#bridges break fic

[shurisneakers]

bridges break (iv)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.

A/N: *tommy wiseau voice* i did not forget to update this, i did not. oh hi mark. ANYWAY. YOUR COMMENTS HAVE ME CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP I WANT TO ACTUALLY PASS AWAY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH ILOVE U

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Steve’s legs dangle languidly off the concrete shore. His palm should be pressed to the ground, keeping his balance, but they instead defiantly clasp around an old worn-out sketchbook. His fingers nimbly capture ships on the horizon, waves lapping at the wall several feet below him and the orange of the evening reflecting off of rusted metal.

He looks up for a moment when a horn blares, loud and good. A smile slips past as he snaps his notebook shut and places it beside him, clenching his eyes shut and deeply inhaling the saltiness in the air.

“Steve,” a voice speaks from behind him, softly enough to not startle him. “I knew I’d find you here.”

His head whips around. “What the-- what are you doing here?”

Life is warm. Life is stripped down to its bare essence and still, life is good.

You didn’t spend another day in Chicago.

You'd turned in your keys to the reception the next morning, chucked your bag into the trunk and got into the driver's seat without a single word. The only exception was when you asked mutely if he was hungry or not. Steve had followed with a pounding headache and a string of unread messages from two of his friends.

Breakfast is silent.

You thank the waitress when she refills the mugs of coffee, but your eyebrows knit together the second your sight turns back down to your plate.

Steve's reclined in his seat, one hand aimlessly pushing around some scrambled egg. The booth is pushed up against large fingerprint-smudged windows, overlooking the front where the car was parked somewhat haphazardly. He keeps his ear trained for the jingle of the bell overhead each time someone new walks in and the clinking of spoons stirring against coffee cups.

"Anything else I can get ya?" she asks, eyes flitting between the both of you.

"We'll let you know. Thanks." You give her a small smile. Steve does the same.

She leaves, not before throwing another look over her shoulder at the both of you. He wonders how obvious the contention must be for her to take notice on a packed morning like this.

He should ask. He knows he should ask, but the question curdles unrelentingly on his tongue, leaving his mouth bitter.

He could text Mona and get the next flight out of here, make sure that all the expenses were compensated and covered. Take steps to ensure you never had to see his face again, if that’s what you wanted.

He shovels a spoon of egg into his mouth. It feels like sandpaper going down his throat.

Steve lifts his gaze briefly, catching the same troubled expression. You hadn't fared too well on breakfast either.

He should ask. It isn't fair to wish for a trip after this.

He swallows through the dryness in his mouth and the nausea in his gut.

"If you-"

“How long have you-"

Genuine surprise flashes across both your features, but he recovers quicker, nodding for you to go on.

And so you ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?”

His mouth opens and shuts in slow succession. He’s not stupid; he knew this conversation had been inevitable and the timer had started ticking the second he’d confessed. Yet every single possible sentence he had rehearsed and re-rehearsed dissipated on the spot, leaving his mind blank and undefended.  

“Since I got back from returning the stones.”

He watches your face screw up as you calculate it in real time, and the subsequent realization that it had been a few months ditzes across your eyes for a millisecond. It looks hauntingly like heartbreak, before stoicism reworks itself onto it.

“Who knows about this?”

“Sam and Buck.”

You scoff slightly, head shaking. “And you didn’t think you should mention it to me too?”

It’s one of the only things he’d been thinking of for months. The more he did, the less he wanted to do it. And as it always had, it still sounded like a pathetic goddamn excuse.

"I did," he says. "I promise you-- I didn't mean to keep it from you this long."

"But you did," you refute. "You did keep it to yourself this long. You waited till we were on a trip together to tell me."

"I think I wanna go back.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “To the bar?”

He swallows thickly, praying that he doesn’t lose confidence.

“Steve?”

“To the forties,” he completes. “I think I’m going back to the forties.”

"What?" you ask. "As like, a day trip or?"

"No," Steve wants to crumble at the way your face slips into confusion. "To stay."

"To stay?" He can almost see the gears turning to make sense of this. “You mean--”

Steve nods silently.

"What-- how? And-- and why?" you ask, letting go of his hand. "Steve, what are you talking about?"

"I..." he trails off, forced to combat the sudden cold your hand retracting from his had left behind.

You wait for an answer, an explanation, something.

Steve just balls his hands into a fist in his jacket pocket.

There is nothing. With each passing second, your confusion morphs into something that makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Betrayal? No, he had seen betrayal. This was-- Christ, he isn’t even sure.

"Sweetheart--" he tries, but you shake your head.

"We'll talk about this later," you say, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. "Not tonight. Not like this."

"I didn't-"

"I think I wanna go back to the motel now," you say quietly, taking a step away from him. "Let's just go. Please."

If he thought the world was quiet before, he has no idea what to say to it now.

You didn't once bring it up on the drive back, nor when he dropped you off to the safety of your door.

He left his window open wide and, in the midst of darkness, developed a dependence on the late night check-ins pulling up the hotel to distract him each time his spiral deepened.

Didn't matter much though. Each time, it picked up at the same place he'd left off: the look on your face the minute it registered what he said.

He'd flip to the other side, to a cooler part of the sheet, and to a fresh smell of cheap detergent. And it went on and on and on.

In the last hour before sunrise, he did manage to doze off.

That is, until the same stupid fucking dream had him bolting upright again. And just like the last few weeks, it’d progressed a sentence or two beyond the previous time, leaving him scrambling to get rid of it before he was forced to remember.

His mind wanders and he thinks, once again, that his memory is a curse.

"If we hadn't come on this trip," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady, "when were you planning to tell me?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I was waiting for the proper time. For it to make sense."

It doesn’t seem to be enough, which, fair enough.

"Steve, would you have told me? At all?"

At that, his muscles stiffen and he no longer leans back. "I would. Swear it to you-- I wouldn't just disappear. I woulda told you, some way or the other."

You search his face for any betrayal of his statement, but you weren't going to find any. Steve doesn't move either, not until you knew he wasn't lying to you, not now.

Your fork sets down with a quiet clang, and you finally break the stare. He watches you take a sip of lukewarm coffee, wincing when it goes down your throat.

When nothing follows immediately after, Steve goes back to pushing his eggs around the plate. His toast stales, firm to the touch and the coffee’s weak froth had floundered miserably to the middle.

“Why?” you ask suddenly.

Steve’s gaze doesn't shift from the plate, and the writing on it. He thinks it’s the diner name engraved on it, but it was harder to register when they all looked like meaningless shapes.

“Something’s been different,” he lets out, “Ever since I went back to the 70s to get the particles, something’s different. I thought it'd sort itself out after I got back and started workin' but it's been that way for months. Hasn't left.”

“Different means therapy, Steve,” your voice is a little louder than it was a second ago. “It means- I don’t know- dyeing your hair or getting a piercing. Going back to the forties?”

He doesn’t anticipate the shift from anger to desperation. The feeling of nausea worsens, joining the growing pit in his stomach.

“I did go to therapy.”

“Yeah, for a month before you walked out and never went back,” you counter. "And I get it, sometimes therapists fuck up, or you both don't click, or sometimes traditional therapy isn’t for some people. But a few sessions isn't enough, not for something like this."

A quick glance at the wall. A note of the time.

The doctor’s head tilted slightly, staring intently at him.

“Do you feel restless, Steve?”

“And that- the spacing out,” you wag a finger at him. “They’re all related to this?”

His head draws a blank, much like it does these days when he tries to think too hard about it.

“Can we talk about this later?” Steve's lips purses inwards. “Your food’s getting cold.”

You stare at him wordlessly and he ignores his worsening headache to meet your eyes.

Finally, you pick up your fork and continue eating.

---

Steve has his eyes closed, focusing on the low vibration of the window. He’s certain that if he opens his eyes again, he'd go right back to looking at you in anticipation for any kind of reaction.

A thin thread of guilt laces itself through him at the fact that you're driving today. He’d have taken up the responsibility if it meant you had time to think without having to pay attention to the road too, but he also knows you like having something to do with your hands when you’re contemplating something.

There’s a thin crease between your brows and your grip on the steering wheel was tight. You’ve been chewing on your lip for a while now.

You haven’t even looked at him once since you’d gotten in the car.

He’s tried, he really has, to not make it obvious he was peering at you because surely, that would only add more pressure to an already bad situation.

Still, he can't help himself, not when it's you. It’s pathetic, really. Even though he's sure you’ve taken note of how many times he’s looked at you in the past hour.

And so he glances over at you again.

Nothing has changed in the last fifteen minutes, no life altering difference. Same brows pulled tight, lip caged between your teeth.

“You’re gonna pull a muscle, Rogers,” you mumble. “I’m not gonna jump out of this car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He turns back to the road, slightly embarrassed.

But your words only serve to remind him of his original hesitation, and this time, he doesn’t really want to wait till it’s too long.

"I can look up flight timings," he says. "We can get on the next one outta here."

Your frown deepens. "What for?"

"We don't have to do this trip," he says softly. "I know you've got a whole plan laid out, but I can take care of all the cancelling and refunds."

In an act of grace, you finally look at him from the corner of your eye. "Do you want to?"

"It's not up to me."

"Okay, but do you want to?" you repeat.

He's silent for a while, following your gaze as you turn back ahead.

"No," he confesses. "But it's not my choice. You should decide."

"It's settled then." You barely take any time to decide. "If you don't want to, and I don't want to, then I guess we're gonna keep going."

Steve looks at you, lines visible on his forehead. "Are you sure? We don't have to."

"I know we don't," you say, "but I want to. So unless you don't want to join me, I'm just gonna keep driving to the next stop."

It beats down on his chest suddenly-- the overwhelming urge to just lay it all out there and apologize. For everything, but beginning with flinging this at you suddenly without any kind of preparation. You deserved better than a random Chicago parking lot.

But Steve bites his tongue, and looks out the window instead. His apology had to be better, more thought out than his reveal at the very least. A simple 'Hey, look, I'm really sorry' wouldn't suffice.

“I wanted to make a stop,” you say, eyes trained on the road. “Not exactly a detour, but it isn’t along the main route”

“Where is it?”

“A few miles out. It's not really a tourist spot. You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”

That only piques his curiosity more, but he waits.

The sky’s a brilliant, bright blue and there’s a trail of smoke from an plane flying overhead.

Steve wonders what it’d be like to lie under it, eyes closed and heart free. As his imagination dares to run wild, he sees you beside him. He hopes you’d be there beside him.

Summers in Brooklyn were humid. His hair plastered to his face and his cheeks were flushed pink and he remembers Bucky’s mom’s lemonade sticking to the back of his throat.

Rebecca smacked her brother upside his head when he doused himself in water on his front step like a moron, getting all three of them drenched for no reason.

It was a happy memory. Brooklyn was a happy memory.

He feels too tall for his skin, now.

"There are Skittles in the glove compartment if you want," you tell him. "You'll have to make do with those until we get some proper snacks."

Steve opens the compartment with a click and reaches in for the bright red packet.

He tears it open carefully so as to not scatter them everywhere. The car was rented, they probably didn't appreciate lone Skittles under the seats when you returned it.

He stretches it out to you first.

You look at him and Steve unknowingly catches his breath, then down at his hand holding out the sinfully sugary candy.

It feels like a test. He doesn’t know of what.

Your fingers reach in, gathering a few before turning back to the road.

Steve lets out a breath quietly, picking up one to chew on.

Purple. It tasted like grapes.

____

It takes a while before he sees what you were talking about on account of it being well outside the main city.

Acres of land cleared out to make place for a park that housed giant marble walls, several feet high. Well manicured lawns and pathways to navigate the stone labyrinth, with benches in front of each in case you wanted to sit there.

He knew that they had come up in several places all over the country. He had been to a few himself, but never longer than a few minutes.

"They're startin' to take it down," you voice. "San Francisco's nearly done. Started pretty late over here."

“Are they replacing it?” he asks, the Wall of the Vanished becoming larger as you neared it.

“I think so.”

Now that the people who were lost had returned, all the cities and towns that had put up their names in remembrance were tearing it down. For those who didn’t make it back, new memorials were set in place. Smaller, but just as meaningful.

"But in case they don't, I just wanted to pay my respect," you continue.

“You knew someone here?”

“I did.” You pull into the parking space. "It's not gonna take long.”

"Okay."

You pause with your hand on the door handle. “You don’t have to come with. I know this can be a bit... much."

He knows. “I want to.”

You scan his face once, biting your lip before opening the door and letting yourself out.

Steve watches you go for a second before pushing the door and stepping out.

Walking through the stones felt roughly the same as it had always been.

The day in background was blissfully unaware, childlike and happy, while the etchings on the walls were solemn and cold.

The exhibit here was smaller. The ones he had seen in New York and Washington felt like it stretched on endlessly, but it was probably because he had painstakingly combed through it for specific names.

You don’t wait to see if he follows, but you're aware he's there half a step behind you at all times. You take your time stopping in front of each, quickly running through every person’s name in search of who you were looking for.

"What letter are we searching for?" Steve asks.

"V," you say, moving on to the other side. "Vlaslov."

Steve takes another wall, running through Vernon's, and Vasquez's. They weren't in exact alphabetical order. Names were added well after construction went underway once more people were realized to have disappeared.

“There you are,” you let out at last, from two stones away.

Steve follows your voice to find you looking straight ahead at a name, perfectly at your height.

“Found you, you miserable bastard.” It’s fondness that he detects in your tone even though the words were vulgar.

Yegor Vlasov, he follows your gaze to. It rings vaguely in his head as one he recognizes from somewhere.  

“Wish I could leave him something. I’d pour him some of the damn tequila he liked so much.”

Flowers and any kind of memorabilia had been banned since the thousands of wilting bouquets each week had become tedious to clean up day after day. The stench of beer on grass was only manageable for about a month.

But the alcohol is clue enough for him to suddenly piece it together.

“Work, right? You used to work together?” Steve watches you you reach forward to touch the engraving. This stood crisp and sharp, unlike the others whose edges has becomes very slightly smoother. “I remember you telling me about him.”

“Yeah.” Your face cracks into a smile. “One of the best scientists I knew. Never stuck around in one place too long, so he moved here for research a couple of years ago, but he stayed in touch occasionally. Told me he'd save me Cubs tickets if I ever came down here.”

Though he should be glad a smile had finally made its way onto your face since its disappearance nearly a day ago, there is still sadness that lies just beneath the surface.

“Were you close?”

“Just work friends.” You drop your hand down. “Maybe if he stayed on a few more years, we’d have been actual friends. He didn't have any family so he spent a lot of time at work. Real mad scientist types. Genuinely insane."

"He sounds fun." The corner of his lip curls up.

"Oh, he was," you say with a quick laugh. "When the lab heard he disappeared, we did some shots in his name. Then sent the bottle on a homemade rocket to who knows where."

"What?" Steve asks in confusion.

"Long story," you dismiss. "But then when they all came back, he didn't. Guess he was one of the other ones. Wrong place, wrong time."

Your voice tapers off towards the end of your sentence.

His thumbs hook onto the buckle of his belt, slowly taking a few steps back to give you some privacy. After all, it was the inescapable tragedy of war that lingered under his feet when the clouds moved above a clear day.

"Okay, let's go," you say, voice quiet.

Steve lets you lead the way. The winds rustle, and in the distance he can see a couple standing in another corner of the park, hand in hand.

His mind flashes to the memorial back home. The names on the walls he recognized.

A gravestone in a quiet corner of the cemetery.

Steve's glad that when he flinches, no one is around to see.

---

It goes without saying that you haven’t talked much since the memorial.

Steve asks if you’re okay.

You reply with an airy “Just peachy", and don't bother to elaborate.

The AC whirs, and you turn down the offer for more Skittles. He simply rolls up the pack and leaves it in the glove compartment again.

He honestly believes the sugar made his migraine worse-- that or the fact that he’s been running on a incredible four hours of sleep.

Steve picks up his phone to check how far the next rest stop is so he can take over driving.

Lunch is takeout from that morning’s diner. There's no protest when he gets a salad to go, and a sandwich. You just get whatever the waitress recommends, mind elsewhere.

You pull over on the side of the road for a break when you spot a tree with branches spread wide enough to cover the hood of the car, since that was where you had opted to eat your food on top of.

Steve joins you, needing a respite from the closed space, but maintaining a respectable distance from you.

You stretch your arms above your head. Steve leans against the car as he checks his unread messages.

Mona’s sent him updates and reports and everything in between. He checks a few of them, mouth twisting at particular content, and shoots her a few texts back. Most of it he’s aware she's more than capable of handling on her own, and it’s further proven by the fact that she hadn't asked for his opinion or anything.

What she does ask is how the trip is going. He elects to reply to the text after that.

“Is the country falling apart without you?”

“It’s holding on.” Steve looks up. “For now.”

You nod, taking a sip from your bottle before tightening the lid back on.

The afternoon stretches lazily on, the heat climbing. He shrugs off his jacket, ties it around his waist.

Steve only manages about half his sandwich before he packs it back up. Maybe you were right about the burgers.

Above all else, Steve ignores the strange pangs of craving at the back of his mind.

He tastes phantom sugar on his tongue, so he deduces it to be something sweet. Something tells him he's tried it before-- it was too familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

"You sure that’s enough?" you question, watching the sandwich find its way back into the box. "It's really a scenic route. There’s not a lot along the way and we're only gonna reach at night. Your metabolism's gonna go haywire."

"'M not really hungry," he says in assurance. "I'll just eat the rest if I am."

"You’re not gonna get hungry?" you push.

“If worse comes to worst, I’ve got the Skittles. Nutrition, if I ever seen it. "

It's not exactly funny, but it has you pushing back the whisper of a smile before you clear your throat in defiance and hop off the hood of the car.

You offer him a bottle and he takes it, extinguishing the rising warmth spreading through his body with cold water.

It goes back to silence, only dry wind occasionally and the click of the car unlocking. You stretch your arms above your head one more time, rotating your wrists.

"Are you okay?" he asks again. Force of habit.

"I'm fine, Steve," you reply. "I should be asking you that."

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "I'm fine."

You don't say anything, only continue to look at him for a second or two more before breaking the stare to walk to your seat.

“I'll drive,” he offers immediately.

You tug open the door and get in the driver's seat, leaving him to watch.

"Not today." Your head ducks out of view and into the car. "You look fuckin’ exhausted."

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when you start the engine, kicking a pebble resting near his feet one last time before opening the door and climbing back into his seat.

With nothing else to do, he pulls out the GPS on his phone and enters the destination, intent on helping on navigation at the very least.

“Says you gotta take the next exit off this highway,” he parrots back to you when you pull the car back onto the road.

You give him a hum in acknowledgement and he leans back into his chair.

Steve keeps himself occupied enough. The further you drive, the more he calculates the distance between the next bus stand and New York in case you suddenly decide to send him along his way in an uncharacteristic move.

"Steve."

"Yeah?" He perks up. "Next turn is-"

“Get some sleep,” you say, the edge in your voice jaded. “I’ll wake you up when we reach.”

"No, it's fine, I'll get some-"

"It's a straight road. The thing is voice enabled," you cut in. "I will be fine. Sleep."

Steve exhales through his nose when you don't show any inclination of changing your mind. He leaves his phone in the cupholder.

He shifts his whole body towards the door.

The AC’s turned down low, but the air outside is too hot to have the windows down.

He had read of how drastically the weather changes along this route, and to come as prepared as possible because you never knew what could hit you. For now it felt like summer was going to stay a while.

You’ve let a podcast on at the lowest volume on to fill the silence. He listens for a while, but soon the words start fading in and out, and he can barely remember what they said last.

He leans his head against the glass.

Trees blur past.

He slips into darkness.

“What have you been drawing?” she asks again, picking up the book.

“Just some ships.” Steve looks back out at the water. “Nothin’ special.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Polite as always, there’s a hint of gentle curiosity in her eyes.

He wordlessly gestures for her to go ahead, and she flashes him a smile before doing so.

Steve doesn’t know what about this is different, but he’s sure this is the prettiest she’s looked in a while.  

“You did all this now?” She traces a finger lightly over the sketch, making sure not to smudge the intricate lines.

“Yeah.” He switches between looking at her and the drawing, trying to get an analysis of her judgment before she hands it to him.

She turns to him with half a glare, unimpressed.

His eyes shoot open, sucking in a breath sharply.

It takes him a second to adjust his heightened hyper-vigilance to where he was-- not the docks, not the sunset, but an SUV-- and a second longer to let go of the seat he held so tight in a white knuckled clench.

The car wasn't moving. A swift look to his right and he realises you’re not in it either.

Steve rapidly unbuckles his seat belt, almost ripping it off it in an attempt to get rid of the weight that was pressing down on his chest. He sits up straight, shoving open the car door to get some air because fuck, the atmosphere was suffocating.

He remembers to breathe in, one, two, and out, one, two, three, four and count to ten mindfully.

His eyes stay open, however, as he glances around, but his chest rises and falls in exaggerated motions.  It works, but only after he does it twice, hands on his hips.

Once his spine straightens out again and he begins to make a move towards the car to grab the bottle, is when he sees that he’s at a gas station. There’s a little store adjoining and once he squints, he can see you over at one of the aisles through the storefront window.

Steve lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, sinking back into his seat, gripping tightly onto the bottle as he chugs the remaining water.

"Fuck," he curses, pressing into his temples hard.

He can't remember the last time it had been this bad, but he also hadn't fallen asleep in a small space any time recently, buckled to a seat. It had been about eighty years, give or take.

You were still checking out boxes, still within his sight. He wonders how much of his outburst depended on the split second thought that you had just left him here.

He mumbles something else to himself and it’s more so just to get his brain to calm down again.

Like every time, he resorts to the one activity that gets him more bored out of his skull than anything else. It’d become an unhealthy habit by now. He hates that he checks it ever morning as soon as he wakes up.

Arm still numb from sleeping on it, he scrolls through his notifications. He swipes away the emails from various reporters and agents and promotional messages and goes straight to his messages.

Govt. Reallocates Defense Budget, to Announce New Welfare Policies.

Jesus. His lips press into a straight line, partly impressed.

Mona’s sent him a Bitmoji in celebration. He sends her a balloon emoticon.

Right as he clicks out of the chat, someone else sends him a text with an attachment.

It’s a picture of a window. A tiny plant sits on the wall overlooking a a gorgeous view of a lake, but the whole image was a bit blurry.

To Steve

stop ignoring me. dick.

Against all circumstances, Steve's mouth twitches into a trace of a smile.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, Rogers,” his best friend doesn’t hesitate the second he picks up the phone.

“My phone wasn’t exactly falling off the wall from your calls either.”

“You know me-” Bucky grunts slightly as something drops to the floor “-Mr Popular an’ all that. I was too busy havin’ a life.”

“Right.” Steve snorts. “Who fed your seventy cats while you were away?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He laughs, however. He’d been doing that a lot more recently. Steve thinks it's a good look on him.

“How you been, Buck?” He pulls his one arm across his chest, keeping an eye on the little store and your silhouette moving between the aisles.

“Like I said, busy.” Another object lands with a thud. “I have been left in charge of a fern.”

“Congratulations,” Steve says, smile growing on his face. “Who bestowed that honour upon you?”

“Oh, you know. The king of this country,” Bucky’s voice is muffled through the phone. “It’s a gift. Since I'm now officially therapy cleared.”

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Yeah, graduated class of '24. Got the go-ahead to start poking around in there and not have me go murder mode, at least immediately," Bucky says casually, but Steve can hear the slight elation in his voice. "Woo hoo."

"Shit, Bucky.” Steve breathes out. “That's incredible."

"It's all right," he says. "They're having me move out of the hut and into an apartment. Getting a head start on readjusting, reintegrating-- somethin’ like that."

"You're moving?" Steve questions in mild surprise. "I coulda helped you, you know."

"Nah, I'm saving that favour for the penitentiary."

Steve winces at the thought. "You're not going to jail, Bucky."

"I know, I know. Sorry. 'M supposed to stop making those jokes. Apparently, they're not good for my self confidence or whatever.” He shrugs it off. "Murdock's flying in next month."

"Yeah?"

"He says he wants to take the whole thing slow, to make sure I was ready," Bucky says. "Told him to buy me dinner first."

Steve's face breaks into a grin. "I don't think you're his type."

"Bullshit. I'm a fuckin' sweetheart, I'm everyone's type." Bucky scoffs. "And I know you've been avoiding me, by the way."

"Why would I be avoiding you?" He knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Because-" The sounds from his end make sense now; boxes sliding across floors and tape being ripped off cardboard. “I asked if you told Y/N yet.”

Steve bites his lip before releasing it. “I did.”

There’s a silence at the other end before Bucky asks more seriously, “How'd it go?”

“Wouldn’t say it went too well.”

“I’ll bet. Pissed, huh?”

Steve sighs. “Has a right to be.”

“Y/N's gonna come around. I hope.”

Steve watches you walk towards the register.

"Did you?” he asks.

There is no response from Bucky’s end until a chuckle comes back, sounding a bit distant. Sad, almost.

“Took me a while, too, Stevie.”

At least his friend doesn’t lie to him. Steve chews on the inside of his lip, a furrow between his brows.

“Just give it some time. It'll be okay,” Bucky pipes up again. “Or, you know, this trip’s gonna be awkward as all hell.”

A corner of Steve’s mouth raises in a half-smile. “Still wish you were invited?”

“Fuck no.”

Bucky says a few more blasphemous things and Steve bickers with him for a few more minutes before the former says goodbye. The unsaid promise of a call soon hangs in the air.

When he looks back at you, you’re talking animatedly with the girl at the register the way old friends do when they run into each other after years. She says something and you laugh, nodding along.

He likes that-- how you find friendships wherever you go. He doesn’t have the same privilege, but he doesn’t hold it against those he encounters, given that most circumstances when he meets them are less than ideal.

He’s just glad the time he crashed in and shattered half the equipment in your lab wasn’t the first and last time you spoke to him.

It takes another few minutes for you to wave at her and grab the brown paper bags before walking out and to the car. You open the backseat and leave most of the stuff there, all the while balancing a large cup of something.

“You should eat.” You don’t wait for an answer, tossing a pack of trail mix at him. “That’s probably the healthiest thing in that store.”

“Thanks.” Steve watches you clamber in. “D’you know her?”

“Who?”

His gaze shifts from yours and towards the cashier, head lifting pointedly in her direction.

“Oh, no.” You pull on your seatbelt, clicking it into place. “I've never met her before.”

“Just looked like you did." Steve quietly tears open the packet of food and tosses a fistful into his mouth.

“I have friends in weird places.” The car switches on, pulling out of the station. “This store just ain’t one of them.”

He looks at you questioningly, before his face twists at the unwanted raisin that ends up in the pile.

“You meet people at conventions,” you say dismissively. “You never know when contacts from Zloda or Madripoor come in handy.”

Strangely, he remembers Tony saying the same thing years ago. Guess it just came with the job.

“And also-” You twist your body to reach into the backseat, shaking a magazine out of a cover before tossing it into his lap.

He holds up the glossy copy of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas to examine it.

“What’s this?”

“I know you like to read, Steve.” You readjust in your seat. “This was the least offensive one I found.”

---

The motel room doesn’t reek of stale cigarette smoke. The smell of clean sheets and carpets, and mothballs was predominant but frankly, he’d take it any day.

Steve leans his body against the headrest, freshly showered and mostly full from a few bites of some salad and a steak.

His TV is kept running in the background as noise, but his attention strays between the sketchbook on his lap and several other undefined thoughts that floated in and out at their will.

His hand absentmindedly sketches out basic images. Wildflowers on the side of the road, gas pumps, feet propped up against the dashboard.

He steadily keeps track of the minutes in his head, counting down to your arrival. It had given him enough time since you'd checked in to get dressed and ready.

“There’s a show I booked a while ago. It’s a band that does covers of modern songs in old genres. Swing and stuff.” You glance at him. “We don’t have to go.”

Steve can imagine why you’d think that, but he’s quick to reply, “No. No, let’s go.”

The look you give him is doubtful, but he nods again.

"It sounds great."

"Okay," you hesitate. "I'll see you at 7."

There were a few minutes left, but it was sufficient for his mind to play on loop bits and pieces of the conversation from that morning.

Steve had gone to therapy, but you weren't wrong in your call out either when you said it hadn't been nearly enough.

He'd seen firsthand how men suffered when they couldn't accept help. Hell, he'd gotten certified himself and was a counselor for a while till he stopped for reasons that outweighed his altruism.

But he was given a task. It was simple, glaringly so. But he hadn't finished it. And for that alone, it doesn't feel right to go back yet.

“I was told it’s the only way they’d let me come in.”

“To help with the aftermath, you said?” she clarifies, looking at the three total lines she probably had on him.

"Yes,” he replies. “Relocation, search and rescue for people missing after the battle.”

“Right, the Battle of Earth.” Dr. Nasser writes something down. He follows the movement of her pen. “We haven't talked in too much detail about that.”

"Steve?" You knock twice on the door. "You ready?"

"Coming," he calls out, sending one last glance down at his doodles.

Amidst the gas station and the gigantic marble walls is a familiar wooden pathway in front of a store. He frowns at it for a second before shutting his book and pushing off his bed.

He gives you a quick greeting when the door opens to reveal you, arms tucked awkwardly over your chest.

"Sure you wanna do this?"

"Absolutely," he affirms, closing the door behind him, all the while trying to place where he'd seen that particular background.

____

The crowd is buzzing by the time you get inside.

It's lively chatter, smiling faces and excitement all around.

Steve is sure he drops the energy of the room just by walking in, like some undead spirit.

You, however, have a tiny smile on your face the second you step in.

The lobby outside the actual theatre is fucking fancy too; gold accents, marble pillars and chandeliers from tall ceilings. Long staircases along the side lead to the upper floors.

"This is supposed to be a theatre?" Steve asks. "A theatre for movies and shows?"

"The creators wanted to make a palace for the people," you explain, following the flow of people walking up the stairs. "Apparently it's haunted."

"To be fair, that's what they say about all joints older than twenty years," Steve replies.

The kid in his apartment-- Meskill, his name was-- maintained that it was haunted too. Mrs McKinnon didn't take kindly to being sprayed in the face with ‘holy water’ from Walt’s kitchen tap and being told to 'leave this mortal coil!'. It explained why he never received a knitted scarf but Steve did.

"Bet you'll be a lot nicer when the instruments start to float, Rogers," you dish back distractedly, still in awe at the majesty of the place.

Steve shrugs, too occupied trying to figure out all the influences that had inspired the architecture of the place to realise it was the first real crack at a joke you'd made all day.

Greek, Roman, Baroque, Byzantinian, Venetian was what he'd counted so far.

"Why do you do that?"

Steve looks at you, then himself. "Do what?"

Your finger points at his waist. "That. Holding onto your belt like that."

His eyes trail down to where he latches onto the buckle, finding contentment in the balance.

"I don't know," he replies. "Didn't even realise."

"You do it a lot." Your gaze flickers up at him. "Why'd you start?"

"Can't remember." Steve let go of his belt, feeling a sudden awkwardness at the gesture. "Been doin' for as long as I remember."

You nod at his answer, unsatisfied but unwilling to show it.

Steve's eyebrows knit together in puzzlement the second you turn away from him. Where did it come from? Some old Western movie? Was he imitating someone? Why'd the memory seem so far away?

"Let's go?" you ask carefully.  

Steve nods and you lead the way up the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.

___

You're nearly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. It's good, there was no rush to get to your seats or crowd to shove through.

Steve had a glossy copy of the programme in his hand. He'd already memorised the biography of the band, making a mental note to check their channel out after it was done.

"How long is the show?" Steve whispers to you, maintaining the hushed tones those around him were speaking in.

"About two hours, I think?" you squint.

"Cool," he says, flipping the pamphlet back to check the set-list. "They've got a good line up."

"Yeah," you say, voice a bit far away. "You'll let me know if you want to go, right?"

Steve turns to you but the houselights go off, leaving him blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to-"

Steve tries your name again when you don't answer.

"I'm sorry," you say all of a sudden.

"Please ensure your mobiles are switched off for the duration-"

Steve inclines his head towards you. "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have been so harsh," you continue. "This morning, at breakfast. I wasn't the nicest. Shouldn't have discounted your experiences like that, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve says because he didn't even think about it that way. "I understand."

"I was angry and upset, and I thought I had time to calm down, but it wasn't enough and I took it out on you," you continue, voice low. "And I'm sorry for raising my volume, too. I can't imagine it was easy to have your experiences invalidated. It won't happen again."

He calls out your name, further urging, "You had every right to be upset. You don't have to apologize."

You nod, eyes trained on the stage as members of the crew dressed in black dart about for final checks.

"I wanted to tell you earlier. I did," Steve brings up.

"I know," you reply.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I'm really fuckin' sorry. I've been trying to work on it-- telling people things before it's too late. I was going to tell you, even if we weren't on a road trip, but there's no real justification. I should have told you when I told both of them. It wasn't right."

"The show will begin in another five minutes. Please sit back and-"

"Thank you." You clear your throat. "I'm-- I know I've been cold, but I'm gonna take some more time to process it. There's-- you know, it's--"

"You don't have to explain," he breaks in gently. "You do whatever feels right."

He wants to squeeze your hand the same way you do to his sometimes. A reassurance to one who seeks it. He can't offer any right now, he's already done the damage.

"Has it been difficult? Keeping it in this long?" you ask as someone murmurs an apology for stepping over you to get to their seat.

Steve's chest feels hollow. Because to be fucking honest, it had been easy.

It'd slipped out almost, the few times he'd seen you in between, on his couch or for brunch. He knew it in his bones that it wasn't right and would never be, but overwhelmingly, keeping the secret till he died was something he'd found as easy as breathing.

But he's lied so much already.

"Harder than you'd think," he says because he should. Because you deserve the effort.

There is the clicking of drum sticks together, and the intro to the performers starts playing, loud and colourful.

"You'll tell me if you want to leave, won't you?" you whisper.

Hoping to God he's being honest this time, he replies, "I will."

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

The audience hoots and cheers, even the people right beside him.

But Steve's mind still lingers on an empty promise and a belt buckle.

next part

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #mcu fic #steve fic #steve rogers fic #steve fluff #steve rogers fluff #steve angst #steve rogers angst #bridges break fic #captain america x reader #captain america fluff #captain america angst #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #marvel fic #captain america fic #steve rogers series #captain america series

[neverevan]

Fuck It Friday 🧇

Heyooo. I am still riding the canon bi Buck high and can't wait to see the mess that is the madney wedding lmao — and to watch Tommy be the hero of the day and his reward to be a dance with Buck at the hospital, in their tethered clothes. (hey, I can dream, alright?)

Anyway, I decided to give you a bit more of the jealous eddie fic, which, listen... I am turning it inside and outside in my head, trying to figure out how to go forward with it, but so far all I could come up with is; rewrite most of it. welp, c'est la vie.

This comes directly after this snippet.

The gun went off and Buck just stood there, frozen with Eddie’s blood splattered all over his face, until he got pushed to the ground.

It felt like a million years before his brain finally caught up with the events around him, kicking his instincts into gear and making him crawl under the truck and get to Eddie.

After that it was a blur of desperation and undivided focus.

Stay alive please stay alive don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me god I can’t live without you please don’t leave me—

After Eddie’s gurney left his sight, everything went silent, as if someone had hit the mute button on Buck’s life. His mind was empty, his eyes unfocused, his body numb. He was completely out of it.

That’s when Taylor arrived and took him home, so he could clean himself up before seeing Christopher.

And fuck, he had to be strong, he knew that, but it was too hard and heavy, he couldn’t hold out for long. Bobby’s text was the last drop to break the dam, the relief of being out of the woods, the hope of not losing Eddie made his chest impossibly tight and there was no more holding back.

Of course, Christopher took it in stride like always. God, he loved that kid so much, he was the strongest, the sweetest and smartest kid he’s ever known — his own person, yet a perfect extension of his dad — and Buck has loved him like his own from the start. That was probably the first sign of many that he missed.

And then it hit him. When he first went to see Eddie after he woke up, running down the corridors to his room; Buck’s heart was beating out of his chest, but it still skipped an entire beat when Eddie smiled at him as he walked into the room.

Oh.

It came over him in waves, like he was watching the tsunami close in on him again, his emotions like water, pushed his body from side to side, constricted his lungs and made him feel like death was just around the corner.

The funny thing was… he knew it right there and then. He had no idea about how he felt before any of it and yet he knew; Eddie was it.

It was too much and too soon, overwhelming in a way he couldn’t qualify as good or bad, but suddenly breathing was hard around Eddie.

So when Taylor made a move, Buck clinged to it desperately, hoping against hope that it would be enough to shake the realisation. He knew better of course, but it seemed like the perfect hiding place at the time.

tags under the cut 💛

✨I have been tagged by and am tagging the ever so lovely

@sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @goforkinard

@exhuastedpigeon @nmcggg @bidisasterbuckdiaz

@daffi-990 @diazsdimples @honestlydarkprincess

@watchyourbuck @actualalligator @bucksbignaturals mwuahhh 💛

#I'm so sad that I kinda lost the thread with this one #I started it just around the same time as the mudslide fic so like back in september #and even though I know what happens I don't really know how to bridge it from where I left off and where we're going #I have faith in getting there during the break though #🙏 #buddie #911 #911 abc #wip #the jealous eddie fic

[moregraceful]

i was gonna watch the vgk-dal game to bandwagon the stars but then i realized that if i have to see hertl in that jersey even once it's literally my last day, and also mike grier's last day, on planet earth, so.

#KELLY MCCRIMMON I HOPE THE CEILING FAN FALLS ON U #pulling a dq and telling people to just throw me off a bridge honestly #i usually try to have a value-neutral position on teams idc abt but the hertl trade made me blacklist every possible variation of the #team's name and lb and every associated tag so. sorry. lol coming out of my cage and i'm not doing fine #i wrote robo/nick s instead #2.3k and nothing happens in it #they literally go drink boba and yearn for manju but the manju shop is closed #also have been given some valuable feedback. there are cities in which people recognize hockey players in the wild?? that happens in #quebec??? god imagine seeing and recognizing nick suzuki in the grocery store i would just leave #imagine seeing a shark in the grocery store i would not even notice i'd just be like get out of my way you're blocking the kombucha #so i have to do some rewriting anyway bc a chunk of the fic is like has nick suzuki ever been recognized in his life. answer: yes!!! #i assume robo is not being recognized by non-hockey fans anyway lol dallas has american football baseball and basketball #the city got other concerns #i always laugh when canadians are like isn't hockey one of your big four sports 🤨 #i'm like. tiers of american sports: 1: college basketball and college football. 2: football basketball and baseball. 2.5: hockey #u could put connor mcdavid in a grocery store and people would be like get this guy's ass out of the fruit section he's killing the vibe #i spent 20 hours at church over the weekend guys and i refused to read or answer a single email from anyone associated with church #all day bc i was like i need a break from you people. but people started texting me instead i was like .... #didn't read or answer those either lol #i was gonna refill a queue tonight but a i just spent 45 minutes on these tags b i saw a picture of trea turner that got me in my 🥺 #c was writing a touching tribute to manju and hot guys of which there are none in san jose (hot guys. there's plenty of manju #in san jose) #and now i am like. am i crazed enough to have an opinion on 150 posts in one hour?? #let's find out lmao #fresno oilers.txt

[seeyouafter]

SYA Writing Log 02.01.2024

So, this wasn't in the plans, but apparently people want to see the tdbk arcade date after their conversation in the previous chapter and Katsuki's "Shit to do when Half and Half gets home" list.

(It's me. I'm people.)

I already know it's not going to be part of the main fic but now I really just want to do a fluffy little one-shot about this (and maybe some of the other items on the list).

Here's the most recent chapter in case you missed it:

#i keep forgetting to post chapter updates here if i'm not doing extended notes #as if i need more things to write #but i could use a break from the angst so maybe #dancing girl writes #see you after fic #sya writing log #sya: bridges #sya: after

[ro-botany]

Having a fucking moment reacting to Dawn's t4t chrima fic holy fuck

I need a minute. Hold on I need a minute.

#that fic is tailor made to hit me in the chest like a freight train #fucks sake #I just. I'm doing better about it these days than ever before but I feel like a failed person in so many ways #among them gender and sexuality. among them neurodivergence and the consequences of that. Lots of things besides. #And a lot of what makes me a failed person are things that I am proud of. I'm long over trying to change them... #But sitting in the closet feels like waiting for doomsday. #I can die in here a hero. #A person. Or I can live long enough to break out and become a villain. Something broken. And these are the only two choices. #There isn't going to be a coming out that doesn't burn bridges. There just isn't. #Dawn did you read my fucking mind or something how did you do this. Chrom's just like me fr #delete later #probably

[theraven-gil-lyn]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Halt O'Carrick, David (Ranger's Apprentice), Gilan (Ranger's Apprentice) Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Angst, But just a little, this was supposed to be a fun fic of two guys having a chat, i dont know when the vulnerability popped up but it's there ;-;, but they're also joking around a bit, Craltine, sorta referenced but only in passing asldkjfh im just flagging it, set in between TEY and RA

Summary: While reflecting on the past few years with David over a late breakfast, Halt starts to ponder his next steps as a Ranger.

#oak.tree #oak.fic #ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #the early years #halt o'carrick #david gilandad #gilan davidson #// #[tired affleck w/ a cigarette meme] #not me just wanting to write a short fun fic to take a break from the bIG MULTICHAPTER ones that i love but are taking forever #and then it becoming way longer than it was supposed to 🤣 #call that a classic i guess #you know #not even #this fic was supposed to be about gilan getting apprenticed #and i didnt even wRITE that part #if anything that can be a second chapter but im gonna be real with you i really doubt it will happen #also like #gilan basically tells the whole thing in burning bridge already so i dont have much incentive #anyway #im so tired and i do not know if it's any good but i had some fun adsjhfasdf

[theinfinitedivides]

hi!! it’s the my dearest anon again did u see the new part 2 preview omg it’s so sad they’re abt to break my heart into pieces

for the uninitiated, i am linking the preview in question here but wouldn't it be funny if they wanted us to suffer. that's not their plan right. right it can't be we went through too much in part one to go for a second round surely they'll have some mercy on us this time

(narrator voice: they did not, in fact, have mercy on us)

#inbox #q: anon #tv: my dearest #my dearest #mbc my dearest #namgoong min #nam goong min #ahn eun jin #kdrama #local gay watches My Dearest (and is subsequently f*cked up).txt #local gay watches k-dramas.txt #hi hello again anon ty for coming back to my inbox with absolutely devastating information for the rest of the fandom #the way her hair is up bc she apparently got married????? and somehow they dragged her to Qing and now we have to sit here with a door #between her and Jang Hyun like it's Yi San and Deok Im from TRS all over again (cinematographer-nim!!!!!! you are not subtle sir!!!!!!!) #and he is asking where it all went wrong and we know where it did and simultaneously don't and God. f*ck. i got goosebumps #when the OST came in my hands started shaking i am not ok THEY ARE NOT OK #and ykw this week for whatever reason i decided to put Sting's Mad About You in my personal MD playlist #that i usually have on loop when i'm working on fics or writing up posts and that one line in the bridge. 'it'd make a prison #of my life / if you became another's wife'. i did not ask them to reach through the screen and decide i was a prophet now wtf #give me a sec i need to decide whether i'm currently collected enough to listen to With My Heart and not break down again

[monpalace]

there's this to.

#tales from the basement #i havent slept in 22hrs #this is coming to be more of a gn reader but wtv #not only am i emotional but im a lesbian and i think the correlation is really important bc all i can think of is sonia; zelda; and link bc #in some way theyre all lesbian to me and idk how else to explain it. but the other correlation is that sonia is not only very gorgeous to me #(vine); but she exudes such mother energy that im willing to break my rule of only posting fics/drabbles on saturdays and sundays-- but also #bc its juneteenth and shes black to me. half black at least. idk her nose has a raised (?) bridge and thats not a common feature for afro-fe #atures; but its sonia so who gives a damn yknow? anyways i hate looking at fanart of her bc they never include that? yh; its rare we see it #bc the detail blends in with the skin most of the time; but its still there and i feel delusional everytime i see her with a euro-centric no #se or none at all #anyways.

[kuiinncedes]

listening to the jatp soundtrack again for the first time in 437856387459723562534 years

#HOW DARE THEY TAKE THEM AWAY FROM ME #im like happy but sad listening rn XD #i better not cry im in my room w my roommate lmao #*sobbing inside* EVEN IF WE HIITTTTTT THEEEEEE GROUUUND WE'LL STILL FLY KEEP DREAMING LIKE WE'LL LIVE FOREVER #OH THE BRIDGE #WE'RE THE REVOLUTION THATS BEEN SINGING IN THE RAINNNAFDGNSDIUGHIRHGA;KJG #ok so im . reigniting my obsession w j/atp again XD #i have been reading/rereading some j/atp fic so #sigh here we go again XD not a bad thing but also it is a very time consuming thing lmao 🤪 #WAKE UP MAKE ME CRY MADI EXCEPT DONT EXCEPT AHFUGHADFIHGADFUGAJDFBJLFGHF #🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 #jeanne talks #gonna try to keep working on my hw lmfaoooo #WHHYYYYYYY DID THEY TAKE THEM AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE #SHES READYU TO POWER THRU IT!!!!!!GONNA FIND THE STRENGTH FIND THE MELODY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #*screams* im fine #no but ive been wanting to listen to it again for so long but i was scared of like . the time commitment XD / emotional effects lolll #so in that sense this might be the worst week to do it but . i needed it #life is a risk but i will take it . and listen to the j/atp soundtrack for the first time in forever during one of my busiest weeks :D #i've also been putting off rewatching for a while i gotta do that :] maybe over break :DDDDDD #why is this so good TT #i do still have to finish rewatching the g/ood pIace....... im scared of the last two episodes lmfaooo mainly the last ep lol #but i've also been putting off the second to last :P anyway HOMEWORK

[dodgebolts]

okay its 2:30 am so this is not thought through or proof read but I am sending you my *thoughts* on the finals tonight (and also melfest heat 2 and the lithuanian semi final):

melfest heat 2 was ok…I figured either wiktoria or theoz would’ve qualified for the final for sure but neither have (although theoz is in the semi final so we’ll see) (also victor crone is in the semi final as well and I don’t like the song but I hated the song he had when he competed for estonia like I did not like it at all so :/)

the lithuanian semi final was fine, paulinas song is good and I think she’s among the favourites to win with mario (the song is also good) but I actually really like moonbee like the chorous is stuck in my head, beatrich was also good

estonia was the first of the night and the one I was disappointed by the most because ollie was my favourite by far (the song is kinda giving nickelback tbh but it works) and he ended up second and they chose a ballad (in english as well) and while its not bad it’s nothing special imo

denmark is fine but it reminds me of another song and it drives me crazy because I can’t figure out which one but I think overall the song is fine (has a lot of vocal effects tho so I don’t know how good these will translate to eurovision)

latvias song is actually really good I like that they included a bit of a latvian lullaby at the end but I also think hush wouldve been a good option as well

romanias song is also good, I think the final was somewhat weak but dgt is really good and catchy and he has good stage presence

malta was surpassingly fine although I would’ve loved to see aidan there (he was second last year and his song was sooooo much better than what they ended up sending (they changed the song after the final) and it was in maltese and I loved the song so much) I actually thought brooke would win but the busker is fun and could at least get them to the final

I don’t really wanna talk about croatia like they had some good entries in the last few years but this entire final felt really outdated and not in a fun way

as for sanremo…it felt both gay and homophobic (which I think is the point of sanremo) and it was at least entertaining to watch and during the superfinal I was rooting for lazza even though I figured marco would win (I think the song is okay but he is amazing live which is worth a lot and elevates it)

MER AV DIG GOES CRAZY I LOVE IT!!! Even if it doesn't go any farther that's an easy playlist addition the entire performance was amazing. I can't find a video of Wiktoria's performance but I love the song and her voice is GORGEOUS.

ok I'm listening through all of your faves from the lithuanian semis, Paulina's performance was so cool, I adore Mario's voice and the song is giving rock-country vibes I LOVE IT, Moon Bee's was a little slow for me personally but I definitely see the appeal, and I LOVEEEEE beatrich's performance, I think it was maybe my favorite and it qualified :D

I really liked the Estonian entry a lot, and Nickelback vibes is like. the perfect descriptor for Venom but I also like listening to popular Nickelback so it's right up my alley LOL

Denmark's I think was one of my favorites of the entries released yesterday but I think the concern about it translating to a live performance is p valid, I'm watching the performance from the grand prix and it's pretty good, but I think he could definitely do w some dance training? ALSO I REALIZED IT SOUNDS LIKE A LAUV SONG 😭😭 I’m not sure which one but it’s very much a how I’m feeling track and I’m a sucker for lauv. So

The Aija performance was perfect for the song, though I will say I liked it more on the 2nd playthrough than I did the first

I also really liked DGT, for me it also needed a second playthrough for me to really appreciate but it’s really fun and I’m excited to see it on stage!!

The Busker was giving me Be More Chill vibes during their performance and it's a funky little song, I hope it'll be a fan favorite bc given the track record of last year's judging I don't trust the jury (nor most of the public) to let it get through :(

The Croatian one was definitely interesting, I don’t think I loved the song’s sound but the translation and interpretation was interesting to read n it’s quite topical so 😭😭 I doubt it’ll get through semis though

as for sanremo I’m so confused about what happened bc someone else (?) sent me something about live divorces and sexuality crises but I don’t think I could make myself sit through it all 😭

While due vite wasn’t at the top for me during sanremo I haven't been able to get it out of my head so yk what? I’m excited to see him bc the recording sounds almost identical to his live performance it’s awesome also I just wholeheartedly want italy to win every year unless the song is trash, which it hasn't been since I started watching

#my entire plane ride home was just me listening to my favorite ones that are on spotify and reading fics #(rn it's 4 songs—queen of kings/bridges/breaking my heart/due vite) #it was really great actually #anon also since u seem to be like. 5-8 hours ahead of me I'm gonna schedule this for the time sanremo started #also anon do u want an emoji I want to give u proper recognition when u send asks to me bc this was epic THANK U FOR DOING THIS! #lyss.esc23 #lyss answers #🌻 tag

[pussymasterdooku]

i love you absolute quiet room at the library……

#my hobby: literally just chilling in here #the handful of other people around are like. ivy league students studying or whatever and i’m like #drinking my coffee reading my emails. breaking out the book i brought from my town library. working on my fic #where else will i find a room in public quiet enough for me to read!!! and it’s so empty and i have a couch and an ottoman…😚👌 #AND a lovely view of the pvd skyline!! the only downside is that i will have to move my car at some point and also it’s not my car #bc service yesterday was gna take too long and now i’m in a loaner and it’s SOOOO confusing it’s newer than my car but worse #WHERE’S MY BLINDSPOT CAM @ THIS 2022 ACCORD SPORT #WHERES MY HEATY SEATY!!!!!! it’s fine but was VERY strange driving in. i’ll be glad to get my baby back today #and with her airplane-takeoff-sounding wheel bearing finally fixed!!! YAHOO!!!!!!! #but eva has a weird day today bc she goes in on thursdays but has a meeting at 6 today so. idk i’ll take her home at 2 and get my car then #but i wasn’t gna drive over the fucked up washington bridge twice just a couple hours apart. like it’s fine when she 9-5s it but 10-2? #absolutely not. library time #so here i am 🥰 #a ten is blogging

[shurisneakers]

bridges break (v)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there’s one big secret he’s keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there’s no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I’ll tag it.

A/N: hello everyone !! i have been going through a bit of a depresh which is why i haven't responded or updated but i shall forge through. this godforsaken series demands to be seen. thank you for your kindness on this fic. i want to throw up u are all so nice

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Tip #77: Stay away from landscape fabric!

Steve lets his eyes scour over the words, and then again.

He glances down at the picture and stares at it for a little over ten seconds before his eyes go back up to re-read the words.

He reads them again, and then again.

Leaves shake gently, like they're chastising him. He'd already spent ten minutes on Tip #43 of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas thinking of nothing, and now Tip #77 about the state of the world and his noticeable absence in it.

There's a tension in the air, a lingering awkwardness.

Your fingers nimbly card through another page of your book. A breeze blows and a soft exhale escapes past your lips.

Tip #77: Stay away from landscape fabric!

Steve tries his hand at it again and once it finally registers, the picture makes sense.

It'll stick around in his head for as long as he can remember, with the other 76 tips and a million other details he'd never cross again. It helps most times. HYDRA bases were easier to track down after a single glance at a map, but he also spent 5 excruciating minutes remembering what it felt like for the Arctic ice to crystallise his blood when Bucky stuck his cold metal arm down his shirt for fun.

A curse to remember.

Steve clenches his eyes shut tightly. 

He shouldn't feel that way about his abilities. Shouldn't be ungrateful for what he was given. He forces himself to remember that he’s long moved on, spent so long quelling the simmering anger in him. But it nags at the back of his head that it's purely sinful to do so many things he does, think all the things he does. He does it anyway. Whose God would spare another second to damn him when there was already a place for him in hell?

Grass pokes out from under the blanket you've spread. It's soft and prickly and the moisture seeps through the fabric. The tree you're under overlooks a lovely part of the park, nothing in the distance for as far as he can see other than more trees over the valley.

His skin on his ankles itches from the burn of the sun, and so he readjusts.

Sitting on the ramp of the quinjet, looking onto rolling hills with Sam was, in spirit, similar. The platform was cold and hard and ridged, and Sam's laugh is still luminous as ever. The moon curtained by clouds is captured so neatly in their eyes; spending the night here in the jet they managed to finally break doesn't seem so bad.

Tomorrow was another day, another border to cross and other bodies to chase but for now, Sam's talking about the cartwheel that landed him and Sarah in the emergency room, and Nat's joining them the next day, unfortunately missing the story of a lifetime.

He wondered what colour her hair would be then. It changes like the wind.

He likes it. 

Steve's back tenses on instinct, even though there is nothing to protect himself from. The tree is good support and there's a throw pillow separating him from the ground. Still, his muscles have a faint ache in them, the same as the morning after the sun rose over the hills and through the entrance of the quinjet left opened a crack.

A curse to remember.

"What’s wrong?" you ask quietly.

He snaps out of it, shaking his head and straightening up. “Nothing. Just zoned out for a second.”

"Flashback?" 

Steve pauses. "No. Didn’t get much sleep." 

You’ve turned away, and so he misses the scrunch between your eyebrows.

Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!

Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!

Tip #78: Herbs? Don't Mint If I Do!

He looks down at the picture. Looks back up at the words. Mint.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes flit towards him and quite possibly the umpteenth apology he had given in the last twenty-four hours.

"I know," you reply slowly.

"How do I make it up to you?" he asks again.

You don't reply.

Steve wonders when the last time was when he read a book that had pictures and still registered nothing.

You turn another page, but this time the novel lowers. You close it, using your finger as a makeshift bookmark to hold your place.

Steve hopes for a hum or a song, but none follows as you stare out blankly into the open.

He's about to ask if you're okay, if something's wrong even though he has a feeling that something definitely is when you shift forward.

Away from him.

Away from him.

Steve doesn't dare to look from the corner of his page, careful not to give too much away, but his stomach drops heavily.

Until he feels a certain pressure and your head shifts to lie on his lap. Not facing him, but still there. Not away from him.

His hand twitches, hovers even, for a few seconds before his fingers stroke over your head.

You let out a small sigh. Steve continues, waiting for any inclination on your end for him to stop. It never comes.

And while he sees you open your novel again, he can hear you thumbing the pendant that hangs from your neck. He thought you would have taken it off by now, thrown it, incinerated it. But he can hear the minuscule clink of metal against the chain and it's a sign that maybe, things aren't as hopeless as he thinks.

There is silence and the sky breezes by. The moisture seeps through the blanket. Your head rests on his lap.

He picks up his magazine again.

Tip #79: Fallen leaves: Mulch Ado About Nothing!

_______

The wind whips around the car. His elbow leans out, other hand on the steering wheel.

The radio jockey talks, laughs obnoxiously at a corny pun his co-host cracks. Steve had met them before; they hosted the celebrations at Arlington several years ago for Memorial Day.

They were half decent, if a little talkative, but he didn't mind.

It served well to distract him. After all, Arlington was where Steve was buried.

A corny reference to a Don McLean line about him, and a proposal to have him pick the songs to kick the next morning's show off, and Steve almost stops looking in the direction where he was informed Bucky's empty casket was lowered into the ground way back then.

That day, Steve was in a bombed-out bar in London. The skies that bled as he tried to drink himself to oblivion, were now bright blue overhead. It was a rush to get rid of the bile that rose to his throat as his oldest friend's tombstone flashed through his mind.

The stone was long gone, of course. After Steve's rebirth and Bucky's return, empty coffins were removed. Not to make way, but just out of respect.

Freshly dug up earth, though. Freshly dug up earth had a scent of its own.

Unfortunately, he'd buried the ghosts of friends who never made it back after a battle far too many times. And after the last time it happened, he isn't quite sure he'd be able to go to a cemetery again.

Not when he knows her body is somewhere on a planet he couldn't reach. Not when he knows that unlike Bucky or him, she isn't getting a second chance.

“Your side of it,” she responds. "I could read about the battle anywhere. What I’m interested in is your side, how you’re dealing with it.”

Steve wants to smile, bitterly almost, at the fact that she only knows what they wanted everyone to know. But he couldn’t tell her that either.

"I deal with it just fine, I think," he says distantly.

"What do you mean by just fine?"

If this was what one on one therapy was like, it's a wonder why he doesn't care for it much.

"Well--" he blinks-- "I'm here, aren't I?"

She stares at him a little while longer. Steve glances at the clock.

"Are you happy?"

It takes him a second to realise the hosts aren't speaking because you've changed the channel to something far less grating. How far he's gotten since he spaced out, he has no idea. He's only glad it's a straight road for the next few miles.

"How much longer till the motel?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"A fair bit," you answer, looking at the navigation you had open on the phone. "You want to stop for a while?"

"No, just checking," Steve says. "I'm good."

You nod silently, lending your attention to the world outside the window again.

"I hope it doesn't rain."

If anything, it makes his eyebrows raise slightly when you continue to talk. He finds himself not caring if it’s about the weather, the stupid advertisement running on the radio right now, or even the fucking space titan. As long as you were talking to him, you could speak about any damn thing in the world.

"Don't think it will." He cranes his neck to get a better look at the sky.

It wasn't the bright blue it had been that morning, but it wasn't entirely overcast.

"Better not. We got a landmark coming up that I've been dyin' to get to," you mumble.

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

"Is it a world's largest something?" Steve asks, dry tease optimistic in his tone but still cautious. "World's largest mothball? Stroller?"

"Patience is a virtue, Cap'n." You tsk to yourself. "You'll see it when we get there."

Steve catches a bit of your sight, turning just as a faded smile grows on your face.

"But if you're tired, we can just crash for the rest of the day."

"Can't bail on me now, you got me all excited for your mystery landmark."

There's a small scoff that leaves you, half a laugh. "Whatever you want, Rogers."

He keeps driving. Even as the noon slips into the humidity-gifted heat of a late afternoon and he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. The radio plays indie rock and summer feels like it stretches on for eternity.

______

“Jesus.”

“You know-" you squint- “I don’t think Jesus was nineteen feet tall."

Steve is inclined to agree.

"Or that he held a hotdog like a child.”

That even more so.

"Woulda made church a lot more interesting," he says wryly.

The Paul Bunyon statue--deliberately misspelt to avoid a legal charge-- stands proudly and, dare he admit it, rather dauntingly. Michelangelo’s David could only dream of achieving the level of artistry this enterprise possessed.

It was a cultural landmark, a must-see on this trip according to several websites. Though Steve initially couldn’t see why… he kind of could.

He has his hands on his waist as he looks up. “Well, we can cross it off the list.”

A bird caws from overhead, and a car drives down the street. Unlike the both of you, it only slows to capture a picture before carrying on its way.

“Guess we can.” You bring your palm shielding your eyes from the rays of the sun.

The longer he looks at it, the more it begins to morph into something beautiful. Ugly, but beautiful, in its own amusing, absurd way.

It's ugly.

It's there.

“You want a picture?” Steve finds it hard to stop staring at the stupid smile smirk the strong-jawed man had like he was proud of his wiener infant.

“Hell yeah.”

_______

Steve glances at you through the rearview mirror. He only catches a glimpse of your forehead, the rest of you hunched over your phone.

It drags through his chest again; the same, scraping rawness that had him opening his mouth before he could stop himself.

"If you're gonna apologise again, Steve, I swear--"

He shuts his mouth, lips pressing into a thin line before he compounds another topic.

A bead of sweat rolls down your skin, and he turns up the AC.

The beat of silence rests nicely between you both before he asks,

"So these weird things-- giant shoes, and whales and whatnot-- they're the whole niche for this trip?"

You look up from trying to connect your phone to the car Bluetooth, an attempt that had been fruitless the last few times you'd tried.

"Yeah. People've made whole careers out of it." You fumble with a dial. "It's got a real dedicated fanbase."

Small talk was good. Just surface conversations but he was thrilled by every second.

"Have you ever road tripped before?"

Steve keeps his attention on the road. He's come to see that some of them tended to run off into gravel, dead ends or simply dirt tracks. The signs weren't always right, and the maps you vehemently defended were also outdated on several occasions.

"Does running from law enforcement count?" he asks in return.

You narrow your eyes at him. "Were you listening to good music while it was happening?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Other times it was Sam’s rendition of Inner City Blues for 3 hours."

"Then it's a road trip," you decide. "Bless Sam, he knew exactly what he was doing."

"Yeah, singing into the comms in the middle of a stake out."

"It's called having fun."

Steve doesn't disagree, but he doesn't agree either.

"You've been on a road trip before?"

"One or two," you say. "Whenever my parents had time off work and my mom managed to convince my dad."

“Were they fun?”

There’s a slow down in your movement that he barely catches. 

“As much as they could be, I guess. It was fun when they’d remember we were on vacation together. Otherwise, they’d spend a lot of time just talking to each other about their own world so it was easy to forget I was there,” you reply thoughtfully. “I didn’t really have anyone to talk to, so it was kinda quiet most times.”

His grip against the steering wheel tightens, the skin on his knuckles pulsating against the pressure.

“You haven't gone since then?”

"No, my friends-- I think a few of my friends planned one a couple of years ago? We were supposed to, at least, a few of us."

"Did you ever go?" He glances at you.

"Nah," you say, short. "I wasn’t in the best place in college and by the time I got okay again, people moved on. We didn't get the chance. But I know it would have been fun, they were great."

Steve watches another dilapidated sign whiz by.

You get back to whatever buttons you were clicking, wholly ignoring the instruction manual that came with the vehicle.

"After the Battle of New York, I got a bike," Steve pipes up. "Told myself I was gonna go check out the country and everything that had changed."

You pause, finger hovering over the power button on the radio. "Did you?"

"Not really," he confesses. "Got to check out Brooklyn, but after that Fury recruited me and I was back in training for SHIELD."

"Oh.”

"I've seen some parts of the country when I was on the run," he offers. "Most of our time we spent abroad 'cause it was harder for the government to track, and there were more HYDRA bases in other parts of the world."

"Didn't you also go after the Snap?" You poke at something on the display.

He opens his mouth to reply, only for you to cut him off with a jump when the car is flooded with loud, ear-splitting conversation. The hair on his skin goes upright in an instant, breath shortening and world shifting into slow motion.

You swiftly turn down the dial to restore the peace, murmuring in quiet annoyance to yourself the entire time.

"Fuck me," you curse lightly, "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"That was also, uh-" he forces himself to recentre "-mission-related."

"Oh, right, yeah." You facepalm lightly. "Forgot you were back only for the last two years."

He doesn't blame you. Steve had spent the first three years in and out of the state, the country-- almost the planet at times. He could count on his hand the number of times he'd snuck away to see you in between his erratic schedule.

It'd gotten easier once he finally chose to stay back in New York, but by then it wasn't his circumstances that forced him to keep away from others, but his quiet choice to stay inside a lot more.

"So I guess I'd say this is my first real road trip," Steve says.

"No pressure at all," you mutter. "Just a whole lot of empty land and tiny windmill restaurants."

He looks at you. "I think they're nice."

"You'd say that even if you didn't think so." The corner of your lips upturn.

He thinks that he probably would, but most likely not if it were anyone else.

"Fuc- finally." You sigh loudly, dropping your hand and settling back into your seat and grabbing your phone. "Any suggestions?"

Steve shakes his head. "Your choice."

You shrug, scrolling through your phone before an idea hits you and you quickly type in the title.

Leaning back, you look out the window as the car slowly fills with the familiar tune of Inner City Blues.

____

Steve's sketchbook is nearly twenty pages into his journal-sketch book hybrid. At this rate he'd be forced to get a new one before two weeks were done.

A corner of the page has a piece of Arlington on it, a singular tombstone with indecipherable writing. Somewhere else is his best attempt at recreating the mastery that was the Bunyon statue.

Most of the page was just filled with what you saw today, what he did and what he ate. He didn't make much of an effort at journaling, as substantiated by his pathetic attempts earlier that left behind half-finished sentences and open-ended thoughts. When he did try, it was simply a skeleton of the day. Nothing interesting.

Steve runs his eyes over the filled sheet. He notices it does nothing to him. He feels nothing about the scribbles and pencil scratches. 

Until there’s confusion. 

In the corner, there’s a recreation of a familiar scene. The stores at the back and the road bear a scary resemblance to the original. The man sits at the front with his smoke, white shirt and hunched over.

Edward Hopper’s Sunday looks back at him in black and white, and Steve doesn’t even remember when he put it there. 

But his eyes were wrong.

Steve erases it lightly, careful not to rip the page. Makes sure there are no smudges or strays.

The tilt of his brow is perfect, the scorn on his lips is harsh. Yet, when Steve looks at him, he doesn’t feel like his soul is being ripped out of his chest. Doesn't feel the drop in his stomach.

He can’t get the look in his eye right.

Steve pulls the book away from him slightly, letting himself really look at the image. There is no change. He feels nothing.

He turns his stare back to the wall.

Across the drywall, he knows you're there in a mirrored room. Your pacing stopped a while ago but your keyboard clicking still came in sporadic bursts.

There's a sudden sense of urgency in him. It makes his muscle twitch and his nausea set in his ribs.

Something-- he needs to do something now.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, even taking a step off the bed to shake off the sudden angst. But the feeling perists and so he exhales deeply, and it comes out shaky.

Checking the clock to make sure it was not too late, he picks up his phone instead for a quick search.

___

Steve knocks on the door, thrice, before letting his hand drop. It finds its way back to his pockets in nervousness, not before consciously being dragged away from where his belt buckle would be if he wasn't wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

The entrances to the double-story building all overlooked the car park. Some of the brown imitation wood paint had peeled away from the banisters and one of the lights overhead didn't turn on. But all in all, it was a pretty good place; clean with working facilities--

He hears the chain unlink from the door before you tug it open. 

"Hey," Steve says.

"Hi." You'd changed out of the clothes you were wearing during the day into something more comfortable and were looking at him in mild concern.

"I know you said we'd do takeaway, but there's this diner down the road with an arcade," Steve tests, letting it sit for a second before asking, "Maybe we could get dinner? Check out the games, if you're up for it?"

Your eyes flicker behind his figure to the moon in thought, before back at him.

"You gonna wear that?" you ask.

Steve glances down at his outfit. "Yeah?"

"Cool," you say, leaving the door open as you go to grab your stuff. "The likelihood of me saying yes depended on that."

"I could just throw on a tuxedo," Steve calls out.

"Close the door on your way out," you holler back.

He holds back a grin when you shut the door behind you and lock it, tucking the key into your pocket.

You mention towards the staircase that was too small to host the both of you at once with a nod of your head.

"Lead the way, Rogers."

_________

You don't say much on the walk over, nor when he buys an obscene amount of credits for the two of you to share.

Even the first game or two is spent in huffs in the form of laughter and quiet questions as to where to go next.

It takes nearly half an hour and him beginning to think it isn't a very good idea at all, before a grin makes its way onto your face at your first big win of the night.

"I don't care how close we are," you start, "I will wreck you at pinball. I will."

Steve's eyebrows lift as he glances at you. "We'll have to see about that."

"Careful now,” you warn and he can tell you're putting an effort in. "You're talking to the all-time arcade champ here."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you just lost embarrassingly at racing a fake car.” 

You scoff, “It’s called a pity loss. Felt real bad for you. It’d be like beating my grandfather at a running race.” 

Steve neatly tosses a ball into the basket. The score overhead had been updated to show his new record.

“Jealousy,” he states simply. “How sad.”

You stifle a laugh, picking up the next shot and obtusely missing the basket. It breaks his perfect streak. 

He gives you a sidelong glance in amusement. “I still win.”

The machine corroborates his statement. 

“Whatever,” you dismiss playfully. “PacMan’s the real test of skill.”

He wordlessly gestures for you to go ahead. If nothing else, the bleeps and bells chiming from different slot machines seemed to lift your spirits considerably.

Steve presses the coins into the back and steps away as you crack your knuckles. “Gonna make this game my bitch.”

He’s never played before, so he’s got nothing to refute you on. You, on the other hand, do seem like you’re gonna make good on your promise.

"Have at it."

Or maybe you were losing. He couldn’t really tell what the point was. He just stands watching for several minutes.

“So,” you bring up, eyes reflecting the light from the screen. “What'd you actually wanna talk about?"

Steve peers at you in mild surprise. 

“You brought me here because it’s easier for me to talk when I have something to do with my hands,” you continue casually.

“That’s not the only reason.” 

“I know,” you concede. “But you did, didn’t you? Want to talk about something?”

"Yeah," Steve replies carefully. “Wanted to apologise. Maybe a do-over from that breakfast, if that was alright.”

"Figured as much." Your lip twitches as your character narrowly avoids running into a ghost. 

His smile comes back dry. "How?"

"You barrelling towards my door sorta gave it away. I could tell."

"You still said yes," he points out.

"As opposed to what, saying no and turning down free dinner?" You crack a small smile, immediately dropping when you see one of the ghosts round the corner to where you were. “We’ve been friends for too damn long, Steve. I don't want to let it go to shit over us not having a decent conversation. You mean too much to me.”

His heart jumps to his mouth. He swears that you could hear the audible exhale he just let out over the almost irksome beeping.

But now came the difficult part. What the hell does he actually tell you about? Time heist? Therapy? The stupid dream? List?

"I'm sorry," he says stupidly again. "I-"

Almost like you can hear his brain combusting, you ask, 

“You want me to start?” 

“Yeah, please,” he replies softly. 

"Okay.” Your nose scrunches up when you lose a life. "When you said it was different-- what'd you mean by that?"

He sees you get right back into the game, and thinks it’s probably good that you’re not watching him directly. It doesn’t feel like he’s under observation. 

"It feels like I just got out of the ice again," Steve says. "Doesn't feel like this place is for me. First time around, I was forced to accept it, y’know? Find something, or make something for myself. I don't know if I ever did, but I didn't have any other choice. This time, going and coming back, it’s like I-"

"Have another option.”

"Yeah." Steve watches your character pick up another bigger dot. "Watch out."

"Got it," you confirm lowly, taking another turn to narrowly miss one. "And you're going back how? The time travelling thing?"

"Yeah," he says. "I know there are more Pym Particles now that the doctor's back."

"And the machine?"

"Still functional. Pepper's got it with the rest of the old stuff."

You watch the little circle get killed again when the old joystick doesn't respond to your command, but there is no reaction on your face.

"You'd be safe?" your voice comes through instead.

Steve looks at your reflection in the screen. "I would."

"Okay."

You dive back in for the last round after your acknowledgement. You get killed in a much shorter time than the first two rounds.

"Boo," you say.

He silently hands you another quarter.

You take it from him, inserting it into the machine. "Don't you want to have a go?"

Steve observes at the starting screen of the game. "It'd just be embarrassing for the both of us," he decides on.

"One more game and then we hit Street Fighter 2."

He doesn't know what that is either, but it sounds more up his alley.

"D'you sleep at all these days?" you begin again, taking your time just as you had. "You've been looking a lot more tired recently."

"I do." He got three hours of sleep last night, a whopping two more than his usual. "You?"

"So and so." You shrug. "It'll get better."

He hears you at night sometimes, walking up and down across in the adjacent room. 

You’re left in long, painful silence. It doesn’t take too much to realise how much he really fucking hates this. Not the silence, he’d sit in it comfortably with you for hours, but the awkwardness. The distance between you both when you were right there in front of him.

"What are you thinking about?"

You peer at him quickly and he holds it before you break the stare to go back to the screen when your little guy dies again.

"A bunch of stuff," you reply, restarting the round. "I just don't think I have all the questions right now. There's a lot I wanna ask, but there's only a few I can think of right now, and I don't want it to be something that I regret later."

"Anything it is, I'll answer. Whenever." You could throw even mumbled, garbage words out there and he'd piece it together like he had in the past. "But know that you don't have to sugar coat it. You can tell it to me straight."

Your jaw tightens until you force it to relax. The machine beeps get faster and fast with each passing moment, but he's all but entirely turning it out.

"It fuckin’ sucked that you didn’t tell me, Steve," you say steadily. "It’s a huge decision and I wish you had told me earlier. Like– even a text would have worked.”

“I’m sorry," he breathes. "I can't take it back, I know. I'm really fucking sorry, I should have told you earlier. Just tell me what to do-- I'll do it. I'll try to make up for it. I'm sorry. I really am."

You look him in the eye, not breaking contact for a second with your eyebrows knitted together.

“Steve, the biggest issue isn't that you didn't tell me. I know I'll get over that. Like yeah, it was-- is-- absolute shit for a while, but I’d get over it eventually.” You let go off the stupid joystick to spin towards him.

“But you’re leaving. You’re going away. I spent two years talking to you through voicemails and those stupid, secret notes and the fact that we might not even have that anymore?”

You look at him helplessly. He swallows back his guilt, fresh and heavy in his throat.

“How do I just do that?” you finish, lips pursing inwards.

Nine years of knowing you and this was the first time he’d seen you look at him the way you were. Even when he was on the run, you were sure he'd be back. There was no lapse of faith, no questioning. But now-- he doesn't know what to say because he had nothing.

“I’ll find a way to stay in touch,” Steve trails off. He isn’t sure how he’d do it. He doesn’t know. “I will. There has to be some way."

You look like you don’t believe him. He knows you don’t have reason to.

"We've always found a way," There's a pained smile on his face that is replaced with something more determined.

"You wanted to make it up to me?" you bring up again and his ears perk up. "I have a few things."

"Anything."

"No more keeping stuff from me. Not like this." You breathe out.

He holds up a hand to his chest and prays his heart doesn't burst into flames that very second.

"And no more voicemails," you continue. "I've had enough of them. Find another way."

"No more voicemails," he swears. "I promise you.”

That he could do. He could make good on his promises. That's what he was still trying to do.

“Better not.” Still, a sadness pulls at the corner of your lips, turning it upwards. “Or else you’re gonna have a bigger problem when I travel back in time to kick your ass.”

A laugh escapes him against the tense atmosphere. "I bet I will."

"You'll have to visit." You hold a finger up in a vague threat. "Don't care how you do it. You have to be there for my birthday, and the holidays and-- and St Patrick's Day, I don't know."

"I'll visit," he holds his hand up in an oath. "You'll be beggin' me to go back, you'll be so tired of me."

It makes you feel a little better, he can tell by the slight relief on your face. Fuck, he'd visit six months out of the year, if he had to. He'd figure out time travel on his own with a cord phone and a typewriter.

"And you need to invest in all the right places and save up a bunch of money and get it to me. Somehow. So I can retire early"

"Apple, right? What about the horse thing-- the Derby?"

"Yeah." You give him the first real smile he's seen all evening. "Apple and the Derby."

"Done," he announces. "You got it."

The game cries behind you when your last life is taken. You turn to it, sighing at the loss of your quarter.

"Want another one?"

"No, we've got other games to play. This shit's rigged against me anyway," you reply, looking around. "Before that-- one last thing."

"What?"

"I gotta be there," you say. "The day you leave. I wanna be there. No disappearing without a trace."

"Of course," he says softly. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Good." You nod, a little more determined. "Okay, then. Dance Dance Revolution next."

Steve watches you turn on your heel and make your way towards the machine, completely discounting the fact that it was not the game you had initially named.

This was hardly the end of this conversation, he knows for a fact. And hopefully, he'd have answers for when you did ask.

“You good?” you call from a few feet away, hand on the railing of some new contraption with bright, flashing lights.

Steve nods, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m driving tomorrow.”

"You drove today," you remind.

Steve shrugs as he makes his way towards you and the supposed dance machine. "I know."

“Okay, Rogers.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head lightly. "Whatever you want.”

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #mcu fic #steve fic #steve rogers fic #steve fluff #steve rogers fluff #steve angst #steve rogers angst #bridges break fic #captain america x reader #captain america fluff #captain america angst

[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~ ♡

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

[just-jordie-things]

kiss cam surprise - gojo satoru

word count: 2.8k warnings: none! :) summary: when (y/n) kisses shoko during a kiss cam at a baseball game, satoru gets a little ~jealous~ this is half fluff half crack tbh lol a/n: ok i don't take fic requests but someone dropped this in my ask box awhile ago and it resurfaced in my mind so... ur a lucky duck. also! if u like kiss cam fics y'all should check out kiss cam! by @naosaki <3 one of my fav megumi fics <3 ___

For being at an event that they couldn’t care less about, Shoko and (y/n) had been on their best behavior for the entirety of the baseball game.  Satoru and Suguru had been so excited to gift the tickets to the girls so they could join them in a fun outing, that they’d tried their best to accept the offer graciously.

Even though neither of them had any interest in going.  It was obvious when the tickets were presented to them, from the awkward smiles they’d worn to the way their eyes shifted towards one another as if to make sure the other was thinking the same thing- why wouldn’t they just go on their own? 

Shoko and (y/n) would’ve happily spent the day doing their own thing had Satoru and Suguru gone to the game just the two of them.  Maybe some light shopping, or maybe they’d hole up in one of their rooms and eat junk and watch romcoms all day.  Either way… any activity would have been more entertaining to them than this.

They barely even knew the rules of the game, only cheering when the guys did, and sharing knowing looks when they tried not to laugh at just how uninterested they were.

Still, they did their best to participate.  Both glad in the same colors of the cheap merch Satoru and Suguru had treated them to.  (y/n) was in a jersey too big for her that hung off her body awkwardly, and Shoko wore a hat with a bill that wouldn’t stop dipping over her eyes, but they didn’t complain.  They were very good sports for their friends, only sneaking off for a smoke break one time.  They even made a few trips for snacks and drinks so that Suguru and Satoru wouldn’t miss any of the games.  Sure, maybe they were trying to stretch their legs and ease the ache in their butts from the uncomfortable plastic seats, but they had the right intentions!

“This is fun, right?” 

When (y/n) turned to him, Satoru was beaming from ear to ear.  His sunglasses were slipping down his nose due to the way his ball cap bumped into them, and his bright eyes seemed to hold even more light from his obvious joy.

She couldn’t lie to him if she wanted to.  It was too cute to see him this excited just from sharing the experience with his friends.  He’d had his arm draped over the back of her seat for the majority of the game, and whenever his team got the upper hand, he’d eagerly tap or shake at her shoulder to involve her in the hype.  (y/n) was grateful for the que to pay closer attention to what was happening, but she did fluster and blush every time he’d touch her.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Shoko, who would knowingly knock her elbow from her other side, a small smirk on her face when (y/n) would peek at her from the corner of her eye.  She tried to ignore the silent teasing, but after a while it got hard with how much it was happening.

With a smile and a nod of her head, Satoru’s expression lit up even more.  “Yeah, I’m actually having a really great time,” She said.  It didn’t matter that she was more interested in all the attention he’d been giving her than the great seats they had for the game.  He didn’t need to know that part.  “We should do this more often” She adds before thinking.

Once again, Shoko’s elbow was bumping into hers, and this time a less-than-discreet snort could be heard.  (y/n) sent her elbow back into hers in retaliation, silently scolding her for eavesdropping.

“Yeah?” Satoru fixes his cap so that he can push his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Tickets weren’t that expensive, we could go to more games this season, if you want?” He suggests.

Bullshit, she thinks with a smile telling him that’s exactly what she was thinking.  Nothing was expensive to the Gojo Satoru.

“Yeah, maybe” She says without much commitment.

Going to baseball games just the two of them? The idea had her heart soaring.  Having to sit through a game that could take more than three hours was less than ideal.

Soon enough a break in the game came, the announcers hyping up the crowd with some silly chants and trivia on the big screen.  (y/n) found herself slumping down into her seat, aimlessly tapping around on her phone to pass the time.  She hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice the change in game on the big screen, that is until there was a hand smacking at her shoulder again.

Looking up, she’d almost expected to see the game in motion again.  Satoru had only been tapping at her like that when an exciting play was in action.  However this time, he’s pointing up at the screen.

She gapes when she sees that she’s displayed on the screen.  The camera has a wide angle that includes Shoko and Satoru on either side of her, the words Kiss Cam spelled out in pink cursive above them.  It’s complete with lipstick stains and sparkles for dramatic touch.

“Oh my god” She mumbles, hoping that her blush is undetectable by the camera, seeing as her face felt scorching hot from embarrassment.

The longer the camera is focused on her, the rowdier the crowd around her becomes.  Eagerly chanting ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ like a bunch of teenagers at their first house party.

Satoru is grinning so hard his face hurts.  This was like a dream come true.  The easiest excuse in all of history to get a kiss from the girl he’s had a crush on since he was fifteen was just presented to him on a silver platter- and the crowd’s cheering only spurred him on further.

Even Suguru is giving him a smirk and a nod of approval.  He’d heard more earfuls than most about the ins and outs of Satoru’s feelings for (y/n).  Although on occasion, Shoko or Nanami were on the receiving end of his lovesick rambling.

His heart is about to burst out of his chest when he turns to (y/n).  His smile is starting to hurt and for a second he realizes he’s going to have to relax to actually kiss her.

“Are you okay with-?” 

The question barely comes out before he’s cut short.

(y/n) had already turned away from him, swiveled in her seat to face Shoko.  It’s like he’s watching it happen in slow motion.

They both giggle at their idea, and (y/n) takes off Shoko’s hat while she’s quickly tucking her hair behind her ears to clear her face.  And then time goes back to normal and all too quickly, Satoru watches as they lean towards each other to share a kiss.

It’s just a peck, so swift and chaste it’s over as soon as it happens.  The crowd hollers and then are just as quickly getting excited over the next unsuspecting pair on camera.

(y/n) and Shoko laugh a bit more before sitting back in their seats, going back to their phones and striking up conversation about some anime they’d been interested in.  Both, or at least (y/n), completely oblivious to the offended gape on Satoru’s face.

That was totally his kiss, after all! It was his perfect moment to finally take things to the next level with his long time friend that he’d harbored a crush on.

To make matters worse, Shoko wasn’t as innocent as she was pretending to be, sending a smirk his way when (y/n) was too focused on her phone.  He scowled back at her.  She knew about his crush! She knew he was going to go for that kiss!

With a huff, he stood up from his seat and made his way out of the stands.  He needed a bottle of water, or a snack, or just some damn space away from his so-called friend that was teasing him for snatching his kiss.

Satoru leaving so suddenly finally perked (y/n’s) attention.  He was gone too fast for her to call after him, but she worriedly watched him scale the steps with ease as he headed towards the hall of vendors.  She locked eyes with Satoru, raising a brow in silent question.

“He’s just being pouty,” Suguru replied casually, shrugging his shoulders before turning back towards the field.  “You wanna go after him? Be my guest” 

(y/n) sighed, turning the other direction towards Shoko.

“What’s he so pressed about?” She mutters.  “What even happened?” 

Shoko rolls her eyes, a lazy grin stretching on her lips.

“I dunno,” She says in a teasingly melodic tone of voice, suggesting she knew exactly what set their friend off.  “Maybe pluck up some courage and go ask him?” 

With another sigh of defeat, (y/n) slumped back into her seat, her thumbnail wedged between her teeth as she mulled over the idea.  A nervous flutter settled in her chest, a persistent buzz of confusion and anxiety distracting her even more so from the game starting up again.

When she suddenly shot out of her seat, muttering some excuse about needing to stretch her legs before she raced up the stairs in the direction she’d seen Satoru head off towards.

Two sets of eyes watched her as she hurried off.  Suguru and Shoko locked eyes once she was out of sight, both of them snickering between themselves.  It didn’t exactly take an active imagination to know exactly what was coming next. 

To her surprise, (y/n) found Satoru as soon as she left the stands.  Moping around the upper part of the arena with a half-empty bag of cotton candy.  She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, effectively getting herself caught by him.

“Why’re you up here eating your feelings?” (y/n) speaks first, eyes narrowed inquisitively.  Satoru scoffs as she approaches him, snatching a piece of the pink sweet right out of his hands.

“I’m not eating my feelings” He replies unconvincingly, digging the hole deeper as he shoves a rather large piece of cotton candy into his mouth.

(y/n) rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face is impossible to hide.

“Sure,” She remarks.  “You’re totally not pouting right now.  C’mon just fess up.  What’s wrong?”

“I’m not pouting.  My friend betrayed me, I think I’m right in being upset about that?” It’s a rhetorical question, followed by another shove of cotton candy into his mouth.

(y/n) frowns.

“Betrayed you?” She repeats.  “Did I miss something? Who betrayed you?” 

Satoru groaned, tossing the remainder of his cotton candy into the trash dramatically.  (y/n) had to resist the urge to laugh, not understanding where this whole little tantrum came from.

“Shoko! Obviously! I mean she knew that that kiss was-!” 

He stops mid sentence, realizing where this outburst was going to lead him if he didn’t relax and go back to his usual suave demeanor.  (y/n) shook her head in confusion, her brows pinching together.

“Was what?” She asked, a breathless laugh escaping her.  “Meaningless? A joke between friends?” She suggested.  “You’re mad about a kiss?” 

“Of course I’m mad-! Well, I- I guess not mad, I’m not mad at her,” He stammered over his words, not knowing how exactly to explain the complicated feelings.

(y/n) tried to be patient while he stammered and struggled to make himself clear.  Mostly because she was partially amused by the whole thing.  Satoru prided himself in being what he called a smooth-talker, and while normally she’d laugh at him for that, it was a shock to see him behave the total opposite right in front of her.

“But that wasn’t exactly fair, I mean, she was just trying to rile me up.  And- like- yeah, that’s what we usually do, we pick on each other but that just- that just wasn’t fair! That was my kiss and she knew it! And she just-” 

“What do you mean ‘your kiss’?” 

Finally Satoru had been rendered speechless, his mouth still hanging open mid rant, jaw slacking a bit as he realized he’d gotten carried away.  (y/n’s) expression almost mirrors his, her eyes wide and lips parted, even as she holds her breath and waits for him to clarify.

But he’s completely frozen in front of her.

“Satoru,” She waves her hand in front of his face, trying to bring him back to reality.  “What did you mean ‘your kiss’?” She repeats, shaking her head at him.

“I- I just… I meant that-” 

Words are spilling out of his mouth without direction, without knowing what the hell the right thing to say was.  He’d known (y/n) for two years now, and in all of that time he’d been pretty proud of the persona he’d built up to be sure that he was always the cool one, the guy she could rely on to be smooth and popular.  He felt pathetic now, letting his own secrets slip and stuttering over himself like an idiot.

The corners of (y/n’s) lips twitched into a smile the longer he flustered over who-knows-what.  It catches his attention when she unintentionally lets out a little laugh.

“Sorry,” She apologizes right away.  “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.  I just… are you trying to say that you wanted me to kiss you? For the cam game?” 

She tries not to sound so hopeful that it comes across desperate, but the mere idea that Satoru had wanted a kiss from her had her chest thrumming with butterflies.

Satoru’s throat feels dry, and suddenly her gaze feels like a spotlight.  The intensity has the hair on the back of his neck standing up.  He pulls the hat off his head to run a hand through his hair to relieve the heat.

“Well… yeah,” He admits, sounding more bashful than she ever would have thought he was capable of.  Her small smile turned a little brighter, and he tried to get his voice back.  “Not that I need a silly game to kiss you, obviously-” 

“Obviously” She repeats the word fondly, giving him a small nod.

“But- s-still, the kiss cam, would’ve been… fun�� He admits sheepishly.  She giggles, nodding her head again.

“Well, it was fun, for the record,” She teases, earning a roll of his eyes from behind his shades.  She steps closer to him then, a tilt in her head as she takes in the obvious nerves written on his face.  “But if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just asked” 

“I was going to,” He argued, his hands moving about erratically.  “It's not my fault Shoko beat me to it!” 

She giggled at his drama, reaching out and grabbing his hands as they flew around, still laughing as he froze up again from the sudden touch.

“You know, it didn’t exactly mean anything when Shoko did it,” She suggested.  “I know there’s not any cameras… but…” 

Satoru raised a brow.

“(y/l/n) (y/n),” He gasped dramatically, “Are you asking me to kiss you?” 

Her cheeks tint pink as she bites back her smile, giving him a small nod of her head.  He smiles back at her, pulling his hands out of hers and dropping his hat so he could lay them across her jaw, tilting her head upwards so he didn’t have to lean down as far to reach her.  

She doesn’t wait a second longer for him, closing her eyes and leaning up on the tips of her toes so she could press her lips against his.  Satoru’s quick to reciprocate, his fingers flexing against her skin, holding on as tight as he can without hurting her as he deepens the kiss right away.  She has to grab him by the shoulders to keep herself balanced.

His lips are soft, and taste sugary like the cotton candy he’d been eating.  She’d always thought he’d taste a little bit like sugar, what with how much of it he consumes.  It makes her smile to know first hand.

When they break the kiss, he steals one more quick peck from her, grinning with excitement before he pulls away so he can pick up his forgotten hat from the ground.

“Feel better now?” She teases as he slings his arm around her shoulder to head back towards their seats.

“Mhm,” He hums, pulling his cap over her head and smiling as it slips down her forehead.  He pokes it upwards with his index finger, then pokes the tip of her nose.  “But next game I bring you to, I get the kiss cam kiss, alright?” 

There’s a gleam in her eye and a blush on her face as she leans into him, matching his steps as they head down the stairs to their seats.  As shameless as ever, she can’t help but tease him.

“Then sit on my left next time” ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru brainrpt #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo imagine #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojo satoru friends to lovers

[teddiesworldd]

"don't look at me like that".

OBSESSED with the idea that eye contact makes simon absolutely feral. look this man in the eyes and he's done for. (350 words)

a/n: my first nsfw fic! criticism appreciated as always <3

pairing: ghost x female reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, mdni!!, smutty nonsense, oral sex, orgasm denial, sub-to-dom ghost(??) reader is in 141

if you look ghost in the eye, you bet he's foaming at the mouth under his mask. there's just something about your big doe eyes that send him to his barracks with a tent in his cargos. and being the tease you are, you use this to your advantage at every opportunity.

in meetings when you know there's nowhere for him to run off to, just a glance up at him, batting your pretty eyelashes, causes a deep growl to come from under his face coverings. luckily no one else heard him, he doesn't want the boys thinking he's some helpless needy mutt for you :(

and during training, while he's explaining something to you, he stutters through his sentences, looking into your eyes and dreaming of getting you alone.

"don't look at me like that" he would grumble, and you'd just smile kindly back at him, like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

"like what, si?"

"like that"

you know you should probably be listening to him, but it's so fun to lead him on.

it's all fun and games until he's dragging you off to his room, tossing you on the bed and stripping the both of you down to your underwear. he looks so good between your legs, balaclava hooked over the bridge of his nose while his tongue works wonders on you.

but don't think for a second that you've finished teasing him. definitely not. you look down at him while he eats you out, never breaking eye contact. you watch as he humps the sheets in response, trying to get some friction. poor boy, so uncomfy with those tight boxers on. don't worry though, he'll put you in your place soon enough. he brings you to the edge over and over again, moving his mouth away just before the knot in your stomach snaps. now he's the one looking you in the eye, blonde lashes catching the light of the room perfectly. he chuckles as he rips your orgasm away from you once more, your juices dripping down his chin. he can be so cruel :(

it's safe to say you won't be teasing him again for a while.

˚✧. thank you for reading!

˚✧. please reblog to support me <3

˚✧. dividers by @ saradika-graphics and @ si-eunnis

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#ghost smut #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #call of duty #cod modern warfare #task force 141 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #teddiesworldd

[missukiyo]

— ex-husband! gojo x reader

read part 2 here

cw: angst. just pure angst. co-parenting, brief mentions of miscommunication, fluff if you squint…

a/n: repost!! this post somehow got taken down last time. first ever ‘fic’ on here so i really appreciate any form of constructive criticism.

ex-husband! gojo who you are forced to see every fortnight due to the co-parenting arrangement set in place for your beloved 5-year-old daughter, sayuri.

ex-husband! gojo who would linger at your doorstep during drop-offs, almost as if searching for an unspoken invitation back into your life.

ex-husband! gojo who would intentionally leave a bunch of his belongings at your place, even if it was something minor like chewing gum, just to find a reason to pop by again.

ex-husband! gojo who would occasionally call you ‘princess’ or ‘baby’ out of habit, catching himself mid-sentence and playing it off casually.

ex-husband! gojo who would gently hold the hand of your precious daughter sayuri during his pickup, leading her to his car for the two weeks they’ll spend together. he would cast a glance back at you at least once, his heart beating rapidly when he caught your gaze. oh, how he wishes you could be a complete family.

ex-husband! gojo who would try to conceal the sadness in his eyes when sayuri innocently asks why mommy and daddy can’t live together. he struggles to find the right words that won’t break her little heart or reveal the depths of his own.

ex-husband! gojo who would still keep a family picture of you, him and sayuri as his wallpaper. a bittersweet reminder of what he once had before he threw it all away.

ex-husband! gojo who, during some of sayuri’s school events, finds himself involuntarily stealing glances at you.

ex-husband! gojo who clings onto the hope that one day you’ll look at him the way you used to, even if it was just for a fleeting moment, even though deep inside, he knew that the shattered fragments of your heart could never be mended

ex-husband! gojo who, on sayuri’s birthdays, buys her two gifts — one for her and one for you, unable to break the tradition of making you feel special, even if it’s just a little.

ex-husband! gojo who, on a particularly lonely night, contemplates sending you late-night text messages, only to delete them before hitting send. some bridges were just never meant to be rebuilt.

ex-husband! gojo who would endure restless hours, plagued by the thoughts of whether you would eventually move on and perhaps find a person that wasn’t him to claim as your lover. part of him yearned for you to choose him, and him only. that your heart will only have room for him and no one else. yet, despite the pain having a hold on his heart, he suppressed his selfish desires, opting for your happiness even if it lies beyond him. he hoped that, even if you decide to move on from him, that chosen person will bring you unparalleled happiness. whoever you decide to move onto would be the luckiest man, or woman ever — for satoru never judges. he hopes that he or she would hold you tenderly as you drifted to slumber, and shower your face with affectionate kisses the time the morning commenced. he wished for your heart to mend, even if it meant it would beat to a different rhythm. maybe, this was fate’s way of biting back at him.

ex-husband! gojo who wishes he would’ve treated you better during your marriage with him. he wished he would’ve listened to you more — the subtle nuances in your voice and the silent cries for understanding that went unnoticed till it was too late. he wanted to make you smile again, even if it was the last time he’d ever get the privilege to see your toothy grin.

ex-husband! gojo who dreams of a parallel universe where he had never let go. where he never signed those damned divorce papers in the first place. where the family portrait on the wall of his bedroom room tells a different story — one of enduring love.

ex-husband! gojo who is soon learns to be grateful that you two are civil towards each other, even if it was majorly due to the co-parenting arrangement. a life like this was better than a life without you at all.

and yet ex-husband! gojo would wish to restart everything if he could.

ex-husband! gojo who promises to love you properly in his next life. and the next. and the next.

© MISSUKIYO | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

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