clawing at my cage for this man.

Now sero has been… infatuated with you since he first laid eyes on you one faithful morning. You were ordering at some coffee shop he passes by on his way to school and just one glance had him stopped dead in his tracks. The way your hair framed your face perfectly, your face in general because holy shit- you were gorgeous. Straight out of a magazine. He quickly took notice of the little embellishments you made to your uniform.. uniform? The same one Mina has. OH MY GOD YOU GO TO UA AND HE HAS NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?

He literally cannot stop thinking about you and boom you appear again in the halls. Your going the opposite direction has him with your friends and he sees you all have a little cafe cup. Did you buy them all a drink before class? So you’re stupidly gorgeous and nice. Great, he, for sure, has no chance with you now.

But oh that’s where he is wrong.

When you guys start dating he actually cannot believe it. He is very guarded at first because- now it’s my personal hc that sero is a bit insecure- he can’t fathom how you, YOU, would actually want to date someone like…him.

But once those walls come down he doesn’t shut up about you. Seriously all his friends are so annoyed:

“Good god soy sauce if you mention your little girly friend again I’m hurling you across the city.”

“You’re just mad you don’t have a girl as pretty as mine- don’t worry baku-man, I’m sure one day some poor person will take pity on your soul.”

Sero did in fact get hurled across the city that day.

Now where he differs from Shoto is that this man is a GOD with a camera. He has that artistic eye and is able to capture you being your baddest/cutest/authentic self.

Literally ya’ll

He also has a good sense of style. He never thinks you look bad in one thing versus another but he will take into account the vibe of where you’re going and what’s you’ll be doing and give his opinion based on that. Because he grew up with sister and knows how to get around the “which one looks better?” Type question without hurting you.

Now sero doesn’t have money to spoil you senseless but what he does have is the forever lasting instinct to put your comfort above his own. It’s freezing and you didn’t wear a jacket because “a hoe ever gets cold”? Don’t worry sero will give you his and be visibly growing icicles on his body to keep you warm. Feet hurt from those impractical shoes? He’s caring you all the way home even if he is still terribly sore from a killer arm workout the day before with kirishima. A no a mudy puddle and you’re wearing your new white shoes :(! Well sero is laying his jacket down over it or simply caring you over the puddle. He isn’t the type to roll his eyes at how “ridiculous” or “spoiled” you’re being. You are y/n freaking l/n. He’ll do whatever you need to make sure nothing in your life goes wrong.

He also is the type to spam comments in your TikTok or Insta post and makes all his friends do the same. Not that you need it- he just loves fueling your ego.