#there was a time i would have known which episode this is from without looking it up

[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~ ♡

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Your secret fling with Eddie Munson hadn't gone entirely under wraps, particularly to the know-it-all, Dustin Henderson. With the help of Robin and Steve, the three conspire to reveal the truth, resulting in two of the most awkward people going on a date together...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, slight crying, alcohol consumption, awkwardness, insecurities, closeted sexuality, implied coming out, secret relationship, and some explicit sexual content: fondling, mention of porn, mention of oral, and unprotected vaginal sex (fairly minor, not the focal point).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This piece has literally been sitting in my Google Docs since June 26th, because when rewatching Friends, I though it would be a cute idea for a fic, so you'll see a lot of lines and parallels from the episode (season 5, episode 14). It's devastatingly unfortunate Matthew Perry passed when I was finishing this up. So, in memory of him and a toast to friendship, here is this fic. Be safe, appreciate life, and enjoy <3 I love you all.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

“Did you guys see that?!” A pointed finger of accusation was targeted against Eddie Munson, completely oblivious to his knowledge. 

Steve Harrington had grimaced at the mush that was once a solid cheeseburger residing inside the slobbery mouth of Dustin Henderson, as the kid spoke with such urgency, clearly unperturbed by his lack of food etiquette and social decorum. But such skills could not be expected much from Dustin Henderson. That is unless, of course, an actual adult of authority had been in the presence, to which a gummy smile was expected to assuage whatever insulting comment about the need for manners that “The Hair” would proffer in disgust. 

It was the second Saturday in a row that Steve’s been bombarded by the abuse of the children to let his residence be used for a pool party. He doesn’t understand how exactly he lost the backbone to say no to four teenagers, but the phenomenon had manifested into reality, and at the very least, a compromise was made for the young adults—of whatever weird mesh of a friend group this was between older teens, younger teens, crossover shebang—to tag along for a hot afternoon of relaxation.

“Yeah, Eddie’s hair totally looks like a wet mop.” Max Mayfield snickered between her sips of a twisty-straw-in-lemonade action. In truth, seeing lushes locks of black stick to his face and neck was quite amusing, especially when made worse as the metalhead re-calibrated like a dog, shaking his hair as a means of getting rid of the chlorine water that weighed down his head. One that could always get a good chuckle out of anyone. 

“No! Not that! That!” The ghost trail that was of Eddie Munson walking inside the Harrington villa, as pointed to by Dustin as a means of evidence, did little to provide any context of support to whatever it was he was avowing about this time. In many instances, those close to him knew to just let his diatribes continue without interference. The kid’s standards were impossibly high; people’s mistakes of simple wrongdoings were always criticized by his superiority. ‘“Oh, I’m just gonna head to the bathroom real quick.’” Dustin mimicked, mocking the voice of his Dungeon Master with dramatic gestures of flailing arms. A testament surely to get his character killed in next week’s campaign, should he have been caught by the man. 

“Yeah, Dustin, that’s kinda, like, a natural occurrence in life.” Mike Wheeler deadpanned with a patronizing voice to annoy, as it’d been known to exasperate his friend. It’d even gained a couple laughs from the lounging bodies strewn about in the breadth of the gardened backyard. 

Lucas Sinclair had jumped at the opportunity to prod further, barking a deafening cackle. “Yeah, remember that bomb you dropped after the school’s attempt to serve enchiladas?” He slapped his knee with joy. “You had the janitor running from the stalls!”

That one really got a good laugh out of everyone. But before Max could even venture at an attempt to cater for further details, Dustin struck on offense to defend his honor from the sharings of his intimate privacy, definitively emphasized with an agitated tone of vexation. “No, no! You pinky swore that you’d never speak of it! Do I need to tell everyone what Erica found under your bed?!” Old reliable; blackmail, the bargain of a lifetime.

“The hell is under your bed, man?” Steve pondered, flipping a seared patty with a slab of American cheese ready to go. If it was anything like what was under his bed, he’d surely want no one to know.

“Nothing!”

“What I thought.” Dustin muttered with a glare, as Lucas shrunk in his chair to evade any potential threats of further questions that lay on the tips of his friends’ nosy tongues. “But again, that is not what I am talking about.”  

Always the civil one out of the Wheeler clan, Nancy reassuringly stepped up to support her brother’s friend in need, settling everyone down. “We’re sorry, Dustin, go ahead.” It was to be expected she’d gain a heartfelt thank you from Dustin Henderson, himself, once the debacle simmered and the turbulence had passed. Nancy Wheeler always did have a special place in the kid’s big heart, particularly after the caring gesture of the 1984 Hawkins Middle’s Snow Ball Dance. 

“How can you all be so blind?!” Dustin seethed. “You’re telling me none of you find it even a little suspicious that Eddie just so happened to go to the 'bathroom' right after Y/N’s excuse of wanting to 'change,' like, hello?!” He huffed. “They’re totally screwing!”

Dustin Henderson felt devastatingly vanquished when a unanimous vote of disbelieving what’s hurtled his way with no mercy. He felt useless- undermined. Like the bag of Fritos left behind when children would rather fight over Doritos or Sour Cream n’ Onion Lays, rather than appreciate the artistry of a simple corn chip, left alone and forgotten until a last resort when moms took too long to make dinner; never to be cherished in the dark corner of the bulk size box of Frito-Lays. Of course, they wouldn’t believe him. They didn’t witness what he had to tragically witness. He heard it so vividly. So hauntingly vivid. Sometimes, it kept the poor boy up at night. Last week- last Friday- Hellfire’s Friday, such an exhilarating night now befouled by the auditory version of what he learned in the ninth grade compulsory course of sexual education. 

How naive of him to believe your actions stemmed from the kindness of your heart; offering your chauffeuring abilities to pick up the freshman after their campaigns, sauntering inside with a sickeningly sweet smile to pair with your tender greetings, and always wanting to lend a helping hand to the Dungeon Master, because “it just seems like so much to clean.” Puh-lease! The signs had been flashing in his face. The ulterior motives screaming in his ear. What sane person deliberately chooses to waste their time picking up three boys revved up with excitement and sweat after the thrills of Dungeons and Dragon? Jesus, shit, it was Friday night, don’t you have any plans?! Yeah, plans to stick your tongue down their Dungeon Master’s throat. Tainting the sanctity of Hellfire with your debauchery. 

Dustin Henderson had forgotten his dice. Sometimes, he wishes he would have just let the damn things go. 

“God, baby, a quickie- let’s just do it right here real quick.” Eddie’s begging voice vibrated behind the closed door of the drama department, seeping through the open cracks beneath the door, all for Dustin’s ears to hear. 

And he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt- the kid really did. Pet names were far from unusual by use of Eddie Munson. The one instance the Byers dropped back into Hawkins during Spring Break, it was no doubt Will the Wise had to get a taste of the new man running the show, and when Eddie had given Byers the innocent compliment of being such a sweetheart, the kid blushed into oblivion, stuttering a thank you in return. Hell, not to mention the infamous “big boy” that followed Steve Harrington around wherever the man took on motherly duties. So, Dustin brushed it off. But the moment had quickly transpired into something cringe worthy to the fourteen-year-old who didn’t know better. It should have been his cue to run, but the fiery design of his dice cost him six bucks of his chores earning, and they weren’t about to be discarded, as if the sweat of his forehead meant nothing from an afternoon of bending over the mop bucket to clean the kitchen floors. 

There are moments at night when he speculates if this is the doings of the heavenly man above that his beloved, Suzie Bingham, always mentioned; punishing Dustin in consequence of eavesdropping on a private matter that surely was not intended to be heard. But can you really call it eavesdropping when you were merely trying to retrieve your dice? No! You can’t!

“They’re already waiting for me in the car.” You whined against his lips. The figurine that was poking your hip was the last thing accounted for in your mind, as Eddie had showcased you onto the wooden table of the prop room. Lips smeared against yours, his hand had squeezed a chunk of your meaty thigh, bringing you forth to keep you in close company. “We can’t.” Can’t what, huh? Find the dignity to do it outside of school grounds?! Freaks!

“Little shits.” Dustin had appallingly gasped at the insult, feeling the stabbing wound of betrayal hit him in the chest as you laughed along, hand clutched over his heart to appease the pain of such affliction. The dramatics. “Come to my place after.” Eddie delicately kissed loving pecks to your lips. “That way,” his finger trailed up your thigh, “we can have our alone time, and I can finally get a taste of that pretty pu-”

Dustin Henderson knew to run away at that point. Safe to say, the kid never got his dice back.

“Are you insane?!” Motherly hand on the hip, Dustin didn’t appreciate Steve’s disciplinary tone of voice, sounding too much like his mother, Ms. Claudia Henderson, for his liking, as everyone agreed with Harrington’s proclaimed delusion against the boy. “Munson doesn’t have the skills to screw, let alone someone as hot as her.” He chuckled in disbelief.

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

“Mm, j-just like that, uh!” Your pelvis pummeled into the sink, tainting the precisely picked pristine porcelain by Mrs. Harrington, herself, as Eddie rutted his hips into the dampness that was your bikini bottoms to chase a release that was on the brink of snapping.

It was your fault he claimed; prancing in a top and bottom that left little to the imagination. Accusations of your outfit being chosen to taunt him were thrown your way, and your faux innocence only cemented it further. “Fuck- fucking take it—ugh, s-shit—take this fucking cock!” How could this ever be seen as a punishment when your boyfriend was lighting your body on fire with the ecstasy of abusing your g-spot?

Perhaps having sex in the bathroom of your mutual friend was far from the ethical rules of friendship, but the act of secrecy had bred a burning excitement that neither of you could contain. And, given the fact that four weeks ago, Steve had poked fun at Eddie’s singleness—not that Steve had any room to joke, though, at least, “The King” was relishing in the funness of meaningless hookups, something Eddie surely didn’t partake in, he lovingly had you—so seeking revenge in fucking his hot girlfriend in his friend’s bathroom had stirred something menacing in Eddie’s head to truly not give a single care in what he was doing was wrong. 

“Yes! Yes! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” Fingers tightening on the edge of the sink, your heart soared watching the reflection of Eddie’s mouth panting with want, as he fucked your pussy, ready to release his load deep inside. His hands had snaked to grab handfuls of your bouncing tits, groaning as he felt your nipples poke through the coldness of your wet bikini top.  

His hips harshly snapped against your rippling ass. “Cum all over my cock- shit! C’mon, pretty girl, fucking soak me- take all o’ me!” It barely felt as though he was pulling out, merely drilling in deeper and deeper. “I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”

“They are totally screwing!” The curls of Dustin Henderson’s head were on the verge of being ripped out in frustration; all that work he so earnestly dedicated night and day to maintain the silky bounce was about to be all for nothing. “They are! I heard them!”

Wrong choice of words. “You were listening to them screw?!” Robin gagged, triggering an onslaught of ew’s and perv’s- well, really, Max Mayfield had been the only one calling her friend a perv, doing it in the relaxation of her lounging chair, teasing behind her newly gifted heart-shaped sunglasses. 

“No! No!” Dustin shouted in clarification. “I wasn’t listening! I heard them talking about it!” He agonized. “They’ve been doing it for at least a week! Behind our backs!”

“Oh!” Max ventured. “Let’s bet, I say they’ve been engaged for four months, and are pregnant!” She heckled, now clearly just taking the piss out of him. 

“Has the water gone from your ears to your brain?” Robin laughed in his face. Surely the kid was mistaken, right? Aside from her personal himbo—Steve hated the nickname—you and Nancy Wheeler had become her newfound best friends. You know, a united front against the boys, girl talk, the whole shebang about girl code? Secrets weren’t a thing between your three! Granted, Robin, herself, was harboring a pretty large secret that only her himbo knew of, but that was different! Boys were nothing, she would gladly hear about all her friends’ boy problems, indulging in the drama of long distance or whatever the hell there was to complain about, but girls?! Yeah, that was, uh, that was just something- a topic still unbreached… at least, until she was ready.

“Fine!” The boy heaved, bailing out on defending his stance any further. “You guys don’t wanna believe, that’s just fine.” He snided. “But when they come back, and Y/N hasn’t changed out of her bathing suit, you won’t be laughing now!” Dustin Henderson ended his tirade with an embittered bite to his burger, dramatically dropping into his pool chair. 

They’d all learn soon, and bow down to him. 

So now, everyone waited. Waited for the fateful moment that would either prove Dustin Henderson right or wrong. And unfortunately- for you and Eddie, at least, your steamy escapade on the sink of the Harrington bathroom had left you too dazed and forgetful in the post-orgasmic bliss that was heavy breaths and loving touches of aftercare to keep up with the said excuse of “changing out of wet clothes” that got you alone with Eddie Munson in the first place. So when you marched out, glowing and relaxed—exactly two minutes and thirty-four seconds after Eddie’s “bathroom break” (so thoughtfully executed)—in the same damp bikini that had your secret boyfriend riled up to begin with, everyone gasped. 

“What?” You looked around confused. 

Unbeknownst to you, Dustin Henderson took a cheesy bite of his burger, loudly sipping a carbonated gulp of his cold Coke, ready to snap his fingers for another round of meals for his peasant friends to fetch. 

He was right. 

-

Robin Buckley confirmed it next. 

That Monday to come, Robin was staggering over the words of Dustin Henderson, and trying to piece the evidence presented to understand what was transpiring in your double life. The events after your return from “changing” left you confused by the jarring stares of six pairs of eyes testing you. Nancy, with the softest approach, had questioned you on the lack of new clothes on your body, to which your knight in shining armor—or accomplice—stepped up to save you from the army of prodding friends. “A knot in my hair, yeah, I distracted her to help me get a knot out of my hair.” Sure, Eddie, sure. 

During the uproarious minutes of lunchtime, you’d been ready to get an afternoon break from school to fork through Hawkins High’s poor excuse as to what constitutes consumable food, when the sudden scrutiny from Robin Buckley began. And, my god, was she persistent. 

In the comical marching band she suited, Robin Buckley had rushed her attempt to the first approach. “Hey, Robs. You think I can borrow your notes for Civics, I-”

“So, I hear Jonathan’s coming back from California next week!” Something about rashly eating the served cut peaches seemed to play up to the normal act Robin was going for, but truthfully, it just made you eye her strange behavior weirdly.

“Oh.” You accepted the out-of-nowhere information. Maybe you won’t do so good on Mr. Vortroski’s test on Supreme Court cases as you originally thought. “That’s great for Nance-”

“Isn’t it?!” The enthusiasm she was exerting was truly taking it over the top. But Robin Buckley had a heart for caring, and perhaps the excitement for her friend was really bubbling up today. “Nancy said they’ve been planning, like, a lot of dates, you know, to catch up on lost time?” You casually nodded along. “Single dates, double dates… and then I was thinking, hey!” She perked. “Y/N’s young and good looking! She’s probably seeing someone! So are you, I don’t know, seeing someone? Anyone? Tall, dark hair? Anyone?”

“Uh…” Yeah, maybe the hastiness of Robin’s impetuous nature wasn’t the best route to go with. “No, um, no I’m not seeing anyone.” You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Nance and Jonathan are gonna have to find someone else to double date with- oh, maybe Steve! What’s that girl's name he’s been seeing, Brenda? Beatrice? Actually, you know what, it’ll probably be really awkward to ask your ex-boyfriend on a double date with your current bo-”

“You’re seriously not seeing anyone?!” Robin’s brows furrowed with frustration. You were lying to her face- you were lying straight to your best friend’s face! “Nobody? No one?” You begrudgingly shook your head. “No thing?”

“Robin,” you chuckled, “is there something you want to tell me?” There were lots of things Robin Buckley wanted to tell you. Like, for starters, the newfound revelation that she likes how she looks with mascara, after you left yours on the dresser of her bedroom during your sleepover two weeks ago. She had no plans of returning it back to you, either. Or, possibly the fact that Bridget—the actual name of Steve’s newest lover—stole his Farrah Fawcett hairspray- or the fact that Steve uses Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Maybe the other thing, as in the strange occurrence that happens to her heartbeat whenever Vickie from chemistry happens to be around. Or, the other other thing, like the fact that she spent an obscene amount of minutes staring at cover of “Scissoring with Seduction” starring Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond, after organizing the adult films section at Family Video- actually, scratch that, she’d never tell a soul about that, not even Steve Harrington. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” She shot back with fervency. 

“No…?” Your questioning answer had your friend igniting her dramatic flare, slumping in her seat with a defeated huff. Dustin Henderson would surely be owed a duly apology. At this point, you’d like to say this weirded you out, but you lived in Hawkins, Indiana. You’ve seen weirder. 

Evidently not sufficed with your response, your friend sat up onto perched elbows. “Y/N, you know you can tell me anything, right?” A sincere approach. Undoubtedly better. “Like, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me stuff. I won’t judge or anything.” Robin solemnly smiled at you. 

Your tender hand squeezed her arm. “I know.” You beamed. “I hope you know that the same goes for you, Robs. If you ever have anything you need to tell me, I’ll always be here to listen to you. Probably give you way better advice than Stevie.” You both chuckled at the expense of Steve Harrington. Robin Buckley understood the feeling of not being ready for the world to know, because knowing would change the dynamics of life, and having the world suddenly perceive you in a way they never have before was scary. 

Having the world hate you for the tender love you caressed your partner with was terrifying. 

You’d tell her when you were ready, just as she would with you. 

With a nod to her head, she patted your hand. “You know, I asked Steve once on tips to upgrade my look, and he legit told me to do my eyebrows like Pamela Anderson.” 

“The himbo, himself, is too unknowledgeable to know that Miss Anderson is the only one capable of pulling off the blonde bombshell look. Though, I would love to see him with pencil brows and blue eyeshadow.” You both laughed, before you reached over to pinch her chin. “Plus, your beautiful self doesn’t need any changing, Robs. Anyone would be lucky to wake up next to it.”

Yeah, she’d simply tell you when she was ready, just as you would with her.

By three o’clock, Robin Buckley had been worn down by the insufferable compulsion that was Mr. Heizer’s fifth period calculus class. With the last day of school being around the corner, Robin wondered what warranted Heizer’s balding head to be so miserable that he felt the need to subject his students with the abuse of derivatives. Trudging her feet against the pavement of the Hawkins High parking lot, Steve Harrington had came into view, where he brandished himself atop the hood of his car. Not the most irregular of sights, given the systemic routine of drop off and pick-up that had been structured for Monday through Friday, though today, Dustin Henderson had managed to find Steve’s BMW through the array of parked cars, and was found yapping his ear off. 

So sorely critical-looking, Robin couldn’t help but tiredly chuckle. “What’s with the wrinkles, kid?” She approached.

Dustin huffed, letting his arms dramatically drop to his side in desperation. “Steve won’t go along with my plan!”

“What are you even doing here, Dustin, isn’t your mother, like, first in line at the car riders pick-up?” She laughed. 

Steve exasperated. “He waved off his poor mother, like the lunatic he is, just to track me down and tell her I was giving him a ride!” He answered, propelling Dustin to gasp with a snide.

“So we can talk about the plan!” Dustin provoked the Italian—that he probably didn’t actually have—within him, as his loose fist shook in Steve’s vicinity. 

“What plan?” Robin interjected. 

“The plan to expose Y/N and Eddie!” Dustin stressed. 

“Eddie and Y/N are not screwing.” Steve deadpanned. “What happened Saturday was just… some fluke coincidence, not proof to anything, okay? So let it go, Dustin. Just face it, you were wrong.” He chuckled a very much unappreciated chuckle in Dustin’s face. 

“I am not wrong! I know what I heard! How many times do I have to be right on the money for you all to just trust me?!” Neither Steve or Robin appreciated the numerous stares the freshman was gathering from leaving classmates and faculty. 

“Okay, just calm down, alright.” Robin shushed. “You're right-”

“Ha!”

“But I don’t think we should do anything.” Dustin heaved, scowling at Robin as if she just committed sacrilege. 

“Are you crazy? Of course, we should totally do something!” Dustin retorted. “This is big news! Two of our best friends are dating! You know what this means?! I could have parents, Robin, and you know I don’t have a dad, do you really want to be the reason I never have a dad?” A pointed finger targeted her. 

Her hand worked swiftly to smack his accusing finger away. “Eddie is not your dad, Christ, he’s not dating your mom.” She annoyingly sighed.

“Yeah, and also, I’ve known you for way longer. If anyone’s gonna be your dad, it’s gonna be me, not Munson.” Steve exhorted with ire. 

Dustin mockingly laughed. “Please, you and mother have the same hips.” 

Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson were too engrossed in their conversation to bring any of their attention to Steve Harrington’s insulted gasp. “Look, Dustin, I already tried asking Y/N about it, and she’s just not ready to talk about it.” She explained. “Let’s just drop it until they’re ready to tell us.”

“Okay, but we can help them talk about it.” The kid returned with retaliation. “You know how great it was to see Nancy and Jonathan finally get together?”

“Which came at my expense, by the way.” Steve scoffed. “Don’t know why that brings you such joy.”

“Well, this is Y/N and Eddie, it’s even bigger!” Dustin smiled. “Look, all I’m saying is that a little encouragement never hurt anybody.” Call the boy annoying, he already knew that, but his intentions were coming from good faith. The notion of helping his friends find love- or more so express it, had him bubbling with excitement. “And the only way to get this love story rolling is if we get them to crack.”

Steve groaned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, we have to make them break first.” Dustin was beginning to get his crazy eyes, something about conspiring a plan had him menacingly smirking his enthusiastic grin. “You know, trick them into telling us.”

Robin sighed, drilling the palm of her hands into her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Do whatever you like, Dustin, but I will not be a part of this plan.”

“Of course, you will!” Dustin implored with desperate hands grabbing at her arms to shake with emphasis. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to flirt with Eddie.”

Robin and Steve blurted in disbelief. “What?!”

“Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it.” Dustin rationalized. 

“Woah, woah, wait a second, what makes you think she wouldn’t go for me?” Steve plowed on, his ego taking an obvious hit by a child six years his age. “I’m a total catch, the ladies love me!” He argued. “And Robin, she can’t flirt with Eddie, she’s… uh, well, she- she just can’t!” He stepped up to try to help his friend, much to Robin’s appreciation.

Dustin sighed, placing a tender hand upon Steve’s shoulder. “Look, Steve, you gotta get over this crush you have on Robin-”

“I do not have a crush on Robin!” Steve flung Dustin’s arm away. “And back to this ‘Y/N not going for me’ thing, I can totally flirt with her to get her to crack!”

Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he was the adult in this situation. “Steve, c’mon, she calls you himbo behind your back, she probably thinks you have no personality.” 

“I have personality!”

“No, you have hair!” 

In the midst of the commotion, Eddie Munson had sauntered his way out of the double doors, cigarette in hand to relinquish the stress brought upon him throughout the day. Despite the matter that his van had been haphazardly parked on the west end of the parking lot for reasons being that your pretty self always used the end doors for the less crowded purposes—sue him, he loved the view—there was always something about Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson arguing that always brought happy entertainment for the metalhead. 

“Trouble in paradise?” His croaking voice startled the group, as they all looked at him stunned. “Jesus Christ, what’s with the faces?” Eddie laughed, as his cigarette scraped along the wetness of lips. 

“N-Nothing.” Robin awkwardly had to offer, forcing Eddie to raise a brow at her.

And then he spoke. Dustin fucking Henderson spoke. “Actually! Uh, R-Robin what were you saying about Eddie just now?” She snapped a deadly glare back at him, to which he gladly challenged with a grating smile that had Steve quietly laughing in the back.  

“You talkin’ about me behind my back, Buckley? C’mon, I thought we were friends.” Eddie lightly jabbed, as he paid more attention to his lighter, which was taking multiple rounds of clicks until it ignited. 

“Nothing.” She assured. “I said nothing.”

“No, no, you were saying something about his outfit.” Dustin encouraged. God, how ethical was it to beat up a child? “About how he… looks nice.” 

Robin sighed, as Eddie gave her a lighthearted smile. “Thanks, Rob, I’m really liking those patches.” He pointed to her sweater, finding nothing but the innocence of friendship in her supposed compliment. 

“A-And something about his large muscles.” A curl of his hair was absentmindedly twirled as to appear uninvolved in the scheme of his mischief, and right as Eddie’s eyes left Dustin with a confused stare, the kid’s arm shoved Robin’s back to coach her further. 

So, Robin Buckley, simply accepted. Though, tapping into her retired career of one year in drama club when she got the gracious role of playing Mrs. Soames in last year's production of Our Town proved to lack any skills training, when attempting to flirt with Eddie Munson had her stuttering like a child learning to speak. Then again, playing Mrs. Soames in Our Town didn’t exactly require her to flirt with her friend’s secret boyfriend who was a man!

“Y-Yeah, Eddie, uh, that m-material.” Robin bunglingly smiled, as a stiff hand touched the leather of his coat. “O-Oh, well, hello, Mr. B-Bicep.” She mentally prepared herself for the moment Steve Harrington would belittle her to death for her lack of flirting skills whenever this mess was over.  “You’ve been, uh, working out?” 

Attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt, Eddie chose to assuage the painful discomfiture with his casual sarcasm. “Ah, well, I try to, y’know, squeeze things.” Eddie recoiled at her over-the-top laugh that appeared too similar to that of Heidi Wilson’s, when she ran into him and Steve in the food court of Starcourt Mall last week, looking to allure his friend with whatever screech that was. “You okay?”

“Uh-”

“She’s just having guy problems.” Dustin interjected, much to Robin’s dismay. Never. Never in a million years would Robin Buckley ever have guy problems. “Go on, tell him.” 

Yeah, Dustin Henderson wouldn’t see the age sixteen. “Well, uh, you know how you’re s-sometimes just looking for something, a-and don’t even realize that it’s, um, right there in front of you... s-smoking a cigarette?”

Eddie looked down at the lit cigarette in his mouth, and quickly stepped back in panic, all while Steve Harrington’s cheeks puffed with laughter, as his sealed lips worked overtime to not guffaw out loud. “U-Um, yeah, okay, I’m gonna go.” Eddie could only spare a quick glance to Robin, before throwing everyone a small wave goodbye. 

Robin Buckley watched him walk away for two seconds, before slowly turning to Dustin Henderson, where he was met with her twitching eye. “You have five seconds to run.”

His mouth fell gape. “But wait, Steve’s my ride-”

“Five!” 

That Monday afternoon, Dustin Henderson spent forty-five grueling minutes walking the three mile hike to his home, as punishment per Robin Buckley’s request. And yes, she did wave him goodbye, when Steve Harrington’s BMW swiftly passed him on the way over. 

-

Steve Harrington confirmed it next. 

And maybe was a little asshole about it. 

Benny’s Burger had become the choice of dinner for the mundane Monday night he was currently enduring, because Eddie Munson refused to hit up the bar, despite the common courtesy that buying beers had become for the twenty-year-old men. At the very least, greasy burgers with a cigarette to follow would be the accommodation Eddie Munson could offer, since Steve Harrington had lost his weekly hookup, because his personal wingman decided to fall into a secret relationship- presumably. Steve was choosing to balance on the fence of whether or not to believe the words of a fourteen-year-old, mostly because if he did, Steve Harrington would become subjected to the sanctimonious behavior of a cocky teenager. 

And who would want that? 

“Lemme do a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, uh, no tomatoes, please. Ooh, with a side of cheese fries, a strawberry shake, and I’ll get that with a Coke, too. Thanks, Benny.” Steve eyed his friend. God, that man could eat. The bustling fan that chilled Benny’s sweaty neck had proffered a wonderful alternative to the sweltering humidity that tinted the large windows with fog. Aside from the burly trucker consuming the two cups of coffee to keep him awake for the night, Steve had all respective authority to slyly grill his buddy on whatever friends-with-benefits-slash-potential-boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic he shared with you. 

Fuck it. “Uh, might as well do the same, Ben, what he said.” The laminated menu went unskimmed, closed off, and collected for the owner to take. 

Assuring the boys their meals would follow out quickly, they met Benny with gracious thank you’s for the service, and Steve Harrington rashly followed the movements of the older gentleman, until his being was out of ear shot, promptly snapping his head back to his friend. “Why didn’t you wanna go to the bar tonight?!” If a sign as to why Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington were soulmates, for whatever reason, needed to be clearer than it already was, the incaution- not so subtle “subtle” approach was reason enough. 

“Uh,” Eddie hummed, forcing Steve’s eyes to narrow in return, “I dunno, just didn’t wanna go for drinks tonight.” He shrugged, flicking at a sugar packet he had no intentions of using. 

Steve raised a brow. “Really?”

The incredulous tone was quite too bitchy for Eddie’s liking, who merely scoffed. “Can’t a guy care about his liver?”

“Ed, there’s a pack of cigarettes hangin’ in your pocket.” Steve deadpanned. “Think organ functionality is the least of your worries.” Unwelcoming to the implied suspicion of accusation behind Steve’s comment, Eddie simply chose to stay silent, finding more interest playing with the provided condiments as trinkets for his entertainment. Steve rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I saw Myra at the laundromat not too long ago.” He scratched his clean shaven chin, playing into his nonchalant bit, that only left Eddie to raise his eyebrows in confusion as to where this was going. “She looked nice; got her hair done, these pretty, little braids, y’know, with the gold cuffs and whatnot.” 

Eddie’s head lolled, enjoying the simple task of his finger tracing the obscured lines of the faux granite table top, when the ketchup label had been read to its entirety. “So?”

“So,” Steve emphasized, “you coulda called her up, y’know, tell her to meet you tonight. How long has it been since you’ve seen her- or any girl for that matter?” He slyly asked. 

“Not interested.” Blunt and suffice, surely enough to ward off anymore of Steve’s prodding questions. 

But Steve merely scoffed. “What, in girls anymore?” 

And in true Eddie Munson fashion, a shit-eating grin consumed his face, devious smile lines and all, as he leaned on perched forearms to invade Steve’s space. “Aw, why? You interested, big boy?”

Yeah, this conversation would be going nowhere. 

As the sparing minutes filled to meaningless conversations, their full course dinners made the quick arrival, and Steve pondered at the various ways a confession could be pummeled out of Eddie Munson’s mouth, which was currently being stuffed to the brim with mushing bites of each food group—minus the vegetables, this was Benny’s Diner after all. There was the ex-fling route, but clearly Eddie wasn’t looking to explore that again; good news for you, at least. That is if anything Henderson claimed was actually true. Little shit-

But wait a minute, that was it! What would Dustin Henderson do?!

He could still hear his grating voice. "Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it." As if. Steve Harrington could get you- hell, Steve Harrington could get anyone. Graduating out of the social hierarchy of high school totally hasn’t affected his game… totally. But digressing, if Dustin Henderson could scheme up a plan with no substance, Steve Harrington could, too. If anything, this would make so much more sense, given that Robin doesn’t even like boys. Dustin Henderson didn’t know anything, but Steve, yeah Steve Harrington was way more cunning than some snappy child with no regard for people’s business. Yeah, Steve Harrington could totally do this…

Eddie’s chewing slowed, brows cinched, as he wondered why the hell Steve Harrington had been silently smiling to himself for the past minute. And people saw him as a freak? Fucking weirdo. 

“Hey, uh,” Steve cleared his throat, presumably back to being normal, allowing Eddie to continue to shove his face with a strawberry milkshake covered cheese fry, unperturbed by Steve’s judgemental grimace, “I’m thinkin’ of askin’ out Y/N.”

Suddenly caught in his throat, Eddie began coughing up the fry he just downed, as Steve smiled with such amusement at the torment he just caused his friend. Maybe Henderson was right. “W-What? You wanna what?”

“Yeah, been thinkin’ about it, and y’know, I’m really feeling her.” Steve cocked a smirk that had Eddie’s face scrunching with agitation. “Very smart, funny, really fucking pretty, so…”

“I d-don’t, um- you really think that’s a g-good idea?” Eddie adjusted in his seat, composing the bubbling feeling that stirred terribly with the monstrosity he had just eaten.

Taking a large bite from his burger, Steve grinned happily. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Hunger and entertainment wonderfully satiated on this peaceful, late Monday night. 

Eddie shrugged, sulkingly throwing a stray pickle in his mouth. “I dunno, you’re just friends n’ all.” He mumbled. 

“Oh!” Steve’s eyes gleamed with laughter behind them. “You don’t think friends should date-”

“No, no, no, no!” God, the last thing Eddie was about to do was inadvertently claim your relationship was some end all be all cataclysm, but did it really have to come at the expense of encouraging his friend to date his secret girlfriend?! “I-I mean, like, some friends c-can date, like, um, good friends-”

“So, me and Y/N?” Steve quietly chuckled to himself, as he watched Eddie fret with frustration. 

“No- I mean, I dunno!” He exasperated, as Steve relished in his greasy food with a smile on his face. Eddie’s heart began sinking into his stomach. He understood how demeaning it would be to conclude you as the type to jump into Steve’s arms once he’d make the “inevitable” move. God, for once in his life someone with care to proffer promised him fundamental security, and there was no denying it, he felt. Felt it in your caressing hands, your saccharine words, your devoted kisses, your gentle touches- you touched with such love… at least, that's what it felt like. Does Eddie Munson even know love? He swallowed thickly. “D-Do you even think she would go for you-”

“I have personality!” Steve proclaimed, finger pointed and all, forcing Eddie to shove back in surrenderance, hands in the air, and a confused look to pair. 

“Okay, I’m not sayin’ you don’t, geez.” Eddie clarified, as Steve huffed, raking a harsh hand through his Farrah Fawcett hairsprayed perfection. “J-Just maybe don’t. Like, um, i-if it doesn’t work out, it could get really bad between you two, a-and it would be fucking horrible not to have her in your life at all, you can’t lose her, man.” 

Voice so small and eyes so distant, there was a deep inkling that perhaps Eddie was speaking his fears aloud. Because even in the greatness that was having the privilege of calling you his girlfriend, there was a world full of Steve Harringtons that could provide you with more than what any Eddie Munson ever could. Late at night, when the world could finally offer you both the peace to just be, entangled in arms and legs, Eddie would just stare at you and… know. Know that there is a feeling that scares the living shit out of him that he can’t feel for anyone else. A different type of feeling from the camaraderie of his club, who triumph against the evil of the universe. A different type of feeling from the shoulders he’s cried on of his uncle, because Eddie truly cannot thank him enough. You, you were a different type of feeling. One that left him just wanting to look at you, smell you, touch you, think of you all day. 

This wasn’t just infatuation, god, it felt like pure fucking lo- shit, what would he know. Eddie Munson didn’t know love. 

A sudden wave of regret washed over Steve, as he realized the saddened roundness of his buddy’s eyes. “Nah, man, that’s not gonna happen.” His calm voiced reassured. “I mean, it’s Y/N, why would she ever allow that to happen? Y’know, so what, things don’t work out between… me and her,” he explicated, “doesn’t mean your- I mean, our friendship has to change.” Steve watched, as Eddie nodded along, shoulders slumping in relaxation. “We talk it out, we understand each other, and we move on as friends. Together. We’ll still love each other like that. And, hey, at least we’ll both get a hot hookup out of it.” Okay, maybe he was still being a little shit, but he was only channeling his inner Henderson. Plus, the snapping glare from Eddie was quite priceless. 

“Are you really gonna make a move on Y/N?” His jaw ticked with clenched teeth. 

“I dunno.” Steve smiled, before snapping his fingers with a brilliant revelation, “Y’know what, I saw Robin flirting with you earlier today, how ‘bout we go on a double date?” Yeah, now he was definitely just teasing. “Hell, make it a triple one once Byers and Wheeler head back into town.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Robin was not flirting with me, she was just being… weird.” He pondered it for a second. What the hell was that that happened this afternoon? There’s no way she actually- no, impossible. Could she? No, that didn’t feel right. Well, maybe-

“Hey, do you actually think I have personality?” Oh, Stevie. 

-

On Tuesday evening, the Family Video store saw the little customers it was regularly accustomed to; Mr. Fredrickson, only to be accounted for, slowly roamed the documentary section, particularly interested in the historical segment for his afternoon leisure.

The nub of his cane poked an indent into the carpeted floors, as his supported weight allowed for close inspection of the bolded titles that plastered in an array of colors. Luckily, the lens of his glasses were thick enough to provide him the ability of sight to read what was on display for night, leaving you to mindlessly thumb through this month's issue of Cosmopolitan. “Hm.” Mr. Fredrickson gruffed. “What d’ya make of the Franco-Prussian War, darlin’?”

The Proven Personal Approach to Permanent Weight Loss. An Incredible Shrinking Woman Tells How She did it! Christ. You found more interest flipping back to the written Cosmo’s quiz determining what kind of husband your current rendezvous would make. 

“Uh…” Your back was beginning to ache from finding all support on your perched elbow digging into the counter, letting your cheek fall to your palm. “You did the Napoleonic Wars last time, no? Why don’t you give the French a break?” You skimmed the printed words of the glossy pages.

His wrinkled pointer finger shakingly racked through the tapes, as he took your word of advice. Your eyes were hanging onto the last bit of energy they were enduring to stay awake, but the weight of eyelids inevitably began to win, and it surely didn’t help that the liveliness of your thriving life was partaking in conversations with an elderly man who found amusement in learning about wars. 

But before a potential write up—Keith never found the actual courage to do so, loved to threaten it, though—for sleeping on the job could be scolded, the welcoming bell of the front door rang loudly enough to alert some life back into your body. 

“Welcome to Family Vide-euuawghh.” A guttural yawn ripped out of you, slurring your standardized greeting into an embarrassing mush of sounds. 

With watery eyes scrunched from tiredness, a rushed apology to your incoming customer had proved to fall unnecessary, as a familiar chuckle addressed you back. “Aw, such rigorous labor, working my baby to death, huh?” Eddie Munson, himself, teased, as he leaned to hover over the counter and close to your sluggish face. 

“Don’t tease me.” Your mouth jutted in offense, as you rubbed your eyes to the clear sight of being welcomed by Eddie’s bourbon eyes and a smug curl to his lips. 

His rough-tipped thumb caressed the hairs of your brow to ease. “How can I not when it gets you to make that cute pout at me, hm?”

You piqued with giddiness. “Because I’m your girlfriend.” A label you quickly learned to adore. “And you shouldn’t be mean to your girlfriend.”

Eddie smiled a breathy chuckle, as he peered at your lips. “Yeah, you are my girlfriend, huh?” He proudly verbalized with a husk to his tone. His mouth was itching to say more, pour out all he felt for the girl standing before him, but a counter the size of the world divided the union between two beating hearts of devotion. And manifesting his words of love paved the way for the potential loss of you. But not doing so also did the same. Because he’s learned good things don’t last for Eddie Munson. And what a unless world it would be to lose the profoundness of you. 

God, he wanted to punch Steve Harrington for last night.

Eddie took a deep breath. His bangs landed against your forehead, and scrunched under your nod of confirmation. You are his girlfriend. “Where’re the other two stooges?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face. 

“In the back doing inventory.” You gladly answered the words Eddie wanted to hear. He bashfully leaned in, though before his mouth could meet yours, you pulled back with furrowed brows. “Wait, ‘other two stooges,’ am I the third?” 

Eddie barked out a boyish laugh, as he watched your faux face of aversion and shock. His large hands made your face feel small as he cupped your cheeks and brought you forth. “God, you’re so pretty.” 

His lips crashing upon yours had wiped your expression of any annoyance you tried to playfully brat out. His mouth moved against yours so languidly, it had you falling limp to his kiss, as he expressed all that he felt with the touch of his lips. Eddie pulled away slowly, leaving you to quietly hum in retaliation and chasing his lips. 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, providing you with one more loving peck. “But, hey, y’know, speaking of the other stooges, uh, Robin and Steve,” he cleared his throat, “you notice anything weird about ‘em, like lately?”

The cafeteria. “Um, yeah, actually.” You contemplated on the thought. “Why, did they say something?”

Nausea hit him like a truck, wondering if "The Hair’s" attempts to get at you were already happening quicker than expected. “S-Steve, he, uh, he said something to you?” Eddie felt his throat dry up.

“Steve? No, Steve’s been Steve, but I was mostly talking about Robin.” Jesus Christ, did you bring peace to his world. 

“Oh, yeah,” He puffed a breath of relief, “um, weirdest thing happened after school yesterday, but I think Robin was hitting on me.” Confusion had been written all over your face, as you pulled back from the counter. “She was, like, totally into me.”

“What?” You chuckled. “No, not possible.”

“Okay, ow.” Eddie playfully rolled his eyes, as you laughed, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm in apology. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean it like that” you giggled, “but I’m sure you probably just misread things, you know? Robin finds you charming in a platonic way, like with Steve.”

Eddie straightened up. “No, I’m telling you, sweetheart, she was all over me.” He persisted. “I mean, for crying out loud, she was touching my bicep.”

A smug smile took over your face, as you arched your brow at him. “This bicep?” You teasingly squeezed his soft arm.

Eddie scoffed. “Well, it’s not flexed right now.” 

The back storage unit of Family Video had been littered with an influx of tapes, both coated in dust to be long forgotten and pristine with the newest release of what Hollywood had to offer. This year’s box office hit Top Gun starring Nancy Wheeler’s poster boy, Tom Cruise, or the fourteen-year-old The Ruling Class with the musical humor following a priest’s death due to his autoerotic asphyxiation kink? Robin Buckley laughed. Always the latter. 

“God, can’t believe Keith expects us to organize this junk.” Steve huffed, swiping his palms against each other, only to scowl at the specks of dust that floated into the air under the beaming sunlight. “I should be seeing Bridget right now, or Heidi, or taking out Linda, maybe Jeanie, haven’t talked to her in a minute.” Robin rolled her eyes at the endless sex-capades that was Steve Harrington’s love life. Christ, she couldn’t even get a clear sign that Vickie from chemistry wasn’t standing so straight. “Or-or maybe Y/N.” He chuckled to himself. 

“What?” Robin prodded. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, last night I was completely bugging out Munson, and told him I was planning on askin’ out Y/N.” Steve laughed, briefly coughing as dust particles blew off the VHS tapes. 

Robin was only left deadpanning in disappointment. “You did what now?” She scoffed. “You’re supposed to be on my side, I thought we were supposed to let it go?”

“You’re the one flirting with your friend’s boyfriend.” He argued. 

“Because that little twerp forced me to!” The Ruling Class came hurdling to his chest, as she chucked it. 

Shoving old movies aside, Steve grappled onto the box of new releases to shove into Robin’s arms, as he handled the second load. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, there are no sides, as much as I hate to admit it, Henderson was right about those two screwing.” Steve enthused. “You should’ve seen the look on Eddie’s face when I told him I was gonna make a move on Y/N.”

Robin huffed. “Okay, so let’s just leave it at that and let them screw in peace- or, even better yet, let’s just tell them we know, so they can have the freedom to do what they want.” 

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Steve whined. 

Robin laughed at his childish mewl. “And, unless Munson gets rid of the thing in his pants and learns to grow a cup or two, I am not flirting with him again.” She playfully gagged, while reminiscing on yesterday’s events. 

“Please,” Steve derided, “you can’t even look Vickie in the eye, I highly doubt if Munson suddenly grew some tits you’d become some sort of Casanova.” He snorted, opening the door. “Mr. Bicep?” 

Before Robin’s sneaker could step foot back into the main lobby of Family Video, Steve’s grasp onto the collar of her shirt flung her back into the storage room, with a slam to the door. “Are you inane?!” She chastised, while attempting to find her balance with a ten pound box of VHS tapes. 

“Munson’s out there!” He whisper-yelled into her face. 

“Okay, so?” 

“So, we gotta get in there, and stir the pot a little.” His brows danced impishly against his forehead.

Robin’s face dropped vacantly. “What about anything that I literally just said didn’t click for you?” A smack against his head from her hand had him reeling back in defense. 

“Ow, okay, I get it, Munson doesn’t have boobs.” Steve huffed, rubbing out the dulling pain. “But, look, Dustin wasn’t that far off, a little encouragement doesn’t harm anyone. He thinks that you like him and that I like her, you’re telling me this isn’t even a little funny to you?” My god, did Steve Harrington have a charming way of flaunting that stupid smirk that had Robin hold back a chuckle. Because in retrospect, Eddie Munson believing his lesbian friend had a crush on him, while her partner in crime, her himbo, had a supposed liking to his secret girlfriend was quite funny. Funny like a priest dying from his autoerotic asphyxiation kink. 

She sighed, giving him a pointed glare. “One time, Harrington. This is the one and only time I will ever flirt with a man again.” 

Steve threw his hands up in defense, as a smile lingered on his face. “Highly doubt there will ever be a time in which I ask you to do that again.” He laughed, while slinging the door open. “Plus, it’s Munson. I’m sure his cynicism won’t even count it as flirting.” 

“Well, Y/N's flirting surely worked.” She joked, as they stepped out. 

“You think it’s because he has personality or nice hair?” Steve interrogated. “Because I sure as hell have way better hair than him.” 

Despite your alluring face, Eddie caught a glimpse of Steve and Robin making their way over while looking past your shoulder, forcing him to make the regretful decision to back away from you. “Ed.” Your tiny pout of confusion made it all that harder, until Steve’s voice boomed out. 

“Hey, y’know, as a customer, you’re supposed to actually rent something!” Him and Robin joined you both at the counters, where they sat the boxes of movies. “Or, you could, y’know, stock shelves with us.” 

Eddie flipped him the bird, as he smiled. “Actually, I was just stoppin’ by to ask if Halloween is still rented out.” He turned to look down at you with a smirk. “Is it?”

“I can go check that for you.” Your sweet customer service voice had him biting back a grin, as you stepped away to the computer. 

As Steve and Robin began displacing films from the boxes, his elbow nudged her side to grab her attention away from organizing. “Just keep it casual.” He whispered, as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sure if you unfocus your eyes, the five o’clock shadow will go away, and he’ll totally look just like Vickie.” And he huffed right back when Robin rightfully scoffed at him. “What? They have the same eyes… just, y’know, different color… and shape.” 

Robin waved him off before anything further could come out of his mouth. With The Fly nestled in her grasp, Steve threw her a nod of encouragement, before scurrying to the shelves with a small laugh escaping his lips. 

“Sorry, Eds.” You clicked off the computer. “Landon K. beat you to it; no Halloween.” 

“Should totally check out The Fly.” Robin slyly imposed, as she handed him the film. “Can never go wrong with some Cronenberg, right?” Eddie inspected the film with a shrug. “Sure, better than taking movie suggestions from Harrington.” 

There came the inordinate laugh from Robin that had Eddie throwing you a knowing glance, and Robin, herself, internally dying inside. “Ha! Always so funny!” She clumsily fist-bumped his arm. “Uh- anyway! Better get back to work.” A large smile flashed both your ways.. “I, uh, I’ll see you later… handsome.” And following in the footsteps of her grandmother when she wasn’t screaming something batshit crazy, Robin Buckley pinched Eddie Munson’s cheek before running away to Steve Harrington. 

“You pinched his cheek?!” Steve contemptuously chortled in her frazzled face that burned with embarrassment. 

Robin’s hands smack her face, dragging the skin down, as she groaned. “Well, I don’t know how to do the whole flirting thing!” Her fist came smacking down at his chest.

Steve bent at the waist with a cramping stomach of laughter “Okay, yeah, but he’s not a baby!”

Your eyes followed Robin’s running figure until she disappeared into the maze of shelves, and you incredulously turned to your stunned boyfriend. With his mouth wide, and eyes bulging, Eddie fretfully spoke. “Okay, did you see that?! With the compliment, and the pinching?!” 

You bewilderedly settled at the realization. “Actually, I did.” You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend was flirting with you boyfriend- well, technically, she had no clue he was your boyfriend, but still- Eddie? Not to sell your boyfriend short, god, he was perfect in every way, but Robin? Robin and Eddie?!

“Okay, so now do you believe that she’s attracted to me?” He persisted. 

You thought for a second, and Eddie Munson watched your face drop with concern, as your hand clutched your chest. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! She knows about us!” You cautiously warbled, as you began pacing about behind the counter. 

Eddie’s face scrunched with distress. “Are you serious?” 

“Robin knows, and she’s just trying to freak us out!” You belabored, anxiously looking back to where Steve and Robin could no longer be seen. Your hands dramatically dropped at the revelation. “That’s the only explanation for it!”

Eddie vacillated at the unwarranted insult. “Okay, but what about my pinchable face and bulging biceps?” He confidently pointed to his arm, before the lacking muscle of scrawiness suddenly hit him like a truck. “She knows!” 

Your hand comically slapped the counter, as you chuckled in disbelief at her attempt to fool you. “Oh, man, she probably thinks she’s so slick for messing with us.” Eddie joined in, frenziedly laughing, completely feeling stupefied, though giving props to the mastermind, nonetheless. Impressed he was. “But, hey, you know what? She doesn’t know we know she knows, so…” 

“Ah, yes!” Eddie piqued with interest. “The messers become the messees!” 

-

“You sure you kids are alright?” Shrugging on his utility jacket for the night, the aging lines of Wayne Munson’s forehead scrunched with suspicion for the nightly activity his nephew and his supposed “friend” were going to be up to. 

Sure, the sight of you over at his trailer wasn’t something peculiar, in fact, for the past months, you, in particular, were the only one of Eddie’s buddies who made a regular appearance to their humble abode. Why? Well that was a question that still went unanswered whenever Wayne tried to prod into the life of his nephew. But the way Eddie would blush, while simultaneously attempting to quickly change the subject, made Wayne’s throat tickle with a chuckle. 

Who the hell were you two fooling?

But now, with much concern from Wayne, it seemed as though Eddie’s oddities had begun rubbing off on you, as you both strangely huddled around the yellow home phone, clearly waiting for the second Wayne would close the door behind, as he left for the graveyard shift. 

Attempting to “casually” lean against the paneling of the wall, Eddie’s head was quick to snap up and down in return. “Yeah, yeah.” He rushed. “Better get goin’, don’t wanna be late for the bosses.” He threw an overcompensating smile, as you sat at the kitchen table, merely following suit to that of your “friend.” Wayne Munson couldn’t care less about the bosses. 

“Alright then.” The old man huffed, picking up the keys of his pick-up truck, letting the humid spring breeze waft through the front door. “Get ‘er some dinner if you’re makin’ ‘er stay late.”

“As always.” Eddie threw you a sly wink, as Wayne left with a quick exchange of goodbye thrown from both parties, until the front door finally closed. 

At the click, you sprung from your chair, snatching the phone out of the receiver to hand to Eddie, to which he happily grabbed with a maniacal snicker. “You sure she’s over at Steve’s?” 

Your fingers were fervent with the harsh press to the buttons, dialing the numbers to phone the Harrington residence. “Uh huh, something about watching Fast Times with Robin.” The second your finger pressed down on the last digit, you were quick to maneuver the phone against Eddie’s ear. “Okay, just stick to the script.”

Eddie scoffed, flipping his hair back. “Sweetheart, please, I was able to get you, I sure as hell can get Robin.” Your hand met his chest with a chastising slap. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughed. 

Up the road, on the secluded sector of Cornwallis Street, Robin Buckley was anxiously plowing through a bowl of popcorn, as the fifty-second minute was fastly approaching, and suddenly Phoebe Cates was climbing out of the pool with the detrimental ambience of teenage horniness. 

“Here it comes, here it comes!” Steve snickered, as he absentmindedly chewed on a licorice piece. 

Robin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “God, Steve, you don’t have to point out the obvious!” But after forcing her friend to endure two hours and thirty-four minutes of the satirical musical critique of institutional religion that was The Ruling Class, Steve decided to return the torture by subjection of… boobies. 

“What I’m point out is the fact that Vickie lived through this exact moment, meaning she was staring at boobies, meaning-”

“Don’t say it!”

“Vickie likes boobies!” Steve implored, the largest grin on his face, as he watched Robin slap her hands onto her face at a brutal attempt to shield herself from the mortifying experience that was having Steve Harrington as a friend. 

But, in slow motion, as Phoebe Cates’ fingers clutched onto the center hook of her bikini bra, the phone shrilled, allowing Robin to exhale a “thank god,” as Steve’s attention begrudgingly turned to the incoming call. 

Swiftly jumping to the end table, Steve picked up the brick phone. “Yeah, hello?” He spoke, munching on another rope of his candy, surely missing the quick glances Robin was making back at the TV. Steve’s brows piqued at the static voice. “Oh! Yeah, she’s right here!” Turning to Robin, his hand cupped over the speaker, as he giddily shoved the phone to her. “It’s Eddie, he’s probably gonna cave in.” He whispered. 

Rolling her eyes, Robin cleared her throat from any stray popcorn kernel, ready to end this once and for all. “Hello?” 

Back at Forest Hills, your toes pressed against the linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor to push yourself up to his height, smushing your ear against the other side of the phone, as mischievous smiles consumed both your faces. “Hello, Robin… I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day.” Eddie channeled his most suave voice, forcing you to bite back a laugh, suppressing your mouth into his shoulder. 

“Huh?!” Devious as ever, both you and Eddie almost broke at her considerable shock. 

Steve raised a questioning brow, attempting to scoot closer, only for Robin to preserve her personal bubble and shove him back. Much to his nosey dismay. “Well, y’know that thing you said before, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Eddie teased, as you nodded your head along to show your proudness for your boyfriend flirting with your friend. 

Yeah, things in Hawkins, Indiana surely were weird. 

“R-Really?” Robin choked, as the popcorn in her stomach suddenly turned at the uneasiness of male attention. Gross. 

Ever the villain, Eddie smiled triumphantly. “Yeah, listen my uncle isn’t gonna be here tonight, so why don’t you come over, and I’ll let you, uh, feel my bicep… or maybe more.” You quietly chuckled. God, what a cute loser.

Robin grimaced, stuttering with concern. “Uh, you know, I-I’ll have to get b-back to you on that, uh, okay, bye!” She was quick to hang up the phone, while you and Eddie intimately celebrated in the lonesome of his kitchen with silly squeals and tiny jumps. “Oh, my god! He wants me to come over to feel his bicep and more!” 

Steve Harrington was left speechless at Robin’s panicked announcement, as his mouth hung wide. “Are you kidding?!”

“No!” She gagged. “I know what I heard!” 

Steve felt incredulously at the scumminess of his friend. “I cannot believe he would do that to… wait a second.” His brows furrowed. Eddie Munson nearly launched at the chance to shut down any ideas of Steve dating you, why on Earth would he suddenly- oh, shit. “They know!”

“What?!” 

“They know that we know!” Steve clarified, as the gears in Robin’s head turned, until her face was enlightened with the fact of the matter which was that her best friend was trying to deceive her right back!

She gasped. “I can’t believe those two!” Instantaneously, any reservations Robin initially had for Steve and Dustin’s plan had left, as all she felt was dramatic offense at the idea of trying to be demeaned. 

“They thought that they could mess with us?!” Steve proclaimed.

“They’re trying to mess with us?!” In disbelief, both friends chuckled with bewilderment at the unexpected slyness coming from you two. That was, until Robin Buckley schemed with realization. “They don’t know we know they know we know!” 

Steve’s face scrunched with confusion, though nonetheless a team player, he nodded along, giggling at Robin’s wicked implication. Suddenly, a call to the Henderson household was in need. 

Dustin Henderson’s calves burned under the rigorous strain of bike riding from the northern end of Cornwallis street to reach Steve’s house. Haphazardly disposing his bicycle in the driveway, Dustin had barged in with no warning, coming face-to-face with Robin Buckley, resident polyglot band geek, wearing Mrs. Harrington’s blue cocktail dress, as Steve Harrington, retired king of Hawkins High, played makeup artist with his mother’s newly bought red lipstick in hand. 

It was undeniable at this point, Hawkins, Indiana was most definitely weird. 

“Would you just quit moving, so I can put this on you?!” The vein on Steve’s forehead became pronounced under the immense pressure he felt. Being a makeup artist surely wasn’t easy, especially when your client was nagging about the intense blush placement of his work. 

“Enough with the makeup, it’s Eddie for Christ sake!” Robin complained, enduring the endeavor of trying to shove Mrs. Harrington’s shoes onto her feet. God, why was the woman’s shoe size so small?!

“Really Steve?!” Robin and Steve jumped at the intruding voice of Dustin, as the kid stood with his hands on his hips, imitating the signature pose of the man before him. “That’s totally not her color, you’re making her look like a clown!”

Both parties scoffed, rightfully offended. 

Robin pushed Steve away, rubbing her cheeks harshly to blend out the monstrosity that was Steve’s makeup skills. “Okay, this is plenty!” She stressed. “We’re gonna call him, we’re gonna get that date, and we’re gonna win!” 

The boys cheered, Dustin more so heavily appreciative of this new Buckley mentality, as they circled around her when she reached for the phone. “Mm! You better grab a spring roll before I eat ‘em all.” Eddie’s crowded mouth of mashed vegetables spoke. Chinese had been delivered in the wake of your celebration, congratulating both of you for your—mostly Eddie—duplicitously clever work. 

In the midst of diving into your tangled lo mein, the phone shrilled, which had Eddie springing from the couch. “Probably calling back to surrender!” You cheered, as Eddie snickered, sliding his socked feet into the kitchen. “Good job on creeping her out, babe!” 

Eddie bowed, accepting whatever weird kind of praise that was, before answering the phone with a muffled mouth of spring rolls. “Hello?”

“Be sexy.” Steve encouraged, eliciting a scoff from Robin, as she turned her focus onto the phone call. 

“Hi!” Both terribly displeased with her lack of commitment, Robin was met with strict glares from Dustin and Steve to amp it up… so, she did. Clearing her throat, she dropped an octave to obtain the sultriness of what she could only assume Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond to sound like. “Uh, I mean, hey, you.” Robin Buckley wanted to puke. “So, Eddie, I’d love to come over tonight.”

A piece of pork was hacked from Eddie’s throat, as he choked on his food. “R-Really?!”

Watching his face drop, you stood with concern wondering what was going on on the other line. “Oh, absolutely. Should we say around nine?” Eddie checked his clock. In fifteen fucking minutes?! 

But Eddie Munson wasn’t going to back down. Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master of the great Hellfire, who’s pushed his men to prevail against the nefarious dark lords of villages and towns alike, was not going to be defeated by Trumpet Girl. The man glared his eyes. “Yes.” He tested. 

Robin Buckley accepted his challenge. “Good.” She smiled, as she watched Steve motion for her to crank it up a notch. “Uh, I’m really looking forward to you and I h-having sexual intercourse.” The phone hung up and flung from her hands the second the words left her mouth. 

Eddie Munson’s face dropped. Dustin Henderson gagged. Steve Harrington laughed. And Robin Buckley wanted to crawl into a hole to forever perish in the depths of torturous hell. 

Because that’s what it felt like to flirt with a man. 

-

“Okay, showtime!” Dustin applauded from the backseat of Steve’s car, where Robin scrambled to effortlessly scrunch her hair around. 

“Here’s the perfume.” Steve pushed down the nozzle of the stolen fragrance of his mother’s collection—thanking god for the moment that she wasn’t here—where his finger spritzed numerous doses against Robin, causing the car to invade with the nauseating scent of strong, overpowering flowers. 

Robin coughed. “Alright, quit it! The kid has allergies.”

“I have allergies!” Dustin sneezed. 

Steve huffed in annoyance, watching as Robin unbuckled from her seat. The beaming headlights that had once reflected off the vinyl-covered walls of the trailer had been switched off for stake-out purposes, as Steve’s car parked in the open area of the Munson home in the quiet night. 

“Hand over the wine, Henderson.” Buckled next to the seat of Dustin’s—for protective measures—a bottle of his parent's stolen chardonnay rested like a passenger on board; Steve’s, ever the romantic, suggestion for the authenticity of a real date. 

“Is this really necessary?” Robin truly had no room to talk, she most definitely hadn’t experienced the polarizing events of the dating scene, let alone ones of heterosexual realms (thankfully).  

Scoffing, Steve was galled by the dig at his—for once—knowledgeable expertise of life phenomena. “Are you kidding, chicks go for this shit.” Surely, Bridget, Heidi, Linda, and Jeanie can attest to his opinion. 

“Yeah, well, Munson’s definitely not a chick… unfortunately.” She mumbled. 

“Huh?” Dustin asked. 

Robin was quick to shut up in a panic. “Nothing!” 

“Look, just get in there, and do your thing, alright?” Whatever attempt at a pep talk this was from Steve Harrington devastatingly fell short, as the last thing Robin Buckley expected to do on her Tuesday night was go out on a date with a man, who so happened to be her best friend’s boyfriend. Thing?! What thing?! She couldn’t even stare her crush in the eye for Christ sake, Steven! Robin Buckley has no thing! And Eddie Munson unfortunately does- the repulsing (to her) kinda thing that Robin Buckley doesn’t even like! She huffed. “Just take it easy. The second Munson lets you in, we’ll sneak up to the door, and hear through there.” 

On the edge of his bed, Eddie Munson let your hands wander about, until his appearance was up to your liking; voluminous hair, controlled friz, straightened shirt, and a bottle of minty mouth spray that he coughed at, but necessary for the prevention of spring roll breath. “Okay, you’re gonna be great!” You motivated him with the words of encouragement, as you brushed away his stray hairs. “You just make her think you want to have sex with her, and it’ll totally freak her out.”

Eddie straightened up, shaking his body from any jitters, and stretching as if a marathon was in place. “Okay, so how far am I exactly supposed to go with her?” His face etched with concern. 

You waved him off. “Relax, alright, she’s gonna give in way before you do!” If there was anything you learned about Robin Buckley in your months of friendship, it was the blatantly obvious fact that she would shrivel up in awkwardness before anything further took place. 

Eddie Munson freaked at your sudden certainty. “How do you even know?!”

“Because you’re on my team!” You stressed. “And my team always wins!” 

His face scrunched with fret. “At this?!”

Tentative knocking against the front door pulled you both away from the conversation. It was game time. “Eddie,” his head whipped back to you, “you’re the Dungeon Master, okay? This, this is nothing in comparison to dark lord wizard thingies.” God, he knew for certain you didn’t fully understand his interest in Dungeons and Dragon, but the time you took to support him was making his heart beat faster than any fake date with your best friend could ever make him feel. 

You make him feel such incredible things. 

“You’re the master here, you’re in control, you got this!” Jesus Christ, the corny shit your competitiveness was making you say was too fucking cute. “Just go get some!” You finished him with a quick kiss that had him yearning for more, but your body quickly scurried away to the bathroom. 

Eddie Munson sighed. Cracking his neck, he rolling his shoulder. “I’m the Dungeon Master. I’m in control.”

Steve clutched a heavy hand on his steering wheel, as both him and Dustin peered through the windows. “Okay, just wait for it… wait for it… wait- get down!” The boys dropped their heads the second Eddie’s front door opened with a dramatic swing. 

And there she was. Eddie cocked an eyebrow for whatever reason it was Robin Buckley chose to show up overly dressed like a middle-aged woman, and with an awkward smile to taint her image. But Eddie Munson was right there to follow suit with a strange grin to greet her. 

“Robin.”

“Eddie.”

“Come on in.”

“I was going to.” 

As the trailer door closed shut, Steve and Dustin silently crawled their way out of the car with their utmost quietest attempts of closing the doors shut behind them. With crouched stances like detectives on duty, the pair scampered their way to the top of Eddie’s cemented stairs, where their heads pressed against the front door to hear the muffled conversation from the other side. 

“I, uh, brought some wine.” Robin held up the bottle, as Eddie was slightly taken aback. What the hell kinda teenager brings wine to a date? Probably the kind who’s a lesbian, and going out with her best friend’s boyfriend out of competition. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Making their way to the kitchen, Eddie secured two cups, as Robin popped off the protruding cork top, and suddenly she felt entirely even more stupid than the fact that she was on a “date” with a man, when Eddie proffered matching Garfield and Odie mugs for glasses of chardonnay. 

The dreadful silence began to take over, and Eddie could only manage to fill it with thorny chuckles, as Robin filled the mugs. “So, uh,” she sighed, “here we are. Nervous?”

“Me? No. You?” He skeptically questioned.  

But Robin Buckley was there to provoke him. “No, I want this to happen.” 

“So do I.” Eddie cleared his throat, before their glasses clicked with a toast, and Robin and Eddie found themselves chugging down the mug-fulls of alcohol to hopefully forget the disturbing night they were about to endure. When cups fell empty, Eddie sighed and turned to the radio that rested atop of the washing machine. “Why don’t I, uh, play some music; set the mood a little.”

Call her inexperience, whatever, but Robin knew there was no way in hell the screeching voices of Slayer attested to “setting the mood” during date night. God, she felt bad for you- for straight women. “Maybe-maybe I’ll, uh, dance for you.” She dared right back. 

Where Robin could judge Eddie on his music taste, Eddie could return the favor in her lack of mobility, as her body began clumsily swaying about in his kitchen, off rhythm to the already undanceable sounds to thrashing metal. Her contorting ankles in kitten heels paired with her jutting hips allowed her to mortifyingly saunter her way over to an uncomfortable Eddie, who was wielding the willpower to not bark a laugh in her face. 

But Robin Buckley was not going to win this. Not when Eddie Munson’s pride stood in the way. “Mm, you look good.” He spoke so stiffly, as he defied back with a taunting grin. 

“Why, thank you.” She forced out a laugh. “Y-You know, when you say things l-like that, it makes me wanna, um, rip that… Weird Al t-shirt right off.” Jesus Christ, Dustin made him get matching ones. 

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “well, uh, why don’t we move this to the bedroom then?” His brows pointed, eyes glared. 

Robin immediately stopped her bizarre dancing. “Really?” Her panic settled in. 

“Oh!” Eddie quickly stepped back with an impeding smile. “Do you not want to?” He urged. 

“No, no.” Robin composed herself, waving him off with faux confidence. “I just, um, you know, first, I wanna t-take off all my clothes, and have you r-rub lotion all over me.” Is that what straight people do before sex?!

Eddie’s throat constricted with little air, and a tightening hand of embarrassment. “Well, that would be nice.” His voice raised a cracking octave. “I’ll, uh, go get the lotion.” Before Robin could respond, Eddie was already running away to the bathroom. Your gnawing teeth had bitten through your nail when Eddie came bustling through the door. “Okay, this is totally getting out of hand.”  He fretfully groused, as he crowded your area in the small room. “She wants me to put lotion on her!” Eddie dramatically snarled. 

You rebuffed his dread. “She’s bluffing!”

Eddie huffed. “Look, she’s not backing down. Jesus, shit, she went like this!” He suddenly gyrated his stiff hips harshly against you to mimic her dancing. 

A couple feet away at the front door of Eddie’s trailer, Robin was in consternation, frantically rambling to Steve and Dustin. “He is not backing down! He went to get lotion!”

“You aren’t done yet?” Dustin heaved. “You’re supposed to be on my team, he should be cracking right now!” 

Her angry finger flicked against his forehead, despite his insistent cries of pain. “This is all your fault to begin with!”

“Okay, will everybody just calm down for a second?” Steve hushed, where his hands found the relaxing perch against his hips, as if his motherly duties were calling. “Think of it this way, the sooner you get Eddie to break, the sooner this can all be over with.”

“Ooh, I like that.” Robin nodded along. 

“Just amp the flirting, alright?” Steve coached. “Look, it took him weeks to actually approach a girl at the bar, he used to get totally flustered whenever he’d play wingman for me. How the hell managed to get Y/N? I don’t know, but all I do know is that just like you, Eddie Munson is a total dud when it comes to flirting.”

Her mouth fell agape at the insult that stung too much from the utter reality of the statement. It didn’t make her feel any better when Dustin shoved that patronizing look in her face. “Yeah, Robin, sweetie, you are not doing a good job right now.”

“How would you know? You’re fourteen!” She bellowed. 

“And yet, which one of us is in a loving, committed relationship?” The kid snided.

Steve shushed Dustin away before a catfight could break out on the doorstep of Eddie’s home. “Look, you got this. Just make Munson uncomfortable! You’re a girl, you got this!”

“He’s a boy, he makes me uncomfortable!” She spat. 

Ransacking his bathroom cabinets for a bottle of lotion, you hastily shoved the bottle into his grasp, and clutched onto his shoulders. “You go back in there, and you seduce her till she cracks!” Never in a million years did you think you’d encourage your boyfriend to do that. Though with this much commitment, he should really get you into Dungeons and Dragons.

“Okay, just give me a second.” He took a deep breath for composure, just as he got a good glimpse of his bathroom. “Did you clean up in here?!” Your eyes rolled, before grappling onto the doorknob, and pushing Eddie out of the bathroom. He slowly approached the kitchen, where his nervousness eased at the sight of Robin at the door. “Oh, you’re, uh… you’re going!” He smiled.

Steve Harrington's voice replayed in her head, and Robin cleared her throat to pull out the sultry crisp she was needing to flirt. “Um, not without you, lover.”

Eddie flashed her a tight-lipped smile, as he released a big sigh. “Well, uh, come here.” He beckoned. “I’m very happy we’re gonna have all the sex.” 

Robin ignored the disgust in her belly to test him. “Y-You should be.” She smirked. “I’m very bendy.” Eddie’s eyebrows pulled with fright, as she stepped closer. “I’m going to k-kiss you now.”

And Eddie bothered her right back. “Not if I, um, kiss you first!” With a foot apart, Robin Buckley made her first move on a man, as her stiff hand latched uncomfortably to Eddie’s waist. Devastatingly following in line, Eddie’s fingertips barely grazed her skin, as they lightly rested onto her shoulder, neither party urging anyone to come closer. “Well, I-I guess there’s nothing left for us to do than to kiss.”

“Here it comes.” With rigid lips tucked inward, and tense bodies hesitantly pulling together, Eddie Munson genuinely began to realize how much of a idiotic idea all this was. A nauseating feeling struck him, as he understood what a lousy world it’d be to live in if he had to continue to disguise his feelings for you. I mean, going on a date with your best friend? This is the lengths he’s going to to hide something so perfect? And Robin. For the love of god, if picturing Joan Jett over Eddie’s face was needed to make this experience slightly less miserable, then, yeah, maybe this plan was stupid all along. 

“Okay, okay, okay! Fine, you win!” Eddie pulled away, as Robin’s face astounded. “I will not have sex with you!” He huffed with exhaustion. 

“And why not?” Robin smiled, as the victory was coming her way.

“Because I’m in love with Y/N!” 

“You’re-you’re what?” The front door jolted open, as Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson hurdled their way in, but Eddie took no notice of the peculiarity in that. Not when he heard the bathroom door open behind him. 

“Love her!” He proclaimed at the top of lungs. “That’s right! I love her!” Eddie pointed to you, as you made your way closer. “I love her! I’m in love with her!” And suddenly, the reality of you actually standing in front of him hit him, and Eddie realized the weight of what he just admitted to you… and his friends. Eddie took a deep breath, as he solemnly stared down at you, and in an instant, he felt his body calm at the sight of your smile. “I love you, Y/N.” 

His hands took solace against your warm cheeks, where you stared up at with adoration in your eyes. “I love you, Eddie.” Your arms circled around his neck, as his desperate hands clung to your shirt to pull you into an intoxicating kiss that had you both mewling with tenderness. This was it. Eddie Munson knew love.

That was until Robin spoke. “Oh, my god, you guys! We thought you were just doing it, we didn’t know you were in love!” She gushed. 

Steve shyly smiled from the back. “Dude!” He effused. 

“Aha!” And then there was Dustin Henderson. “I told you! I told all of you! And none of you wanted to believe me! I was right and you were wrong!” He pompously smiled, before turning to you and Eddie. “By the way, I was the first to know! I’ve been knowing for a week after you freaks forced me to lose my dice!” 

Eddie chuckled, as his hands stayed secured around you. “Actually, Dustin, Max was kinda the first to know. She found out four months ago, when she caught Y/N leaving my place at night.” He admitted. “Been blackmailed ever since; spent $20 on some damn heart-shaped sunglasses.” 

“Are you kidding me!” Dustin felt gobsmacked, betrayed and abandoned, like those damn Fritos. 

“Hey, but, uh, hats off to you, Robin.” Eddie smiled, offering a hand of congratulation. “Quite the competitor.” And she shook it proudly, another notch in whatever weird belt this was. 

“I still can’t believe you never told me.” Dustin gasped. “I mean, seriously, Max out of all people.” Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson’s voices eventually faded into the background, as you managed to slip away from your boyfriend’s grasp to hold onto the hand of your best friend, while you whisked her away to the quiet corner of the living room. 

“Hey, so I just wanted to apologize to you real quick.” You softly smiled at Robin. “I mean, going through all this just because I kept this from you,” you sighed, “I’m just really sorry you were forced to date my boyfriend.” 

Robin laughed, as she squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry you’re forced to date him everyday.” She joked. “No, but seriously, you don’t have to apologize at all.” Her throat began to sting with the heftiness of her feelings, but she felt the warmth of fingers against hers, and Robin Buckley took her deep breath. “I understand why you did it- why you felt the need to hide.” 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She tearfully smiled. “I feel the same way, just a little different. I just, um, I know what it’s like to want to keep something to yourself, because having to come out as something you know the world isn’t going to love is scary. It’s really scary, Y/N.” Her hand tightened, as her voice cracked. 

But in true Buckley style, that beautiful smile never left her face, as she told you her biggest fear. But what a shame it was that the world made her biggest fear her truest self. Your arms wrapped around her in a suffocating hug, where she let out a shaky sigh against your shoulder. “Robin,” you whispered into her hair, “I love you.” You implored. “Eddie does. Steve does. I hope you know that this town isn't worth being scared of.” You felt her shudder against you, as your hand soothed down her back. “Not when you’re so goddamn perfect.” Robin laughed, as she pulled away, clearing her eyes from any unspilled tears that threatened to stain her cheeks. “I know it’s easier said than done, but genuinely, don't waste your perfect self on what the world wants.” She digested your words, flashing you a thankful grin, as she steady to jumping nerves. “I mean, take it from the man himself, your date tonight, who’s univocally himself.”

You both turned to the kitchen, where Steve and Eddie had Dustin pinned, with a spring roll in hand, trying to shove it down the defiant kid’s mouth. “Jesus, I really am sorry you have to date him.” 

You both laughed, as you watched the commotion take place. And you looked at Eddie Munson, how effortlessly beautiful he was, and how comfortable those around him came to be in his accepting presence. “He’s not too bad.” You smiled. “Now, c’mon, we have Chinese and chardonnay to celebrate!” 

Finally letting the child go, Steve snagged the spring roll with a monumental bite of pleasure, before closely crowding into Eddie’s bubble. “No, but seriously, dude, how the hell did you do it?” Steve Harrington pointed to you, as Eddie Munson smiled.

[radicalreliablerandomness]

Podcast Rec Masterpost

I've been asked a couple times for podcast recommendations so I thought I'd post a compilation of some shows and a bit of info about them. Most shows I talk about are tagged below (I ran out of tags) so you can look through fan content as well if you're not one to care about spoilers. My asks are still open for personalized recs if you send me some others that you've listened to just because I love you, yes that's right! You. The person reading this right now!

Here goes!

Dungeons And Daddies *not a BDSM podcast

This show is a dnd actual play podcast. The first season is about four dads from our world lost in the Forgotten Realms in search of their lost sons. It’s a comedy but as with all comedies, you will cry by the end of it. It's super easy to get into with great chemistry between all the cast players and the dm, no prior knowledge of dnd is necessary. They do invoke slight horror sometimes so do keep an eye out for content warnings. Season 1 has 68.5 episodes along with bonus content and a mini campaign in between seasons 1 and 2. Season 2 is currently ongoing. Transcripts available.

The Bright Sessions

This is a science fiction podcast. The premise is a collection of clinical recordings of superpowered people's therapy sessions. The plot gets more interesting and convoluted as you get further in. Incredible voice acting filled with emotion. Does have some heavier discussions so be on the lookout for content warnings. It has 7 seasons (the last two are technically not part of the first five seasons' plot) and is completed. Transcripts available.

Hello From the Hallowoods

A post-apocalyptic fiction podcast. A beautifully written and preformed podcast that explores identity, religion, and other themes in vignettes throughout this haunted world narrated by an omniscient being. Some heavier topics are included so check the content warning before each episode. Seasons 1 and 2 are completed and season 3 will be done soon. Transcripts available.

The Magnus Archives

A horror fiction podcast. A well written chronological story told through anthology which seem to be tape recordings from a paranormal investigation institute. Incredible writing and actors that really bring it to life. This is horror so make sure to check the content warnings. The show is completed at 5 seasons. Transcripts available.

Neighbourly

Another horror fiction podcast! An interesting look into all the houses on Little Street and their peculiarities. Some more peculiar than others. The podcast is absolutely delightful with a horribly fun narrator. I would suggest checking the content warnings as some episodes are more intense than others. The show has 2 completed seasons. Transcripts available.

The Fall of the House of Sunshine

A musical mystery fiction podcast. The first season is about an investigation on the murder of a beloved host of a children's tooth-themed show. That's all I can say without spoilers. There are 3 incredible seasons along with short stories in between each season. Transcripts available until halfway through season 2.

Welcome to Nightvale

Possibly the most well known science fiction podcast, it really speaks for itself but I'll do my spiel anyways. Recorded as snippets of a daily radio broadcast, the show details the weird goings on in this strange desert town of Nightvale. Narrated almost completely by the radio host's smooth voice. It's ongoing and is currently sitting at 233 episodes. Transcripts available.

The Two Princes

A fictional queer romance podcast. It takes place in that special part of fiction that always starts with "once upon a time," it feels like a story book almost. The show is based around two boys meeting in the woods. Spoiler alert: they fall in love. It's just a cute feel good show. The podcast is complete at 3 seasons. Spotify auto-generated transcripts available.

What's the Frequency?

A self described psychedelic noir podcast. It's an absolute blast even if it is a bit hard to follow. Takes place in the 1940s in LA when all radio broadcasts were turned to static. You kind of just have to go with it until you get to the end. Completed at 12 episodes. Transcripts available.

Story Break

A writer's room podcast. The basic concept behind Story Break is 3 Hollywood writers in a room together take a prompt and try to make a story for it in an hour. There are many laughs in this podcast and just all around good humor and vibes. The show is complete at 169 episodes plus two full movie scripts. No transcript.

Who Killed Avril Lavigne

A science fiction podcast. It's about a time traveling pop punk loser and that's all you need to know. It's a podmusical so you'll be getting great nostalgic pop punk type songs along with crying from laughing so hard. Completed at 8 episodes. No transcript.

The Behemoth

A fiction podcast. Based around an unexplainable creature emerging from the ocean and how the world, and one girl in particular, deal with this phenomenon. It is pretty short with the longest episode being about 12 minutes. Completed at 20 episodes. No transcript.

Rude Tales of Magic

A dnd actual play podcast. It is mainly focused on the actual roleplay and story telling as opposed to the actual play. A handful of college students from Polaris University fuck the world up by completing a hazing ritual which in this case is a supposedly demon summoning. Obviously now they need to fix the world. Currently 64 episodes and ongoing. No transcript.

Midnight Burger

A very well written fiction podcast. It’s about a time/space traveling diner where the employees try to help solve a problem every place they land. Think Doctor Who adjacent vibes but with more drama. There is an overarching plot that comes together so look out for that. It has incredible characters that are really nicely fleshed out. You’ll somehow like and hate all of them as much as possible in the best way. Currently has 29 episodes of the main feed and a 9 episode mini-series. Transcript available.

Monstrous Agonies

A fiction podcast. It’s an radio advice segment on a station for “liminal Britain” aka the monstrous world to put it plainly. It’s really chill and comforting. There’s very good advice there and the intermittent ad reads will have you giggling to yourself. Episodes are on the shorter side, averaging about 15 minutes each. It does have some heavier discussions so make sure to check the content warnings. The show is completed at 111 episodes through 3 seasons. Transcripts available.

Desert Skies

A fiction podcast. The voice acting in this one is incredible, it’s the same person the whole time. The show as a whole is also just super well done. The premise is that when you die you show up on a highway and get to this astral pit stop. I’m not going to spoil it anymore you just have to experience it. There is an additional show, Desert Skies FM that's a buddy to this one. I recommend listening to both. Season 1 was completed at 12 episodes. Transcripts available.

Wooden Overcoats

A sitcom dramedy podcast. The show is about two siblings that run a funeral home on an island. It used to be the only one, it isn’t anymore. It has a wacky cast of characters and even wackier plot points. The dialogue can be a little hard to get used to at the beginning but once you get into it it flows easily. The show is completed at 4 seasons. Transcripts available.

Greater Boston

An audio drama podcast. It's set in Boston if you couldn't tell from the title and starts with the death of a man on a rollercoaster. It blends real life with some subtle (and at times not-so-subtle) fantasy elements. It's currently at 4 completed seasons. Transcript available.

Gay Future

A science fiction podcast. In a world where everyone is gay in the future we focus on this one straight kid. Following his journey to destroy the government who are making everyone gay. This is a satire by the way. 1 season completed at 6 episodes. No transcripts.

Death by Dying

A dark comedy podcast. The show follows an obituary writer while he does things that are totally under the jurisdiction of his job. A well written and preformed show. There are a lot of laughs and obviously some heartbreaks as well. Currently 1 completed season with season 2 sitting at 2 episodes for a bit now. Transcript available.

Not Another D&D Podcast

An actual play dnd podcast. This one's more mainstream than my other podcasts so I don't talk about it as much but that doesn't mean it's not incredible. The first campaign is about 3 adventurers off to save the world. Obviously. It can be a bit slow in the beginning but anything past the second half of the first season is incredible. There's humor, drama, love, and much more. The DM is also just incredible. 1 completed season, a couple mini campaigns, and the second season is currently at 43 episodes. No transcripts.

Forgive Me!

A fiction podcast. It starts based around vignettes of confessionals in this small town taken by a new father in the local church. An overarching plot is present but it's generally a feel good, sweet and simple show. They have 2 complete seasons with season 3 currently at 9 episodes. Transcripts available.

Real Housewives of D&D

An actual play dnd podcast. This show is based around the concept of a "Real Housewives..." type show but you don't need to know anything about those to listen to this. It's about 4 reality TV stars thrown into a magical fantasy world with no knowledge of how to get home. There's drama, excitement, danger, and lots more. The first season was just completed at 16 episodes. Transcripts available.

The Silt Verses

A horror fiction podcast. Two people who worship a banned god travel together up a river in a pilgrimage. There is incredible worldbuilding in this show along with acting and sound design. This is horror and a very good one at that so make sure you check content warnings. Season 1 and 2 are completed and season 3 is at 2 episodes so far. Transcripts available.

The Land Whale Murders

A comedy fiction podcast. It takes place in the year 1899 and is about a pair of friends? maybe not, that metaphorically explore the world they're living in. It is a commentary on the world we live in and the problems in it through a hilarious and wacky cast. There are currently 17 episodes between both seasons 1 and 2. Transcripts available.

Elaine's Cooking for the Soul

A post-apocalyptic cooking podcast. The show is about a dentist who makes her way through the fallout of an apocalypse while also making a cooking podcast. It does have depictions of violence, war, and dentistry so check out the content warnings. There are 2 completed seasons. No transcripts.

Fawx and Stallion

A mystery podcast. If you hate Sherlock Holmes you'll love this podcast. Also if you love Sherlock Holmes you'll love this podcast. It's based around the detectives who live across the street from Holmes at 224B Baker street. It's pretty goofy. Season 1 is completed. Transcripts available.

The Amelia Project

A fiction podcast. Follow the shenanigans of this death-faking organization as they take in new clients and hear their stories. It does develop an actual overarching plot later on but every second is fun. Seasons 1-4 have been completed and season 5 is in progress. Transcripts available.

A Voice From Darkness

A horror podcast. It's centered around a radio show hosted by Dr. Malcolm Ryder, Parapsychologist. He helps people who call into his show with supernatural problems, gives PSAs and warnings about strange happenings, and more. Season 1 is completed and season 2 is at 9 episodes. Transcripts available.

Station Arcadia

A dystopian fiction podcast. Formatted through a radio show, it tells the story of a world that's slowly dying. There are vignettes of different characters through different areas of the world. Season 1 is completed at 25 episodes. Transcripts available.

Margaret's Garden

A science fiction podcast. It has two plots running at the same time which keeps you on your toes but makes for an intriguing story line. In one plot line, two agents are sent to investigate the strange happenings of a weird little long abandoned town. Simultaneously, we hear from the past of that town as it catches up to the agents. Completed at 10 episodes. Transcripts available.

Camp Here & There

A horror comedy podcast. It's recorded as a set of daily announcements over a loudspeaker at a totally normal summer camp. The announcements are made by the camp nurse and he's also totally normal. I promise. Make sure to check in with the content warnings as some topics are a little mature or graphic. There are currently 34 episodes. Transcripts available.

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye

A companion horror podcast. This is actually a bit meta because it is the result of a youtube series. This show is the one the podcast hosts in the series release, it's definitely worth both the watch and the listen though. It's got werewolves and drama. Completed at 10 episodes of video and 10 of the podcast. No transcripts.

I am in Eskew

A horror podcast. It's about a man who's trapped in a city where the buildings always change and the rain never stops. There's a weird monotonous creeping horror in this show that just draws you in. Check for content warnings definitely. Completed at 30 episodes. Transcripts available.

Traveling Light

A comfy cozy fiction podcast. It follows The Traveller on their exploration through space, visiting alien planets and collecting stories to send back to their community. For supporters of the show, it almost functions as a choose-your-own-adventure with choices to vote on and listener submissions. It's made by the same people as Monstrous Agonies so if you enjoyed that, you'd enjoy this and vice versa. There are currently 16 episodes. Transcripts available.

Not yet described but still recommended:

Eeler’s Choice

The Secret of St Kilda

The Endless Ocean

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio

The Sword & The Stoner

World Gone Wrong: a fictional chat show about friendship at the end of the world

[stardustpr1ncess]

Bonzle is 100% without a shadow of a doubt a trans allegory. People have been trying their best to say Sora isn't transcoded, but Bonzle is 2 scenes away from looking at the camera and saying "Hello. I'm a trans allegory." I shall now go into detail on every piece of evidence for this claim because fuck you.

EPISODE 5: Bonzle is afraid of how her found family will react to learning she's a spell (trans) and worries she will be rejected because of it. Easy parallel to trans people being afraid of revealing they're trans post transition. There's also her conversation with Bitch Boy Master Wu, with her saying she feels great loneliness, and only after gaining a physical form (transitioning) she feels happy and her true self. Very common trans experience. Gonna also put all of the quotes for my evidence as well since I know there's transphobes (filth) that like Ninjago and will be scrambling to deny it when people start coming to this conclusion too.

"Bonzle: I-- I was afraid of what you'd think if you knew about my past... Wu: It's called loneliness... Bonzle: I feel like, for the first time ever, I've become who I was destined to be... Bonzle: I was afraid if you found out I wasn't a real person, you wouldn't want me to be in our family anymore."

EPISODE 6: Bonzle is apprehensive about meeting with Gandalaria, seeing as how she's only known Bonzle as a spell, aka pre transition. She worries if she will respect her identity, much like how actual trans people fear how their family, more specifically a parental figure, would react. Bit of a light episode but an important aspect, here's the quotes;

"Bonzle: The Sorceress. She only knows me as a spell. What if she doesn't believe in me as a real person?"

EPISODE 7: This episode is the sauce. Bonzle is reunited with Gandalaria and their conversation is nothing short of magical. Gandalaria immediately recognizes Bonzle, saying she was her greatest creation and had always hoped she'd come home, shattering Bonzle's fears. It's a fantastic contrast, showing how this interaction can go well for some people, while others get an interaction much more akin to Sora's parents. When she's informed of Bonzle's chosen name, Gandalaria immediately starts using it, saying it's a great name. However, for that juicy authenticity, Gandalaria accidentally says spell before quickly correcting herself saying Bonzle. IT'S LITERALLY SO FUCKING OBVIOUS BONZLE'S BONES MIGHT AS WELL BE BLUE PINK AND WHITE. Oh yeah, here's the paragraph of quotes;

"Gandalaria: It's you! My dearest! You've come home! Bonzle: You... You recognize me? Even in my boney physical form? Gandalaria: Oh, I would know your true essence anywhere. Bonzle: I was so afraid you wouldn't accept me for who I am now. Gandalaria Are you kidding? I put my heart, my soul into every spell I weave... The most complex spell I've ever woven, and the first of my creations to ever come back to me!.. Bonzle: I'm Bonzle. That's the name I chose when I became a person. Gandalaria: Well, that's a splendid name... If this Ras times it right, he could reverse the power spell-- uh, Bonzle here--."

EPISODE 9: This episodes importance comes from Jordana, who acts EXACTLY how transphobes do. She constantly calls her a spell (some sort of derogatory term), says she's playing person (like pretending to be a girl), and says she's helping her do what she was made for, like transphobes very creepy beliefs in reproduction. Literally you half expect Jordana to ask which bathroom Bonzle uses since she was a spell. THE QUOTES;

"Jordana: Settle down, spell. I don't know what you think you've been doing, playing person with your fake family, but I know your true purpose... You should thank us. We're helping you to do what you were created to do."

In conclusion the silly lego skeleton girl is one of them spooky transgenders. Lmk if there's anything I missed. Thank you for reading.

[lovelybrooke]

you have said wanting to write more of Ohshc, how do you think they would act when they are jealous ?

Like maybe Reader have some friend from middle school and they catch up like the ep with Haruhi i dont remember which one

Jealousy (Yandere OHSHC)

I really like this but I changed a few things from your original ask, sorry. This is inspired episode 6. Also don't mind the name, I just looked up a random name.

based on these headcanons

masterlist

---

"I want to learn how to charm (Y/N)! Please teach me!" 

It was a quiet day in the Music Room, at least before all this started happening. The Club period was over for today, the rest of the Hosts getting ready to leave before a random first year walked in. 

"I apologize, the Hosts are all done for today" Kyoya said without even looking up from his papers. "Please come back tomorrow if you would like to meet with one of them." 

"I don't want to meet with any of them." The voice was deep, deeper than most of the clientele. The voice caught the attention of the other Hosts, mainly the twins and Tamaki, who moved to see who exactly it was. Kyoya looked up from his paper, peering at the person in question.

Kida Yutaka. He was a first year in your class, including your art elective. His father owned a tech company, partnering with schools all over the world to provide computers, as well as making popular phones. Kida wasn't known for being particularly popular, in fact some would even say he was shy, evident by the way he was shaking while speaking. So it's surprising to see him so bold at this moment. 

Tamaki was immediately fuming, rushing up to Kida, causing him to back away in shock. "Who are you?! What do you mean to (Y/n)!?" Kida was clearly shocked by the Host's behavior, seeing him react so badly to something so simply puzzled him. 

"I-I see (Y/n) come here often--I assume you know what they like..." Kida moves away from the blond, who is seething, backing into the twins in the process. "What--" 

"Aww, you look nervous~" They say in unison as Kida spins around. "You must really like them~" They say again, watching Kida's face heat up. 

Kida was obviously getting fed up with these Hosts, pushing past the twins and moving further into the room. "Okay look, I don't--It's just--look all I want to do Is--" 

"Mori--what's going on?" Kida jumps at the sound of another boy, Honey-Senpai, who looked clearly very tired. He was standing near a much larger boy rubbing his eyes. Mori's gaze was locked on Kida, surely meant to intimidate him. 

Where are they all coming from?

"This boy--" Tamaki spits out. "Wants to take (Y/n) from us!" He cries, leaning all his weight on Kyoya, who seemed unperturbed. Honey however, who was now being held up high by Mori, gasped dramatically.

"Really...I don't want (Y/n)-chan to leave..." Honey sounded like he was about to cry, very scared. Mori look like the exact opposite, his face was stern and cold, holding no empathy for Kida whatsoever. "Are they really leaving..." 

"No Mitsukuni." Mori says with a low rumble. 

"He might as well be." Kaoru says on his left. 

"He wants to sweep (Y/n) off their feet." Hikaru adds on his right. 

Kida looks like he's about to explode, his face red, confused and scrunched up. Moving away from the Hosts encircling him, he knew he needed to explain himself. "Look--all I want to do is learn what (Y/n) likes so I can ask them out! I assumed that since they spend all their time with you that you'd, y'know, give me advice." Kida finally let out. The room was finally silent, which strangely made him feel worse. It was gut wrenching, watching them analyze him. 

The first one to break the silence was Kyoya, letting out a low chuckle while pushing up his glasses with the hand that wasn't being restricted by Tamaki. "Well what a predicament we have here, it seems our dear (Y/n) has caught the eye of someone else, what a surprise." He didn't sound so surprised, the smirk on his face evident to that. "If it's advice you need then you came to the right place, isn't that right, Tamaki?" He turned his head to face the blond, who was still moping. 

"No absolutely not!" Tamaki belted. "I refuse to divulge my dear (Y/n)'s secrets, especially not to a scoundrel like you!" He all but spits in Kida's face. 

"Scoundrel..." Kaoru sighs

"What is he, five?" Hikaru finishes. 

"You should be making fun of him!" Tamaki points to Kida "He's the one trying to sneak his ways into (Y/n)'s life." 

Kida scoffed, crossing his arms and raising a brow. "What do you mean sneak? Me and (Y/n) are already friends." The sentence made Tamaki gasp, looking back at Kyoya, who was still smirking. 

"What does he mean? Why did he say that? Kyoya?" 

"It means that (Y/n) has friends outside of us, Tamaki." You would've thought Tamaki was shot by how much pain it looked like he was in, a stark contrast to his knightly persona. The twins both laughed at his shocked expression, moving closer to him. 

"Oh you hear that boss, they have friends~" They say in unison, laughing as Tamaki tries to jump them, only being stopped by Kyoya. 

Kida watched in pure confusion as he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. It was Honey, still being held by Mori. "What is (Y/n)-chan like in class?" He tilts his head, and if it wasn't for the situation at hand he would've thought it was cute. "We don't have any classes together so I don't get to see them much..." He drones on. 

Kida thought for a moment. "They're kinda quiet, they don't talk much, especially not in art class. They're really kind though" He smiled for the first time since entering the music room. "Once, they let me use their paint during class since we sit next to each other, we talked the entire time. It was the first time I heard them talk, it was nice. They're nice..." The room was silent, Honey simply staring at Kida, nearly unblinking. 

Kida realized he liked you months ago. You and him were alike in a lot of ways, quiet and reclusive. It made him comfortable around you, it made him like you. You were his first crush, and for a while, he hated it. You were a commoner, there was no way that his father would let him be with you. But that didn't stop him from wanting you, he'd talk to you every day during class, some days he'd even eat lunch with you. But as time went on, he noticed you spending more and more time at the Host Club, he started to think that maybe there was something about them that you liked. 

If he could make himself more like them, then maybe you'd like him. 

"So are you gonna help--" 

"What are you guys doing? Who are you?" Haruhi walked into the Music room, you right behind her, causing Kida's face to light up. 

"Sorry, I left my bag here--oh hey Kida, what are you doing here?" You waved to him, moving around the Music room. Kida watched as you grabbed your bag, too afraid to say anything. This was too sudden, he wasn't ready to confess to you. 

"Hey Kida do you know when our next painting is due--Kida, where did he'd go?" Hikaru and Kaoru appeared on your sides. 

"You scared him." Hikaru whispers in your ear. 

"He's a baby." Kaoru whispers in the other. 

You push the two away, sighing as you swing the bag over your shoulder. "I have to get to work, bye guys." You wave, leaving as soon as you came. 

With Kida gone it as though Tamaki could finally breathe, slipping off of Kyoya and composing himself. "We're never letting him in again." He exclaimed. 

"Already banned, sir." Kyoya said with a smirk.

---

A/n: In conclusion they're insane.

[uzis-dopeaf-hat]

Analysis of Nuzi in Episode 7

[MAJOR MURDER DRONES SPOILERS]

Okay! I've been wanting to rant about these two for ages so I'm happy to get this out haha. I'll try to make this post a little more comprehensible than the last one (no promises).

I'll try to keep this in chronological order.

-

So before I move ahead, let me get this out of the way.

N still cares about V, but I don't think he's thought about her in a romantic sense since at most, the end of episode 3. He absolutely sees her as family and deeply cares for her. Hence why he immediately starts freaking out and attacking the rubble blocking the elevator shaft.

He is desperately trying to get his family back.

So desperately that he unintentionally hurts someone else he immensely cares for.

He forgets about Uzi's condition in his blind panic, but upon remembering he becomes almost ridden with guilt. Uzi likely already feels terrible because of the loss of V and not being able to do anything to help N since she physically is unable to at this moment. It seems N understands this and tries to remedy this by telling Uzi "It's okay," and apologizing profusely.

He doesn't want Uzi to put anything else on her shoulders and backtracks so fast here.

And when Uzi tells N she's sorry, for both N's loss of V and her own inability to help N get back up the elevator shaft, she sounds so upset for N. There's nothing she can do for him here, and she knows this.

It's almost amusing how N gives "Tessa" a death glare here. As the series has gone on N has become less and less of a pushover, no doubt because of Uzi. If N had run into Tessa in any episode from 1-3. it would have been easier for Cyn to manipulate him.

But because she waited so long, N has built such a genuinely healthy and stable relationship with Uzi. One where both parties mutually care about each other and treat each other like equals (which should be normal but of course, this isn't the case for N or Uzi).

But something else to be noted here is the regression of both Uzi and N's characters at this moment.

Because while N is definitely making progress on standing his ground, and letting his own opinions be known, he is still faced with a non-choice. Instead of immediately deciding to question his old friend, he tries to compromise.

It's an old behavior met with an old friend vs a new behavior met with a new friend. He is trying to still somewhat appease "Tessa" while making it known that he isn't willing to hurt Uzi. But he never discusses this with Tessa herself aside from this moment, where he does so with Uzi present and out of the loop.

Let's take a look at Uzi's reaction when N tells her they won't hurt her.

She is scared.

Her eyes dart back and forth between the duo in front of her, putting her hand up in defense to try and subconsciously protect herself.

She doesn't understand what is happening, but she isn't stupid. She knows this means something happened- something regarding her, that's been decided on without her knowledge or input.

And with how much we like to joke about how dopey N is, he does seem very emotionally intelligent at times, especially here. He realizes his mistake immediately, his placating expression of trying to reassure Uzi drawing back as he drags his hand back, startled at her negative reaction.

After the solver accidentally activates from Uzi (unsure if Cyn activated it on purpose or if Uzi herself activated it by accident because of her distress- I can see both being factors), N tries to reach out to her. To bring her back to his side, to him.

He holds his palm upwards to her, physically trying to tell her 'I am here, with you, let me help.' And as he steps towards her, she moves away from him.

Uzi's trust in him has been damaged. She is scared and instead of letting N help her, or allowing him to try and explain what's happening, she hunches over and guards herself from him. She isolates herself, their relationship crumbling like the cave around them.

And N? Once Uzi is out of his view? His hand switches from welcoming to pleading. As in, he reaches out to her, trying to get her back even if he doesn't actually do anything to make it so. He is reeling from what he's done to make her feel like she can no longer trust him, to come to him for his aid. His demeanor is now 'Please wait, come back, don't leave me, I am sorry.'

Maybe not exactly those words, but it's obvious that he doesn't want her to leave. So much so that he forgets to even protect himself (or even "Tessa") from the debris falling around them.

When N wakes up, he immediately tries to free himself and desperately calls for Uzi.

And yes, Uzi is his first thought. He doesn't know where she is, or if she's okay, but his first instinct is to find her, because 'is she okay? Where is she, where are you?' is definitely what N is thinking when trying to find her, even though he can't move.

N is distressed, and after not being able to attract Uzi back to him via shouting, he gets ready to saw off his own arm.

He isn't just saying "I deserve this," because he chopped off Uzi's arm in the last episode, although that is part of it. He's saying he deserves this because he drove Uzi off, didn't confide in her, let her know what was happening, and scared her off in the process.

He is also sawing at the arm that he had held Uzi's hand with -- once again, the same hand that he sliced off to try and stop the solver. Interesting parallel there (at least it's another thing they have in common...?). His hand is absolutely crushed. That's not an accident, the team deliberately shows this -- and this is the result of N's actions (or lack thereof).

...sucks that both hands that had held each other are now destroyed (that's not me trying to be philosophical, just me being sad).

Cut here, and N is immediately ready to tell Uzi what he's learned, sprinting to find her. Probably due to the fact that he's discovered that his crush's mother is still alive but...

When told not to inform Uzi of Nori's existence by the woman herself, N upright denies her request; he's learned from his previous mistake and that lying (via omission) is not something he's going to do, especially not with Uzi.

And while certain information may hurt Uzi, he never wants what happened with Uzi to happen again. He doesn't want her to be afraid of him, or unsure of his intentions because N just wants to help and support her in any and every way he can.

He only relents that he won't tell Uzi, as long as Nori does. This is a bit different from the situation with "Tessa" since A) Nori is Uzi's mother, she really should be the one telling Uzi about her maternal status, and B) He is expecting her to actually inform Uzi of this. Not a "maybe, if needed," situation, a "you can wait until you're ready, but you will tell her," situation.

Back with "Tessa," N finally confronts her, giving her one chance and one chance only.

And Tessa, not used to this new version of N, does not heed his warning, and is promptly dealt with.

N is pissed... and it makes sense as to why. "Tessa" is attempting to force N to kill his best friend, the first one to really talk to him after who knows how long of being stuck with V ignoring him and J berating him.

Uzi has her own bite, but it's never in a way meant to harm or insult N. That's just how she is, and she and N have an excellent bond as the series moves forward.

Tessa is jeopardizing this, mocking him, and calling him "cute," and even tries to monologue to him. But N doesn't let her, because she's already made him hurt Uzi enough and he's at his last leg here. He's done.

And he's still shaken from killing Tessa.

He went full disassembly mode, maybe to make it easier, to kill her.

He is actively struggling, breathing heavily, and having to use the blade he beheaded Tessa with to hold himself up.

Despite this, when "Uzi" grabs at the patch, he snaps out of his stupor to address her. Trying to cope with what just happened. He calls her "buddy," which he really only calls her once in episode three when referring to both of them as "dapper buddies."

Just something interesting to point out, since Cyn took control of Uzi immediately after N "got rid of her body "killed" her. He's called Cyn "buddy," before (although, he called the birds trying to kill him buddies as well, so not sure how that pans out).

When he says it here it almost feels like a coping mechanism. Trying to take care of his loved ones in any way he can. Also, note how he still has an 'x' as an optic. Likely due to the stress he's been put through.

Once he somewhat collects himself, he attempts to tell Uzi that all he needs is her, and for them to stay together.

Their short time away from each other did not favor them. N admits to both himself and Uzi that he doesn't like being away from her and that he needs her to be by his side.

And Uzi definitely could've used him when she found the recording of her mother.

It's a bit harder to analyze Uzi's moments since a lot of it is just herself dealing with her own issues. This is still important, but not a lot of it deals with N, aside from the fact that, yes, N being here would've been preferable (unless I missed some stuff in the middle of this episode).

Cyn reveals herself, having taken control of Uzi, and we really see how sinister she can be.

Make no mistake, that is indeed a heart around Uzi, formed with Cyn's... claw... like appendages.

This is also deliberately put here by the team because they do not want us to doubt N's feelings for Uzi (it gets a lot more heavy-handed, too).

But the most important part here is N's reaction to seeing Uzi. When Cyn turns and shows Uzi's face, N visibly falters, expression growing more upset. He doesn't shoot her. Cyn notices this and smiles because she now sees the advantage she has over N.

And boy, does she take advantage.

This is probably my favorite part of this entire combat scene. N tries to essentially threaten Cyn here from further hurting Nori, trying to get her to back off.

Except, Cyn sees this as an opportunity to toy with him.

Maybe I'll one day do an analysis on Cyn, but she takes active pleasure in seeing N's suffering. When he holds his blade to her neck, he actually takes a moment to look at Cyn in the face, waiting for her next move.

And Cyn grabs that blade and slowly starts jabbing it into Uzi's neck. Because this is who N is now seeing: he is seeing Cyn hurt Uzi and he doesn't know what to do.

You see him visibly gasp, as he notices what Cyn's doing, and is still unable to make himself move (unless, of course, N is now actively trying to get the blade away from Uzi, but it doesn't seem like that's what's happening here).

Scratch that, while it's not immediately obvious, there are minuscule movements of the blade after Cyn starts stabbing Uzi - like N is trying to get it away from Uzi's neck while keeping eye contact with Cyn. He may still be seeing Uzi instead of Cyn at this moment (likely struggling between the two).

Something else to point out is that N is shaking even before Cyn grabs the blade. If you look at the tip of the weapon it's easier to tell. Again, chalking it up to not wanting to actually hurt Uzi.

This is a very nice parallel back to episode three. Aside from the hand-chopping part. Lots of limbs have been lost recently.

Ignoring the fact N was just raining fire down on Uzi, which is one of two times (don't quote me on that) he gets properly lethal, he tries hard here to not hurt her- almost like he's trying to get Uzi back in control.

It's hard to see here, but N is actually smiling as he holds Uzi's hand. Probably similar to what he does later - he is trying to remind Uzi of herself. Aside from the eyes, it feels like Uzi is reacting to this, looking surprised, before Nori takes her hand off to stop Cyn from creating more pockets of voids and closing the current ones.

But Cyn isn't done yet.

Once again, she uses N's affections against him to save herself. But in doing so, she allows N to finally crack through to Uzi, even if not by much.

It's comical that this is what helps Uzi gain control again, although what else would we expect? Even so, probably another favorite moment of mine.

Again, if anyone was doubting Nuzi... the team cannot get more obvious than this. Until we get an outright verbal confession... which is yet to be seen, sadly enough.

Unsure if N knew this would help Uzi or if he just wanted to let Nori know about him and Uzi before she died. This may just be him being lovesick for his possessed girlfriend.

Jokes aside, a lot of people took this as N saying they've been dating since episode five. I don't... think that's necessarily the case. I keep seeing the phrase "she fell first, but he fell harder," when discussing Nuzi and honestly? Yeah, he did. But dating since before episode six? That doesn't make sense, since we've been following their relationship since episode one, and it's not like it's irrelevant to the story. It's actually a huge part of Murder Drones, romantic or not, so any developments like the two dating would make more sense to happen in front of the audience and actually be addressed.

I think this is more of him sort of declaring his love for Uzi, in the most N way he can.

Ahh... although the dating part may be a bit irrelevant due to their predicament. They are both somewhat aware of how the other feels but have yet to discuss anything as Uzi states later. Likely due to uh, certain events happening around them.

When N sees Uzi come to, he starts laughing because of how relieved he is. And then promptly screams in horror at Uzi's next actions (I'm sure Nori is fine).

A small thing, but I thought it was an interesting reaction to have after having fought the previously possessed girl.

I think the fact that the two defaulted to freaking out after seeing each other is really sweet, funnily enough.

The way the two immediately start bantering, almost frantically, makes it feel like the two are looking for some sort of familiarity after all that's been happening. Moving instinctively closer to each other. Yes, maybe so they don't have to shout; but more importantly, after everything they've gone through, they want to be near each other.

And when they meet in the middle? They embrace each other, Uzi tightening her own hold and weeping into N's arm. N himself petting and caressing Uzi's head, both to comfort her and reassure himself that she is finally here with him.

...unfortunately, that is not the end of this post, nor the episode (as you've probably guessed).

After Cyn interrupts and attacks the duo, she descends into her pit of hell where she plans on dragging them.

You can see Uzi desperately trying to reach N, trying to get him to respond. That is her only goal in this moment, making sure that he is okay and alive.

I feel as if I am repeating myself... but yes, that heart is also purposeful. It's interesting how the tentacles split after forming, proceeding to drag N and Uzi apart with Uzi grasping at the ground trying to get back to N.

It literally tears them away from each other, and you can see how Uzi is forced to let go only to try and grab ahold of N.

She manages just in time to grab him, while impaling her hand onto some bones sticking up from the fleshy pit to stop both herself and N from falling further.

And we know this isn't a painless process, as drones have been shown to actively show pain. She doesn't care, she is doing all she can to save N, even if it hurts her. You can see how her arm starts ripping apart from her own hand as tentacles begin pulling harder.

But when Uzi sees N wake up, she gives him a smile, with a small, shakey, "Hey."

She knows they're likely about to die. And while N may have clones, Uzi does not. And even so, there's no way Cyn would allow N to remember anything that's happened, Uzi's firewall likely only protecting this N.

And as her final words she begins to thank him. For being her first friend. The first to believe in her. The first to show concern to her. The first to stay with her despite everything.

But when she sees that key?

She finishes thanking her first love and throws him away from their shared doom.

Uzi is genuinely so glad she's met N, and it shows in her expression here. She is saving the one good thing that has happened to her since her mom left her.

She knows N isn't going to be okay with this, that this won't be easy for him, and won't be easy for her, as she's assuming her own death in saving him.

Because of this, she doesn't want N's last memory of her to be herself being scared and unsure. So she tells him to "Die Mad," and flings him out of the chapel to both prevent him from attempting to save her and witnessing her death.

And you can see N was ready to jump in, determined to get her back and to save her. He uses his blades once again as a crutch, flaring his wings out in preparation to fly towards her.

Uzi doesn't let him, and for the last time pushing him away to save him from their once-shared fate.

I think Uzi's message to N will come into play later when they inevitably confront Cyn for the last time. Whether or not Uzi is there with him, he won't be able to forgive Cyn for controlling him and hurting him along with his loved ones.

-

And... that's the post! ending on a sad note but uh... we are talking about episode seven so there's no avoiding that haaaah.

If I missed something or you want further discussion feel free to send an ask or reply/respond to this post, love talking about shit.

Take a Nuzi dancing gif to go (I'm also sad now so this is really an excuse to put this at the end of my post).

Have a good one!

[tofuhoon]

things that remind enhypen of you

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of food

masterlist

whenever heeseung passes by the flower shop on the scenic route home, his first instinct is to walk in and buy the biggest bouquet known to man. he manages to hold himself back most of the time, but will still sometimes randomly show up with a bunch of roses big enough to cover his torso. and every time, without fail, your cheeks flush red and you flash a big smile at him. that alone is enough to make him take the long way home the next day.

jay, being the hopeless romantic he is, sees your face in the reflection of diamond rings. passing by the jewelry store on his way home from work doesn’t calm his thoughts of starting a whole new life with you. he’ll gaze into the window, face nearly pressed to the glass, daydreaming about a domestic life with you. for now, he’ll stick to a promise ring, but he knows one day that it will come to be the ring.

jake is reminded of you when he’s with layla. he’s a strong believer that nothing can make layla better – except you. when he ruffles her fur and runs around the park with her, he’s imagining you right next to him as he does it. even layla can sense something’s missing when he’s walking her alone. jake uses layla as an excuse to see you whenever he can. “she misses you!” he’ll wail over the call. not that she doesn’t want to see you, but even layla understands his true intentions.

sunghoon thinks of you while he eats. whether its the kind of food so unbelievably good it makes his eyes grow wide in disbelief, or the kind that he spits quietly into his napkin while no one’s looking, he knows that you being there to enjoy it with him would greatly improve his eating experience. he wants to share all the good food with you only. you get texts everyday of pictures of his delicious meals. “you’d really like this restaurant,” the text reads. “i’ll take you with me next time.”

sunoo sees you in the ridiculous couple items he sees in the store. “we should get these.” he says with a serious face as he points at the “i’m hers / he’s mine” shirts. you push him lightly as he bursts into a fit of laughter. he thinks of you whenever he sees cute matching phone cases and key chains, and he’ll buy them everytime. you’ve never complained about it (you actually think its quite cute) but someone would think you do by the way he tries so hard to justify his purchases. (“it was buy one get one free, i swear!” “sunoo i didn’t even say anything”)

jungwon finds a way to see you in everything he does. the members laugh anytime jungwon remembers a random episode connected to whatever topic it is they were discussing. he can’t help but think of you in everything he does. his memories are filled to the brim with you, and he is determined to fill it up even more. (jay hyu- but make it yn)

niki doesn’t think anyone notices when he takes his little pictures. his members only giggle fondly as they watch their youngest not-so-discreetly snap a couple of blurry pictures of the heart shaped cloud in the sky or the ramen noodle that spelled out your first initial. he always sends you the pictures, which you have saved in a special album. you thank him for his thoughtfulness, as he brushes it off. (“i should at least do this much. we are dating after all” “niki you’re so grown!” “shut up”)

[chrisevansonly]

𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 | 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄

☁︎charles leclerc x female reader

☁︎there is nothing that brings in the fall feeling than a little cuddle on the couch and a binge watching party for gilmore girls…and yes, charles loves it just as much as you do

☁︎no warnings just very cute and wholesome:)

☁︎oh my godddd anyway we’re almost at the end of the fall celebration🥹 i’ve been having so much fun writing these and im gonna miss them so much! i feel like this is bad and crappy but ill be doing a christmas version in december so great ready for that ;)

If there was one thing Charles loved more than you, it was the little traditions you’d both started since getting together, many of them he’d adapted from you and your love for fall and all things october. More recently you’d introduced your boyfriend to Gilmore Girls, and if anyone knows this show, the best time to watch it is in the fall when the leaves are all changing and the weather turns a bit cooler.

“Do you need any help baby?”

You could hear his voice from the living room as you stood in the kitchen, just finishing up some last minute pastries and snacks for the two of you

“Um I think I might need some help to organize all of these things” you stated with a slight laugh, yes you were known to go overboard with food

“Wow, we could feed a whole family with this mon amour…”

Your cheeks flushed as you shrugged

“Well I did kind of invite Carla and Arthur to come over and watch…they’ve never watched it…”

It should be mentioned that you and Charles rewatched Gilmore Girls every fall, it was your favourite bingeable show to enjoy together

“What?!”

“I know I said the same thing”

Charles almost couldn’t believe your ears, if people thought Lando Norris was the king of sass, they’d be surprised to see Charles’s sassy attitude at home with you

“How can people just not watch Gilmore Girls? It’s just-it makes no sense.”

Laughing you walked over and pressed a kiss to his lips

“Don’t worry lovie, we’ll make sure they watch every episode carefully”

“They better, it’s important”

With a last dramatic sigh he moved to the kitchen to help organize all your snacks, which allowed you to pour the apple ciders in to your cute fall mugs, placing them neatly on a tray and bringing them to the expansive coffee table. Your next task as placing a few blankets on the couch and dimming the lights to perfect for your afternoon and evening of tv watching

“It looks perfect as usual baby”

Smiling you leaned into Charles’s side as you both examined your hard work, well more so yours because the last time the monégasque tried to help you ended up with burnt turnovers and very crispy croissants. He might be quite handsome, but he was a far better race car driver than he was a baker or a cook, that was for sure.

“Thank you lovie, now we just wait for Carla and Thur and we will be ready to go”

“What would I do without you?” Charles stated, leaning down to press a kiss firmly to your lips as you smiled

“Hmm..probably die of starvation and never know the beauty of Gilmore Girls…”

At this Charles simply laughed, he couldn’t agree more with that, although he could cook a pretty mean toast for breakfast, he knew, better than anyone that he was the luckiest man in the world to be here with you.

Even if he had to share his binge watching duties with his little brother and his girlfriend…but let’s be honest, it couldn’t be that bad.

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[seaofwine]

What do you like about the Odyssey? Besides some entertaining episodes (e.g. Circe or Calypso), I've never really been able to get into the Odyssey as a whole (I find the first 5 books especially dull). The Iliad really speaks to me more.

It's hard to really pinpoint what I like most about it but I love to talk about the Odyssey so I hope you like long posts hahaha

The first five books act as the exposition. When the Iliad ends, there's a general understanding that most of the surviving characters made it home. Menelaus and Helen have reunited, the catalyst for the Trojan War has been resolved. Agamemnon traversed the sea and made it back, and although he was killed by his wife Clytemnestra, there is no question about where he is; unlike Odysseus.

Telemachus has spent his entire youth without a father. When he finally decides to set out from Ithaca to find any leads on where Odysseus is, he is confronted with the fact that most everyone else has been accounted for. He sees Menelaus and Helen, the order of their kingdom, the comfort they have in each other and the bonds they have restored. Telemachus has known nothing but uncertainty, while his mother is forced to weave lies and deceptions to keep the suitors that plague their home at bay. The first five books really show how important one man can be when he is utterly lost, and what it would mean for everyone who loves him should he be found. These books also show the close interest that Athena, as patron of Odysseus, takes in his family. She steps into the chaos of Ithaca and gives Telemachus the inspiration to embark on his own journey, chasing the ghost of his still-living father.

When we finally reach Odysseus, he is not the same man that those who knew him in Troy described. They are the closest Telemachus can come to knowing what came of his father, but even they are separated by nearly a decade and the breadth of the sea. Penelope hasn't laid eyes on her husband in twenty years, there is no overestimating what that can do to a person's memory. Odysseus's first action is to cry. When finally Calypso is forced to allow Odysseus to leave, by order of Hermes, he makes his own raft and leaves at the first possible moment. He is fighting against the will of Poseidon, against the wrath he incurred, all alone. He has lost every single one of his men, every single person who could ever vouch for his identity, in a world where no one could recognize him, is gone. Despite this, he is still fighting to get back to Ithaca.

Odysseus is so utterly human in the text. When he is hosted by Alcinous, Odysseus asks the singer there to recount the story of the Trojan Horse. It's like landing at the doorstep of a stranger who graciously allows you to stay and immediately asking his DJ to play *your own* greatest hits - which in turn only upsets him. This also sets up the dramatic reveal of his identity (I like to imagine him looking around like, you guys remember this one? Yeah that's Me, I pinkie promise. Please give me 4000 drachmae and your best oarsmen (: ).

He recounts the story of how he got so utterly lost on the way back and one thing the Odyssey will tell you, to your face over and over again, is that Odysseus is a big time liar. But for some reason, his tale is so compelling it's hard to remind yourself of that when hearing it for the first time. Some points are so beyond baffling (like striking Polyphemus in the singular eye the poor sod has, and then once to the safety of his boat (which is on open water, the domain of said cyclops's father) loudly announcing his full gods-given name and mailing address, just in case anyone missed who it was) that it's like, yeah that was probably exactly what he did. This is the section of the story where we see Odysseus as he sees himself. This is his own reflection of the actions he made and the troubles that befell him because of it.

Odysseus is such a complex character that one of the epithets he is given is "polytropos", the many-faced or many-sided. Odysseus and his relationship to his own identity, which he can shed and don at any point that's convenient for him, is one of the main reasons I am obsessed with his story. This, and the exploration in an ancient text about what a close relationship with a deity, is something I am constantly thinking about.

[mvltisstuff]

Evan Buckley x female reader - tsunami episode - they have been dating for 4 years and Buck has recently proposed, reader and Buck spend a day on the pier with Christopher but they soon get caught up in the tsunami. Reader gets injured badly (hit her head/unconscious/broken bones etc) and Buck struggles to find her and panics. Some hospital scenes with Buck and reader and 118.

angst, injuries(if ur comfortable too write about it), heartbreak, fluff 🫶🫶

waves - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: you guys always have such good ideas istg… so funny story i was gonna finish this last night but i was drunk so i couldn’t 😁

every time her eyes were forced open, y/n was faced with a new horror in front of her. the murky grey water full of debris scratching against her skin. the stinging salt water in her eyes and lips. the salt from the sea diving into her scrapes. the feeling that she was drowning and there was nothing she could do to stop it. the ocean has always been scary, but it’s never scarier than when you’re in the center of its wrath. she came up for air, only to take one deep breath before being forced under the surface again. she’s a good swimmer. she knows she can swim, but no one prepares you for a wave from hell in swimming lessons.

y/n and buck had taken christopher out for the day, trying to get buck more involved after his accident. they went to the pier, the arcades, anything that christopher suggested they did.

they were supposed to go to the movies. to see a film, but the only thing they saw now was pure calamity in front of them.

she didn’t think buck could take much more pain and uncertainty in this world. he’s the toughest man, but even the toughest soldiers can fall. y/n’s concern for him had peaked. his life felt empty when he didn’t have y/n or the 118. he loved working more than anything, saving people ended up saving him.

he knew y/n before she even started working at the 118. they had been in the same training program, and y/n was eventually transferred to los angeles. buck was so fond of y/n. he loved her more than anyone, which frightened him but also made him filled with electricity. she was alluring, talented, and the sweetest person he’s ever known. she showed him love when he needed it.

so, the ring was in his apartment, shining in one of the hidden compartments in his closet. he was certainly prepared to whip it out and spend the rest of his days next to y/n, but then, a kid with some bombs took over. the engine was on top of buck before he could take a breath, and all his plans to propose were thrown away. it was now or never, he thought, laying on the stretcher. he’d switched from gut-wrenching wails to a solid “marry me.”

now, y/n looked for buck wherever, but the shore had become one with the whole city. the pier was gone, and she didn’t know if buck and chris were too.

she was being shoved across the water, her body being smacked with incoming debris. her head made contact with a slab of concrete that the wave had taken up. after, she’d made contact with another piece that sliced through the side of her abdomen, leaving a clean gash that was releasing a spill of blood. before she knew it, the the water was cold, but she started to feel warmer by the minute. the water around her started turning red, and her face became paler as she accepted her fate. she wanted buck to be there to save her. she wanted to be able to save herself, but the aggression of the water made it near impossible. she allowed her frail body to wash up on top of a white delivery truck, laying there with her maroon blood smeared on the top of the truck.

she was transformed into survival mode, thinking of anything she would be able to do without killing herself even more. she was able to reach for a piece of sopping fabric, pressing it securely against her belly where the massive slash was. there was nothing to be done for her head as the damage had already been done. she’d be damned if this tsunami killed her, but as long as she knew buck was out there, she was going to fight like hell.

buck felt completely lost. he was settled on top of a fire engine, christopher being cradled in his arms as they faced the disaster together. they were the only two people on bucks mind, y/n and christopher. at least he knew where christopher was, but he was separated from his fiancé the moment the wave flooded the pier.

buck tried to stay positive, he really did. but, seeing all the bodies float past limply brought his spirits down. he knew that he would be okay, but the woman who’s the center of his universe could be dead. buck thought nothing could hurt more than his accident. on the contrary, the thoughts in his head during these moments of his life hurt more than any physical pain he’s experienced.

buck stayed silent, not wanting to scare christopher but the boy had his own questions. “how come y/n is gone?”

“she, um, she got lost in one of the waves, pal,” buck mumbles, trying to contain himself from completely breaking down. “we’ll find her when this is over, alright?” buck wishes he had a more firm answer, but there is nothing in this environment that is stable. no one knows a single thing that could or couldn’t happen.

suddenly, everything turned to nightmare fuel. christopher had fallen, and was swept away by the harsh flow. buck screamed his name, jumping in after him and searching for him anywhere. he swore his heart stopped, watching the exhausted boy fall into the unknown pit of water. everything had become a blur to buck. he didn’t even care about anyone else as long as christopher went home to eddie, and y/n went home with him.

bucks heart fell with eddie’s face as their reunited with each other at the hospital. he was carrying the weight of two missing people, feeling like it was only his fault. he wanted y/n there so bad, he so badly wanted her to hold him and say it’ll all work out in the end. y/n was gone, and buck had no fucking clue because now, she could be anywhere. he loves her more than anything on this planet, and a wave can’t change that.

buck continued to notice the shallow breathing of eddie, the pure horror on his face as he might’ve lost the person he adores most. there’s no pain like losing a child, and buck could never live with himself if he didn’t save christopher. alas, when eddie’s eyes directed to behind bucks cut and dirty body, he saw his son wrapped up in a warming blanket. buck felt like complete shit.

he knew he saved christopher, and he was thrilled beyond words. but where was y/n? he had to know. the sun had already set and if she wasn’t found, she was probably dead. the word rang through bucks brain, repeating itself over and over like a monster under the bed. she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, and he never guessed that it would shoot him in the foot until now.

“buck!” bobby yelled, beginning to walk over with hen and chimney as eddie sprinted to his little boy. “hey, what’s wrong, kid?”

buck could barely formulate words, the heaving in his chest was too strong to hold anything else. he panted while spitting out y/n’s name. “i cant find her, guys i tried so hard but we just got separated so fast-“

“alright, buck hang in there,” hen says, placing her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ease him. “we’re going to look around, ok?” buck nods, knowing that this isn’t easy for them either. y/n was the light at the station, being able to cure a bad day and always making every glad to be at work. she made it the best experience, and she became their best friend outside of work too. they’d lose a coworker, but they’d lose a member of their family above all else.

buck storms around the parking lot in the triage areas, desperately begging them for her name. “do you have a y/n here? y/l/n? ive been to all of the other ones and if she’s not here i don’t know what to do.”

“she’s not on my list, sir. i’m so sorry, but have you checked the black tents?” the sad woman asks, acknowledging the tarp that was decked with body bags. buck stared at them, like they became the only thing in the world.

“i- i cant-“ buck breathes, turning around to break the contact.

“i know, you’re ok, buck,” hen speaks, as buck falls into her arms, his knees barely holding any support of his body. he tries to match henrietta’s breathing, her comforting voice soothing his ears. he tried to ignore everything around him, but the aggressive sirens of another ambulance and the lights illuminated the teams faces.

he watched as the two paramedics opened the doors, revealing another on next to a womans body, squeezing the air into her lungs with the bag. buck knows. he sees her damp hair on the stretcher, the hair loves and admired every day. he sees her crimson-stained outfit, the one he complimented her on this morning. lastly, he sees her beautiful face, the face he could never forget. he wants to sprint over to her, but his feet are planted on the ground. he has no more fight left to give, and he lets himself fall to the ground in exhaustion.

the next time his eyes peel open again, buck is sitting behind a curtain, an oxygen mask around his head and a bottle of water being handed to him. “drink this,” bobby demands.

“thanks,” buck replies.

“don’t thank me. you did great work out there today, buck. i’m proud of you.”

“thank you, cap,” buck twists the cap off, starting to take sips of the water. “please tell me i wasn’t dreaming when i saw y/n.”

“you weren’t. she’s in surgery now. she had a pretty nasty laceration on her head, and an even worse one on her abdomen. they’re thinking it hit her appendix, so they’re going in to take it out before it causes more harm than good. they did a few test on her as well,” buck hisses at bobby’s words, not wanting to hear anymore but needing to know. he didn’t know if it was good or bad, but he had to know. “she has a severe concussion. she’ll probably be disoriented and confused when she wakes up, and surely in pain. buck, hey,” bobby notices the man starting to zone out. she’s still hurt, and it’s not enough for buck. he wishes he could put a force field around her, wanting to take the force of anything that might hurt her. knowing that this out of the ordinary thing almost took her life pains him beyond injury.

“s-sorry,” buck whispers. “i want to see her when she’s out of surgery.��

“you can, but i need you to know that it’s going to look bad. she’s going to be intubated and definitely banged up. you have to know that she’s going to be ok. so, say it,” bobby tells him.

“what?”

“say she’s going to be ok.”

buck gives him a confused look, trying to contain the waves of his own tears as he utters the words out. “she’s going to be ok,” before he knows it, the dam breaks and bobby’s hugging buck, comforting him from the emotions that have taken over.

the minute buck gets the confirmation to see his girl, he’s passionately walking down the hallway of the ICU, scanning the rooms for the only one he cares about. scarily, bobby was right. it looked bad. she had cuts through her cheeks and her shoulders, even passing through her eyebrows and forehead. she had a thick bandage around her abdomen, protecting the incisions on her stomach. the lights were dimmed, protecting her eyes from hurting her head even more. the tube down her throat was a haunting sight for buck to see, realizing that she could barely do it on her own.

he sat in the chair next to her, anxious to even graze her hand. he just watched her chest rise slowly and sink down again, next to the hissing of the machine. and he stayed there. he couldn’t bring himself to leave her side again. he lost her once, it wasn’t happening again. so, buck sat next to her until her anesthesia wore off. some people might’ve thought he was a statue, the way he didn’t rip his eyes off of her.

the doctors came in a while later when y/n started breathing over her tube. she was still sleeping, but she was breathing on her own. buck knew she could, he knew this wouldn’t be the thing to take them apart. the worlds had it’s go at trying to separate buck and y/n, but it never works. until death do them part, literally. buck looked at the ring on her finger, almost forgetting that they’re planning a wedding. he’d been given the ring from the nurse, who took it off before her scans. he was the first one to put it on her finger, so he did it again.

the 118 had piled into her room, eddie bringing christopher to his tías house to spend time with her. he came back when he heard about y/n. buck just saved the life of his son, and y/n saved bucks life before he even knew it. the entire team knew it. they needed her to be ok, or work would truly never be the same.

she’d worn off the anesthesia a few hours later, looking at her family surrounding her.

“hey, baby,” buck smiles, still dressed in his muddy clothes. “i know it hurts, it’s ok.”

“what happened?” she asks, rasp in her voice.

“there was a tsunami, y/n. it got you pretty good, too,” bobby added, standing at the edge of her bed. “you fought that pretty good, y/n. they said it was pretty ugly when they found you.”

“yeah, i remember,” she squints. “but why am i here? shouldn’t i be at work soon?” buck gives his captain a confused look.

“she’s just confused, buck. it’s the concussion, don’t worry about that,” eddie whispers behind buck into his ear.

“do you remember seeing anyone or anything?” hen asks.

“i remember being scared, for buck and c-christopher. i thought they were dead for a little, and i thought i was next. but i couldnt just drop there and give up on them.”

buck noticed her exhaustion, from the pain medicine and just the stress of her disorientation. “you should get more sleep, honey. you’re gonna need it.”

“bucks right. we can come back to see you tomorrow, y/n,” hen stands. “we love you, y/n. you did good.”

“you’re tough, y/n, you’ll be alright,” chimney adds, patting her hand and starts to clear out of the room.

“don’t go, buck,” y/n says, grabbing his hand with her eyes shut tightly.

“i’m not going anywhere, y/n/n. you’re stuck with me,” buck tells her, leaving a kiss on her hand and he sees the corner of her lips rise with it.

[etherealyoungk]

the world needs some simp bf vernon headcanons pls write them 🫶🏻

bestie you're so right the world needs more bf vernon headcanons so here you go <3

bf!vernon who so honestly fell in love with you in the most uncanny way ever. you'd always sit next to him in the bus rides from college because every other seat was taken, so it kinda became a routine, not that you minded because he was a nice guy. sometimes vernon would share his music and earbuds with you and you'd gladly take it. this one time though you fell asleep on his shoulder and ended up missing your stop home because you were sleeping so soundly that vernon didn't have the heart to wake you up. because you looked so peaceful and pretty. and he'd later confess that he liked you in the most vernon way ever by just telling you "hm maybe i think i like you y/n", and you're just taken aback by his straightforwardness. but you can't deny that you have liked him too.

bf!vernon who stayed up the entire night making you a little paper bouquet of flowers to give since you got promoted at work. he'll hide it behind his back telling you to close your eyes first because he's unsure if you'll like it. he presents the paper bouquet of flowers to you with a nervous smile and your grinning, so so happy, telling vernon how cute this is. he'll still apologize that he couldn't get you real flowers because of his pollen allergy. but you love it and you cherish the little bouquet he's made. it's still on display on your vanity in your room.

bf!vernon would love having stay-at-home dates with you, where you guys would binge-watch shows together. and maybe if you couldn’t help yourself and were too curious and watched the next episode without him he’s so :( and pouty like “babe we were supposed to watch it together”, and frown but you’d give him puppy eyes apologizing, promising to wait, peppering his cheek with kisses until he burst out laughing. “alright alright”, he finally says giving you a small smile.

bf!vernon would so super chill and sweet with you. he’d be really caring too, always texting for asking if you ate or slept well. he’d sometimes you with pastry or cake from your favorite café saying he was walking by and it reminded him of you :(

bf!vernon would be the best listener, being there for you if you were having a hard time. he’d honestly be a bit taken aback if you started crying in front of him but he’d gently take you in his arms and rub your back to soothe you softly asking you what was wrong.

bf!vernon who would love to wind down on weekends with you by watching anime or netflix, and you guys would order in and just have a sweet, homely date night. he would know when you were getting sleepy because you started to rest your head on his shoulder but you always say “no im not”, only to end up falling asleep, which always made him amused because who were you kidding.

and i don’t really see you and vernon getting into arguments or disarrangements often because you both were pretty much in sync and understanding with each other. but if you guys did argue or have a disagreement, it was usually solved pretty quick. vernon would be a pretty amazing listener and hear you out, as he understands your pov. but if ever you guys had a bigger fight, it would just feel a bit off you know. he hated that feeling of having upset you in some way and if you didn’t talk to him, he’d respect your space. but after a while he would maybe get uneasy and approach you quietly, asking to talk. and when you both made up, he’d always say “let’s not fight again hm”.

bf!vernon who would love you in his own way. he's so quiet but also makes it known how much he loves you.

taglist: @joshuaahong @daisycheols @slytherinshua

[brigdh]

Ed and the mortifying ordeal of being known

Ed does not like revealing his feelings. He is incredibly consistent about lying,

hiding

displacing,

distracting, or just outright denying what he's feeling instead of actually talking about it. This is a consistent pattern of behavior with him. There are a few exceptions – most significantly, I think, the bathtub scene where he confesses to Stede about killing his father – but they are a) rare, and b) occur under unusual circumstances, such as a PTSD flashback. In general Ed goes to great lengths to prevent people from recognizing the truth about him.

I don't really blame Ed for this habit, to be clear. He went through an abusive childhood, and though we don't see a lot of the exact dynamics in baby Ed's house, it's very common for abused children to become hyper vigilant of both their own and others' emotions. It's an attempt to exert some, any control they can over the situation, as though they can prevent setting off the abuser if they just always say and do the right thing.

Ed escaped into piracy, but in terms of talking about his feelings, I don't think it was much of an escape. Piracy in OFMD seems to be a place where the idea of having friends (though not the reality – I'd argue Ed might not use the word 'friend', but has had close relationships) is to be scoffed at. "We're all just in various stages of fucking each other over!" says Calico Jack, and being open about your emotions, plans, hopes, etc would just make it all the easier to be betrayed. On the other hand, lying, obfuscating, or just telling everyone about Plan A and then instead pulling off Plan B makes you look like a double-crossing genius who outthought everyone around you. So I'm not surprised that's Ed's learned to be manipulative and uncommunicative. I don't think he's ever been in a situation where emotional openness wouldn't be a disadvantage.

Regardless of why he does this, it's very clear that it's a pattern of behavior for him. This is one reason why I don't think Sad Robe Ed back in Episode 10 was healing – healing requires addressing and dealing with your feelings, and Ed was very much not doing that. I've already written a whole post going through that episode and laying out how Ed never once mentions Stede, or love, or heartbreak, or anything related to what he's going through, so I'm not going to do it again here. In brief, Ed's putting on a performance of sadness for the crew, but it's a generic, vague sort of sadness, without any connection to his personal, specific pain.

Who finally brings up Stede in Ep 10? It's sure not Ed. Izzy:

Which brings us to Season Two. How is Ed doing now?

He's once again making a performance of his pain, and once again keeping it vague, not letting any of his true, personal hurts be revealed.

These:

Are performances of his pain and sadness, but just like before, they're generic, unspecific. This is "Mad Devil Pyrate Blackbeard", not heartbroken, human Ed. Who is it that brings up the private reality of what's causing this toxic atmosphere? Once again, not Ed. It's Izzy, just like before. And this time he gets shot immediately for saying Stede's name, and Ed doesn't even look at him.

In all three episodes, Ed mentions Stede directly only once, and very pointedly, it's when he's alone:

I'm glad Ed has decided that he wants to live, but that's the beginning of a journey, not the end. What I really want to see in the next couple of episodes is Ed finally, for once, opening up. He doesn't want to be vulnerable, but the lack of emotional intimacy that constantly lying and performing has gotten him is, quite literally, killing him.

Ed can't get over his own, very real pain until he's willing to admit that it exists. I want to see him acknowledge where he hurts. He needs friends. He needs love. He can't get those without being honest.

I hope he does. I hope the show will have him do this work instead of skipping him ahead immediately to the happy ending, no behavioral change required. I think they will. It's kind of their motto, after all: talk it through as a crew.

Now if the co-captains would just follow their own advice...

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Eleven

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes

A/N: it's been over a month i have no excuse other than MY BRAIN HURTS and I AM SO TIRED but i am so glad to be out of this rut. get ready for more, and get excited for this incredibly roy centric chapter

Word Count: 7.2k

Chapter Eleven

A month or so later you sat, rigid and tense, in the green room at Sky Studios. Up until then, the fanciest or most intense place you’d ever visited was that of AFC Richmond, the Dogtrack, but these studios kicked Nelson Road out of the fucking stadium. The only way you could describe it was sterile. Like a hospital, or some morbid place where people came to sit and be quiet, except you weren’t here for either of those things. 

You were here to see Roy, and that was the most intense part of it all. 

In the green room was a screen with a live relay from the stage, where you saw Roy, Jeff and Chris sitting at their familiar, unusually large, commentary table. They were taping some bits for an upcoming episode of Soccer Saturday, the parts where they weren’t required to be there live and in person. 

The breath hitched in your throat whenever Roy appeared on screen. It was still entirely new and off-putting, yet the internet had blown up when they’d seen the ex-Captain on the show. Finally, Roy Kent was back in the football world. Not playing, or coaching, but commentating. It was a good alternative, and he rocked it during the show, even despite his way with words and his… not entirely enthused demeanour. To anyone that didn’t know Roy, they’d probably think him crude and rude and blunt, all the ways he’d been described in the past in the press. To those that knew Roy inside and out, watching him on TV was like a breath of fresh air. Those closest to him had been saying the same thing for years– I could listen to you talk for hours and not get bored. 

You were no different, and in fact, had known Roy for over a year now. It was crazy how time flies, wasn’t it?

When he’d texted you an invite to the studios, you’d said yes immediately. Your time with Roy was short enough already, but now that he’d landed the gig his time was being soaked up more and more. You found yourself now, sitting at your desk at Pluto Press, just thinking about when you’d next see him. Any opportunity that arose you took by the fucking balls, and that’s exactly what went down when he’d asked you to the studios. 

Right guys, that’s a wrap for today. See you at the weekend. 

The show director said over the live screen, and you watched intently as Roy and his co-hosts had their microphone packs removed. The sound switched off immediately, but Chris approached Roy and stuck out his hand. The two legends shook hands quickly, and you noticed the smallest of smiles appear on Roy’s face as they pulled away. 

It made you smile back at them, bashfully, to yourself. There was something warming about seeing Roy interact with others like this. It was rare to catch him in a good mood at any of his prior jobs– which you knew very well from working alongside him at the Dogtrack– but seeing him enjoy his time, become buddy-buddy with Chris fucking Kamara, and all the rest made you exceptionally happy. 

You were proud of his successes, and understood his plunders. You wanted to feel that he felt the same about you in return, but you’d started this thing where you tried not to think about him like that. Assumptively, or overly-affectionately, or anything that reminded your heart of how you really felt about the man on the screen before you. It was just like you’d said to Keeley and Rebecca– you would never mention it, never tell him, and you were okay with that. 

You were okay with that. 

You jumped suddenly when the door to the green room burst open. A production assistant entered, headset donned and clipboard in his hands, shoved into his chest like he’d die without it. “Roy Kent’s plus one?” he asked. 

You looked around the empty room. You were the only one in there, but the assistant hadn’t even met your eye yet. You cleared your throat and raised your hand in the air, like a schoolgirl in class. The production assistant finally met your eye, and then clicked at you abruptly. 

“You– right. Come on, you’re wanted on set,” he said. 

You wasted no time standing up and pushing past him at the door, heart in your throat. The two of you navigated the backstage corridors of the studio, until you finally emerged on the set of Soccer Saturday. The lights were bright, too bright, and exceptionally warm to stand beneath. Camera operators, gaffers and runners still milled about the set, but you blocked them out as you went to step onto the stage. 

“Can I?” you asked the production assistant from earlier. He glanced up and went to object, opening his mouth wide, but stopped as soon as a hand descended on his shoulder. 

“‘Course you can,” Roy said, peering down at the production assistant. “Isn’t that right, Jacob?”

Jacob nodded, no doubt sweating profusely as Roy hoarded himself over the skinny kid. He was definitely younger than you by a number of years, probably fresh out of university. “Y-yes, of course, Roy.” 

You looked away, not wanting to laugh so meanly at the ordeal. It was just so Roy of him to intimidate crew at the studios, probably just from standing and doing nothing. It made your chest compress painfully, as you forced yourself away from the all-encompassing nostalgia of being around him all the time before, at the Dogtrack, and seeing it in person a whole lot more. 

God, you thought you needed a fucking lobotomy with how much you still clung onto the past. It only made you feel more childish, more pathetic, with every flashback that hit your brain and made you swallow away the want to cry. 

You stepped onto the stage a bit more, and looked out towards the several cameras. They all pointed in your direction, camera one and two and three, and however many more. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered, scoffing at it all as Roy joined you on stage. “This is intense.”

“I never know how to react when I realise people can see my beard in 4K,” Roy said, as a small smile curled onto his face. He peered down at you softly, his gaze flicking across your features as you looked around the set curiously. “It’s good to see you.” You turned to him and looked up, smiling at him bashfully. 

This was just it– those little moments where you’d happily melt into a puddle on the ground beneath him, but you couldn’t. 

You coughed, laughing awkwardly, before you gently poked him in the chest. “You too,” you said, trying to keep things as playful as possible. Roy perked his brow at you questioningly, amused, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched you panic subtly as you continued around the set, until you’d rounded the desk to his chair. 

“May I?” you asked. 

Roy bowed at you smally. “Be my fucking guest.” 

You sat down in his chair slowly, and leaned your elbows on the desk before you. You shuffled your shoulders, and puffed out your chest. “Oh, I could get used to this,” you said, feeling powerful. Roy growled at you gently. “Come on, sit in Jeff’s chair.”

If Roy wanted to object in any way, he didn’t. He obediently made his way around the desk and sat in Jeff Stelling’s chair, all the while looking at you like you were gold. You sucked in a deep breath and cleared your throat. “So, Jeff– what did you make of AFC Richmond’s last game? When will these fucking tied games end, hm?” you said, putting on your most gravelly voice possible in an attempt to imitate Roy. 

He sighed, but he still didn’t object. A small smile was still curled on his lips, and it made your gut coil. He leaned forward, and adopted Jeff’s stance. “Well, Roy,” he started, taking on a much cheerier voice than his own. It was off-putting. “Richmond has been hit hard, but not as hard as their mascot Earl was a few months ago. Poor fuck–” He coughed, and recomposed himself. “Poor dog.”

“Well fucking said, Jeff,” you replied, but burst into giggles as soon as you did. “What do you reckon is the reason for their tie records on top of it, though? And what about that prick, Jamie fucking Tartt, sculking around the club after his stint in the reality TV game?”

Roy furrowed his brows at you quizzically. “Jamie fucking Tartt is trying to get signed to Richmond again?” he said, his normal voice cutting through. 

You waved him off. “I’ll tell you later. Keep going,” you said quickly, bringing it back to the game. 

Roy growled, and went back to his Jeff impression. “Well, it could be a number of things, Roy.” You smiled to yourself, elated just to be around him again. “Your retirement, for starters, has left the team utterly abandoned and in the dust.”

You perked your brow at him.“I’m not sure that’s entirely true, really–”

“They’re devastated by the loss,” Roy cut you off again, and you burst out a giggle. Roy swallowed away his amusement then, as he met your eye. “That, and the loss of their social placement was definitely a hard pill to swallow.” You froze as the words fell from his mouth. “I– inside sources– have told the press about how hard it’s been after she left. Her fanclub made up of Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes and Sam Obisanya haven’t been the same since her placement ended.”

You swallowed painfully, as Roy’s gaze stayed stuck on your own for a second too long. Neither of you looked away, but your heart swelled to twice the size beneath your ribcage. This fucking sucked– cutting yourself off from feeling all this– fucking sucked. But, you felt it was necessary. You didn’t want to lose Roy again– couldn’t– and this would ensure he stuck around. 

Still, as he looked at you with a softness reserved only for people he truly gave a shit about, you couldn’t help but give in just this once. 

You dropped the act, and reverted your voice to your own. “I seem to remember there being more people in the fanclub,” you said. “Who else hasn’t been the same, hm?” 

Roy leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs. You thought he’d tense up, or lean forward, but you knew that position was a sign that he was truly comfortable. Meanwhile, you were trying to hide the fact your fingers were shaking. 

“I can think of one more.” He shrugged. “Want a name?” 

“No,” you said instantly, abruptly, taking back everything you’d put out before. You recomposed yourself, and smiled as normally as you could. “I think I already have a good guess.”

Roy opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, before he nodded at you in understanding. It felt like a situation similar to that first night, after the charity ball, when you’d offered another time. Roy could easily count how many times you’d held yourself back from him. He didn’t know what to say to reassure you that this– you and him– was okay. He wasn’t one for being mushy, but he figured there was a reason as to why you hadn’t made it clear yet. 

So, he stayed put. He waited, and he wondered if you ever would, and if you never did– then that would be that. It wasn’t worth blurting out his feelings in a, no doubt, blunt and plain way if it meant risking this all. Seeing you, being around you, taking it on the chin everytime you scolded him when he deserved it. 

You were one of the only people out there that could tell him to fuck off. He liked it that way. 

As the two of you drove home, you stared out the window on the passenger side. Being around Roy always made you feel warm, but since he’d become a pundit, things had felt heavier. Thicker, tenser, like you’d be able to cut the atmosphere between you with a plastic butter knife. Maybe it was due to you setting yourself invisible boundaries, but something still made your stomach flip whenever he indulged. 

Innately, you told yourself to shake it off. If things stayed as they were with you both meant nothing would change, but you admitting your feelings to him would. It was still out of the question, but you had to be stronger around him. You sucked in a breath, and it cemented things in your brain. No longer would you crumble at his warm remarks, his soft stares, his playful behaviour. These were just things that Roy did with you, and hell, you enjoyed it platonically just as much as you would romantically– so what did it matter?

Roy pulled up outside your building, and you clicked off your seatbelt. You didn’t get out of the car, however, and placed your hands in your lap instead. “Thanks for–”

“What are you doing next Wednesday?” Roy cut over you. Your brain short circuited.

“Uh– finish work at five, like normal. Why?” 

“I’ve got Phoebe that night. We were going to grab a chinese and watch Ice Age. You in?” 

You smiled to oblivion. “I’d love to. Why Ice Age though?”

“Because she’s fucking seven, and I’m unashamed to say that film makes me cry every time.”

You scoffed abruptly, surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Roy said seriously. “That baby is still fucking ugly though.” You laughed, and nodded in agreement. Roy tapped the steering wheel, expelling happy energy. He growled in approval. “Fruit Shoot pre drinks are at six, so you better not be late.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you said, before you opened your door and got out of the car. Roy rolled the window down when you hopped up on the pavement on his side, and stuck his elbow out like a trucker. 

“See you later,” he said, though not with his usual hostility and unbothered attitude. This was a see you later that had feeling behind it.

You swallowed bashfully. “See you.”

On Monday, Rebecca met you at Pluto Press. She strolled through the building with purpose, shoes clicking intently on the hardwood floors, until she loomed over your desk fiercely. “I’m here to see the best writer in the building,” she said.

You peered up at her and smiled profusely, before you shot up and gave her a colossal hug. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.” 

“Me too, darling,” she said, before pulling away. She kept her hands on your shoulders for good measure. “Come on. Pasta and wine won’t eat and drink itself.”

You liked getting dinner with Rebecca alone. She was an important figure to you, despite the previous way she’d felt about the club and people like you in general. She twisted her arm around your own as the two of you made your way out of Pluto Press, and you had to admit that you felt confident when in stride next to Rebecca. She was well-known, a prominent businesswoman, a strong person, and you were glad to have her in your life.

Especially, when she had gossip to spill.

“He’s called John. He treats me nice. He’s good looking and intelligent and everything good, but…” 

“But?” you questioned, feeling giddy during girl talk. 

“Well, after Rupert and all the other bozos I’ve been with, I want to make sure he is everything I think he is.”

“Ah, you want your friends’ approval, is that it?” 

Rebecca picked up her wine glass. “Absolutely, I do.” She sipped at the contents, before placing the glass back on the table. “I had an idea of a double date with you and Keeley pretending to be girlfriends.”

You scoffed abruptly. “We wouldn’t even need to pretend that much. I love her and she loves me.” 

“Exactly my thoughts! But, Keeley is away in fucking Edinburgh this weekend, so that’s a no go.”

You thought through your options. Who could you bring as a possible fake date to this double date situation if it wasn’t Keeley? You snapped your fingers. “Oh, I know— I could bring Ted!” 

Rebecca looked like you’d run over a child with Roy’s Jeep. “Absolutely fucking not.”

You recoiled. “Oh, come on. Who the fuck else then?”

“Just bring Roy!” Rebecca exclaimed. Your cheeks warmed intensely. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you spat out, bringing your wine glass to your lips and trying to ignore the way your gut had lurched.

Rebecca leaned towards you, a mischievous smile on her face. “Just imagine it. You and Roy already look and act like a fucking couple sometimes–” You swallowed your wine abruptly.

“No, we do not—”

“Yes, you do!” Rebecca said strongly. “But push that aside for just a moment, and this could be a good experiment.” 

You placed your glass down strongly, curiously. “Go on.”

“If he feels for you the way you feel for him, then this is a good way to show it. Might give you both some clarity, because Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t take this back and forth much longer.”

Your defences were on high. “There is no back and forth—”

“Yes, there is! When are you going to grab that fucking hairy man and just kiss him!” 

“Rebecca!” you exclaimed. There was subtle anger in both of your voices, but it was drowned out by the extreme hilarity of the entire situation.

Despite your eyes being wide and your brows being perked wildly, both you and Rebecca had small smiles plastered on your faces that only meant one thing— I love you and I love this. She understood you, and understood your concerns and feelings and all the like, but that didn’t stop her from wanting you to get out and emerge from this funk.

“Just… think about it?” she suggested.

You smiled at her warmly. “This is Roy we’re talking about. He probably wouldn’t even do it.”

“That’s a possibility, for sure. But it’s still worth asking, isn’t it?” 

You tapped your wine glass thoughtfully, before you nodded strongly. “You’re right. I’ll ask him, and if it means we can help you, then it’s worth the emotional embarrassment.”

Rebecca smiled back at you. “And who knows?” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “It might be fun.”

You raced home from work on Wednesday, and knocked on Roy’s door quickly, a bit after six in the evening. You were late for Fruit Shoot pre drinks, but the tube was to blame. He opened the door strongly and laid a blunt stare in your face.

“You’re late,” he said. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“The Fruit Shoots are almost gone,” he said, smiling just a little.

“Then let me in quickly so I can fucking have one!” you exclaimed playfully. Roy let you in, and you slipped off your shoes in record time.

Roy’s house was so familiar to you now. The atmosphere inside made you feel safe and comfortable, and always brought you back to past times when you’d been inside or passing by his road. He strolled in toe next to you as you made your way to the kitchen. There were a number of Fruit Shoots and some snacks on the island as you entered.

“Phoebe!” Roy called as you grabbed a drink, and the pitter patter of feet erupted from the living room and around the corner.

When Phoebe bound towards her uncle you could hardly contain how happy you felt. She was someone special to him, really special, and he’d chosen you to meet her. That must’ve meant you’d done something right, surely?

Phoebe stopped before her uncle, but peered at you in curiosity. “What is it, Uncle Roy?”

“I want you to meet someone,” he said, before the two turned back to you. He placed his hand on her head affectionately, before he met your eye. “Phoebe, this is my friend—”

“Are you the one that wrote that story about my Uncle Roy?” Phoebe cut over him, and you scoffed abruptly from how confident she was at only seven years old. 

You leaned down slightly. “Yes, I am. Has your Uncle Roy talked about me before?”

“All the time!” Phoebe exclaimed, and you peered up at him playfully. Roy growled, embarrassed at his niece spilling all his secrets. “He told me that you wrote a story about him in the newspaper,” she said.

“I did. Lots of people read it.”

“He also told me that he’s annoyed at you because you’re the only person that can tell him when he’s done something bad,” she said it so surely that it caught you off-guard. You scoffed as you straightened out, and shot a playful look at Roy. 

He looked thoroughly embarrassed. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were square, and you knew he wanted to yell or hide away in that moment. It only made you laugh even harder, as a few giggles trickled from your mouth. 

“I’m definitely not the only person who tells him off, but I might be the only one he listens to about it,” you said. “Come on, what else has he said about me?” you urged playfully. 

Roy stepped between you and Phoebe. “That’s fucking enough.”

Phoebe gasped suddenly, and your eyes widened. “That’s a bad word, Uncle Roy!”

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, as if he’d apologised for the same thing a thousand times. He probably had. 

“You owe the swear jar a pound!” Phoebe pointed at Roy threateningly, chastising him. 

Roy messed up her bright blonde hair affectionately. “Add it to the rest of the bill.”

After a huge chinese dinner, where you all opened fortune cookies and laughed at the fact Roy got life will get better, just wait in his own, the three of you sat in the living room. Phoebe and you sat on the plush rug in front of the sofa, while Roy took the sofa. He crossed his arms for the duration of Ice Age, staying quiet as you and Phoebe bonded over how funny Sid the sloth was. 

When the baby came on screen, you grimaced immediately. You’d forgotten just how ugly it was. Roy was absolutely right. You twisted yourself around to meet his eye, and furrowed your brows. “You’re right. It’s still so ugly.”

“Told you,” he said, before you turned back around to the TV. Phoebe jumped up onto your lap as you did, and you snuggled her close to your chest as the film continued. 

Behind you, Roy was twitching. Despite only seeing the tops of your heads, and the shake of your shoulders when you laughed, there was something brewing within him when seeing you with his niece. He didn’t often introduce people he knew to her, because of the impact it would have on her when those people could inevitably leave. It had happened with her piece of shit father, and from that moment, Roy had started involving himself even more– just to give his sister a break, just because he loved his family so fucking much. 

Seeing you with her, getting on so well in this way, made him swallow away his deepest wants. In a perfect world, he would have made his way down beside you both on the floor. You would have leaned into him, sharing the weight of the child in your lap, and he would have draped his arm over your shoulder and held you close– but no. 

Roy inhaled a laboured breath, and forced himself to focus on the screen for the rest of the film; knuckles white, body tensed, trying and failing not to feel everything. 

Phoebe was fast asleep by the time the credits rolled. You held her in your arms as Roy got up and switched off the TV, before turning back to you both. You glanced down at Phoebe’s dreaming face as you frowned awkwardly. Roy’s expression was somewhere between stoic and glowing. His jaw clenched when you peered up at him in subtle pleading. 

“What do I do?” you whispered. 

“Fuck all. You’re stuck like that until she wakes up,” he replied, crossing his arms. You gulped away your nerves, looking back at Phoebe in your arms. Roy took his opportunity to smile without you seeing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you whispered harshly, but you inwardly accepted your fate. You peered back at Roy, and his face flattened. “So, are you just going to stand there?” He shrugged. “Roy!” you whispered strongly. 

That was enough for him to finally crumble. His hard expression faltered and was replaced with the smallest of smiles. He dropped his arms to his sides as he started towards you. “I’m fucking kidding,” he whispered deeply, as he knelt before you. “I’ve got her.”

You would have looked away as Roy picked up his niece if you had the chance. He was soft, and gentle, as he slotted his hands beneath her and hoisted her from your lap easily. He draped her over his shoulder with such care, as her cheek squished sleepily against his shoulder. His hand found her back and stayed there warmly. 

“I’ll tuck her in,” he said, before making his way out of the room and up the stairs.

You stayed put after he left, cleaning up the snacks from the coffee table and straightening out the sofa cushions just from habit. You chucked away empty crisp packets and yoghurt pots, and threw some finished Fruit Shoot bottles in the recycling bin. It was comforting as you familiarly navigated all the cupboards and drawers in Roy’s kitchen. You knew your way around his house very well, and often found yourself jealous of the space. It’s not that you didn’t like your apartment– of course, you did– but Roy’s house was proper. 

It was funny. Without trying at all, you were able to slot yourself alongside Roy here. Living alongside each other, cooking dinners, drinking beers on his back patio, watching shitty movies on the sofa. You slammed another Fruit Shoot bottle in the recycling as a way to snap yourself out of it. No good came from imagining more between you and Roy, especially after everything that had already occurred. 

You let out an angry huff at yourself as you leant upon the kitchen island, looking out towards the dining table. You wracked your fingers through your hair, as your eyes settled upon his bookshelf in all its glory. You enjoyed looking at it, no matter how many times you’d already scoured the overflowing shelves. Squinting, you gently approached the dining table as your eye hit upon something new; something that hadn’t been there previously.

On the middle shelf, right between cards from Phoebe and Roy’s sister, your article had been framed and placed for all to see. At the top, next to the title, was that classic picture of Roy from the first game of football you’d ever seen. His foot was on the ball, his stare hard, his hair trimmed in that robotic way that he’d used to do. 

You couldn’t believe he’d kept it, and framed it, and put it up– all of it. It made your heart thump incessantly in your chest. It made the logical side of your brain completely disappear; the side that told you not to jump, that held you back, that told you not to complicate things. 

“You noticed it, hm?” Roy said suddenly, appearing in the kitchen as you stayed glued in front of the dining table. 

You turned to him, wide-eyed and full of love. “You kept it?”

“‘Course I did,” he said, walking towards you slowly. “It was your big break, and the nicest thing ever fucking written about me. Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

“I don’t know, I just–” you started, but chose to stop part way through. You settled, and smiled. “It’s nice that you did.”

Roy nodded, and growled subtly. Silence trickled over you both, as the obvious tension between you was cemented even further. This always happened when you were alone, together, looking at one another like you were memorising the lines on each other’s faces. 

“Fancy a drink?” Roy asked coarsely. He had to cough slightly to stop his voice from breaking. 

You breathed out deeply. “Yes. Please. Yes please.” You found your voice again, and the tension dissipated slightly as he headed towards the fridge.

You sunk into one of the chairs at the dining table, watching closely as Roy opened the fridge and grabbed two green bottles of beer. It was nice that you didn’t have to say what it was you wanted, didn’t have to even direct, he just knew. He knew you, and you knew him just as well. He popped the tops off both bottles, before sitting down opposite you. He slid you a beer, and your fingers touched his own as he made the pass. It went unsaid, and you ignored your heart in your chest. 

The two of you sipped at your drinks in unison, transcending into a different realm of awkward (and) or sexual tension. It was always this way, this feeling. You’d grown so used to it from being so exposed to being watched, analysed, affectionately stared at, by Roy’s gaze, that you didn’t bat an eye when you looked at him– only to find him already staring at you. 

You squinted at him playfully. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. 

You raised your drink to your lips. “Fine.” You drank, and let his lingering eyes watch as you gulped back more beer. As you placed your bottle down, you smiled. “Thank you for letting me meet Phoebe.”

“It was about time,” he said, leaning forward. “Like she said– I apparently don’t shut the fuck up about you.” He smiled smally, before the two of your drank in unison, just to fill the happy silence. 

You thought of Rebecca then. Of her strong jaw and broad shoulders and confident strides. If it’d been her, she would have taken matters into her own hands a long time ago. Before Roy’s retirement, before the article, she would have launched herself into this all strongly from the moment he’d invited you for a drink after the charity ball. 

As Rebecca’s gorgeous face shone behind your eyelids, you remebered your lunch. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered suddenly, as you recalled her double date situation. 

“What?” Roy questioned. 

“Well,” you started. You leaned forward to bridge the gap between you, and innately psyched yourself up to broach this idea to him. You couldn’t believe what you were about to ask of him. “Rebecca is seeing a man– John.”

“John,” Roy repeated. 

“And, well,” you said, stalling for time. You grimaced, just for lack of how to even get it all out. “She… well, she–”

“Are you having a fucking stroke or something?” Roy asked, before he slammed his hand over your forehead abruptly, searching for a fever. 

You burst out laughing as soon as he did, and swatted away his fingers. “Jesus Christ, I’m fine!” you exclaimed. 

Roy removed his hand from your head. “Then get to the fucking point!”

“Okay!” you exclaimed, getting worked up. “Rebecca is seeing this man, and she wants her friends’ approval to be sure he’s not a fucking weirdo.” You sucked in a deep breath, and reworded your entire question until it wasn’t one anymore. “You’re going to pretend to be my partner, so we can judge if this guy is a psycho or not.” After you blurted it out, you half expected Roy to scoff. Surely he wouldn’t say yes, surely he would protest, and whine, and sulk, and everything else that his thirty-six year old arse would do when forced into this kind of situation. 

Instead, he stayed still. He stayed calm, and his express didn’t falter. “When is it?” Roy asked. 

“This weekend.”

“Okay,” he said. 

“Okay?” You stared at him, utterly boggled. 

Roy furrowed his brows, as if saying yes was the most obvious answer of all. “Who else would you fucking take? Fucking Ted?” 

You chose not to tell him of your first choice, or of Rebecca’s obvious dislike of the idea. You leaned back in your chair and took a surprised gulp of beer, before clutching the bottle to your chest. “I can’t wrap my head around why you’re fine about this,” you said honestly. “Are you having a fucking stroke?” 

Quickly, you reached your hand out and laid it upon Roy’s forehead, mimicking his earlier behaviour. You thought he’d push you off, or laugh, or copy the way you reacted. When he gently leant into your touch, you froze. 

“I feel just fine,” he said lowly, his stare glued on yours. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, and you dropped your palm from his head. Quickly, Roy shuffled his hand so his thumb hit your pulse point. “Are you alright?”

You felt your heart rate accelerate, which meant Roy felt it, too. 

Quickly, you pried your hand out of his grasp, but not before your fingers swiped over each other’s. You moved your hand to your lap, just to avoid staring at it as your mind raced. 

“I’m fine,” you said, despite the fact it was an obvious lie. That’s when Roy’s lips curled into a small smile. “But– great. This is great.” You tried to redirect the conversation to the double date, tried to keep things professional. “Rebecca gets the answers she wants, we get a free meal, and I get to dress in something other than the same five outfits I wear at work every week… but,” you said, tapping your glass anxiously. “We have to pretend to be a couple.”

Roy shrugged. “We’ll live.” He wasn’t ready to admit to you that he knew it would be easy. Maybe you might make it harder, but if all Roy had to do to be convincing was occasionally hold your hand, or sit close to you, or bicker like an old married couple, then he was already there.

You squinted at him, still confused. “You’re seriously okay with this?”

Roy shrugged again, but it was only with the sole intention to have you roll your eyes at him. He succeeded. 

As Saturday approached, it properly dawned on you what was about to happen. You and Roy had to pretend to be together, while simultaneously navigating not just Rebecca, but her newest man, as well. You found yourself wishing that Keeley wasn’t away, but that definitely would have been the easy way out. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go on a fake double date Roy fucking Kent– that in itself was something that (ashamedly so) made you so fucking excited that it was miracle you’d been able to contain it for the remaining days before the weekend. It wasn’t about the possible awkwardness that you could both feel at having to be noticeably affectionate, or the fumbling fingers that you would both have during those first few tries.

It was about the aftermath. 

It was about the possible shift that could happen as a result of this little charade. It was about the marathon you were already running to keep at bay every single feeling you had for Roy (and the ones he held for you that you had no clue about). It was about being able to leave that table at that restaurant still knowing that everything would be normal and unchanged and not fucking complicated.

That’s what you focused on for the rest of the week, and when Saturday morning turned to afternoon, and when that afternoon turned to early evening, you felt stronger. As you got ready to go into this shitstorm, you were determined not to let all hell break loose. 

Just down the road, Roy pulled a black t-shirt over his head. He paired it with black jeans, the usual, but opted to spray his most expensive cologne over the top— not the usual. It was true that he was excited about this. Just the opportunity to make you blush was enough to make him smile, and after he felt the upbeat pitter patter of your pulse he was beginning to doubt that you harboured no romantic feelings for him. 

Either way, no matter the outcome, he was going to grab hold of this situation by the throat. It was funny; being given the opportunity to be close to you, to imagine being together, and all the rest; but even just being allowed to pretend and put on a show for one evening made him feel satisfied.

Innately, though, he told himself not to go overboard. As much as your pulse had betrayed you, he wasn’t about to put you in an uncomfortable situation for the sake of it. Roy was almost a decade older than you, he harboured experience galore— what with being an ex-star footballer— but he still knew you weren’t the time to fuck around.

He glanced at his watch; he had a little under an hour before he was due to pick you up. This evening was certainly going to be one he’d remember for a while, even if he ended up wanting to fucking forget all about it by the end. 

Roy’s Jeep pulled up outside your flat. You heard it from your living room window, and quickly slung a small bag over your shoulder before leaving through your door. Roy cut off the engine before he jumped from the driver’s seat. As he rounded his car, the squeak of your building door sounded. He peered up, and what met his gaze was only the first step of his night fully starting. 

As you shut the door behind you, your dress blew up to just past your knees. Compared with the charity ball, you’d opted to wear a jacket over it in this cold, which almost made Roy laugh to himself. You descended the steps as he took a relaxed stance by the passenger side door, and when you finally glanced his way, he was already looking at you. This was a running theme, you thought, catching Roy’s eye, only to find him already looking at you gently. 

“Hey,” you said, slightly breathlessly from the cold but also from him. You trickled your gaze over his body. He wore nothing different than normal, his usual combo of black on black, but this time it felt different. It was oddly reminiscent of the night of the charity ball, a year ago now, but with a slight twist.

You felt older, you knew each other better, and that unspoken tension hadn’t cropped up until later that fateful night. Now, everything was different. But in the best way. 

“Hey,” Roy said lowly, his voice gravelly. “Ready to go?”

You nodded sweetly, smiling at him as you stood face to face. You inhaled, and as you did, his cologne hit your nose. You had to ignore how fucking good he smelled, even more so when you both clambered into the car.

A few minutes into the journey, Roy cleared his throat. “So,” he started, and you sensed some trepidation in his tone that made you look at him slyly. “This double date thing… how far are we taking it?”

Abruptly, you choked on your own spit. You coughed loudly and turned towards the window, until the tickle in your throat finally ceased. “What?” you croaked, panicking. Roy smiled to himself quickly, before he clenched his jaw forcefully. 

“This guy, Jim, or whatever. He thinks we’re an item, right?” Roy continued. 

You furrowed your brows at him curiously. “Yes.”

“So, how far are we taking this fake relationship shit?” Roy asked again. 

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “I don’t fucking know.” You tried to act casual and unbothered. It was fucking difficult. “Far enough for it to be believable, I guess.”

“So,” Roy said. “Can I hold your hand?” 

You swallowed. “Yeah, obviously.” You kept your eyes ahead of you, but could feel Roy’s stare hit your profile every few seconds, only when he wasn’t looking at the road. 

“Okay,” he said. “Can I touch your waist, or– I don’t know– your thigh under the table, or some shit?” Roy attempted to lace stoicism within his words. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but he also wanted to know what he could and couldn’t do. Just for clarity, just so you were on the same page. 

You glanced out the window, looking away from him. You didn’t want him to see the warmth that had appeared on your cheeks. It was a miracle he couldn’t hear the butterfly wings that ravaged your stomach. “I don’t see why not.”

“Alright, fine,” Roy said, clearing his throat afterwards. His knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel. 

You sucked in a deep breath, but all it did was remind you of his cologne. “Anything else?” you asked assumptively, tensing yourself involuntarily. 

Roy stopped the car at a red light. “Yeah,” he said sharply, turning to you strongly. You turned to look at him, too, catching his eye with as much confidence you could muster. “Can I kiss you?” 

You stopped breathing. The urge to look at Roy’s lips was unavoidable. You wanted to stay calm, to stay cool, to stay composed, so your initially thought answer of yes, God, yes had to be contained on this occasion. You’d spent three days internally preparing yourself for this, but as soon as Roy started asking his questions your walls practically crumbled. His prying had a feeling behind it, intent, and you knew Roy well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t ask these things lightly. That was the first hurdle to jump over. 

The next– the way he was looking at you made you want to abandon your evening with Rebecca and John altogether. If it were up to you, you’d tell him to pull over the car on any desolate street he could find, just so you could finally give in to this silly crush. It was obvious this wasn’t just you anymore, that this small unspoken thing had developed further inside both of you, until it had left you in this fucking situation. 

A fake date, with real feelings. What a fucking nightmare. 

“I–” you started, but couldn’t get another word out as Roy’s gaze darted to your lips and back. 

Oh, the fucking bastard. He was good, really good, and he knew it, too. Was this what he did with the Spice Girls? Because it was fucking working. It was enough to make you want to spill everything, to not hold back any longer. 

“Roy.” You breathed out. 

He looked at you so softly. “Yeah?” he said lowly. 

“I need to tell you something–”

The shrill boom of a car horn from behind made you gasp. Roy twisted himself abruptly to the windshield, and the light that once was red was now green again. The car honked its horn once more, and Roy let out a growl. “I’m going, you fucking twat!” he yelled, before smashing his foot down on the accelerator. 

And just like that, the conversation had to take another back seat. You still had parts to play, and hearts to bear, and lots and lots of wine to fucking drink. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h@infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122 @jaymum @lwritesstuff 

[urdepressedslut]

You could never hurt me

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky realizes what he’s done to you after an episode, and starts to doubt if he deserves to be with you.

♡ Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of choking

It was fair to say that shit had hit the fan, the sliver of calm that was held before… ripped away.

Somehow Bucky was triggered into The Winter Soldier, allowing many to see how he was in action up close. Much to Bucky's dismay, nobody trusted him even more now. Besides his close friends that is, which sadly wasn't many.

The trio, Sam, Steve and (Y/n) had tried their best to subdue the soldier, but were easily outmatched.

Sam walked away with a sore back, some bruises here and there, while Steve was able to come out of the tussle without many marks himself. (Y/n) on the other hand, had some pretty bad bruising circling her neck. She felt fine physically, having taken worse damage at some other time in her life. Though emotionally she felt torn, knowing that Bucky wasn't in control, but she knew that wouldn't stop him from punishing himself.

Able to seclude them four away from prying eyes, the trio waited for Bucky to wake. Steve and (Y/n) was hoping that it would be their Bucky that would eventually stir, and not the soldier.

"How you doing?" Steve asked her from her sitting spot, a good distance away from Bucky's hunched over form.

"Not too bad... I've had worse." She answered, wincing at the discomfort from speaking.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He asked with a 'Really?' look.

"Guess not. Sorry... I just..." She paused, exhaling painfully, "He's been through so much, he can't seem to catch a break."

"I know." He said solemnly, focusing his gaze to a spot on the floor by her shoes.

"With everyone looking for him, now we got Tony added into the search squad."

"You really think he won't help us out?" Steve asked, making (Y/n) scoff from her spot on the floor.

"It feels unfair to ask him for help... Knowing what you know." She told him, giving him a disappointed look.

Steve looked into her eyes now surprised, having not known that she was aware. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find an appropriate response.

"Its not fair Rogers... After everything he's done for us? It's not your choice, he deserves to know." She stated, giving Steve a look of disapproval.

"I know, okay?" Steve finally spoke, running his hand through his disheveled hair.

"Hey Cap!" Sam shouted from his spot near Bucky, grabbing both him and hers attention, halting their current conversation.

Both making their way over, she stood behind the boys, watching Bucky cautiously.

Bucky let out a groan of discomfort, trying to sit upright, noticing his metal armed pinned. He glances around taking in the weary looks on the men's faces, while he notices (Y/n) hiding.

"Steve?"

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked, not willing to take any chances.

Bucky thought hard for a moment before speaking.

"Your mom's name was Sarah," He pauses, "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes." He lightly chuckles, causing Steve to smile in relief.

"You can't read that in a museum." Steve stated.

"Just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked him.

"Sam..." (Y/n) warned, slowly stepping out from behind Steve.

"What? A guy can't be too careful." Sam told her, receiving a glare.

"Enough Sam..." She locked eyes with Bucky, "It wasn't him."

Bucky suddenly focused his gaze on her neck, wincing at the apparent hand-shaped bruise forming.

"I did that." He stated, not needing anyone to confirm for him, he was a monster.

"Buck, it wasn't you. That doctor triggered you." She told him, trying to convince him.

"But I still did it." He retorted, watching the frown form on her face.

"No, because I know you... Bucky would never hurt me." She told him.

"Doll I..." Bucky started, but stopped himself from giving her a lousy apology.

"Can you guys release his arm and give us a minute?" She asked the two.

"(Y/n) I don't think tha—"

"Please." She begged, keeping her eyes locked with Bucky's shame filled orbs.

The two nodded in agreement, releasing his arm and giving them privacy.

"Your heads bleeding, let me see." She told him.

Bucky knew he didn't deserve her kindness, but he couldn't find it in him to push her away, he craved her touch.

"Really, I'm okay." He tried to convince her, even though he was far from it.

"You've never been able to lie to me... So don't try it now." She spoke, her voice shaking just barely.

"Doll, I'm so sorry I..." He choked up, "I never wanted this to happen, my worst nightmare has come true."

Her hands held the sides of his face, smearing away the escaping tear. Rubbing her thumbs up and down, she watched the quiver in his lip slow.

"The only way you could ever hurt me, is if you left me." She cooed, feeling both his arms wrap around her sides, pulling her slightly closer in need of comfort.

"I'm supposed to protect you. I can't protect you from myself. We can't... You shouldn't be with me." His voice went to a whisper by the end, the words feeling bitter rolling off is tongue.

"I'm sorry Buck, but you're not allowed to make that decision for me. I'm always gonna stay." She spoke strongly, no more shakiness in her voice.

He went to respond, but choked on a sob. He truly didn't deserve her, and he still couldn't comprehend that after everything, she still wanted him. Leaning forward he snuggled his face in the crook of her neck. Taking in her comforting scent, he was home.

"I love you baby... I love you so much." She promised, hearing his sobs die down, his breathing slowing.

Lifting his face so that his was inches from hers, he gazed into her eyes adoringly. His eyes danced down to her lips, then met her orbs again.

"I love you (Y/n)... I don't deserve you." He whispered.

He closed the space between them, capturing her lips in a devoted kiss. He let his metal arm pull her onto his lap, letting his flesh fingers tangle themselves into her hair. They could taste their shared breath, feeling the light thump of their heartbeats against each others lips.

Pulling away from him for air, she held his face in front of hers, letting their foreheads connect. Bucky closed his eyes in content, letting their breaths warm each other.

"You deserve everything." She whispered.

A/N: im so protective of bucky, he deserves to be happy 🥺 pls feel free to send in requests 🤍

[thesithdiaries]

Reckless (Daemon Targaryen imagine)

Reckless (Daemon Targaryen imagine)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female Targaryen

Requested: No

Warnings: obvious incest come on guys we know this already, violence, spoilers for episode 1 of hotd, kids being stupid, typical westeros violence, i wont kill aemma in this

-

When Y/N was ten years young, she would get in a lot of trouble for misbehaving. She was never too pleased to follow the rules. The king and the queen never gave her any punishments, knowing she meant no harm and that she was having fun, after all, she was just a kid.

In one particular incident, she accidentally knocked over a small table with books when she was not paying attention. The only person around her during that moment was Otto Hightower and he had enough. He always considered her to be a spoiled brat with no manners, often pressuring the king to send her away.

“Insolent child,” he hissed, grabbing her arm roughly and making her shriek. “I am sick of you.”

“Stop it!”

“If you lay a hand on her again, I will gouge your eyes out.”

Daemon was heading out when he heard the commotion and decided to check what had happened. He immediately pushed Y/N behind his body, facing Otto, who looked as if he had seen a ghost. “My prince, this girl-”

“Is my niece. And you, out of all people, have no right to talk to her nor treat her this way. Learn your place because I am getting sick of you.”

From that day forward, Otto did not keep trying to get rid of the princess and Daemon became her protector. No matter what happened, whether she was at fault or not, he would always be there for her. Viserys knew exactly what he was doing but allowed it to continue, knowing very well that Y/N was quite possibly the only way to ground his brother.

-

Five years later

The dragonpit was filled with laughter that morning. Y/N was playing around with her dragon Armax. She supposedly went there to train and learn some new things from the dragonkeepers but it was just a ruse to get away from the castle.

Armax was a beautiful dragon with pale green scales. He was very playful and carefree, and he was often seen with Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon. Y/N visited him multiple times a week, knowing he gets lonely without her there.

After he ate, Y/N rested on his front legs. They were both tired from the morning shenanigans. She jolted awake when she heard a familiar shriek. Caraxes. Daemon came home. She instantly felt joy as she spotted a red dragon landing outside. Y/N rushed to greet her uncle, excited to see him. 

“Daemon!” Y/N greeted cheerfully as he got down from his dragon. The rogue prince turned around at her call, a pleased smile crossing his features. 

“Y/N,” he opened his arms to get a hug. Y/N held him tightly as if he was going to disappear. “I have missed you, princess.”

“And I missed you too.” Y/N pulled away slightly to smile at him. “Are you staying a while?”

“I want to stay here permanently but your father will probably exile me again.” They both laughed. Viserys had exiled Daemon multiple times, only to accept his return later.

Caraxes went inside the pit and was met with a playful huff, which made him snort with annoyance. It was known amongst the family that Armax and Caraxes got along great but one lacked the patience to keep up with the other.

Daemon and Y/N walked to the castle together. He could not stop glancing her way. He loved her with all his heart. He could be described, by some, as a man with no feelings or regard for anyone in his life but that was far from the truth. Daemon valued his family and cared very deeply for each of them. However, Y/N has always been his favorite. He always brought her the finest silk, the most beautiful jewelry, amazing books, and anything she could desire. If she wanted it, she would get it.

-

The Heir’s Tournament was a success. While men were jousting and getting favors from the highborns, Queen Aemma successfully delivered a male child, prince Baelon. Y/N and Rhaenyra were both glad, their father got what he always wanted and now he would leave them be for a while. It was great.

One person that was not happy was Daemon Targaryen. His ego was crushed because he lost to a knight. He went to the Street of Silk to try and forget about the awful event. He had so many plans to execute after what he thought would be an easy victory but now he did not wish to do anything besides being with Mysaria and sink into his cups.

Back in the Red Keep, the celebrations were done for the night. The king and the queen were in their quarters, celebrating privately the birth of their son. Rhaenyra and Alicent were gushing about all the knights they saw. And the Velaryons had already retired to their chambers to rest, except one: Laenor Velaryon.

Y/N and Laenor have always been very close. They got along great and were protective of each other. Armax and Seasmoke got along as well since they often fly together. Y/N would visit Driftmark constantly to visit him.

They still had a lot of energy from the day and some playful jousting sounded like a fantastic idea when Laenor brought it up. It was quiet, probably the knights were changing shifts. They devised a plan early on: get the necessary armor parts and no saddles for the horses. There indeed was no time to do everything properly, it would take too long and by the time they finished, someone would probably know what they were up to.

Y/N and Laenor were quietly giggling at how small he looked with the breastplate on. Y/N got on her horse without hers, telling herself she would put it on after the practice run. Laenor got on his and the “match” started. 

It was difficult to keep their laughter down but it was very fun. They got comfortable after a few tries and kept going without breaks. As they were approaching each other, Y/N heard a gate opening. She turned her head to take a quick look and did not see what was in front of her. Laenor’s lance hit her shoulder hard, knocking her off the horse. She hit her head on the divider, dropping to the dirt with a sickening thud. 

“Y/N?” Laenor called out for her but there was no response. He got down and approached her nervously. “Cousin?” He did not even dare to shake her awake, remembering something about not moving someone that is injured. “Y/N, wake up. Please wake up.”

She did not wake up. Laenor tried for what felt like hours to no avail. He started crying for help, for anyone to come help them, alerting many Kingsguards that were close to the fields.

-

Daemon had returned after a failed night with Mysaria. He was looking for Y/N to give her a gift. He planned to give it to her after his victory but since it did not go in his favor, it had to wait. It was a beautiful valyrian steel tiara, adorned with diamonds and red stones, perfect for a princess.

The rogue prince was confused as to where she could be. She was not in her chambers, nor the library or the kitchens. He doubted she was out flying with Armax, knowing her father would not approve of her going out so late in the night.

With annoyance, he gave up on trying to find her. He resigned himself and accepted that he would just give it to her later. As he was heading to his quarters, he spotted maids frantically running along the corridors, one heading for Y/N’s bedchamber.

His blood ran cold like ice. He rushed there to find the maester preparing his tools. Before he could even ask what happened, two Kingsguards carried Y/N in. Daemon gasped in anguish, assuming the worst. Was she dead?

Behind them, was Laenor, who was crying. Daemon kneeled in front of him. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded, making the boy cry more. He wrapped his arms around Daemon’s neck. He wanted answers but knew Laenor was too scared to answer him. 

By now, the entire family was awake, waiting in the main sitting area for answers. The only ones allowed in the Y/N’s chambers were the king and the queen. Poor Laenor was clutching to his mother, quietly crying. He still had not said what happened but from what Daemon heard from the Kingsguard, it was all an accident.

It felt like hours after when the maester told Daemon and Rhaenyra they could come in. Y/N was laying on her bed with her shoulder and head wrapped. “Princess Y/N received a hard blow to her head and her shoulder is broken. For now, she has to be monitored, since I do not know the extent of her injuries.”

-

Y/N was awake a few hours later. The maester was fussing over her since she was lethargic and disoriented. Queen Aemma had left to rest, since she just had a child, but promised to return the next morning. Rhaenyra was sent to her chambers, although she did fight about wanting to stay with her sister. And Viserys went to talk to Laenor and his parents. 

Daemon was the only one left. He sat in a corner, staring at the girl. The anxiety and fear he felt were slowly turning into pure anger. He saw her move, wincing as she pulled and tried to get situated on the bed.

Y/N, despite how she was feeling, was waiting for him to say something. “Daemon?” She called for him, almost in a whisper.

He stood up, stalking over to the bed. “How could you do that to yourself?” He was mad and he was done hiding it. “You could have died tonight.”

“We were just playing,” she lowered her head to stare at her hands. 

“Playing? You call that playing? Getting on a horse with no armor to joust is not playing!” Daemon pinched the top of his nose. “You are so reckless. I never wanted to admit it but it is true. You have no care for your own life or others. Laenor could be the one in your spot at this moment.”

Y/N did not know what to answer. She knew she would get scolded but she assumed it was going to be by her parents or Rhaenys but him? He had never scolded her before. He always supported her crazy antics.

“I will tell your father to keep a close eye on you. You cannot be trusted.”

“This is not any of your business,” she challenged him. Daemon turned to look at her, his eyes darkened with fury. “You only do this to get on my father's good side.”

“It is my business, Y/N.”

“I do not see how or why it is.

“Because I love you.” What? “I have loved you for so long and it terrifies me that I could lose you any second.”

“You love me?”

“I do. I always have,” he confessed. “It pains me greatly that this is the way I had to tell you.”

Y/N stared at him with furrowed brows. “You are lying.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes, Daemon, you have,” she replied. He stood there, staring at the ground. 

“I am not lying about this,” he promised. Y/N still did not believe him. “I love you, and I will prove it to you.”

//

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