jollygoodswag

[jollygoodswag]

[jollygoodswag]

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him. 

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent  nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself. 

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him. 

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet.  Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones. 

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you. 

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report. 

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment. 

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

-

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this. 

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you. 

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder. 

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would. 

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the  time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop. 

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then. 

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon. 

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better. 

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that. 

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag. 

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims. 

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be. 

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming. 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.” 

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” 

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago. 

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?” 

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out. 

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it. 

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon. 

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat. 

“What?” 

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight. 

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.” 

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago. 

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy. 

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?” 

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling. 

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.” 

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.” 

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.” 

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.” 

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end. 

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing. 

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?” 

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin. 

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking. 

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car. 

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back. 

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.” 

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that. 

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition. 

and voila <3

[jollygoodswag]

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~ ♡

[jollygoodswag]

Latibule Season 2: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: In the spirit of Christmas hehe

Masterlist, Prologue

He didn’t believe that you were gone no matter what anyone said.

Everyone was saying the same thing. You were gone and there was nothing anyone could do to bring you back. However, Min Yoongi didn’t like their answer and anyone who said that you had already passed on from this earth was met with his wrath that was communicated through his fists and weapons. No one could even tell him that he now couldn’t physically follow where you were. In his twisted mind, he thought that he could follow you because you never left this earth. Of course, he could follow. You did promise, after all, that you would never go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking follow. His angel would never lie to him, he thought. But your absence was saying otherwise. Your absence was too loud.

The days following the moment he opened his eyes and learned of your demise were bloody and dark. Everyone was on edge, and the traitors went to hell here on earth. They did wish they had died instead, but death was never quick when it came to them, nor was it painless. Min Yoongi made sure that they felt every ounce of pain he felt when you were taken away from him. His brothers could not even reason with the man. They didn’t know how to handle this Min Yoongi. It was as though he died there with you, and what was left of him was only his darkness. Agustd was already ruthless, but now he was just outright cruel, burning everything and everyone that crossed his path.

No one could even say their piece to him-well, all except Kim Seokjin. Despite Jin choosing the less violent life and despite him spending his days treating people in the hospital, no one could deny the power he naturally excluded. It was the power that was inherent to him when he was unfortunate enough to be born to a father that was the previous mafia king. Kim Seokjin may possessed the face of an angel, but he was the most dangerous of them all. It was just that he had a patience of a saint, and everyone fret the day someone snapped his patience. He was a dangerous, eccentric man. And he was a ticking time bomb in comparison to Taehyung who just kept on exploding without an end in sight. Min Yoongi, though, was known to be a reasonable man, his calm nature was never broken. It took losing you to break the calmness in him. The days after he woke up, he was seen back where he was the happiest. Day after day, Yoongi could be found there, leaning against the tree with cigarette in between his lips as he looked at the ruins of your house. The fire took everything from him. It was angry as it smoldered what once was his latibule to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Yoongi thought that the world was simply too cruel to him to strip away the only place he had of you. He couldn’t even smell you anymore, couldn’t even go to the place that was full of your presence.

How cruel was it to have you once and never again? How cruel was it for him to finally have found the warmth, to finally have basked in it for a moment too short, only for him to live in a winter forever after you? He would never admit to anyone that each time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was the moment you fell as the bullet pierced your skin. So, he had not been sleeping well. If you were here, he thought, you would chase away all the demons in his head. If you were here, you would put your arms around him, rub your hands on his shoulder in a soothing way only you knew how, and you would silently tell him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. Yoongi couldn’t do anything. All he did was to go to the place where he found and lost you.

He was always there, Jimin noted. He made this place your temple, mural and shrine. However, never once did he visit where you were finally laid to rest. Never once did he even acknowledge your death. It was like not seeing it would make your death untrue. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the man could be found there as though he was waiting on a miracle, as though if he waited long enough then you would return, as though if he stayed long enough, you would walk back and smile at him, all while calling him a fool for looking too sad.

But you never did.  

And after a whole year, Min Yoongi never uttered your name again.

---

“Y-you’re supposed to be the good one! W-what is the Chief of Police doing here?!”

Yoongi watched in boredom as Jungkook pushed a man to kneel in front of him. The warehouse was quiet, well, save for the screaming of the traitors. The other brothers were busy with torturing the remaining traitors they kept alive. And today, he was faced with the last remaining traitor they had yet to kill. See, this asshole was so below the rank that he didn’t know that the Chief of Police was also the same Agustd, the leader of the mafia.

He was nothing, Yoongi thought. And yet, he was the one who blew up your house. He could almost laugh if he still knew how.  “T-the public will know! I’ll tell them that you’re the d-devil!”

Yoongi blew the smoke on his face emotionlessly, a strand of his dark hair falling on his face. “You’re not an intelligent man, are you?” he asked evenly before pulling the cigarette in between his lips and onto the idiot’s eyelid. He heeded his screams no mind as he removed his jacket with his badge on it. Someone from his right stepped in to carefully fold his jacket. Yoongi folded his sleeves to his elbows and without any warning, punched the man on his face.

The man proved to be an even greater fool as he laughed in false bravado, blood a stark contrast against his crooked teeth, “Is that all you can do? You don’t have it in you to kill. You’re a civil servant!”

“Is that so?” he asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a knife, putting it up over the light to inspect it before turning to the buffoon. “Which hand burned the house?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook and the latter manhandled the man near the table, flatting both his hand on it. “Which hand should I cut?” He walked nearer to them as though he had all the time in the world. “This one,” he stabbed the table, missing the man’s hand by a centimeter. “Or this one?” he repeated the action for the right hand, except that this time he intentionally stabbed the knife through his thumb, severely cutting it. “Oh no,” he said in a deadpanned voice before looking directly at him. “Guess my aim got bad.”

“W-who are y-you?!”

He smiled at him; his eyes remained emotionless. “Hi, I’m Agustd. Nice to meet you. So which hand?”

“N-No! No, please! I’ll give you what you want-“

Yoongi sighed, already losing his patience. “You do have to choose. We won’t stop until you only have one hand. Or do you want me to choose?”

“L-lef-“

Before the traitor could even finish sputtering what Yoongi deemed was bullshit, he buried the hilt of the knife into his hand. He didn’t even blink when he felt resistance from his bones, Yoongi merely kept on pushing, uncaring of the wailing man. He never stopped until he the knife finally touched the surface of the table.

And after that, he stabbed his hand again. He never ceased, not until the hand was completely mutilated. He never stopped, not even when the blood kept sputtering on his face from the man’s open wound, a stark contrast on his pale white complexion. He never stopped even when the man lost consciousness.

“He’s going to die, Yoongi,” Seokjin noted lightly from his seat. From outside looking in, he looked like a perfect image of peace, yet the hold he had on his phone was a telltale sign that he was far from pleased. He was not even phased by the violence around him, his focus merely on the whereabouts of his runaway sunshine. “I do not have the patience required to revive a dying man tonight.”

Yoongi paused, leering at the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness, before heeding his hyung’s statement. He did not want to test Jin’s patience tonight when it was apparent that he was barely holding on to his control.

He didn’t want to kill this man tonight. No. He planned on keeping him alive for years and years to come. He planned to give him hope, only for him to squash it away like he did his. As long as Yoongi shall live, then he shall suffer with him. As long as he was living in this fucked-up nightmare where you weren’t by his side, then so should he lived his very own crafted nightmare.

If he wasn’t happy, then why should anyone be?

---

“That phone looks like it wants to rest,” Jimin observed lightly as he and his hyung visited another crime scene that was definitely not because of them. It was three hours away from Seoul, the travel time giving him headache, similar to what Jimin was giving him. He watched as Yoongi ended the call before glaring at him.

“What about my phone, Jimin?”

“It looks like it wants to retire. Please, for the love of all that’s good, let me buy you a phone.”

“No.” It was the only thing he had of you.

“Whyyyyy do you love that phone so much, hyung? Our enemies would think our business is not doing good that you cannot even buy yourself a phone!”

Yoongi just shrugged his broad shoulders before walking out of the police line and through the busy market. He nodded at the policemen as they acknowledged him. His watchful eyes observed the chipper attitude of the marketgoers, chatting among themselves. He wondered how people could wake up this early and yet looked so alive. He hadn’t felt alive since that night. However, he thought that had you been here, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He would wake up at an ungodly hour for you.

He could hear Jimin chatter beside him as they navigated their way out of the busy street when it happened. Until it all turned into a white noise when it happened.

When he saw you.

He halted his brisk walk, his eyes following as you walked away yet again from him.

 For a brief moment, he believed your eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt his heart beat again. Yet, your eyes seemed to hold no recognition for him as it only passed through him. You didn’t even stop. It was as though he was merely a stranger.

On the other hand, he thought that you looked different, but he knew in his dead heart that it was you.

Or was it his mind finally crumbling on him, reveling on his insanity?

He blinked once and you were gone.

Jimin, suffice to say, was shocked as his hyung ran back. He never saw him moved that fast, uncaring of the people who he would runover from his haste. His dark coat trailed behind him as he moved, a touch of desperation evident, compelling Jimin to reluctantly trail after him. Yoongi forcefully cleared a path, parting the crowd with determined strides. His singular focus was on reaching you, leaving his mind devoid of any other thoughts.

It was you, he was sure. It was his angel.

He was almost sure.

But when he reached where he saw you last, you weren’t there.

Jimin was breathless when he finally reached his hyung who was looking around the crowd like a lost child. His hands were on his waist as his desperate eyes searched for…who, exactly?

“What happened, hyu-“

“It was her, Jimin-ah. I saw her.”

He blinked, following his hyung’s shifting gaze. “Who?”

“My angel. She’s alive."

[jollygoodswag]

one of my favorite stories about keith and matthew's relationship :')

[jollygoodswag]

MICHAEL & NATALIE BERZATTO

maurice sendak / the bear (2022- ) / jean anouilh / @starpeace

[jollygoodswag]

riding virgin!carmy bc he's overwhelmed by how good it feels 🤤🤤

time to give the people what they want 🫡

enjoyyyy <3 you dirty whores

shit

he wasn’t at all expecting their third date to go so well or so far—in fact the opposite—not once fathoming that he would have the bravery to invite her back to his place, and not expecting her to accept. he tries to unlock his door as quickly as possible while the girl kisses his neck, touching his chest, pressing her body against his. the tips of his nerves tingle, heart hammering against his ribcage at the prospect of what was to come once they were inside. he shoves the door open, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in. once they’re securely shut in, she grabs his face, smashing her lips against his, feeling a firm poke against her thigh as she presses closer to the man.

“let’s, uh,” he mutters between kisses, “go to my room?” the suggestion hardly registering in the girl’s ears, just following his lips as the two of them stumble into his bedroom. she pushes him to sit on the bed, standing in front of him and peeling her shirt off, watching as his face flushes a bit in surprise. he slowly mirrors her actions, pulling his own fabric over his head as she continues to strip, unbuttoning her jeans and shimmying them down her legs. he feels his mouth go dry at the sight of her standing before him in her underwear, eyes graciously raking over her body. she comes to straddle his lap, thighs on either side of him as she encircles his neck with her arms and leans in to capture his lips once more. he’s unsure what to do with his hands, awkwardly resting them to his sides. she lets out a soft giggle, pulling from his lips, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you can touch me, y’know,” she teases, giving a small rock of her hips, clothed heat brushing against his bulge. he allows a humored exhale to part his lips before nervously bringing his hands to her hips, fingers splaying out over her skin. she’s incredibly soft, he thinks, flesh buttery beneath the pads of his fingertips. he feels emboldened to slide his hands a bit lower, feeling the curve of her ass, softly squeezing. she lets out an elongated breath, continuing to rock her hips against him, trailing to his jaw, neck, peppering kisses wherever she can reach. he clears his throat, trying to focus his mind on how he would break the news, deeply inhaling.

“i’ve never, um,” he hesitates, gaze darting away, “i’ve never done this before,” voice low, fingers pressing into her skin. she pauses for a moment to discern his tone, eyes roaming over his features.

“done what?” she asks, fingers coming to card through the hair growing from the nape of his neck. he finds it hard to keep eye contact, neck tight and hot at the weight of his confession. it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was a bit of an insecurity for the young man—assuming most women would want someone much more experienced than he was. he doesn’t want to spell it out for her, instead giving her a poignant look. the girl catches on to his insinuation, brows raising a bit in surprise.

“you’ve never had sex?” she gently asks, genuinely shocked at the admission. he burns under her gaze, mentally chastising himself for not bringing it up sooner. he slowly nods his head, jaw tightly shifting, expecting her to get off his lap and put her clothes back on.

to carmen’s surprise, the girl lets out a small giggle and pulls him back into her lips, kiss now deeper, hungrier. it added up in her head once she thought about it—the way he would tense very slightly under her touch as if it was electrifying. him being a virgin didn’t bother her in the slightest, either. she smiles into the kiss, wondering if he’ll be sensitive, wondering if she’ll be able to watch his composure crumble beneath her, watch his handsome face contort into bliss. the implication of forever imprinting her memory into his head leaves the girl pooling into the fabric of her panties.

carmen strains against his boxers, twitching against the plushness of her clothed mound, feeling entirely too worked up from just kissing. he chases her lips slightly as she pulls away, eyes opening to find a smile growing over her features.

she stands, walking backwards a few inches away from him, and unclasps her bra. his eyes widen a bit, watching closely as the straps slide down her shoulders, garment falling to the floor to expose her bare chest. he’s unable to help the groan that tumbles from his lips, nearly cumming in his pants from the sight, trailing closely over the sight of her perked nipples. the girl then hooks her fingers into the straps of her underwear and slides them down her legs, standing in front of him in her starkness. he fumbles with the button of his jeans, shoving them around his ankles and standing to rid of them completely as the girl takes her position on the bed, head resting against his pillows. he’s nervous but eager, coming to cage her head in between his arms, kissing her sweetly, sharply inhaling when he feels her reach down to grab his cock. she pumps it a few times, then presses it against the wetness of her entrance, looking up to make eye contact with the man. his pupils are blown, face flushed as he slowly eases his length into her.

the hot tightness of her core immediately overtakes carmen as he lets out a strangled groan and dips his head into the crevice of her neck. his body feels overwhelmed with the pleasure, marveling at the new sensation, allowing his hips to sink forward. he remains completely submerged in the girl for a few moments, still, trying to gain his composure. she grows impatient at his lack of movement, rocking her hips slightly, the head of his cock rubbing against her walls. his breath stutters, eyes screwed shut, trying to connect his mind to his body to move.

“ffuuck,” he exhales, giving a small pump of his hips in an attempt to meet her rocking motion, body overcome with a white heat. it feels almost impossible to thrust—as if he’s going to lose it all too soon. the girl desperately bucks her hips again, eager to feel him pound into her, trying to pull him in deeper.

“shit,” carmy curses, “i, uh,” he feels his chest and neck grow tighter, “i feel like i can’t fuckin’ move,” he admits, exhaling a soft laugh. he feels himself visibly relax at the sweet smile that grows on her face, a small pang in his heart.

“lay down then,” she suggests, pushing herself up onto her forearms. his eyes widen a bit, pulling out of her slowly, breath straining at the loss of sensation. he uncages her from his arms, turning to lay flat on the bed as she hoists her leg over him, coming to sit on his lower stomach. she leans forward to kiss him and he groans, the slick of her arousal hot on his bare skin. their lips ferociously intertwine, tongues swirling, teeth bumping; the two surrender completely into the sensation.

the girl teaches down to grab the head of his cock, rubbing him through her slick folds then pressing him against her entrance. she pulls away from the kiss, hand coming to his firm chest to help her sit up, slowly sinking back onto the shaft she holds. her eyes remain locked with carmen’s as she watches his mouth fall open and facial expression become tense. she doesn’t stop taking him in until her hips are flush with his, the thickness of his cock soothing the dull ache in her core.

carmen feels like he’s going to pass out at the sight of the girl on top of him, erection completely engulfed in her warmth. his eyes fall over her bare stomach, the curve of her waist, intently watching as she slowly rolls her hips against him. the sheets beneath him are tightly gripped beneath his fingers, taking deep, strained breaths to try and recenter. he almost feels like he has his body under control until she plants both hands on his chests and begins riding, increasingly desperate to satisfy her own needs. his hand flies up to grab her hips, trying to slow the motion.

“fuck, baby,” he sharply exudes, “slow down a bit,” plead tumbling breathily from his lips, fingertips pressing into her with a bruising force. she rocks her hips mercilessly against his attempts to hold her in place, chasing the pleasure, gushing onto him. carmy unleashes a throaty moan, her relentlessness forcing him to approach his climax, fixated on the way her breasts bounce as she rides him. he daringly reaches up and cups the soft mounds, gently squeezing, luxuriating in the feeling of her skin.

she just moans in response as her head falls back, hand flying down to her clit, fingers circling the bundle of nerves. its a marvelous view for the former virgin, synapses firing in his brain, coming nearer and nearer to spilling into her. he arches upwards, angling his hips to better meet her rocking motion, sliding his hands down her body to grab her ass.

“yes,” she cries, grabbing at the man, “you feel amazing,” her praise genuine, igniting carmen’s shortening fuse. he grips her tightly and pulls her closer, quickly spilling his hot cum inside of her with a long, deep groan. it was unlike any orgasm he had ever given himself, legs beginning to tremble as the girl continues her rocking thrusts, a breath escaping his lips in the form of a whimper as the overstimulating sensation engulfs his body.

he watches closely as her thrusts falter and mouth falls open to release a cry, bringing herself to orgasm atop him, declaring himself religious at the holy sight. her walls clench around him as she reaches her release, falling over him and nuzzling her head into his neck as she rides out the shocks.

carmen really wasn’t expecting their date to go so well, but he holds her closely and smiles into her hair knowing it did.

[jollygoodswag]

the original got deleted but i finally managed to find a screenshot of the tweet that’s been living in my mind since july of last year

[jollygoodswag]

Friday Flyer: Kale’in Me Softly

「 A flyer to promote my already written stories while I’m on semi-hiatus.」

Kale’in Me Softly

Do you like soft boy Yoongi farmer? Or maybe you’re a fan of Elle Woods from Legally Blonde? Ever wondered what her personality type would be like in a farm setting? Well imagine no longer! Kale Kale Kale!! It’s what our reader character grows!! Kale Kale Kale!! And it’s what goes head to head with Yoongi’s lettuce! Read this fic to face the ultimate showdown.

Read Here

► Perks: Yoongi is a grumpy soft boy farmer, gets pretty soft, sometimes saucy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), a generally feel-good fic.

► Personal Rating: A tier

[jollygoodswag]

stay (m) | myg

what happens when you get stranded in a remote town with no place to live except for a lodge owned by a dangerously handsome but annoying man? yeah, a lot.

pairing : yoongi x fem!reader

rating/genre : 18+ // angst, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers.

word count : 13.4k

warnings : swearing, jealousy, mentions of past relationships (not of the main characters), oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, slight thigh riding, mentions of grinding, heated make out, multiple orgasms, and to wrap it all ... explicit smut scenes, yoongs is a bit possessive but not in a toxic way, slight mention of death (of a late character), and I'm saying before!! crying, shouting and lots of bickering!!

sugarwithtea m.list | taglist form

---

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am"

"Are there no rooms available?"

"Sadly, the hotel is full for the season. I am sorry but you will have to find a room somewhere else."

You rub your temple for the upteenth time before speaking to the hotel manager yet again,

"This town hardly has any lodges or motels available. Where am I meant to go? Could you please adjust me to yours for a single night?"

"We are already overbooked. But you might find a small lodge on the outskirts of the town, near a strawberry plantation if you want a place to stay then."

"I- okay no problem. Thank you for your time." You huffed as you hung up the call.

You were in the middle of a sleepy town with no accommodation available. A one day trip turned to an overstay trip with you having missed the last bus back to Seoul.

Lazily, you start trudging down the hill where the main market was at, towards the outskirts of the town, hoping to find a room at the lodge the manager mentioned. It was 8pm but there was not a single soul visible, due to the cold. Hell, even you wanted to cozy up in your small apartment back home, with some shitty movie going on in the background and you zoning out.

Guess fate has something else reserved for you.

After a tiring walk of 30 minutes, you reach a small patch of strawberries. It was so dark and there was no fencing around that piece of land, so you had almost trampled the fruit under your feet. The strawberries were surrounded by trees on one side, the one facing you. Craning your neck to find some kind of lodge, as informed to you, a small flicker of yellow light gains your attention. You walk around the farm, if you can call it one, gingerly and come in front of the shabby little house.

The entrance of the lodge is covered in a lot of trellis and creepers you can't seem to recognise in the fog that has settled down due to the cold. A small window adjacent to the door was the source of the light that had caught your attention, a single lamp flickering behind it. Dense plantation hid the cottage from the main road, with the strawberry patch laying at the foot of the trees in front of the house. A small gravel filled path led up to the main door.

A board stating "Sugar Lodge" adorned the slanting roof, the words almost fading out at the edges. The cottage looked so old and shabby, it seemed like one strong gust of wind was enough for the walls to cave in.

You walked up to the front door, the gravel crunching under your feet and the occasional gusts of wind the only sound accompanying you. As soon as you reached the door, the light in the window went off and darkness engulfed your surroundings. Knocking thrice, you just hoped that your unexpected endeavor doesn't turn more annoying than it already was.

Oh how wrong you were.

The door opened to a man in front of you with a small candle in his hand. The darkness did not allow you to figure out his features but one that stood out easily was his deep scowl. He wore a loose shirt and shorts in this gut wrenching cold. You wondered how was he surviving as there was seemingly no warmth oozing out of his-

“The fuck you want?”

Yes, no warmth whatsoever. Even his voice resembled the chilly winter.

“You gonna say something? Stop staring at me girl, I know I look amazing.”

“I- is this how you talk to your guests?”

Your words did have an effect on him, but only for a fleeting moment when his small feline eyes widened a bit and he opened his mouth to apologize-

“If they don't have a sense of time, then yes.”

Or to annoy you more.

Even through your fury, you accepted the fact that it was late for someone with no life around them, but that didn't stop you from reciprocating his energy.

“Need a watch, sir? Because the last time I checked, 8.30 pm was not late.”

His hold on the candle tightened at your words and all those in his throat died when you started speaking again.

“So unless you'd like to watch me freeze to my death, please let me inside.”

He stepped aside to allow you in. The lodge was what you'd call humble. The owner, unfortunately not. You were standing in a room with a couch, a coffee table and an armchair all directed towards a small television set upon a table. The color and appearance of all these things was hard to make out due to the lack of lighting in the room, the only source being the candle in his hand. In two long strides, he reached the coffee table in the center of the room and set the candle on the small candle stand you noticed just then.

“If you are a guest, I'd like to inform you that the power has gone out. So the heater wont work.”

“It's okay. I am used to-”

“But I think there are enough blankets in the room to keep you warm. I'll show you to your room. It is a bit small but there is no other option. I will be down the hall on the opposite side, so if you need anything, just call me. We will discuss the pay tomorrow morning because I am so fucking sleepy right now, I wont be able to function…” and he went on while moving around the place in a rush.

You tried to speak but his unending speech didn't allow you to.

He almost seemed nervous, with his shoulders tensed up and eyes frantically moving here and there as if he was just realizing he owned this place. So you ended up following him down the hall and almost bumped into him, almost, when he suddenly stopped in front of a wooden door. Taking a few steps back, you braced yourself for his next words as he had paused his rant when you reached the door.

When he turned around, you saw his face knitted into confusion and eyes so narrow, they looked like two slits with darkness peering out.

“What?”

“Who told you about my lodge?” He sounded confused and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was scared.

“I tried booking a room at other motels, but unfortunately all of them were booked. One of them recommended yours and said I might find a room, so here I am.”

“Oh, okay. Did they say anything about me?”

“No. But now I wish they would have warned me about a certain grumpy man who owned this lodge.”

Why does he think that a random motel manager will give you details about him specifically? As if people just go on discussing lodge owners as a part of their routine.

“I am being quite generous right now so please save the banter for when I am fully awake.” He said in a rushed tone and pushed open the door.

“Whatever.” You mumbled and followed him inside the room.

A small bed attached to the window covered half of the room, with a wooden cupboard and a desk on its opposite side with a little plant placed upon it. The room was surprisingly clean and minimalistic, painted in seemingly earthly tones, giving you a warm feeling in the midst of this chilly winter. You couldn’t make out much of its interior due to the dim lighting, but all over the vibe was comforting.

The man stood awkwardly near the door as you explored each and every nook of the room. He cleared his throat to remind you of his presence and you did. You glanced at him once with a small smile adorning your features.

“It's nice.”

You could swear you saw a hint of bright pink gums when he smiled for half a second.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Is there a bell here, or something? How will I call you if I need help?”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“That's my name. Yoongi. Just shout it once and I’ll know you need me.” He was back to his irritating demeanor.

“Okay. Thank You. I am Y/N, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.” and with that he left.

What an asshole.

Well, your stay over here is going to be hell of a ride, you think and drift to sleep unknowingly.

—-------------

Mornings have always brought a sense of happiness to you. No matter whatever you might be going through, the fresh rays of warm sunlight always give you hope that everything will be better, that you'll do better. So when hope tries to peek through the curtains of your window, you crinkle your eyes in a soft smile and sit up straight.

And that's when everything comes rushing back to you.

A room you hardly remember, a bed as comfortable as yours but still different, and a man, whose sight stirs your insides, leaning against the doorframe casually.

“Morning.” he grumbles and without waiting for your response, continues.

“Breakfast is ready, so freshen up. I'll be waiting in the kitchen as we still have to discuss your rent.”

Not even a word out your mouth and he left, striding away in all his glory.

You check the time on the small wall clock and it's 7.30 am. Which means you'll still have to stay here for the next hour and a half, as the first bus to Seoul leaves at 9 am. Changing yourselves in a fresh pair of clothes, a loose gray turtleneck paired with brown pants, you tie your hair into a high ponytail and rush outside the door but not before taking a deep breath to prepare yourselves for whatever that is to come. The only thought that lingers in your mind while you make your way down the hall is-

For how long was he waiting at your door?

—-------------

Yoongi sits at the dining table with a mug in his right hand and a newspaper in his left. He doesn't seem to notice you entering and so you unknowingly check him out.

The man surely is handsome. Dangerously handsome, if you may say. His feline eyes scanned the paper with an intent gaze. With a jaw set to cut glass, thin pink lips mumbled incoherent words while reading off the thing in his hands. His face was so beautifully structured, he might have given a complex to the Greek gods. Veins visibly popped from his thick neck and ran the expanse upto his fingers which brought your attention to his hands clutching the mug tightly. His hands, oh his hands, they were a whole different story. Aforementioned veins handsomely crafted and structured his arms, two silver rings adorning his index and middle fingers. The thoughts that his nimble fingers brought to your mind were better hidden. As if the heavens were not satisfied with your misery, you noticed him wearing gray sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. Oh, what a sight.

You couldn't wrap your mind around the fact that you were visibly ogling a stranger who annoyed the shit out of you, and as if on cue-

“For the second time, stop staring at me, I know I look amazing.”

His hoarse voice was enough for you to get out of your trance and back to your senses. His gaze is still intently set upon the newspaper and you hastily shut your mouth which had gone agape at his words.

“As if.” you huffed a scoff and continued “Discuss the rent now, shall we? I have to leave in an hour or so.” you speak while trying your best to not let your gaze go down to his fingers.

“About that, look out from the window.” he looks at you with pity and something that vaguely looks like concern shining behind his lids. So, you walk up to the window and feel your heart sinking to your toes when you drink in the sight in front of you.

The whole area is covered in knee deep snow. The roads that were visible last night have now vanished beneath the whites and a chilly wind carries its way around, all while being in the presence of slight sunlight. Apparently, as he proceeded to inform you, a snowstorm took place around midnight, engulfing the whole town in way too much ice leading to commute and travel being on a hold as the roads were nowhere to be found.

Which means, your trip extended itself for the second time in less than twenty four hours.

You feel yourself shutting down at this new information and quietly sink in the chair across from him. His eyes hold you with a new found care, his demeanor switching from grumpy to kind and hands itching by his side. Your face had lost its shine and when you spoke, your voice was akin to a dull, gray sky.

“Don't worry, I will book a room in one of the hotels for some time. One of them said that they will have a room free by tonight.”

Yoongi looks up at you with his eyebrows knitted into confusion and mouth open.

“Why would you do that?” his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Because I need a place to live for some days, you know, the snow has stopped all travel.” you say while moving your hands around you to prove your point.

“No, I mean, you can stay here. This is a lodge.” he says while emphasizing on 'lodge'.

“I know, but I am already a pain in the ass for you. I don't want to trouble you more.”

“You” his voice was so loud, you flinched and simultaneously, he grimaced at his new found energy. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued through gritted teeth.

“You are not a pain in my ass. Dont worry about me. You can stay here.”

To say you were stunned at his words would be an understatement. Why was he so keen at making you stay at his place?

“You would also be paying me, and I could use that extra money.”

Oh right.

Of course he was looking out for himself. It makes sense why he wants you to stay, he will be benefiting from it. You can't blame him for that though, when you were doing the same. He looked helpless but he didn't leave his stern look. You weighed out the options in front of you and frankly, he made more sense.

The town was covered in a blanket of snow and going out with your stuff to find a hotel sounded absurd so you agreed to stay at his and you both quickly discussed your rent for the next three days, the estimated time it would take to get the buses back on track.

A movement, furry and soft at your feet made you push your chair back and shriek like a woman dying. The voice out of your throat was so loud that Yoongi rushed to your side to check the inconvenience.

“Oh my god. You could have told me you owned a pet. I feel like my heart is in my hands.”

“Stop being overdramatic. Sugar is the sweetest cat you'll ever meet.” he says while crouching down and scratching Sugar on his head.

A British Shorthair, Sugar indeed was one of the cutest you had ever seen. He rubbed himself against your leg and purred while all you could do was coo at him. Yoongi picked him up from your feet and started talking with him while pouting. When he smiled, a set of bright pink gums peeked out and you smiled on impulse. His interaction with Sugar was so sweet, you couldn't help but see it with heart eyes. Yoongi looked different, a good difference. He almost seemed … lovable.

Back up Y/N. What are you even thinking about! He can't be lovable. It's just what Sugar does to people, one feels giddy in the cat's presence.

While their incoherent mumbling and purring is going on, you look around the kitchen. It was perfectly set up, not even a stain was in sight as a plate of scrambled eggs and a mug of coffee caught your eye. Yoongi had told you that breakfast was ready, maybe this one was for you.

You set the plate down on the table and start eating like you haven't eaten in ages.

"Calm down, the eggs are not running away." he said while putting Sugar down and striding towards his seat.

" 'ese aa foo' " you try to say through a mouth full of some of the best eggs you have ever tried.

"What?" The chuckle that follows his words is light and adorable which makes you give him a small toothless smile and gulp your food down quickly to give him an answer.

"I said, these are good."

"Thank You." the shyest you had ever seen him in the expanse of your short stay, he wouldn't even dare to look in your eyes.

Maybe this stay won't be as bad as you had anticipated.

—-------------

The next two hours pass in a blur. You had settled down in your room, reading a small novelette you had brought along. The cold had settled down a bit and the sun shone mildly at 10 am. Everything felt as if in a dream. The sight out of your curtains was heavenly, little flakes of snow perched at the sill and Sugar making time to time appearances in the yard outside. It was not snowing, but the wind

was a tad bitter so you decided to bring the cat inside.

Slinging your coat over your shoulders, you make your way to the backyard through the small door in the kitchen. You find Sugar pawing at the snow near the wall of what seems like Yoongi's window.

You pick him up and go back to the front door of the lodge, because you felt like taking a walk around the house in the deep snow. A shitty decision, which led to your feet and pants getting soggy.

Tiptoeing back to your room, you cleaned yourself up and realised the importance of arranging and planning clothes on a trip. Your pants were now completely wet so you had to put on your spare ones, with the thought in mind that you'll have to survive three more days in this place.

A trail of dirty water had made its way from the door to your room so when you opened your door, the sight that welcomed you was a horrified Yoongi. Instinctively, you took a step back. His expression was so fatal, you felt as if he might kill you right there for messing up his clean tiles.

"I , I'll clean it up. Sorry."

"No" he shouts while extending an arm in front of him and stepping back.

"No, I'll do it myself. No matter what, you are a guest. Just remember to use the doormat and the cloth beside the door the next time you set your foot out." he said in a comparatively lower voice and ran away quickly.

And all this while, all you could do was stare at him dumbfoundedly.

Yoongi cleaned up the whole place in a jiffy while you set on the task to tidy up your room, not wanting to be anywhere near him after the deed you had done.

It was around noon when the dire need of quenching your thirst pulled you out of your room and brought you straight to the kitchen. Yoongi was standing in front of the stove chopping some onions. You sneakily went up beside him and asked with your smallest voice yet

"What are you making?"

Yoongi jumped at your voice and accidentally cut his finger. He stared at you with eyes as wide as saucers while fresh drops of blood peeked through his cut.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." You frantically let out while moving around to do something that might help him.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just please stand there quietly and don't do unnecessary work." he said and shoved his finger under the running tap, occasionally flinching when the water ran too deep.

"Sorry" you mumbled and stood off to the side and watched him carefully wipe his finger once the blood had stopped. You held out a band aid you had spotted in a drawer during your frantic search, which he snatched quickly and dressed his cut.

"Pasta."

"Huh?" your eyebrows joined due to your utterly confused state.

"You asked what I was making. It's pasta." he said and got back to chopping onions, ones which surprisingly, didn't water your eyes. You had asked a question? Oh right, that's how this mishap happened.

"Right. How, how can I help you?"

"You can't. So it's better if you don't."

"I can, I know how to cook. Please let me do something Yoongi, I feel bad." you instinctively brought your hand up to his forearm, to which he responded by looking away.

He pondered over the excuses for a whole moment, before letting out a relatively dumb one.

"I need to bring some things for the sauce, there's nothing you can even do so leave it." he said while looking everywhere but you. You brightened up as the light bulb of an idea went off above your head.

"Perfect." you chimed.

"No." he groaned as he understood your intentions and snapped his head back to you.

"Yes. Please, let me. I know my way around and I won't mess up this time." a pout on your lips was all he needed to again, look away.

You could see the hesitation on his face, but you were not the one to back away. Instead, you obediently stood there with your hand still on his arm.

"Okay. I'll give you the list. Just don't get lost on your way."

"Yes, chief." you saluted, with a giggle and scurried away to get your coat. You noticed how he pulled out a small pencil from the front drawer. What you didn't notice though, was the red color that shaded his ears.

—------------

The walk to the nearest grocery store was tiring as fuck. You had put on big gum boots to save yourself from the snow, which didn't help your walk at all. Yoongi had given you a small list of three to four items, and now is when you regret offering your help to him. Of Course he is annoying and of course you would like to get out of his lodge as soon as possible, but your humanitarian instincts, which made you human, kicked in, and you decided that helping him by going out in this gut wrenching cold was the best thing you could do.

A lone boy made his way out of the store when you went inside. The insides were brightly lit but seemingly devoid of people. You made your way around to collect all the things you needed and went up to the counter. Just then, a person decided to approach the dozing off cashier at the same time and crash into you.

Fortunately, only your purse flew out of your hands and landed at the said person's feet. He quickly picked it up while chanting "sorry" as a mantra and looked up at you from his crouched down position. A move that made him drop the purse again. This time though, he picked it up without dropping it back and straightened up to tower above you.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you in my haste." A voice dipped in honey ringed in your ears when he spoke. His face rendered the regret he mentioned and you waved your hand dismissively.

"No worries. It was my fault too." A small smile found its way on your lips when his shoulders relaxed and eyes glimmered with relief.

He stretches his hand towards to counter to usher you forward, "After you, Ms.-"

"Y/N." you say while shimmying towards the now awake cashier.

"Minhyuk."

You give him a polite nod while paying for your things and then stepping aside to let him. He looked like he could star in movies. Towering at a little less than 6 feet, his face was well structured, with full lips and doe eyes. He was sturdily built and wore a sweatshirt with dark gray pants. His eyes gleamed brightly and a small smile never left his face.

"Y/N, you seem like a tourist."

"Is it that obvious?" you laugh and turn towards the door, hoping he follows you.

"Kind of, yeah. You are dressed up to go out, definitely not to buy groceries." he said while following you outside the store and letting out a light chuckle.

"I like an observant young man. What about you?"

"Do I like a lady who overdresses, definitely?"

His words make you blush deeply and you struggle to find your voice but still manage to emit a hearty chuckle at his words following it with

"I meant, are you a local, or a tourist?"

"Oh. Well I am kind of both. My grandparents live here, so I am here, in this town, at least once a year." he smiled while standing beside you and staring at the sky.

Just a few words of niceties with him were enough to sweep off the annoyance and embarrassment within you. Conversation with him grew steadily as you reached a crossroad, him going to the left and you heading ahead. A strange feeling inside you, a gleeful thought stopped you dead in your tracks and made you look back at him.

Only to find him looking at you with a soft smile while taking slow steps back which eventually came to a halt when he felt your stare. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, stammering to find an excuse, only for you to speak up.

"Minhyuk?"

"Yes?" his eyes softened upon seeing your shy smile.

"I'm a tourist. Would you mind being my guide around the town?" you asked sheepishly, almost in a whisper.

His eyebrows shoot up enough to get covered by the strands of soft hair falling on his forehead, but then suddenly his expression changed, softer than you had ever seen.

"I would love to."

—-----------

You return to the lodge with your biggest smile, which Yoongi notices right away, wondering what did a trip to the store do to make you so happy. You set your purchases on the kitchen counter while humming a bright tune and turn around to sink in the armchair across from the kitchen. Yoongi's suspicion only grew when you kept on checking your phone from time to time, while he prepared the sauce.

Half an hour had passed in a heartbeat, when he set a plate full of pasta in front of you, the pasta looking like it was made by a Michelin star chef. You immediately resorted to gulping down the food like a woman starved, mumbling praises for the chef, not knowing the said chef had turned red as a tomato. Just when he opened his mouth to mumble a small thanks, your phone ring went off with 'Minhyuk' flashing across the screen. You immediately accepted the call and excused yourself from the table, scurrying towards the back door and then out to the porch to talk with him.

Now, Yoongi wasn't one to indulge in others business, but your light hearted giggles and excited tone of talking fell to his ears like prickling thorns. Not that he despised your voice, no. He despised the fact that you never laughed in front of him. Shaking his head, he wondered where that thought even came from. He doesn't care about you or your sickly sweet giggles. Get yourself together, Yoongi he thought and started focusing on his pasta, trying to not eavesdrop on your way too loud conversation.

After ten minutes, you returned back to a cold dish and a similar Yoongi. His back was turned to you while he was doing the dishes.

"I didn't make them for you to leave them just like that." he grumbled, though it seemed like he was talking more to himself than you.

"I had something I needed to take care of. By the way, I already said the pasta was good." you ate the said food, even if it was cold.

Yoongi very well knew that nothing was being taken care of by the way the conversation sounded. He scoffed at your words and continued his work when suddenly you spoke up again, this time, raging a storm within him.

"Don't make dinner for me today, I am going out -" you told him quietly and grimaced when he snapped his head back at you.

"On a date." you continued.

"You were here for hardly a day and have already snagged a date? Impressive." 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his words and at his new found bitterness. Why did he even care? It's not as if you both were friends that you needed to tell him about each and every encounter of yours with a guy.

"What is your problem? Am I commenting on your ways of living?"

"That's because I live pretty normally, unlike you."

"Oh Mr. Yoongi, you'd be surprised to know how normally you live." you say while making air quotes around normally.

At this moment, you both were face to face with each other, him being slightly taller than you. You could see his eyes narrow a bit and hands curl into fists, chest rising up and falling down due to the storm inside him and ears red, hopefully due to the anger. He could see your determined eyes and face, contorted in frustration. You take out your tongue to wet your lower lip, which had gone dry due to the cold, his eyes momentarily following that movement until he snapped his eyes back up to yours.

"You know what? Go and date that goody two shoes of yours."

"You know what? I will." were the last words you said as you fled from the room and away from him.

As Yoongi watched you go to your room, he tried to reason his own actions. Why had he acted in such a way? What had raged a storm inside of him? He was not able to wrap his mind around that, still standing at that same place as he was when you left.

—------------

It has been two days since your last interaction with Yoongi. He didn't seem to care to come to call you for breakfast or lunch anymore. You never saw him except for the occasional moments when you both passed each other in the kitchen.

You hit it off well with Minhyuk and thus planned to extend your stay by some more days to see where it goes. You liked him, but you both were not in a relationship yet, given the fact that you had gone on just two dates. He lived in Seoul, so if something got serious between the two of you, it wouldn't be difficult. Given the fact that he was planning to stay at his grandparents for a week more, and since you had nothing good to do at home, you planned to stay. Another reason to prolong your trip was that if things weren't to work out, you didn't want to take that back with you to Seoul. If you needed to end things, you'd better do it in a place you were most likely not to visit again than at a place which would remind you of him and your memories.

So you set on searching Yoongi around the lodge, to inform him about the change in your plans. The snow had cleared off a lot by now, the road and plants peeking from here and there. Even the cold had settled down to a bearable extent. As you continued your search, you found him crouched down near the strawberry plantation which lay in front of the lodge, one you had almost trampled on your first night here.

His back was turned to you so you creeped up beside him and cleared your throat to inform him of your presence. When he looked up at you, his eyebrows were furrowed, seemingly in concern, while he held a shriveled up and damaged strawberry in his hand. He cocked an eyebrow at you, his way to inform you why you decided to interrupt him while he took care of his precious strawberries.

"I am not leaving." Shit that sounded so bad. Both of you grimaced together, as soon as those words left your mouth.

"I mean, I am staying here for a week more. So extend my rent accordingly."

"You are staying here for this long? Why?"

"I -, I, umm, kind of, for Minhyuk." grimacing 2.0. Who the fuck talks like this Y/N? Get your act together, girl.

"I, We are kind of doing well and I am on leave already, from work. So I decided to stay longer."

The rising feeling in Yoongi's stomach when you had mentioned your prolonged stay, settled down as soon as you mentioned the reason.

"Oh, okay. As you wish." he said meekly and turned his attention back to the dying fruit in his hand.

You observed the way his expression softened, a concerned and scared one taking the place of the annoyed, bitter one. His hands trembled a bit as he set the strawberry down and let out a deep sigh, moving on to examine the next one. This one was worse than the previous one. The snow shone from the little crevices of the berry and the red color had faded to a dark brown, the leaves all dark and shriveled up. When you let your eyes trail around you, you saw that the whole patch was covered with the remnants of the snow. Chunks of the leftover snow were clearly visible amidst the strawberries which were now poorly affected by the sudden change in the weather.

"They are not doing well due to the snow." you speak out your concerns loud but in a cautious voice as he keeps down the fruit and stands up straight.

"Yes. Usually they can bear the cold, but not this much though." his eyes had gone dry and seemed tired. There was no sign of mirth on his face, he was drowned in sadness and concern for his dying strawberries. A soft, low chuckle resonated from him as he continued

"My grandfather used to take care of them. He was so efficient and he loved the strawberries like his own children. He talked to them, watered them, took care of them, all out of pure love and affection. He never sold them, even though they were the best in our town. He used to give baskets full of strawberries to people as gifts and blessings. He would have found a cure for them today, wouldn't have let them die, like I am, unfortunately." he finished with sadness engulfing him.

"Your grandfather must have been an amazing man."

"He was, indeed." and a soft, lone smile etched his lips as he reminisced about his late grandfather. "But I am not, as the berries are now dying because of my lack of care and knowledge."

You didn't know you'd ever think this, but he looked like an angel at that moment. Even with his features drowned in worry and sadness, his aura radiated peace and a strange sense of comfort that pulled you into him. You wanted to engulf him in a warm hug and tell him that everything will be okay, the strawberries will live on and he is not letting them die, just like his grandfather.

You fish out your phone from your back pocket as your habit, when an idea strikes you.

"Yoongi…" you begin way too enthusiastically. He hums to let you know he is listening, so you continue, "I have an idea."

He immediately looks up at you with big, round, hopeful eyes.

"An…an idea?"

"Yes. Do you know any place in this town where I can use the internet? My phone's network is out of reach."

"Umm, yes. There are many cafes in the main city which will provide you with internet, but…" he seems genuinely curious which only increases on seeing the cheeky grin on your face as he continues, "...what's the point?"

You groan, audibly groan, tired of the man not being able to pick up a simple thing.

"Ughhh Yoongi! I can use the internet to help you. It will give me ideas on how to save these strawberries of yours. What are you? A boomer?" 

His eyes widen with amusement and a small smile plays on his lips which is soon wiped off by his furrowed eyebrows.

"But, why would you help me?"

"Unlike you…" you begin with a roll of your eyes, "I am a good person, who likes to help people…" his turn to roll his eyes, "...regardless of their previous behaviour." you finish with a lopsided grin and sparkling eyes which pulls him towards you, but he stands his ground.

"Are you sure?" you nod eagerly, which still doesn't convince him as his expression doesn't change.

You walk towards him and put your hand on his arm, surprised by the feeling of taut muscles under your fingers. Yoongi is not buff, but seems like he is really well built.

"I am." Just these two words seal the deal for you both as he nods shyly and ducks his head to look away, grumbling a small 'thank you' and then moving away from you.

You stand there dumbfounded by his strange behaviour, the one where he was incredibly soft, like a squishy bear. Stop it, Y/N, your inner voice shouts as soon as you think this, but you still keep on staring at your fingertips, missing the warmth they felt previously.

—------------

"Are you sure about this?"

"A hundred percent. Just hold my hand, Y/N."

You glaze your eyes over the vast ice rink in front of you and your knees threaten to give up. Apparently, Minhyuk decided that for your fourth date, you should go ice skating, a sport you miserably fail at, and a fact he was unaware of. Two small girls move slowly around the edge of the rink, holding the railing to support themselves, and occasionally giggling and falling. A young couple, moving smoothly across the ice, hand in hand and eyes holding stars for the other. 

Watching them, your stomach sinks a level deeper. You and him are going well, but he still fails to occupy your thoughts continuously. You have convinced yourself that the fact you are not thinking about him does not mean that you don't want to be with him, or give it a try, but the rom com infested part of your brain dares to oppose and puts you into a mess of thoughts and emotions you can't sort out.

You pull out your phone to stop these thoughts, and a notification succeeds in doing so.

'Free Wi Fi available near you. Tap to connect.'

You quickly connect to the open, free wi fi of the skating rink and start seeing images of a certain pink flash of gums in your mind. Smiling to yourself, you start surfing the internet, failing to give attention to the man in front of you, who calls you for the fourth time. Giving up, he snatches the phone from your hand and you snap from your daze.

"Strawberries?" he looks at you and then back to the phone, repeating the action twice to ensure the sight in front of him, "... tips on defrosting them?" he gives you your phone back as he might have realised that asking you about things you haven't cared about telling him means you don't want to, especially on your fourth date. But he still continues, "I thought you were an editor of a fashion magazine. Thinking of switching to a farmer?" he finished with an amused smile.

"Shut up." you smack his forearm and usher him towards the ticket counter. "I am just trying to help a friend in need." 

A friend.

You don't know why you said it. Actually, you don't know many things. You don't know what you and Yoongi are. You don't know why he is on your mind when your potential future boyfriend is standing in front of you. You don't know if he thinks about you as frequently as you do about him. You don't know what he is doing right now. You don't know that back home, Yoongi is trying to divert his mind from the fact that you are on a date, from the sting he feels, from the touch you left on his arm, a burning surface which he rubs again and again, partly to ward off your touch and partly to feel it again, somewhere else.

"Indeed." Minhyuk says and brings you back to the dread in front of you, skating.

He advances towards the benches to wear the equipment, as you follow him absentmindedly. The date goes on, um, well from then on. You like it, you do, but you don't enjoy it the way you expected to. Minhyuk is indeed a gentleman. The only problem, he is way too much of a gentleman. When your feet slipped and your knees gave up, he failed to steady your fall as his grip on your hand was loose. He soon apologized for it, excusing his lack of action as shyness in holding you as you might feel uncomfortable. He literally said these words, leaving you speechless to this poor of a reason.

You soon gave up on it and settled on a bench nearby to the rink. You sure did share some good moments with him, but none of them were able to light a spark within you, or make you watch at him in awe, or even shyness. It all felt a little too… platonic. A feeling had you enraptured, that maybe he is just good as a friend, an amazing friend, as you both hit it off well. But the aspect of dating him didn't sit well with you, especially when he sat down beside you, his hands undoing his skates but his eyes elsewhere.

A tall, blonde woman reciprocated his stare and gave a bright smile at his sight. She soon made it over to the bench you both were at and waved happily, Minhyuk quickly setting aside his skates and standing up to greet her with a hug. 

You? Oh, you were sitting there forlornly, even though you were not alone, as he struck up a conversation with her, one that had both of them double over by laughing. You knew nothing about what to do in a situation where your date is entertaining another woman and forgetting to introduce you to her. 

You took your time in undoing your skates so that you had something to do when luckily, to save you of the embarrassment, she turns towards you and extends a hand forward.

"Hey, I'm Yerin." a tone dipped in honey talks to you when she opens her mouth.

"I'm Y/N. Nice meeting you." you clasp her soft hand into yours and are glad that you didn't stammer.

"Oh yeah. Yeji this is Y/N my date and Y/N, she is Yerin my …. ex girlfriend." Minhyuk states a bit uneasily as he moves his hand between the both of you, succeeding in doing an awkward introduction.

The last part of his sentence comes out in a whisper but it was something you had guessed by the way his eyes gleamed at her sight, his ears and cheeks flushed red when he hugged her and teeth peeking out in a handsome smile at every little joke she made.

Her eyes widen at his words, but she masks her surprise well except for one thing. Her eyes reflect her pain that even her wide smile isn't able to cover. She is hurt by the fact that he is here with his date, you. But she knows better than to act on it, so the conversation flows smoothly.

Yeji is an absolutely gorgeous woman. Throughout your whole interaction, she has been nothing but kind to you and her ex. When she leaves, her hug with Minhyuk  seems to last longer, an act that brings a soft smile to your face. He stared at her back until she was out of sight, mixed with the crowd now leaving the rink. He looked back at you with a tight lipped smile and guided you towards the exit, without any words. His heart is still somewhere else, but his hands are on the small of your back. Out of all this, you were sure of one thing, which was obvious to each and every eye around them.

Both of them were still in love with each other.

As you had hoped, this revelation did not sting you or made you feel jealous. Instead, you felt a weird sense of relief, partly because the confusing storm inside you had subsided as clarity shone brightly through your mind, and partly for a reason you don't know.

None of you say a word but each and every time you look at him, his eyes hold a forlorn stare, a longing you were able to place right away when you mentioned how nice Yeji was and his face brightened up immediately. 

"We broke up a while ago when she had to go to Europe. She was planning to settle down there but returned recently. I didn't know she was back until now. Even though she lives in Seoul, I don't know what she was doing here." he says while walking down the road to the lodge with you. 

"Is she with anyone else?"

"I don't know. I hope…" he shakes his head to get that thought out of his head and instead continues, "We haven't talked in a long while. I don't know what she is doing now." his eyes never meet yours and you have never been sure of anything before.

He doesn't hug you goodbye, nor do you, when you reach the front entrance. His eyes glaze over the strawberry patch and he gives you a knowing smile before heading away with a small wave as a goodbye. 

You take a deep breath and start walking towards the door with a thing set in your mind. That day, at the store, you found an amazing friend, but not a person you could develop any romantic feelings for, and he knows that now.

—------------

It's been two days since you officially stopped going on dates with him. You haven't stopped seeing him, though. But everything is strictly platonic. He told you today that he will try talking to Yeji again about their relationship and you have never been more happy for him.

On the other hand, Yoongi doesn't know a single thing about what is going on between you two. He doesn't know that you had found a friend in a guy he thought would be your boyfriend. You still go out to meet him and Yoongi's heart still sinks deeper with each action of yours.

The sun was hiding in the clouds today, playing a game of hide and seek with everyone trying to receive its warmth. The strawberries were getting better day by day. Both of you worked on them, without sharing a single word among yourselves. Each and every time you told him something, he'd reply with a curt nod or painfully short replies. You didn't even see him much nowadays, except for the occasional run ins during meals or at the strawberry patch.

You set Sugar down on the carpet of the living floor, who had run up to you as soon as you had entered the lodge. Once again, he was nowhere to be seen. You go to your room and get ready to sulk. You could've left early but you wanted to see the progress of the fruits, which is amazing and the berries are not dying now. Yoongi's actions make you doubt your stay. Unlike before, he doesn't even look your way now. No knocks on your door to call you for your meals, no fun interactions while cooking and eating, no playing with Sugar in front of you, nothing.

You feel like you have overstayed your welcome. Even though you are gonna pay for it, you don't have any particular reason to stay here longer. Your boss doesn't need you back at work right away, but the person you are staying with also doesn't need you. So it’d be better if you saved your money by not spending it on accommodation you don't even need in the first place.

Each and every time you make up your mind to leave that day, your heart opposes it. Each and every time you close your eyes, a sight of pink gums and feline eyes greets you. Each and every time you drown out the unnecessary voice around you, a low, deep laugh rings in your ears. It aches your heart. All of these things keep on breaking you slowly. You can't seem to reason his distance from you, his dislike for you. So, to soothe the dying pain in your chest, you open your door to go to his room, maybe to talk with him, or maybe to just soak yourself in his presence.

As soon as you open your door, a plate of food greets you just outside the threshold. It was 2pm and you hadn't had lunch yet, a fact Yoongi knew. Due to your recent unspoken arrangement, he didn't come to call you, or even knock at your door. He just set that plate outside your room because somewhere he knew, you weren't going to have your meals on time. Everything blurs in front of you as the tears form in your eyes.

Your actions recently are something you are not able to explain, even to yourselves. Why do you feel the need to cry? Especially on seeing that Yoongi cares for you? He is just a friend right? A friend you haven't talked to in the last four days, despite living in the same house. A friend you don't even know is a friend anymore or not?

You miss your friend. His annoying grumbling and sickly irritating smile. His know-it-all behaviour and instances of flushed cheeks and shiny eyes. His feel beneath your fingertips whenever you touched him. His adorable look when he watches you play with Sugar, a thing you had noticed twice before. You missed Yoongi so much, it was hard to stay in the same place as him knowing that you can't do anything. Knowing that you can't embrace him, can't talk to him about your day, can't joke with him anymore, can't tell him the things running in your mind, can't kiss him.

Of course you don't know where the thought to kiss him came from. But now that it has, it's the only thing in your mind and it's eating you up so bad, you take the plate in front of you and eat the contents quietly while going back to your bed. As soon as you end it, you start packing up your things. You need to get out of here as soon as you can as staying here longer is not good for you, your heart, your mind and maybe, Yoongi.

As you go through your things, you find out that one of your cardigans is missing. Not dwelling too much on a missing piece of cloth, you take your time in packing up and get ready by 3.30 pm. The only thing you want to do now is see Yoongi. You ready an envelope with the money you owe him and head towards his room, your luggage already at the front door.

You knock on his door thrice, none answered. So you slowly turn the handle and push open his door, only to find him sleeping peacefully on his bed. You walk up to him and a swarm of butterflies rises in your stomach when you see the thing in his hands, while sleeping.

Your missing cardigan is clutched closely to his chest by him, his head dipping unconsciously towards it and him inhaling the scent. Your scent, to be precise. He looks at peace while sleeping soundly as he holds a piece of you with himself, both, literally and metaphorically. You observe him and find traces of dried up tears on his cheeks. He was crying. And you were not worthy to be told about his miseries. Maybe you should leave right now, so he doesn't have to face you again.

You painfully keep the envelope on his bedside table and lean down to kiss his forehead but stop midway, instead blowing him a flying kiss and scurrying out of the room. Of course, the cardigan was a mistake. If he found even an ounce of comfort in you, he wouldn't have distanced himself from you like this. Maybe the soft material comforted him as he was clearly in dire need of it. You have added a short note in the envelope, to explain your sudden departure. Not wanting to face him ever again, you rush to the main door.

A new wave of tears hit you when you meet Sugar pawing your luggage at the door. You are leaving so much behind that you feel incomplete as you pick Sugar up to cuddle him one last time before leaving. As soon as you kiss his head, a sleepy voice startles you.

"Y/N." Yoongi says while rubbing his eyes as he stands in the hallway, outside his bedroom.

He opens his eyes and looks at you in confusion. Then, his eyes rake over the luggage at your feet and a strong wave of panic washes over him. He visibly shivers and his eyes start getting glossy.

"Are you leaving me?" he asks in the most painful voice ever, his eyes open wide and lips trembling, hands twitching by his side and eyebrows furrowed.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces on seeing him, hearing him and over the aspect of confronting him. You stay quiet as he approaches you with quick long strides and holds your shoulders with both his hands, shaking you out of your daze and yells,

"Are you leaving me?"

You give him no answer again. All you do is stare at him, trying to keep your eyes devoid of any emotions. He shakes you violently this time,

"Fucking answer me, can't you hear me? Are. You. Leaving?" he shouts at a voice so loud, something snaps inside you.

"Yes." you shout back, louder than him, as his hands slide down your shoulders and return back to his side. "Yes, I am leaving." you complete by sniffling your tears.

He doesn't take your answer well and stumbles backwards, almost colliding with the armchair behind him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before closing his fists and opening his eyes again.

"Why?" a voice merely louder than a whisper comes out of him.

"Why? Yoongi? Are you really asking me this?"

He looks up at you in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I think I overstayed my welcome. And, I also need to go back to work now, so I have to leave." Thank god you didn't stutter, but that wasn't enough for him.

"Bullshit." he spits out, while moving towards you.

"It's not."

"It is. I can clearly see that you are lying. What's the real reason Y/N ?" he presses, his voice increasing by every second.

"You wanna know the real reason?!" you mumble, a light scoff punctuating your words.

"Yes. Yes I do." he shouts, now way too near you, your noses almost touching. "Do you think I'll believe you? One second you are staying here for a guy, going on dates with him and the next you pack up your bags saying you overstayed your welcome? That now suddenly your work is calling you. I haven't once said you that - "

"I am not dating him anymore." you cry out and he shuts up.

"What?" genuine curiosity dripped from his voice.

"We called it off a while ago. I was trying to tell you that but you were not ready to hold a conversation with me, ever." your eyes land at the armchair behind him.

You need to continue, need to get it out before you leave. You can't let him shout at you and just stand there, burying your anger while he lets it all out. You straighten up and stop your tears completely, look him straight in his eyes and jab your index at his chest.

"You wanted to know the real reason, right?" without waiting for him to answer, you continue, your new found confidence fueling your words, "It's you."

"Huh?"

It hurts when you look at him like this. He looks like a lost puppy, eyes wide and pleasing, face flushed red and his whole body trembling. Your lips tremble and tears threaten to fall out, but you brace yourselves.

"Yes. Oh my god Yoongi…" you pull away from him, start moving around and gesture vaguely with your hands, as you get hyped up about how indifferent he is right now. "... You act like you literally hate me. You can't even come and talk to me, even when I try to…"

"Y/N"

"... And then you have the fucking nerve to ask me that why am I leaving? I know, I know you don't like interacting with strangers but I…" you let the first tear fall down, "I thought we were more than that. Clearly, I was mistaken."

He stands still, trying to comprehend your outburst. Giving up, though you should not, but you do, you collect your luggage and trudge towards the main door, which is like three steps away.

Faster than light, Yoongi runs and stands between you and the door. He pleads with his eyes, he pleads with his body language, he pleads with his hands, he pleads by shaking his head. The only thing he is yet to plead with, is his words.

"Step. Aside." you grit through your teeth.

"No."

"Fucking step aside. Can't you listen to me atleast once?"

"No." he shouts.

"At Least say something else, you coward. You are chanting the same word like a mantra. Do you even know how much I am…" your voice raises suddenly and you finally snap for the worst, " … dying to hear you? Your irritating laugh? Your annoying words? Why the fuck are you saying just no, from those sickly sweet lips of yours? I never thought I would say this, Yoongi, but I really think I made a mistake by attaching myself to you. I think I have started to lo-" you catch yourself in time and lean forwards, nose almost brushing with his, "It hurts so much to know that you don't feel the same…" you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, "That you'll never feel the same, that you'll never-"

His lips drown out your next words as he smashes them onto yours. The action was swift but it melted you in an instant and when he started moving his lips against yours, you reciprocated his actions. The kiss walked a fine line between rough and gentle. His actions, ever so sweet but fiery at the same time. An electric feeling jolted you, providing you with a new found ecstasy. The warmth from his soft lips doused you into a feeling of summer in the death of winter. You felt a burst of so many emotions, all at once, everything was overwhelming. Even though all of these things were happening at the same time, you didn't want to stop. But fuck oxygen, then.

He pulled away from you and rested his forehead against yours.

A beat passed. The silence was so loud, your heartbeat was audible clearly, mixed with the erratic beating of his. Yoongi chose it as the perfect time to break the silence by-

"I love you."

Time stops. Not in the cheesy way but it really does. You can't seem to breathe, but you also can't seem to take your eyes away from him. You could count his eyelashes, observe the slope of his nose, remember each and every contour of his face from up this close. His closed lids let you stare at him a moment longer, but when he opens them, your heart somersaults and threatens to fall to the ground.

He loves you.

The realization hits a million times harder than you had ever imagined. Have you ever been this happy? Everything seems hazy around you. When you meet his eyes, the only thing that is going on in your mind is Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi, I love you too. But before you can let the words out, your love, your object of undying affection, is cupping your cheek in his rather big, but oh so warm hands.

"Y/N?" he was unsure, scared. Afraid that you will push him away, his warmth and finally stop his heart from breathing after it has sunk down this low in all these days. Maybe he needs it, he thinks. He needed you to reject him to move on, to get you out of his mind, heart, life, everything. Maybe he misread your outburst as affection? As you had stayed quiet for so long now, he doubted everything he had ever known, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces and a sinking feeling settling itself in his chest. You need to react in some way or else he will die just looking at you being so dreamy and awestruck, confused. His string of thoughts was cut short by your mouth.

This time, it was you who initiated the kiss. You did it, for you didn't know how else to respond to him and maybe for the feeling in your chest that compelled you to do so, pulled by his thin but plump, soft lips and his strange love for you. As they say, actions speak louder than words. No words could describe what you wanted to say to him, and so, you resorted to acting on your instincts.

The kiss heated up quickly as he glided his tongue along your lips, asking for entrance, which you gave eagerly. He kissed you like a man starved and he just seemed to get more hungry when you let out a low moan in his mouth. His hands landed at your waist as he pulled you into him more and kneaded the flesh there. They travelled past your curves to your thighs, as he patted them once and held them in a position to hoist you up. You quickly caught onto him and hoisted yourself up, your legs wrapped around his tiny waist as his lips never left yours, scared you'll run away or he will wake up from this dream if he let that warmth disappear.

But, even if life comes from you, it doesn't and he has to pull away. Instead, he settles to leave a trail of hot kisses down your jawline, sucking and kissing at places that have you crumbling in his hold as you let out erratic moans and whimpers.

"Do you, do you want to?" he whispers slowly in your ear and nibbles at the earlobe.

You nod eagerly and tug at the hair at the nape of his neck as you had wrapped your hands around it. You feel his hardening bulge and set your face in the crook of his neck, reciprocating his ministrations. He leaves a small kiss on your shoulder and heads towards his bedroom.

He places you on the bed and hovers above you, his knee parting your legs and sliding up to the place where you need him the most. His hands move under your shirt as he attaches his lips to yours again. Slowly, his fingertips graze the outer edge of your bra and you fight back a shiver, as his knee hits the spot between your thighs.

You were sure he could feel your arousal on his knee when he groaned in your mouth, breaking the kiss to pepper some of them at your collarbone. Your panties were sticking to your core and his occasional groans turned you on even more. You rolled your hips on his knee and he had to pin you down by your waist to stop you from grinding against him.

"You're so greedy, baby." he chuckled and you thought you might never breathe again at the tone of his voice and the pet name slipping past his lips so effortlessly. He was hardening by each passing second and you could feel it on your stomach, the feeling disappearing when he started moving down, leaving open mouthed kisses on your clothed chest.

He reached the hem of your shirt and took it in between his teeth, looking at you with a hooded gaze. His eyes had turned so dark, your breath hitched in your throat on meeting them. That's when you realised that he is asking for your permission. You nod once and look away, not being able to hold his gaze for so long.

He moved the shirt with his mouth above your breasts, feasting on the view of them fitting snugly in your black lace bra. His hands moved without thought when he groped one of your boobs in his hand, molding the soft flesh through the thin material. He latched his mouth on the other clothed nipple of yours, you letting out a loud whimper at it. He pulled down the cup with his mouth and latched his hot lips on your now hardened nipple. His hand moved to your waist and arched your back, the other going behind you and tugging on the hook. Eventually, he had to free his other hand and unhook your lingerie, throwing it in a random direction.

He sat back on his heels, taking in the sight in front of him. Your form panting breathlessly, woven in his sheets, half naked, only for him. You looked at him through your lashes and made vague gestures with your hands to beckon him to you. His length was rock hard in his sweatpants as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and his heart threatened to give up. Your lips all swollen due to the excessive kissing, your breasts beautifully out in front of him, with nipples hardened and wet with his saliva. His cock twitched when you mewled on the lack of touch.

"Oh god, Y/N." he groaned and attached himself again to your chest, licking a stripe across the valley between your boobs. This time, his hands moved to the buttons of your jeans. He bit on your nipple, as if asking you to speak.

"Yes. Oh, yes, Yoongi." you cried out due to the pain and pleasure.

He moved swiftly as he rid you of your jeans and panties. He smirked at your arousal, sticking shamelessly to your panties as they moved till your thighs and broke the string with his finger. He brought that finger till his mouth and licked it clean, removing it with a pop sound.

"So tasty, sweetheart." maybe you were bound to be dead soon as his actions took away your breath by each passing second.

"You are so wet. All for me?" he closed his eyes and dipped down, kissing and nipping at the skin of your inner thighs.

You were so driven by pleasure, you forgot to answer him, instead letting out short breaths and moans as he brought his hand to your mouth and put his finger between your lips. He puckered your lips with his hand and bit at your skin, emitting a high pitched moan from you.

"Answer me, sweetheart." you could feel, rather than see his smirk.

"Yes, all .. for … you." you were no longer in your right mind when he brought his mouth dangerously near to your centre. His hands left your mouth as he brought them to your folds and parted them easily with his long, steady fingers. He dipped one particularly long one in your dripping core as you whimpered and moaned like a mess, your back arching upwards.

"Mhmm. All mine." he said with eyes closed in ecstasy as his finger started moving in and out of you. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, skillfully and you shouted in ecstasy. The mouth which was before at your thigh was now breathing against your pussy, as he licked a long stripe across your folds and around his finger, still inside you. He plunged one more of his digit inside you as his lips latched at your clit.

He moved so skillfully, more than your hands could ever do. The muscles in his arms flexed as he continued moving in and out of you with a set, beautiful rhythm. Your cunt dripped more and more at his ministrations and the praises he let out about you taking him so well and tasting so sweet. He increased his pace and you almost fell apart under him.

His lips never left your clit, you shouting loudly at the stimulation, and his fingers were doused with your arousal upto his forearms, but he didn't stop at all.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, my love." he mumbles against your hardened nub, sending shivers up your spine. "You taste so nice, I could do this all day." he says as he sets the perfect rhythm of his fingers and tongue, both moving in a perfectly choreographed dance across your folds.

"Yoongi, I.." you let out between short breaths, your chest rising up and down dangerously fast," I can't, please, I am close."

"Already? Are you sure you'll be able to take all of me inside you?" he chuckles and his words are more than enough to push you over the edge.

You fall apart in his hold, as his free hand holds one of yours and pins it down to the mattress. He laps at your juices oozing out non stop as you come on his face. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you shut them and let out a loud cry.

It feels ecstatic. Something so strong, you have never felt. You feel like you're on the clouds with how lightheaded you feel, his mouth still not stopping down there. The orgasm hits you like none other. He had the ability to make you fall apart in his hold but still hold you together, all while making your head spin with the feeling. You squirm in his hand and squeeze his hand tightly due to the overstimulation as he was still not thinking to stop.

"Yoongi. Stop."

He sits back and licks his glossy lips, all covered with your essence. He smiles softly at you and a rose blooms in your chest, the petals ever so soft, devoid of thorns, all perfect in his presence. He kisses you tenderly and you move your hands to his chest. That's when you realize he is fully clothed. You grab his shirt in between your hands and mumble with your brows furrowed, your lips all red and pouty.

"Want this off."

He laughs at you being an adorable mess and moves to rid himself of his clothes. He stands up and undresses completely, his cock slapping against his taut abdomen as he discards his boxers. As he gets back to nipping at your neck, marking all the sweet spots, you palm his cock. He lets out a surprised moan against your earlobe, which spurs you on to move your hand across his length. You glide your thumb past his tip and spread the precum collected over there. He lets out low moans against your throat as you let your hand slide down to his balls, cupping them.

He moans loudly and then, suddenly holds your wrist to stop you from going any further. He brings your hand up and intertwines your fingers with his, them fitting together like a lost piece of puzzle and pins your hands above your head. You stare at him with confused eyes as he kisses your forehead.

"Next time, baby." he says as he kisses your nose, "Want to show you how much I love you." and he presses a chaste kiss on your lips before he is moving again.

He opens his bedside drawer and fishes out a foil packet. He slowly slides the condom over his veiny cock and settles himself between your legs. He takes his time kissing you slowly while his tip grazes your entrance.

"Can I?" he mumbles into the kiss.

"Yes, Yoongi." you cup his cheek and kiss his nose as he enters you, both of you moaning at the contact. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, until he bottoms out. You squirm in your place, your breaths erratic and hands clawing his back. He gives you a second to adjust to his length and when you say a small 'yes', he starts moving slowly but deeply.

He stretches you out deliciously as his cock hits the right spots, you a mess under him. But still, he is painfully slow as he tenderly kisses the spots from below your ear, upto your breastbone. You need something more and so, you start wiggling your hips, to try to get some more action. He notices it and stops kissing you, instead pinning both your hands above your head and biting at your lower lip.

"Love, you want me to go faster?" he lets out an airy chuckle as he increases his pace. But yet, you know he can do more as you try to free your hands from his hold.

"Yoongi." a string of moans pass you as he holds both your hands in one of his, and slides the other between your legs to rub at your clit. He now sets an animalistic pace, one that has you shouting in pleasure and him chanting your name like a mantra while rutting his hips against yours.

A tear or two slips from your eyes as the familiar knot starts building in your stomach. He must have felt you being close as he groaned in the crook of your neck, your cunt squeezing him perfectly. The feeling all too heavenly. He fit inside you perfectly, him hitting your g spot with each and every thrust as his eyes held the world whenever you looked into them.

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at the spot joining you to him, his heart giving out and him reveling in you.

"Oh, fuck." It felt like a fever dream, feeling you around him, moaning his name and looking at him with love and lust, a perfect combination, only for him. He could feel your upcoming orgasm, so he increased his pace to an unforgivable extent.

"I'm, I'm close." you were hardly able to form words but still let out the warning for him.

"You're so fucking tight." and that was the last straw for you as the knot snapped and your climax hit you, harder than the first one. You went limp in his hands and your body threatened to pass out from your high. The euphoric feeling didn't seem to stop as you literally saw stars in front of your eyes, him still not stopping.

"Y/N, shit." your walls were clenching around him tightly when you orgasmed and as you came down from your high, you could feel his thrusts getting sloppier and his pace faltering. He continued for some moments before, the overstimulation pulling out a shriek from you, before he let out a string of expletives and collapsed over you, filling up the condom.

He stayed there, in the crook of your neck and let his breathing get normal. He kisses your shoulder once before pulling out, both of you cringing at the feeling and rolls off you. He discarded the condom and came back beside you. All this while, you were a total euphoric mess. You almost dozed off when you felt the mattress sink beside you, indicating his return.

He pulled you in by his arms around your waist and rested his head in the space between your neck and collarbone as your back hit his chest. He started in a low whisper, his lips grazing your ear lobe,

"I might be a terrible person. I might have caused you a ton of pain. I might be a terrible person for always hiding behind a fake stature, cause I am scared. I was so fucking scared that you will never acknowledge me, or my feelings…" you turn back to face him and look him in his eyes, all glossy and scared but hopeful and loving at the same time, "but now that i am less scared, i wanted to tell you, that I love you. I love you so fucking much that it's the only thing i can think of. When you, " he takes your hand in his and intertwines your fingers, both of you staring at them fitting together. He brought your hands to his chest and continued, "When you told me you were staying here longer for him, I lost hope. So I distanced myself from you, in hopes of not letting you affect me more. But all this space only made me fall for you more, Y/N. Please, I beg you to let me love you. Can you please do the same?" he finished as he kissed your each and every knuckle.

The setting sun emanated a soft glow in the room, through the half curtained windows. The golden light reflecting off his face deemed him to be an angel, the almost invisible halo around him feeding the fact. As you stared in the depths of his glossy eyes, you realised he was undressing himself, his thoughts, his fears, in hope that you will embrace his true form without hesitation. And you'd be a true fool to let him down when your own heart yearns for that scared, loving, true man. You bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and press a chaste kiss on his hand,

"I love you, Yoongi." you smiled when his eyes lighted up and he pulled you in more, if possible. "The distance brought an epiphany to both of us, and I'd be stupid to not acknowledge it. Your gummy smile, cheesy laugh, those crinkly cat-like eyes were the only things in my mind whenever I closed my eyes. And I guess, I've really come to love them, like they are my own, mine."

"Mine."

He kisses you like you were made of glass, delicate and special. You break the hold of your hands and swing it across his torso, engulfing him in a hug and nuzzling your nose to his chest. He giggles softly and hugs you back, sniffing the scent of your hair, the scent of you.

"So, what do you think? Are you still leaving?" he asks playfully while caressing your hair.

You look up at him through your lashes and pat his chest, your words this time directly aimed at the thing alive beneath it.

"I think I am going to..." you kiss his chest twice as both of you laugh heartily at your silly action. You rest your head against it and close your eyes, reveling in the moment of peace, as you finish announcing your oh so obvious decision.

"Stay."

---

a/n : Hello everyone. This is my first fic ever. Thank You so much for reading it. It will be really nice if you could leave any kind of feedback, any way will be okay :))

---

p.s. if you want me to add you to the taglist of my future fics - pls reply to this post or just fill out this form and I'll add u <3

[jollygoodswag]

Cry Me A River | Masterpost

— summary: forever is just an illusion, nothing lasts forever. don’t make me a promise that you cannot keep. please...it’ll break my heart

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, poly!au, mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

— status: ongoing

— word count: 150k+

— warnings: (triggering topics! please read at your own discretion) childhood trauma, mental abuse, physical abuse, child neglect, manipulation, gaslighting, violence, mentions of assault, implied sexual assault, hurt and comfort, divorce, emotional neglect, minor character deaths, kidnapping, some emotionally unstable scenes

↳ there will likely be more specifics in certain chapters. just know that this series highlight some things that can be triggering to some

— please don't go into this thinking it'll be a light read. don't estimate the warnings

— if you happen to read this series despite the warnings and if there are certain chapters you wish to skip rather than reading because of the warnings, feel free to send me an ask if you ever wish to know the gist of certain chapters and i will gladly catch you up so you don't get confused on anything

one. the breaking | you tried so hard to be enough

two. the lie | a house made of cards, they lived in your beautiful fairytale

three. the promise | if you told them about the darkness inside of you, would they still look at you like you're the sun?

four. the gentle heart | keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you

five. the void | no matter how many times you read a story over and over again, it always ends the same

six. the puppeteer | father wanted perfection, you fell in love with disorder

seven. the trial master | the only way to get rid of a buried memory is to face your past

eight. the scarlet drop | you can wipe someone's tears but not their memories

nine. the game of chess | everything's burned down into flames and all that's left is you right in the center, unable to escape

ten. the abuser and the bystander | it hurts just as much knowing someone could have stopped it all but chose to stand by and watch instead

eleven. the thorns of a rose | loyalty means to have full allegiance and faithfulness owned by a duty, a pledge, or a promise. and the reapers' loyalty lies much deeper than that

twelve. the black rose | he loved you once, so hard, but taehyung has no right to begin caring for you now

thirteen. the broken | once someone's been taught to stay quiet their whole life, how do they learn to scream and shout for help?

fourteen. the hurting | you can break something in two seconds but it will take forever to heal

fifteen. the cruel and the fool | nothing hurts more than trying your absolute best and still not being good enough

sixteen. the second choice | an illusion of free choice, it will always be namjoon in the end

seventeen. the liar | hoseok lied about choosing you, namjoon lied about leaving you, but the biggest liar of them all is you

eighteen. the frightened ones | drowning in the middle of the sea means being blind and not knowing who is on your side and who wishes to pull you in deeper

nineteen. the snakes | you're left on your own to save your own self

twenty. the watchers | sometimes to not protect is the best form of protection

twenty-one. the apologies | how many apologies have you heard in your lifetime? too many to count

twenty-two. the pawns | when pawns are used well, they are the soul of the chess. you might as well take advantage of what you’re given

twenty-three. the unprepared | no one is ever prepared to be broken, even if they think they are, and breaking again and again does not make you numb to the pain

twenty-four. the reckless | in the face of danger, you run right into it

twenty-five. coming soon...

[jollygoodswag]

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It’s a struggle to be in the countryside when you’ve always been a city girl. But there’s someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who’s constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Keep reading

[jollygoodswag]

Falling For You.

[REQUEST] spencer reid x BAU!reader but they're in a secret relationship, and basically she gets him to watch all these romcoms, so when he makes a reference to something like Notting Hill or You've Got Mail and then the whole secret is blown.

warnings: mentions of lila archer, spoilers for 90s/2000s rom-coms, co-workers to lovers, love confessions, implied smut, secret relationships.

word count: 2.4k

It was no secret that the newest team member had a thing for romantic comedies. From the little jokes she made with Penelope to the quote from Pretty Woman on her travel mug, she was a walking Rom-Com reference.

Hotch understood some of the references, JJ would talk her ear off about her favourites, and even Emily and Derek would jokingly re-enact that scene from When Harry Met Sally every time they had a team lunch. It was only Spencer who didn’t get the jokes, and after having to explain them all to him 1 too many times, she finally invited him over to watch some. 

The first one they watched together was Can’t Buy Me Love. Patrick Dempsey, a loveable nerd has been saving up all summer to buy the telescope of his dreams when the girl next door accidentally ruins her mom's favourite dress and needs to buy a replacement… he ends up buying it for her on the condition that she pretends to date him so his Senior Year can be his best year yet. Spencer likes the movie overall, he wishes someone in his high school took enough pity on him to make him popular. But his favourite scene is when they go to the abandoned airplane graveyard and watch the stars in his homemade telescope. 

“I can make one of those,” Spencer whispers to her. 

“Really?” 

He nods, “It would be pretty easy… maybe we could go star gazing someday too?” He asks, biting the bullet and making this movie date the first of many dates they’d go on. 

—

The next movie they watch is Never Been Kissed. Drew Barrymore is a nerdy reporter who goes undercover at a high school and gets to relive her teen years while falling in love for the first time. Spencer likes this one because he can relate, he never had his first kiss until well into his 20s… and she was an actress, too. When he explains that to Y/N she can’t believe it, but he has the magazine photos of them saying goodbye after the case to prove it. 

“Have you kissed many people since then?” She asks, wishing he’d move a little closer to her and steal one. 

He nods, “a few.” 

“anyone good?” 

He shakes his head, “no, I’m saving the best kiss for last.” 

She looks puzzled? “What?” 

“My best kiss will be from the girl I end up marrying,” he gives her a smile and moves his hand over to hold hers. 

“Oh,” she bites back a smile and looks down at their interlocked fingers. “Have you at least met her yet?” 

“I think so…” 

“Well, then shouldn’t you kiss her to find out if she’s the right one?” She teases, leaning into his space even more. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he teases, he cups her face with his free hand and rubs his thumb over her cheek, “are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

She nods and leans in all the way this time. Effectively pressing their lips together. And even for a first kiss, it sure does feel different. It feels like her last first kiss ever. 

—

Keeping it a secret at work is hard when all they want to do is stare at each other with googly-eyes, they’ve fallen head over heels for each other and not told a single soul. No one knows about their movie dates or their real dates either. No one knows they’ve spent a whole night kissing or that they really, really, don’t mind sharing the hotel room with the two queen beds. And they definitely don’t know that they only slept in the one. Together. The whole week they were away. 

After the case ends, they head back to her apartment for their mandated 48 hours off with the pan to watch as many movies as they can. 

The third movie they watch is You’ve Got Mail. 

“Rival bookstore owners hate each other in real life, yet on the internet manage to fall madly in love with one another. Based on an older movie called The Shop Around The Corner, it’s a beloved story brought to life once again by the one and only Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.” 

She explains every movie like this before they put it on. He’s honestly only watching them because he loves listening to her talk about them. 

“You see, they both have partners in real life but they email each other every day, as friends… but you know what it's like in movies like these,” she smirks. “Best friends who have a lot in common find it easy to fall in love.” 

“That they do,” he agrees. 

He raises his arm over the back of the couch and she sits back, leaning into his side just as his hand lands on her shoulder. They snuggle up close, she hits play and he watches with glee, not knowing this was going to become his favourite movie by the time it’s over. 

His favourite line is when two cars honk at each other and their drivers get out to argue, followed by Meg Ryan saying “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Which is something Tom Hanks says to her in an email earlier that morning.

He loves the way the old man recalls a woman of his past and called her “enchanting” because what a wonderful thing to say about a woman.

He giggles when Tom Hanks tosses aside Pride and Prejudice cause he just doesn’t get it the way Meg's character does. But ultimately, he picks it back up because he wants to get to know her through her reading history. 

“I sympathize with Frank,” Spencer whispers as he brings out a typewriter when they have a perfectly good computer at her house. 

“I know,” she laughs. “I love the tablets at work, I can’t believe you still have Penny paint the files out for you.” 

You are a lone reed standing tall, waving boldly in the curet sands of commerce. Frank compliments Kathleen, or at least he tries to. 

Spencer giggles again. “I remember what it was like being a lone Reid,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

She gets all flustered, so madly in love with him that she wants to scream it from the rooftops but it feels way too soon. They’re only 3 movies into their relationship. Maybe at 10, she’ll tell him. Till then, she looks over at him and steals a real kiss. 

Kathleen is so passionate about her books in the same way that Y/N loves her movies. Spencer sees so many similarities between them that it’s really no wonder that Tom Hanks’ character falls in love with her. Passionate, kind, beautiful women will always have a place in Spencer's heart. 

Their 4th movie is another Meg Ryan classic; When Harry Met Sally, and now Spencer understands why Derek pretends to have an orgasm when he eats a good salad… 

Their 5th movie is Notting Hill and Y/N can tell he doesn’t like it very much because unlike William Tucker, the actress who kissed Spencer never talked to him again after that. 

Their 6th movie, however, is Pretty Woman. And while they shared a bed all through the last case, they’ve never really slept together. So watching a movie all about sex and falling in love really didn’t help the frustration they were both feelings. By the time the movie ended, it was almost midnight and they should’ve been getting ready for bed. 

She gets up and heads to her room, expecting him to follow but he just stands in her doorway, watching with a bit of anxiety in his gut. 

“So…” Spencer asks. “What happens after he climbs up and rescues her?” 

She stills, her heart fills with love and she quickly makes his way to him. She cups his face in her hands, staring up at him. “She rescues him right back.” 

“Indeed you have,” he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips. “You know what all these movies have in common?” 

“What?” She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“They all fell in love pretty quickly, I mean just look at Vivian and Edward, it took them less than a week,” he explains. “So I don’t feel too crazy when I say… I love you, Y/N. I love you so very much.” 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispers between kisses. 

They kiss and kiss and he walks with her, leading her toward the bed where they fall in and make love for the first time. It's hot and close and emotional. It's slow and steady and perfect. It’s everything both of them have dreamed of when they finally met the one. 

— 

On their second day off they watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 13 Going On 30, 50 First Dates, A Walk to Remember, 10 Things I Hate About You, and The Holiday. They would’ve gotten to more if they weren’t so wrapped up in one another. By the time they go back to work, they’ve gotten through half of her list of favourite movies. 

He’s not sure if it’s luck or coincidence or what… but their next case happens to be in New York. 

When they land, they get into their Bureau-issued SUVs and weave in and out of traffic on their way to the scene. They’re honked at multiple times and Spencer just smirks to himself. It’s not until they get out and they’re honked at once again, with some guy yelling at them to get out of his way, that Spencer turns to her and says. “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

She giggles and shoves him, “Shut up.” 

“It’s not the fall?” JJ remarks, not knowing why he’d say such a thing or why she’d react like that. 

“Hey, isn’t that…” Emily thinks it over for a second. “That’s a line from you’ve got mail!” 

“How would Spencer know that movie?” JJ laughs it off. 

Spencer turns to beat red with embarrassment. “I’ve seen it…” 

“You’ve seen you’ve got mail?” Derek even rides him for this slip-up. “And when do you have time to watch rom-coms?” 

“I’ve seen the original,” he lies. “It’s based on The Shop Around The Corner. My mom liked it before she got sick.” 

“Okay,” they drop it there. 

Thankfully. 

And by the time the case ends, 3 days have passed, the unsub has been booked into Jail at 9am and they’re free to go home. If they want to. Derek suggests they all go out for breakfast, and Hotch says he rather go home and sleep. JJ wants to go shopping and Emily’s right there with her. 

Spencer on the other hand, he opens his phone and sends Y/N a message. 

“There’s a place in Riverside Park at 91st street where the path curves and there’s a garden. I’ll be waiting there for you.” 

She digs her phone out of her pocket seconds later and smiles, a small sigh leaves her as her shoulders slump. She’s so in love with him it's unreal. 

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asks her. “Do you want to come with us?” 

“No… no, I have a friend in town I want to meet up with.” 

“Looks like it’s just me and you for breakfast, pretty boy,” Derek teased, wrapping his arm around Spencer. 

He shakes his head, “Actually, I was thinking about going on a little sightseeing adventure, you know I only come to new york for work.” 

“Fine then,” Derek drops it and he, Emily and JJ watch as Spencer and Y/N head off, out of the precinct and in different directions. “I bet you ten bucks they’re meeting up.” 

“Hold on,” JJ says as she calls up Penelope. “Hey, yeah, can you tell me where Spencer and Y/N’s GPS pings in 20 minutes?” 

“I can… why?” Penny asks nervously. 

“No reason. Just a hunch.” 

When Penelope eventually calls her back all she has to say is Riverside Park at 91st Street and they know. 

—

Y/N gets there first, she’s never seen this place in person before. The flowers are even more vibrant than in the movie. There are bees dancing around every other flower, couples walking around hand in hand, people on dog walks and moms with their strollers. It’s just an average early morning in New York. 

And then she sees him. He comes rounding the corner, he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper… at least she thinks they’re flowers. 

What they don’t notice is their friends on the other side of the garden, watching them get closer and closer until they’re chest to chest. He wraps his free hand around her waist, she cups his face in her own hands, and she stares up at him like he hung the stars just for her.  

“I wanted it to be you,” Spencer whispers what was originally Meg Ryan's line. “I wanted it to be you so badly.” 

“You sure did save the best for last,” she knows exactly what he means. 

Just as they lean in to kiss, as his lips meet hers, they hear it. Someone is playing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” just for them. They smile into the kiss, shocked that their life is playing out like a perfectly written movie and then they see them.

It’s their own friends who played it. They’re clapping in the distance, “Woo!!” Emily cheers.

“We knew this would happen!” Derek throws in for good measure. 

They can’t help but laugh, Spencer pulls her in for another kiss, a longer, more hearty kiss. He loves her and he wants everyone to know. 

When she pulls back, she looks as though she could cry, so he extends the bouquet to her. It’s a bunch of yellow, newly sharpened number 2 pencils tied up with string. 

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

“Not as much as I love you,” she says as she takes them, gladly. “Not even close.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86

[jollygoodswag]

Latibule Masterlist

(n) A hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V

[jollygoodswag]

Latibule IV

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: tysm for the overwhelming support you give to this story!! Ily all 💕

Masterlist, Latibule III

“You’re a veterinarian?” he asked in apparent disgust, his hand covering his mouth. He was looking at you with betrayal in his eyes as though you did the most heinous thing to him.

Seriously, a veterinarian? A veterinarian saved him? All along he thought you were a someone from a medical field. A human medical field.

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[jollygoodswag]

PLS SOMETHING ABOUT glasses Reid. Awkward Early seasons Reid has my heart. SMUTTY PLS.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Spencer," You take delight in crooning, a teasing smirk on your face as you bury it just below his jaw, "Your glasses are fogging up."

Spencer's barely able to answer, whimpering out a soft, 'no, they're not.'

"Yes they are," You kiss your way up his jaw, landing at his burning cheek, "I haven't even touched you yet, Spence."

It's true, your hands have remained pointedly above the waist, despite the obvious bulge in his pajama pants. The fabric is loose so the full image of his arousal is on display, and it's been hard to keep your hands off of it, but it's worth it to see him fall apart under your teasing. So far, all you'd done was run your hands along his chest while working on a hickey against the side of his throat, and he's already achingly hard.

"Don't tease," He breathes, hands coming up to clutch at your hips where they rest on his own. You've kept your clothed cunt on his thigh rather than his bulge, but he's trying to pry you forwards, begging for friction against his hardened dick.

"Easy," You hum, dropping your hands from the soft skin of his belly and guiding them away from your hips. He bucks his hips in an aggravated response, clearly more than ready to relieve his internal ache.

"You ready?" You hum, plucking the fogged glasses off of his face. His eyes had been screwed shut beneath them, it's not like he could see out of them anyways, but they fly open at your words, and he nods so vigorously that his hair bounces along.

"Yes," He gushes, breaths long and ragged as you reach for the waistband of his pants. There's a hickey forming where you'd sucked his throat, and another near his collarbone, and both are on full display when he tosses his head back at the brush of your hand over his cock.

"Wait, I-" He whimpers, eyes hazy as you hover over his exposed lap with your own pajama pants discarded.

"Hm?" You ask, thumbing at his red cheek.

"I can't see you," He laments, his lips pink from where he'd been biting them, "Please, I- I want to see you.

You lean in close, bumping your nose with his so that when you gently grind your cunt over the tip of his cock, he moans against your lips.

"'S that better?" You croon, kissing the sinful sounds right out of his mouth.

He nods, a string of saliva sticking to his chin as he drags his trembling hips up to meet your wet cunt, "Yes! Yes, now- now please, stop teasing."

"Okay," You soothe, nosing at his burning cheek and finally sinking down over his dick. He cries out, long and loud and desperate, and you hum beside his ear, "You can have me, pretty boy."

[jollygoodswag]

get yourself some besties who support and objectify you