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ugh-yoongi · 6 months

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a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly.

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway). When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and… “Kissing,” she says finally. “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.” He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines. “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?” Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion.

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt. “Yeah—want you, Joon.” “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.” “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her. Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does. She hates that he’s right. Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides. It’s perfect. Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy. “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster. “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing. When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can��t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

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

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 5 months

Text

Team Spirit- Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Rating: E for EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Summary: When you go to an Eagles bar to watch the football game, the last thing you expect is to get railed in the bathroom by a Cowboys fan.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: drinking, unspecified age gap, unprotected PIV, creampie, (kinda?) public sex, tommy miller is a fucking menace to society, football references.

Immersability: reader is able-bodied and can be lifted/picked up

Author's Note: i am a sportsball girlie at heart and i wrote this for all my other sportsball babes. just some silly PWP. Enjoy!

shoutout to my love @dancingtotuyo and my wife @wannab-urs for beta reading and the amazing comments they left in my google doc!

“Do I really gotta do this?” Joel asks his brother.

“Shouldn’t have let your mouth write a check your ass couldn’t cash.” Tommy laughs. “At least you get a new jersey out of the deal, right?” he shoves the bag into Joel’s hands and laughs.

“Yeah. Right.” Joel deadpans. He opens the bag and pulls out the silver and navy jersey. “PRESCOTT” reads the back in white letters with a number 4 underneath. He should have known better than to take a bet with Tommy. He prefers to give the terms after he’s already won, doing his damndest to stick his older brother in the most uncomfortable positions possible. He also should have known better to bet on the Rangers, given the season they were having. Besides, everyone knows the Astros are cheaters. Now he’s gotta wear this Cowboys jersey to go watch the Dallas vs Philadelphia game. At an Eagles bar. While wearing a Cowboys jersey. Joel sighs and trudges up the stairs to get ready.

By the time the Uber pulls up Joel is dreading this evening. The bitter rivalry between the Dallas Cowboys and The Philadelphia Eagles, and their fans, goes back decades, generations. Shove a bunch of people into a small space and fill them with beer, well, you’re just asking for trouble. Add a football rivalry on top of it and the odds go up even more.

“We don’t have to stay the whole time, right?” Joel asks.

“‘Course we do, Joel. We can’t let those Eagles fans think they ran us off, can we?” Tommy replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He almost seems like he’s hoping for some trouble. “Besides, Sarah is at Mom’s all night. Maybe we can find some girls to go home with.” he laughs.

“In an Eagles bar?” Joel scoffs. “Not likely, little brother.” he claps Tommy on the shoulder and laughs.

~~~~~

You step out of the Uber calling a “Thank you!” over your shoulder to the driver. You walk past the entrance to The Bee’s Knees, and climb the stairs to its sister bar, The Cat’s Pajamas. The tiki decor of the rooftop bar that once caught you off guard now welcomes you like an old friend. A set of jet skis sit in one corner, next the bathrooms. On the opposite side of the bathrooms is a large screen that the games are projected on . The bar is an enclosed square in the middle, complete with a fake grass roof. Two sides are furnished with stools, one is open for customers to line up. The fourth side, the one directly in front of the projection screen, the stools have been replaced with five large, wooden swings. They hang from the roof with rope handles. As you well know, after a few drinks those things can be dangerous.

As you survey the room, looking for your friends, a man sitting at one of the picnic tables along the back wall catches your eye. He’s older than you, by about fifteen years you guess. He’s wearing jeans and a denim jacket, zipped all the way up. His patchy beard is graying and his brown hair is just starting to curl around his ears and the nape of his neck. His eyes flick from one of the many tv screens to yours and back again. Then, he looks towards you again, holding your gaze this time. One side of his mouth turns up in a smile, albeit a shy one. The hint of a dimple appears on his cheek. You return the smile but your view of him becomes obstructed by another man. He’s younger and his jet black hair is long and curly. He sets a tallboy of Lone Star down in front of the first man. You aren’t sure if they exchange words but the younger man turns to look at you over his shoulder and gives you a grin, displaying his perfect pearly whites.

You feel a little nervous so you continue in your quest to find your friends. By the time you’ve made the rounds, saying hello to all the regulars, your friends still haven’t arrived. You sit on a barstool near the end of the bar. The opposite end from where the handsome man and his companion are. You glance towards his table once more and find that his gaze had returned to the tv. Kickoff is in five so you give your drink order to the bartender and pull out your phone. You have several unread texts, all from your friends. “Shit.” you say under your breath. None of them are going to make it. Oh well, you think. You’re already here and there isn’t a place in downtown Austin where you feel safer. You aren’t super close with anyone here, but you know quite a few of them well enough to feel comfortable staying here alone.

The bartender slides you your own Lone Star just as the game starts. The Cowboys are receiving first and the Eagles defense holds them off. After three downs and only twenty yards gained, they punt the ball to the Eagles. By the end of the first quarter, you’re on your second beer and the score remains tied at zero. You drain the can and raise it in the bartender’s direction. “Another, please!” you call down to him.

“Put it on my tab.” you hear from beside you. You turn and see the handsome man from earlier. He’s holding up two fingers to the bartender. “Plus another round for me and my brother.” he turns and smiles at you. A real one this time. His eyes are a deep brown and the skin crinkles at the corners. His lips are full and topped with a plush mustache.

“Thank you.” you offer him a smile of your own in return.

“I’m Joel.” he says, handing you your beer.

You take the can from him and he smiles again when you tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you. Mind if I sit here?” he asks, pointing at the stool in front of him.

“Not at all.” you say with a shake of your head.

“Let me go drop this beer off to my brother. Be right back.”

He struts over to the picnic table, he appears to hold his head just a little higher now. When he sets the beer down in front of the other man, and cocks his head in your direction. Two two men exchange a few words and when Joel’s brother looks in your direction, you drop your eyes down to your phone. They’re too far away for you to hear what they are talking about anyways. After a moment, Joel returns, leaving one stool empty between you as he sits on the next one.

You place your phone on the bar and when you look back over to him, your eyes feel like they might bug out of your skull. Is he fucking serious? You wonder and your mouth gapes open. He took off his jacket and left it at his table. He’s sitting there in a Cowboys jersey.

“You’re brave for wearing that thing here, ya know?” you say, tilting your beer can in the direction of his jersey. He laughs and raises his own can to his mouth. He swallows with a few loud gulps and you can’t help but be mesmerized at the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with each swallow. You find yourself wondering what the deep hollow of his throat might feel like under your tongue.

“I lost a bet.” he replies, setting his beer down on the bar and nodding his head towards his brother. “You look a little disappointed.” he says with a soft chuckle.

“I am.” you reply bluntly. “I was just starting to think you were cool.” he looks a little disappointed himself until you curl your lips into a smirk.

“Would you still be willing to let me watch the game with you?” he asks, leaning his shoulder a little closer to you.

“Sure! As long as you don’t get any closer. Wouldn’t want any of my friends to think I was fraternizing with the enemy.”

He raises his eyebrows and something mischievous flashes in his eyes. “Is that what we’re doin’?” he asks. “Fraternizing?”

“Game’s back on.” you say, avoiding the question. You turn back towards the tv and turn your beer nervously.

“Mmhmm.” Joel replies, returning his attention to the game. You see the smile return to his face from the corner of your eye and feel a little flutter, low in your belly.

~~~~~

“FLY, EAGLES, FLY

ON THE ROAD TO VICTORY.

FIGHT, EAGLES, FIGHT

SCORE A TOUCHDOWN 1-2-3

1-2-3

HIT ‘EM LOW

HIT ‘EM HIGH

AND WATCH OUR EAGLES FLY

FLY, EAGLES, FLY

ON THE ROAD TO VICTORY

E-A-G-L-E-S

EAGLES!”

Joel groans in his seat as the bar breaks out in yet another round of the Eagles’ fight song. The one you all sing after a Philly touchdown. He excuses himself to the bathroom at halftime and when he returns, He takes the stool right next to you. You don’t miss the dirty looks he, and now you, are getting from the ever rowdy crowd. You get to know each other better during halftime. Joel tells you about his daughters, Sarah and Ellie, who are away at college, and the construction business that he owns with his brother. Tommy has had no trouble chatting up all the ladies, even in his own Cowboys jersey. You’re pretty sure the tight fit was a conscious choice, same as his jeans. You tell Joel about your own job and family, and what it’s been like growing up an Eagles fan in Texas. You were wrong about his age. He’s even older than you thought. But, damn, he looks good for his age.

You both switch to water when the second half commences. It’s Monday night after all. Joel’s enthusiasm for the game starts to sour at the end of the third quarter, with the Eagles winning 42-7. He finds it hard to keep his attention on the screen at all, in fact. He’s much more interested in you. Your own interest grows by the second. He’s charming and handsome, sure. But what really gets you is the way he beams with pride when he talks about his daughters.

The bar erupts in cheers when the Eagles force yet another turnover. With less than two minutes remaining in the game, Jalen Hurts takes a knee. He repeats the action twice more, running the clock down to under forty seconds. Joel lets out another groan and buries his head in his hands on the bar. Suddenly, an idea strikes you.

“C’mon.” you say, grabbing his hand and dragging him off the stool.

“Where are we goin’?” he asks curiously. But he follows along, gripping your hand even tighter.

His rough palm engulfs yours and you lead him to the far corner of the bar where the employee bathroom is hidden.

“What are you doin’?” he asks when you haul him into the bathroom and click the lock behind you.

“Givng you a consolation prize.” you say slyly. “Unless you don't want it.” you tease.

Joel picks you up and spins you around. He presses your back against the door and your legs circle his trim waist. Your skirt rides up and you can feel the soft swell of his stomach against your clothed core. “I’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ this all night.” he says.

“Well go on then, Cowboy. Do it.” you urge.

Joel’s lips crash against yours and he grabs the meat of your ass through your skirt. He moans into your mouth when you gently tug on the curls at the nape of his neck. He grips you tighter and spins you both around. The bathroom is small so he only has to take two steps before he’s setting you down on the counter, never moving his mouth from yours. When you finally separate to catch your breath, you are both panting. Neither of you have any desire to take things slow. You pull Joel’s jersey over his head and he catches it right before you drop it on the floor.

“Let’s not be naughty, huh?” he teases and drops it onto the counter beside you. He grabs a knee in each hand and spreads them wide. He drops to his knees and runs his hands up the insides of your thighs. The work-worn, rough skin of his palms catches on the thin fabric of your fishnets. His hands disappear beneath the hem of your skirt and his thumbs stroke the creases of your thighs. The heat from his skin is so close, but not close enough. Your hips buck of their own accord, your pussy aching for some attention. Joel moves his thumb to your covered mound, searching for your clit through the layers. “This where you want me, darlin’?” he asks, pressing against the lace of your underwear, the cute ones you almost didn’t wear.

He tsks when you nod in response. “C’mon now, baby. You had plenty to say earlier, all that trash talk. Use your words.” he instructs. You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a whine. Joel snatches his hand away, resting it just above your knee. “Words.”

“Yes, please. That’s where I want you.” you pant. Desire courses through your entire body. The flame he stoked with just a few strokes of his hand burning low in your belly.

“Good girl.” he says softly, looking up at you from where he kneels. He pulls your skirt the rest of the way up and the countertop stings your skin cold. He hooks his fingers in the crotch of your fishnets and rips. He tears them all the way up, so they are only held together by the elastic band at your waist. He taps his fingers against your hips as he grabs the sides of your lace panties. You hold on to his shoulders and raise up off the counter, allowing him to drag your underwear down your legs. He pulls them over the toes of your clunky boots, one at a time and slips the black scrap into his back pocket.

His knees crack as he stands and moves between your legs. One hand rests on the back of your neck, tilting your head up towards his. With the other, he drags his finger up the seam of your cunt, separating the slick folds, making room for himself. When he leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he surprises you by bringing his mouth to your ear.

“I’d give anything to be able to take my time with you.” he whispers. The heat of his breath causes a shiver to run up your spine. “To lay you down on my bed. Take you apart with my hands, my tongue.” he dips a finger inside you, but just barely. He gathers the slick forming there and drags it up. “And then split you open on my cock, again and again.” your breath catches in your throat when he begins to circle your clit. “Until you’re beggin’ me to stop.”

He pulls away from your ear and catches your bottom lip in his teeth. At the same time he slips his middle finger into you. You arch your body into his and he continues rubbing circles over your clit.

“Fuck, Joel.” you whine. “I’m so close, baby.” he curls his finger inside of you and picks up the pace with his thumb.

“C’mon, darlin’.” he urges. “Come for me.” and when he attaches his lips to your pulse point, you do. You bury your face into his chest, sinking your teeth into the flesh to muffle the sounds of your pleasure. Joel moans loudly in your ear the moment you taste the warm copper on your tongue.

The aftershocks have barely abated when your hands fly to his belt. Your thighs want to clench at the sound of metal against metal, but you can’t. His thick thighs block the motion. You flick the button and drag his zipper down and Joel’s mouth never leaves you. Your mouth, your jaw, your neck. You grab his jeans and boxer briefs and shove them down. He pulls you forward on the counter so that your ass is teetering on the edge.

His cock pops out of the waistband of his boxers and rests against the soft trail of hair under his belly button. He looks over his shoulder, double checking that the door is locked and runs the tip of him through your soaked folds. He catches at your entrance and when you moan, please, he pushes inside. He feeds his cock to you slowly, allowing your walls to stretch for him, mold to the shape of him, until he’s sheathed fully.

Joel’s breath is quick and heavy in your ear as he pumps his hips in and out of you, hand held tight to the small of your back. The nudge of his thick head against your cervix punches the breath out of you. You rake your nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders and he groans against your ear. The muffled sound of the fight song trickles in under the door and you find yourself thankful for the noise. Then, an idea strikes you.

Joel doesn’t seem to notice when you first begin to hum in his ear. Either that, or he’s too pussy drunk to care. Your own rendition of “Fly, Eagles, Fly” is interrupted by moans and stuttered breaths, but you persevere. The rivalry doesn’t just go away because he’s inside of you.

“The hell are you doin’?” he punctuates the question with a particularly sharp thrust.

“C’mon, Joel. Say it just once. For me?” you clench your walls around him, squeezing him tight. His pace falters and he squeezes you tighter against him.

“Pussy’s so good, baby.” he groans. “But it ain’t that good.”

Suddenly, he pulls out of you. He grabs your ass and pulls you off the counter, hands on your hips to steady you. Once he’s sure your legs won’t wobble, he spins you around. He gathers both of wrists in one of his large hands and holds them in front of you, stretching them towards the mirror. There’s a near feral look in his eyes when he raises his hand, bringing it down in a swat to your ass cheek.He watches the ripple of your skin as he takes his cock in his hand and eases it back into you.

“Oh my god.” you cry. He’s so much deeper from this angle. He nudges against something devastating inside of you. Something you never knew existed. It doesn’t take Joel but a moment to build up to a bruising pace. Your eyes never leave his face in the mirror, watching him pound into you with a hunger you didn’t expect from a man his age. Tension coils through your entire body, like a snake gearing up to strike.

Joel’s eyes catch yours in the mirror and he gives you a devilish grin. “Gonna fuck that team spirit right outta ya.” he growls. He grips your shoulder, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust. The smile returns when he feels your pussy fluttering around him. “That’s right, darlin’. Be a good girl. Give it to me.”

Your orgasm crashes through you. You can feel it everywhere, the strain in your biceps where he’s stretching your arms. The tips of your toes where you stand on them to give him access. Low in your belly when you gush around him, drawing his own release from him. He comes with a shout, pulsing inside of you. He’s so big, fills you so completely, that you can feel every throb and shudder of his cock as he paints your walls.

He releases your wrists and you fall against the counter. Joel slumps over your back and the two of you fight to catch your breath. The noise from the bar begins to quiet down as people disperse for the evening. Joel stands and pulls his pants up and you hide your ruined tights as best you can with your skirt.

Joel chucks you under the chin and presses a light kiss to your lips. “Guess we better get out there huh?”

You sigh and smooth your clothes once more, nodding in agreement. Joel unlocks the door and pops his head out, making sure the coast is clear. “I’ll go first. See you out there?” he nods towards the bar with his head.

“Yeah,” you nod. “See you out there.” the door closes behind him and you turn to the mirror to give yourself the once over. Satisfied that you don’t look freshly fucked, you step into the hallway. You feel a twinge of disappointment when you don’t see Joel, but continue down the hallway, back to the bar.

You see him walking towards the table he started the night at, interrupting Tommy’s conversation. Tommy looks up at his brother and breaks out into a grin. His eyes flick over Joel’s shoulder to you, and he gives you a wink. Joel turns and smiles, waving you over. He introduces you to Tommy, who shakes your hand before returning to his own chance for a consolation prize.

“So,” you begin. “Maybe I’ll see you here next week?” you ask hopefully.

Joel huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “No, darlin’. I don’t think you will.” When you look down at the ground, dejected, Joel once again raises your chin with his fingers. “But you can come over and watch the game at my place if you want.” he offers hopefully.

“I’d like that.” you tell him. Offering him your phone to input his number.

Tommy throws an arm around Joel’s shoulder. His other is slung across the waist of the woman he was talking to. “C’mon big brother. Ride’s waitin’.” he says. Joel hands you back your phone and bends to kiss your cheek. When he does, Tommy lets out a loud “Whoo!” and before you know it, your forgotten panties are clutched in his fist. “What do we have here?” he teases and pushes the balled up fabric into Joel’s hand.

Joel glares at his brother before tucking the panties into the pocket of his jacket. “Text me when you make it home?” he asks quietly. You nod and they leave. As you watch him walk away, you realize what you just agreed to. The game meant something different to you than it did him. Now you gotta go watch a fucking Cowboys game.

taglist: @planet-marz1 @rhoorl @nerdieforpedro @hyzer34 @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @joeldjarinff @harriedandharassed @casa-boiardi @disassociation-daydreams @inept-the-magnificent @elegantduckturtle @magpiepills @cherubispunk @milly-louise @party-hearses @megamindsecretlair @survivingandenduring @Darkheartgatita @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @callmecath1 @pedge-page @justagalwhowrites @morallyinept @heareball @yorksgirl @clawdee @fluffygoffpanda @poodlebae @readingiskeepingmegoing @amanitacowboy @casuallyfancydonut @for-a-longlongtime @hiddenbabynyc @missladym1981 @noxturnalpascal @joelsflannel @rosi3ba3z @professionalpromqueen @survivingandenduring @anoverwhelmingdin@heavennumber2@pascalpvnk@joels-shitty-puns@weho2kcmo@uncassettodiricordi @noisynightmarepoetry @spookyxsam @apesarecuul @maried01 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @vabeachan @yorksgirl

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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astroknottt · 27 days

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ASTRO ! I’ve been reading @/ bluegiragi & @/ thegnomlord’s monster au for a quiet awhile now and I’m in love with honestly. I love mythical creatures and monsters so much, but I’ve been thinking of Orc M!reader a lot as well.

TW ! Monster Au ( Orc! mreader )

you’re an absolute machine on the field, not so quick on your feet but monstrous in size and strength—your pure strength and brute mentality. sure stories portray you as a monster with the brain the size of a peanut but you’ve proven those theories wrong.

price isn’t an expert with your kind. both your species have existed during the same time period but that did not mean you interacted with one another. price knew more about your species than you did his, he knew how war and your kind went together like a hog and shit. you were perfect for the profession.

It takes some time for the boys to get use to you. you’re different, different from anything they’ve encountered and they’ve had their share of weird shit.

the moment you stepped foot off of the plane, captain price was the first one to greet you. your stature was everything they thought it would be, in size and muscle—fat filling in all the right places. when you speak it feels like the earth rumbles beneath their feet, a voice that’s deep and carries a guttural, low, and gravely timbre.

you weren’t green which takes him by surprise, you look slightly more human albeit your inhuman features. like the lower cainines that protrude from inside of your mouth like tusk, your lupine like ears that stand pointed at the ends as if you were some fairy, littered with many piercings, and your hellish build. slanted eyes that boar a piercing red color that surely sent a small chill down the dragons spines.

but you’re not what gaz expected. a hideous green tank, that drooled every time he spoke, an ignorant beer and pot bellied beast with balls for brains, a creature who thinks of nothing but food and breeding. a hideous man like beast who only plagued on about war and eating humans. he didn’t know much of the kind, but he has enough. honestly gaz thought your kind was completely wiped out.

soap couldn’t say the same. he remembers the horrors his parents would tell him stories about when he was nothing but a wee lad. the stories of ogres and goblins alike, their sadistic tendencies and how they would ravage through villages in scotland like nothing, eating anything in their wake and until there was nothing left. the moment he heard there was an orc joining their team, he couldn’t help the way his lip curled into a snarl—a growl of hatred tumbling past his lips. he was against it but he kept quiet.

ghost would watch you from afar, slightly threatened by what he didn’t understand. you’re not ignorant, but a skilled soldier on and off the field. you listen to orders and do what you’re told quietly easily, you’re able to lead those underneath you like it’s a simple task. ghost realizes that there is some sort of line that constantly blurs when it comes to man and beast with you and he understands. he watches that line fade on the field continuously.

#𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐗 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.#𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 : ORC #cod monster au #captain price #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #top male reader

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sl0t4matt · 1 month

Note

could you do a fic w hector fort where him and the reader get a matching tattoo please? like something little or whatever you want hehe

h. fort | girl with the tattoo

thank you sm for requesting, i love this request! i only know very few things from friends abt tattoos so i hope i got everything right.

“hi baby how was training?” you ask hector as he slumps down the couch next to you, immediately snuggling up on you.

“it was fine. i would’ve rather stayed with you though.” he admits, laying his head on top of your lap.

you move your hands to his curls playing with them. you absolutely loved playing with his hair, since it was always perfectly curled and done. “don’t let xavi hear that.” you chuckle.

he starts grinning a little too suspicious.

“oh god, what have you done again you idiot.” with that look he must’ve done something, you thought. he smirks. “what do you mean?”

“do not play with me right now, hector. tell me!” you roll your eyes at his annoyingness.

“you know i love when you’re demanding, ma.” he winks liking his lips. you stand up not being able to deal with him right now. he knows exactly how impatient you are. he just loves pushing your buttons.

he won’t tell you. fine! he takes ahold of your wrist, immediately pulling you back.

“okay, okay i’ll tell you.” you sigh sitting back down. he smiles. “hector i swear-.”

“chill, i’m sure you’re gonna like it.” he interrupts you quickly. you furrow at him. what the hell could he mean? “okay so i got an appointment at the tattoo studio.”

“nice. what are you gonna get?” he smirks. “you mean what are we gonna get.”

“what?!” you’ve always wanted to get a tattoo but because of your school schedule you never got to doing it . you honestly also kept forgetting tbh but obviously hector didn’t.

“well i wanted to get your eyes tatted because you know how much i love them, but then i thought ‘oh y/n always wanted to get a tattoo’ so i thought why not just take you with me and we’ll get a matching one.” this boy is something else.

you grin so hard, it hurts. hector has always been affectionate moments like these remind you how much he truly is your soulmate. you jump on top of him shooting him with kisses. “i literally love you, you know that right.” he nods, laughing. “i love you too.”

“when is the appointment?” you ask. “7pm.” he shrugs. “are you serious! i don’t even know what we’re gonna get!!” you sigh, shaking your head at how your boyfriend can be so slow at times.

“we’ll get angel numbers of course. you’re a big astro girl.” hector says, referring to the time you first met him. (your first question being what his star sign is.) “wait, that’s actually a good idea.” he smiles smugly. “i know.”

…

“is it gonna hurt?” you ask hector as you enter the studio. “you don’t want me to be honest, ma.” you sigh. hector takes your hand. “i’ll go first if you want.” he says. you nod. you never had a big fear of needles. you yourself having a belly button piercing but a tattoo is different the pain is there for a while whereas when you get pierced it’s more like a poke.

you get in walking to the woman behind the counter.

“hi, we got an appointment for 7pm.” i smile at her. “of course. come with me.” she smiles back, bringing the both of you to the guy that does hector’s tattoos.

a bigger man with a beard greets us which you assume is the tattoo artist. he doesn’t quiet look scary though rather like a big teddy bear with lots of tattoos.

“the girl who’s eyes you’re getting tatted on?” he grins at hector. “yeah.” he smiles turning to look at you. hector isn’t very social with people he isn’t extremely close with, so he tries to keep his conversation as short as possible. you think it’s quiet ironic since you never seem to shut up, no matter who you’re talking to. they say opposites attract though!

he pulls out a picture handing it to him. the man nods, giving you a quick smile then takes his stuff out.

you follow hector as he sits down on a chair, extending his arm. he shows the guy where he wants it and how big it should be. the man doesn’t waste time and directly goes on tattooing him.

you sit beside him, squeezing his other hand, you being more scared of the pain he must be going through than hector himself is.

“you’re fine.” you stroke his hand, looking at him seriously concerned. “stop it you’re gonna make me laugh.” he mumbles. he’s so unserious.

it must not bother him much since he grimaces and curses on a few spots but keeps cool most of the time.

after him also getting the angel number tatto that is supposed to match with you, it’s finally your turn.

you’re pretty sure you’re gonna piss your pants as you wait in the room alone with hector because you’re so nervous. you don’t know how you’re gonna live to see see the next day after this. “you’ll be fine. it’s bad at first but you’ll get used to it. also i’m here for you, ma.” he tries cheering you up. “fucking hell.” you mutter. you’re probably going to experience the worst pain in your life here.

“are you ready?” the guy asks. with nodding your head, you go to sit on the same place hector sat when he got the tattoo.

you grip hector’s hand tightly, breaking it almost.

hector kisses the side of your face, whispering sweet words in your ear, trying to distract you from the needle that currently goes in and out of you.

“fuck.” you mutter through gritted teeth. “you’re doing so good, baby.” hector whispers. you bite your lip so hard you start tasting blood. “you wanna take a break?” the tattooer you now know as chris says. you shake your head, wanting it to end as soon as possible.

hector hates to see you like this: in pain. he hopes for it to end as soon as possible, the only thing he’s been wanting to do while you got tattooed being showering you with loving kisses, but he didn’t for the sake of chris since he’s sure he wouldn’t want to see a whole teen kissing session.

“it hurts so bad, hector.” you cry out. he moves stands of hair out of your face then cupping your face gently. “i know, baby but you got this.” he nods. the thing is you weren’t even being dramatic for once. this had the be the most hurting feeling you’ve ever experienced.

“we’re done!” chris pats your arm after he was done. your eyes meet with hectors, smiling lightly. you definitely knew you’re going to thank him at home for how he was there for you in this entire process.

#barca #fc barcelona #lamine yamal #hector fort #marc guiu #pablo gavi #fermin lopez #joao felix #guiu #pedri gonzalez

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asherthehimbo · 4 months

Text

Love Talk - Song Mingi

Synopsis: Hongjoong drags Mingi along to his favorite bands concert, Mingi meets a mysterious man at said concert then dissapears for a week. Who said you need to talk the same language to be in love?

pairing: Idol! Song Mingi x bandleader! male! reader

warnings: mature themes, kinda smutish, People under 14 DNI with this story thank yew

notes: hehehehe, ive been waiting to share this story for a WHILE, it's a short story, prolly gonna be less than 10 chapters idk

Gay pirates!!! | Pinky pie (plural) | playlist

one | parasocial relationship go brrr | [pt 2- princess]

two | concert time

three | 7 ways to sunday

four | dhmu😞

five | TRUST the delulu

six | WITH MY BIAS??!!!

seven | the gays r takeing over

eight | love talk - the interview

Ateez masterlist | Home page

Taglist [30/15][open]: @idkwhatto-namethis @foxilsdenn @cometaveintisiete @poweringthroughthis @astro-doll-the-star @dahbee8 @mikahrh @moonslie04 @boopboopedoop @bee-the-loser @brrrkdslek @amphiroxx @ddeonubaby @ddextrr @conwunder

if your name is in Pink/bold it means tumblr wont let me tag you

comment or dm me to be added to the taglist!

#ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fake texts #ateez fic #ateez x male reader #ateez fanfic #ateez social media au #ateez smau #ateez #ateez fluff #song mingi x reader #song mingi #smau #atz x reader #atz smau #atz smut #LTSM

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indiasthoughts · 2 months

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"Can you roll my window up?"

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aka- , eren, and xiao, x black readers turn on this trend

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warnings;;

suggestive, but no smut, x black reader, ,, use of the n word , fluff, she/her/hers pronouns, lowkey toxic relationships, SASSY MEN SASSY MEN SASSY MEN SASSY MEN!!!!

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authors note: ik this is such a silly contrast aot and genshin but i been craving all both men sooo😮‍💨

and for reference--

︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Ps: this is old work but i desperately need smth to post so mind the cornyness pls 🙈

୨⎯ Eren ⎯୧

Inside of the 6'3 mans black BMW M4 was a beautiful girl in his passengers seat, annoyed and frustrated.

see- this girl had a few things that annoyed her that he knew of yet still did when she rode in someones car.

one- rolling her window down and leaving her cold in her black skims dress. two- playing music she's not fond of at the moment, if she's in a brent faiyaz mood why play warren g? and three- not listening to what she had to say.

so when her boyfriend, Eren, of three months did all three at the same time frustration ng came crashing down

"Eren, baby, please roll my window up.", rubbing her arms to create any sort of warmth.

- and to no avail, ignored.

"babe..."

- ignored.

she furrowed her eyebrows and turnt the music down to a volume of 2.

"Can you roll my window up?!"

"No, ur attitude ruining my vibe bro"

As "2SEATER" By tyler the creator started playing, he turned the volume up, but not as high as he had it before, out of the slightest bit of respect.

"Who the fuck is your bro?"

"Ma what I told you about swearing?"

She reached over to his side, unbuckling the seatbelt as her boyfriend stopped at a red light. she pressed the passengers window button and rolled her window up.

"Now the music aint hitting from all angles!!"

"Imma hit you from all angles."

He once again put the windows down.

"Whos car this is?"

"Who sitting here?"

"Ion know what you have an attitude for..."

"Oh my god."

she leaned into her seat, embracing the cold she'd have to deal with for the next 15 minutes.

about another minute passed, and Eren was already tired of the awkward atmosphere.

"Baby im sorry"

"mhm.."

he held a small frown as he pulled up into a empty parking spot .

Tyler spoke in the background- 'the fuck you turn my music down for?'

"mamas it's us" he said with the widest grin he could possibly hold.

'can you roll my window up?'

you lip synced to the girl's parts.

'Why? damn.'

as he would too.

"Cause it's windy." You audibly spoke this time.

"But I love it when your hair blows."

as the beat dropped, he reached in and gave you a kiss.

ewww this was so sickenlybsweet ugh me and who🤢🤢

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

୨⎯ Xiao ⎯୧

you and your boyfriend, Xiao had been lying down in his bedroom, while you played with his cat on his lap, he did his homework. There was a specific way he liked to have his room, cold. whether it's the ac blasting on days where the cold was too much too have his windows open, or open windows, on the warmer days. Today happened to be one of the warmer days. And despite the baggy sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and one of his sweaters, his room was still too cold for you. As much as you cuddles up with Astro, the cat, and your boyfriend, it was still unbearable.

"Xiao, lets close the windows please.."

"I won't be able to concentrate."

he furrowed his eyebrows and said that with in the sturnest way he could.

"I'm gonna head into the living room then"

You grabbed the cat, and as quick as one leg came down, it came back up.

He played a faveorite playlist of his, when "2SEATER" came first.

"Sit back down pretty?" more of a question than a command.

"Damnn nigga it's cold!"

"m'sorry, stay wimme ok?"

He turned the volume up and held your waist, bringing his lips to your neck and nibbling your neck.

You knit your brows together, feeling a gush of cold air, and flinched softly. Taking his phone that was connected to his JBL speaker, and lowering it.

"Can you roll the windows up?"

"Whyd you turn the music down"

he puts it back on, lowly chuckling at the perfect timing on the song.

"Can you roll it up?"

"Why?, damn"

"Because it's!-"

You slowly realise the timing on the song and this mini arguement.

"But i love it when your hair blows.."

As he finally removed his lips from your neck, and tilting your neck to crane your head and meet his lips.

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the-witch-of-one-piece · 1 month

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That's My Good Girl 18+ Shio Yotsurugi x F! Reader Resident: @enchantedforest-network /WC:900+/ Synopsis: Knowing he has a lot of work on his plate the man is prone to stress. You now what exactly helps him relieve the stress. Testing your limits you want to see how much you can full take of him. TW: Oral Sex (giving), Pets names (good girl), calling him daddy, gagging, masturbation, cum shot, rough handling (unedited)

For the amount of time, he has dedicated his life to the Yotsurugi gang. It was a lot of pressure on him being the first adopted son who kept a cool demeanor, and always had to think strategically. You could feel the tension built on his shoulders, even though his posture was always so proper. Your fingers dig into his shoulder to remove the knots that formed. You were facing him as you sat on his lap. Both of you still clothed the smell of the mixture of expensive perfume and cologne you both were wearing hit each others nostrils Closing his eyes for a brief more savoring how your fingers tried to relieve the tension. You already served him a bourbon on the rocks that was placed on the coffee table. He only sat on the couch for less than 5 mins. “I need to get back to work,” Shio's eyes were still closed as his assertive voice filled your ears, one of his hands rested on your ass the other on your lower back.

“I think you can spare a few mins of your time. From what I’m feeling on your shoulders you will feel better once I’m done.”

Shio slowly opened his eyes. “You think that will relieve the tension I always carry?” he asked.

“Do you doubt my abilities can relieve your tension?” your hands began to comb through his hair. "My fingers are like magic. Aren't they" giving him a sly smile.

Hearing the challenging words coming from you. “Prove me wrong then.. If you can.”

The pushing back slightly “You will.” As you continue to keep eye contact with him sliding down his lap. You slowly settled between his legs as you were on your knees. Your fingers began to tug at his belt buckle.Your fingers brushed over his bulge that was in his white slacks. You could feel his cock pulsate at your touch. The sound of his belt metal clinging as it became undone.

Shio watched as you began pulling his pants down along with his briefs. Your dainty polished fingers wrap around his girthy cock. You heard a throat groan coming from him. You tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. Your fingers slowly began to stroke his semi- hardened cock, your lips coming to the tip of his cock giving it a kiss. You felt his erection becoming harder as your lips pressed against his tip. Sticking your tongue out slightly as you start at the base of his cock dragging it up to the tip.

You were teasing him a bit knowing how his cock was responding to your tongue as you could feel it pulsating. You made eye contact with him still continuing to drag your tongue against his cock.

Shio continued to let out the deep low groans. Seeing the cheeky smile on your face. Be wanted to see your lips around his cock. Grasping your cheeks stopping you from licking his cock he learned forward a bit. “Why don’t you stop playing and show me what that mouth of yours could do like a good girl now?”

He released your cheeks as he leaned back on the couch. You were going to follow his orders. “Like this daddy?” you cooed as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock only sucking the tip.

“Just like that…. That's my good girl. Don’t be shy to show daddy how deep you can go now.” his

It was evident you couldn’t fully go as deep as you wanted; he was too big for you. You began to test your own limits this time. Trying to relax your jaw a bit you slowly began to bob your head up and down. Controlling your breathing as you started to go a bit deeper. Shio could see you were testing your abilities more about taking more of him. His hand resting on the back of your head. "Your lips feel so fuckin great around my cock pretty girl.” Applying a small amount of pressure to your head as you were bobbing. “Keep going just like that.”

He could feel your saliva coming from your mouth as it began dripping down to the base of his cock. Your hand was still stroking him, lubricating your hand to slide up and down more easily. Your other hand on your thigh. “Fuck” he could hear you gagging with the more pressure on the back of your head. He didn’t want you to stop. He was reaching his peak quicker and quicker. Balling a fist of your hair in his hand, the rush of his orgasm approached his rougher handle he had on your head he pushed your down as far as he could holding it was you felt the warm seed spilling out of his cock filling the back of your throat “make sure you swallow all of it like a good girl now. Every last drop...” panting as I saw the tears fall from your cheeks. When he finally released your head you removed your lips from around his cock as you were trying to catch your breath. The saliva with a bit of mixture of his cum dripping on your chin. Shio looked at you heaving a bit he slightly leaned forward his thumb dragging from your chin to your lip. Placing the rest in your mouth “I told you all of it.”

Seeing your mascara slightly running. “Do you feel better?” you could still he he was hard even after coming right now.

“You proved me wrong this time... Since you did such a good job to relieve me of my tension now it’s your turn… Take off all your clothes and lay on the bed...Daddy will be there in a moment. You will reward your hard work.”

To be continued~~~~~~~ 🤭

Tag: @pikeru565 @kodzukein @haitani-maki @blueberry3muffin @kenpachisbrat

please comment below if you would like to be tagged in the Negai No astro series!!!!!

#shio yotsurugi #shio #astro royale #negai no astro #val's writing #the witch of one piece #shio yotsurugi x reader #shio astro royale #I just know he packin #the man that would destroy the world for you #on my knee for him 🛐

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kobb4ni2 · 5 months

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[ GENDER NEUTRAL (?) FEM (?) READER ]

My Marine! Reader who is very popular, and for the sake of this idea I’m going to give her as a Vice Admiral. I CAN HEAR YALL BOOING OKAY I KNOW SO BASIC LEAVE ME ALONE😔😔

TW: Imagine Gojo fans….but make them Marine!Reader fans. !!! Also I haven’t watch Film Red but I guess there’s some sort of internet platform to share vids or an internet overall, soo take this sh!t talk with salt.

Marine! Reader is a calm and nurturing person, their charisma with their hard working self made them a deserved Vice Admiral. Ever since you sailed out to the sea you’ve attracted many eyes, may it be admiration because of your strength , or awed because of your undeniable beauty even in battle. And even if you’re not in a mission you would always use your heavy berries (YOU’RE A VICE ADMIRAL U HAVE TO GET THOSE BIG BERRIES) to re-visit the town that you just saved, being responsible to the damages and paying for all of it. People there had to rub their eyes to make sure that you were the correct person. When you were in your white layer clothes you would be calm and try your best to be nonchalant making sure that you were deep engrave on your job but when you visited and started making small talk people were shocked! Over time the civilians you’ve saved from the many villages or small islands you’ve saved have accepted you to their communities. They would make small banquets whenever you arrive, even though you told them several times to not do it, they will always go against your words and hope that you eat well.

Kids would play with you even with your intimidating height, they would swing on your arms and whenever you try to leave they would grab on your legs to slow you down, the kids parents might have been worried but when they saw you intriguing them with a smile in your face they immediately calmed their nerves. Grandmas and Grandpas would always pinch the vice admiral’s cheeks, and since they were normal civilians you had to bend down to make squish your cheeks. (IM GETTING CARRIED AWAY IM SORRY)

But back to plot. Your calming and nurture personality, your beauty that could shine in battle has captured many eyes of other marine, civilians or even pirates! And this where the one piece internet goes in.

Aight imagine someone made an edit of Marine! Reader, it could be you fighting, or even doing an official interview! Cool right! But if anyone ever opens the comment section it would be just filled with the most ATROCIOUS, MOUTH GAPING, EYES OUT THE SOCKET down bad comments💀💀 here's some examples.

Marine! Reader's Fav pet (real!): "The way that it started getting bricked up like its Bob the builder is crazy 😅‼️(I don't even have a wee wee)"

<3: "ten minutes in the room with them and one is walking out pregnant, and it's not gonna them (I'm a dude)"

hewwo:3 : "JUST THE TIP [NAME] PLEASE IM ON MY FUCKING KNEES, IM SO DESPRATE PLEASE😭😭‼️‼️"

Marine! Reader's bewbs mole: "TILL THE WALLS (not the room) IS COVERED WHITE!!!"

[FOR FEM MARINE!READER] ammniaa: "Want their strap inside of me so bad, that i might think that I'm pregnant brooo😞😞😞"

Astro laddie : "My flaps started clapping out of excitement <3"

Star 4 her: "All lubed up and ready to serve 💓💓"

Beeheaver: "Man I don't care if they're 14'9 tall, ITS GONNA WORK I PROMISE😈😈‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥"

In Marine!Reader I thrust!: "Yes [NAME]~ There~ I'm sensitive there!~ Nghh~~

Marine! Reader's bloody bandages: "CMON [NAME] I CAN'T DO ALL THE WORK MY SELF, MY FINGERS HURTS😾💢"

reimikoba: "My muscle memory will always remember their fingers and tongue (＾▽＾) "

pantsonfire: "Not a fishman but, damn whenever I see them in my screen, it's natural habit suddenly is water from their-"

scary monsterz: "bend over and ready, warm and cozy, toys and liquid on sight"

Aw man if yandere [character] ever fins out how popular their beloved Marine! Reader is, they would make sure to cut the wifi GLOBALLY

I'll just end it here, cuz I feel like this is just a stupid ass idea 💀 yall can give me some brain juice aka asks 4 thus doe :3

The edit video I was thinking about when I was making this. (I can't do velocity edits just transition and tweeing💀)

#yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #drabble #yandere op #yandere one piece x reader #yandere one piece #this is just a fucking crack💀💀💀#i may or may not have commented this in some....katakuri and shi long lang comments :3 #hot take but gojo isnt really that fine😭😭#asexuals lesbians when it comes to their favorite male character😈😈‼️‼️🔥🔥#I SWEAR IM WORKING ON THE WARLORD SERIES I SWEAR😞😞#happy new year btw :3 #one piece x reader #one piece

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tieronecrush · 1 year

Text

hot & heavy

chapter three: show me how

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.3k (a long-y but a goody)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, alcohol use, pet name (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, masturbation (f & m), light voyeurism, THIGH RIDING, dirty talk, LATINO JOEL cause it's canon which means there's likely subpar spanish bye!!!

Joel is trying very hard to be a good neighbor.

He can be friendly enough when he needs to be, but he absolutely did not know the kind of place he was moving into. It’s like Pleasantville had a baby with The Truman Show. Everyone here is so nice.

Not that his previous neighborhood wasn’t filled with people who were nice, but everyone pretty much kept to their own business and gave a wave here and had a quick catch-up across the lawn there. Well, except for the Adlers.

And here, they also do neighborhood events.

Which is why he finds himself nursing a can of Budweiser that’s dripping cool condensation in the mid-afternoon Texas heat of late June, surrounded by husbands having conversations about the upcoming football season, the latest Astros game, and their wives. He can’t really add anything to the conversation because he hasn’t kept up on any sports news, was working during the last game, and he’s single.

So fucking single that he spends most nights fantasizing about you, his daughter’s nanny. Or just straight up watching you like some depraved, desperate man.

Which isn’t too far off base, cause it’s what he’s feeling right now as he steals glances of you laid out on a patio lounger next to the aquamarine, chlorinated water. You’re sitting in a white linen cover-up dress, but the thin crepe fabric leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to your swimsuit underneath. It’s modest enough for a family affair, covering up everything appropriately but it still does something to see your skin exposed in the sunlight, a sheen of sweat coating your body.

He’s noticed some of the neighbors around your age checking you out, even some of the men older than him ogling at you. It was hypocritical to feel the burn of anger — he was eyeing you all the same but to him, it felt a little different. Like you were closer to his than anyone else’s. He saw you every day; knew little things about you like how you always twisted the ring on your right hand around with your thumb or how you always left one last sip or two in every drink you had, never fully finishing them before abandoning them on the counter or in the sink.

Knowing more about you, from tiny details to what you wanted to do with your life, made him feel like he was dipping his feet into the pool of temptation. Every bit he learned made him want more.

And every time he saw you through the window of your bedroom, he jumped in head first into that alluring pool. It felt so right, so justified in the moment to him, but as soon as the lights clicked off on your side and he looked down at his come coating his knuckles, shame slithered up his throat and coated his mouth with bitterness.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. And some nights, he swears to himself that he sees you looking, watching his actions. Like you know exactly what he’s doing and you let him. One time, mind hazed over with pleasure as he got himself off to the sight of you alone and half naked, he even convinced himself that maybe you wanted him to keep doing it.

Joel knew you were flirting at times, but at other times he couldn’t tell if there was any difference between your polite, sweet demeanor and a subtle hint that you found him attractive.

Even if you were into him, there’s no way he could do anything about it.

Joel’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a tug on the hem of his swim trunks. His eyes flit down to his daughter, standing next to him with a pout on her face.

“Daddy, can I please go swimming now?”

Joel smooths a hand through her hair, bending down to her level to look her in the eyes.

“Can you give me just a few more minutes, Bug? I gotta talk to Mr. Clark about a job he might need help with at his house. I promise we can go down to the pool right after that.”

Joel’s cool thumb from the beer can swipes across her cheek as Sarah huffs in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest and staying put as a sign of her reluctant agreement. He smiles softly at her, kissing her hairline as he stands again, turning to the neighbor near him to answer his questions about a potential job refurbishing his deck over the weekends.

Wrapped up in conversation, Joel doesn’t notice the tiny footsteps padding away slowly at first, speeding up down the stairs. He doesn’t notice until his hand reaches for her curls, the swoosh of air under his palm tearing his eyes away from Mr. Clark. Panic sets in immediately, Joel excusing himself quickly to go to the edge of the deck to search the large party for his seven-year-old. Flip flops slap loudly against the concrete, the familiar voluminous hair bouncing as she runs towards the open water without anyone there to catch her and no safety floats on her arms.

He deposits his beer on the railing, starting to rush down the stairs to try to catch her but is stopped as he watches what plays out below him.

You saw Sarah, without her dad following behind her, and knew something wasn’t right. Joel had told you that she was still in swimming lessons — Sarah loved the water but she’d only had a few lessons last summer so she wasn’t entirely ready to be able to jump in and swim completely without aid. That pings something off in your mind, instincts kicking in as you swing your legs over the side of the lounge chair and jump up immediately to chase after her. Your arms outstretched wrap around her tiny frame right before the edge of the pool, lifting her away from the water on the other side.

Sarah is in a fit of giggles, the idea of you snatching her a playful game in her childish mind. Relief washes over you and you go along with her giggles, spinning her around and bringing her back over to your chair.

“Gotcha, little miss! You’re eager to swim, huh?”

Sarah’s giggles die down while she’s still in your arms, and as you set her back down next to your seat, Joel jogs over from the stairs to the two of you.

“Mija, you can’t just run off like that. You scared me. And you know there’s no running around the pool, and no swimming without an adult. It’s not safe, is it?”

Joel’s squatting down to look his daughter in the eyes, seriousness evident in his tone but not to the point of anger. He’s calm and collected as he reprimands with reminders and honesty, his voice not ever nearing a louder volume than his normal cadence.

God, he’s such a good dad.

It’s so attractive.

Internally, your palm is hitting your forehead at the flutter of your ovaries. Externally, your eyes roll into the back of your head in a curse to your mind.

“You were taking so long, Daddy! I want to swim now.”

Sarah’s indignant, her actions were completely justified to herself when she didn’t know how it could have ended up.

“I’m sorry that it frustrates you to wait, but you can’t go running off. Next time, give me a reminder, Bug. Sometimes I don’t realize how long I’m taking, it’s a curse your dad has for lack of time management.”

You snort a laugh out, covering your mouth as the comment goes right over Sarah’s head. Joel’s eyes find yours, soft crinkles showing next to them as he grins at your laughter.

He sends Sarah over to her bag sitting a few chairs over to grab her floaties for him to put on, standing up and facing you. Hands slip into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders raising an inch.

“Thank you for grabbing her. I just, I dunno, I just panicked at the top of the stairs. Like seeing everything in slow motion and I was stuck there. But, uh, yeah, thank you for getting to her.”

Voice thick with ignominy, guilt sheening in his eyes as he looks at you with a vulnerability you’d yet to see from the daily interactions with Joel.

A crack formed in your heart at the thought that he was scared, that he feels like he failed in the moment for his feelings overwhelming him. Your head shakes side to side, your feet subconsciously step closer to him and your hand reaches out to sprawl across his bicep with a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“It’s alright, Joel. Nothing happened. Sarah’s totally fine, and still chomping at the bit to swim,” you console, a kind smile on your face, “Besides, I probably wouldn’t be a very good nanny if I didn’t do anything when I was way closer to her. You couldn’t have reached her in time, and I stepped in for you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Joel.”

His shoulders relax, hands slipping from his pockets as he nods.

“Thank you. For all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

The words strike you in your chest, nothing profound said but the emphasis behind them warming you from the inside out like the Texas sun. You swallow, suddenly feeling parched from the heat and breaking the eye contact that Joel was holding with you to look down at Sarah as she approaches you again.

“Can you help put my floaties on?” She hands you the deflated safety devices with a toothy grin, the gap of lost tooth on the left side of her smile making you want to squeeze her from how adorable she looks.

“Course I can, girly,” you take the floats from her, finding the mouthpiece on one and looking back to Joel, continuing before you start to blow them up, “I can swim with Sarah, if you wanna keep chatting with Mr. Clark. I know he wanted to get your thoughts on his deck. You should go back and talk to him, could be an easy job with decent pay. He’s a generous guy. Go be social, charm the pants off of everyone.”

Joel nods and glances over his shoulder to the deck filled with neighbors. He turns toward you again, raising an eyebrow in question.

“You sure, sweetheart? You’re off the clock today, you should enjoy your free time.”

“Spending time with Sarah is fun. Wouldn’t want to spend my afternoon any other way. Plus, what else am I doing? Baking out in the sun like a lizard?”

Joel laughs, a genuine one that you’ve only heard a few times when a joke of yours really gets him, and he nods, bringing a hand up to gently pat your arm.

“Thanks, darlin’. I owe you one.”

The wink he sends you nearly has your knees failing you, a heat sent to your core at the subtle flirtation.

These charged moments between the two of you have been happening much more often, and with your new (almost) nightly routine waiting up for Joel in your bedroom, you’re waiting with bated breath for whatever is built between the two of you to snap and open the flood gates.

More and more, you’re imagining how it would feel to kiss him, how his hand would feel in yours, what he could take from you and what he could give you. There was so much you were admittedly naive about, but everything that you had once been intimated by seemed exciting when you thought of doing it all with Joel.

He’s kind, and respectful, and gentle. He cares. Even when he acts like a grump or teases you, you know there’s something there. There has to be, otherwise you’re going crazy for sure.

Pulling yourself away from your daydreams, you inflate the floaties for Sarah and help her get them on. You pull your cover up over your head, depositing it on the chair you were laid out on. Sarah’s small hand fits in yours, taking slow steps to allow her to keep up with you as you cross the concrete patio to the pool stairs.

The two of you climb down the stairs and into the water, Sarah shrieks and giggles from the chill surrounding her hitting Joel’s ears all the way up on the deck. He’s back with Mr. Clark, having finished hearing him out about what he wants done and offering his services, reaching an easy agreement with him about when he’ll come by to start and what Mr. Clark will pay him.

Joel wanders away from the group, grabbing another beer, this time a Miller Lite.

Not his favorite, but he’ll take what he can get to keep a small buzz around all these people. Nosy, overly polite, and fake people make him uneasy. He's virtually the opposite, and it occurs to him that you are, too.

Maybe that’s why he feels so drawn to you.

Well, that, and you’re one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen.

Cracking open the can, he leans on the railing with his elbows supporting him and watches you with his daughter. He takes a long sip, combing his gaze over the top half of your torso that’s out of the water as you stand in the shallow end. The bikini top he’d gotten a peek of under your coverup is on full display now, the sweet lilac color with ditsy florals tight across your chest.

He’s seen more of your bare skin from his window, but the bikini top sends a heat to the back of his neck and behind his ears, imagining you over him on his lap and his hand slipped under the swimsuit.

Shaking his head to pull him away from the image, he takes a deep breath and a few gulps of his beer, taking one more look at the two of you splashing around in the water with some of the other neighborhood kids swimming circles around you. He holds back a smile as he listens to your laughter mixed with Sarah’s, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he returns to be social like you told him to.

Eventually, once they’re pruny and antsy again, Sarah and the other kids get out and towel off to play tag altogether in the grassy part of your backyard. You dry off and slip your coverup over your head again, the fabric clinging to you in places that weren’t fully dry. Bare feet pad against the wooden stairs as you climb them, taking a breath to brace yourself before returning into the mass of judgy neighbors.

The contents of the cooler have dwindled, so you opt for a Corona and pop the cap off, weaving in and out of the crowd to find a lime wedge. At the makeshift bar, you grab a slice and shove it down the bottleneck, taking a sip and turning towards a group of neighbors you actually like.

Walking up to the circle, you see your brother, Chris, a kid his age from down street, Ryan, and Joel standing opposite you. Everyone’s talking about setting up a bags tournament, and you volunteer to play as well. One of the young wives offers to pair everyone off into teams, and you get set up with Chris while Joel gets partnered with Ryan.

Everyone playing meanders down to the lawn where the handful of boards are set up for play, and the four of you end up versus each other. Chris and Ryan walk to the far side, leaving Joel and yourself at the opposite end to start the game.

He bends down to collect the beanbags, handing you the blue ones with a grin while he holds the red for himself.

“You ready to lose at cornhole, sweetheart?”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“No, cause I’m ready to win at bags.”

Joel scoffs this time, letting out a short laugh and giving you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people, darlin’. It’s called cornhole. Why do you even call it bags? You’re from Austin. We say cornhole.”

“Um, I am ‘one of those people’ cause ‘those people’ are the correct ones. And there are plenty of people living in Austin that call it bags. For example, my dad who taught me the game.”

You turn away from Joel and lob one of your bags onto the board, watching as it skids across the surface and sinks into the hole.

“Your dad is from the Midwest. Doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

Joel tosses his first one, the red bag smacking against the surface and sticking to its place. You look at him with a satisfied, smug smirk.

“It does count. And even more so, everyone in Fort Worth at school calls it bags. People from Texas.”

Your next shot only lands on the board, an annoyed sigh falling from your lips.

“That’s Fort Worth. I’m talking about Austin. Your hometown. You can’t betray us by calling it bags, darlin’. You’re breaking my heart hearing that.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll always be a heartbreaker to you. Cause if I ever call this game cornhole, it’ll be the death of me.”

Joel sinks his next shot, giving you the same pompous look you’d given him.

“Now I can’t be losing you so soon, so we can agree to disagree. But I’m right.”

“Oh my god, no! I am right. And I will be teaching Sarah the correct name for the game.”

The blue bag in your hand lands on the edge of the hole, taking a second to let gravity pull it in. You cheer to yourself and hear Joel’s laugh next to you, your smile softening.

“Now that’s just too far, sweetheart. I draw the line at influencing the youth. My youth, especially.”

Your laugh pulls a smile from Joel, the shot leaving his hand to land right in the hole of the board. He looks back to you, eyes glistening with a tinge of admiration and teasing all in one.

“Fine. I will allow you to parent as you see fit, even if it’s wrong on all moral levels.”

“I can see who’s influencing her heightened dramatics lately.”

You pause, a beat of silence as you try to find a defense for yourself but coming up short. The last beanbag in your possession sails through the air, missing the board completely. A pout tugs your bottom lip out, huffing a sigh out of your nostrils and crossing your arms to watch Joel take his last turn for the round.

His hand twitches at the last second, changing the trajectory of his throw and sending the bag off to the side into the grass.

“I’ll admit, I do come up with…climactic story lines for her Barbies. But it’s to encourage her imagination!”

“I’m just teasin’ you, darlin’. You’re great with Sarah, and we both love having you around this summer. Don’t need to change a thing about you.”

He must mean the words in a friendly manner, but your heart can help but flutter at the thought of Joel enjoying you being around him often.

The game goes for a few more rounds, Joel and you keeping up with each other and tying at the end of each of your turns.

“Guess we’re a pretty good match.” You smile sweetly at him as you reach out your hand as a gesture of good sportsmanship when you and Chris take the win. Joel’s hand envelopes yours, shaking it firmly as a grin tugs one side of his mouth up.

“I think you’re right about that, sweetheart.”

“We’re quitting, this is boring! Sorry, sis! Sorry, Joel!” your brother shouts at you both, sauntering off with his buddy Ryan. Joel looks back at you, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

“Think we’d be good partners? We could keep up the tournament together.”

A wide smile crosses your face as you nod in agreement.

“Let’s kick everyone’s asses. At bags.” You wink before walking ahead of him back to the group, getting assigned your new opponents.

You spend the next few games across from Joel, sharing knowing glances and grins, communicating with only a look for the rest of your games. You easily climb through the small, single elimination tourney and get to the winner’s game. The pressure, or as much pressure as a friendly, neighborhood game could be when you’re a competitive person, is on with the eyes of everyone eliminated on you. After a tension filled game, both in scoring, and the look in Joel’s eyes that’s sending a tingle throughout your thighs and between your legs, the two of you earn the victory 21-19.

You both cheer goofily, overly celebratory for the simple sport as you rush to the center of the pitch. Joel meets you halfway, laughing as you raise your hand for a high five. He complies, grabbing your hand when it meets his in the air, squeezing it as he drops them together between your bodies. His eyes are darker, filled with a glint of something that intensifies the feeling at your core.

At a barely audible level, his drawl curls around his words as he tells you, “Good job, sweetheart,” with a wink and a sideways smirk.

Your long dried bikini bottoms are soaked at this point, a chill tickling its way down your spine. His hand pulls away from yours, moving to your waist to guide you to the stairs. He follows you up to the deck, and you can feel the burn of his eyes on your eyes through the layers of thin fabric, imagining the subtle jerks of his arm and shoulder that you catch glimpses of from across the lawn on those late nights you unknowingly share with him. Before you can start a conversation to stay near him, or even suss out the electric chemistry that’s reaching towards a peak between you two, you both get pulled away from each other. For the rest of the night, you can’t ever seem to catch up with him, and you resign wistfully to being stuck in a boring conversation with your mom’s friends while your thoughts circulate around Joel.

The sun set an hour ago, the temperature dropping only a few degrees with the night fall. Most of the neighborhood is still mingling around your family’s backyard, those with younger kids all making their way home.

Sarah’s head rests against Joel’s shoulder as he holds her at his hip, adjusting her to hold her higher as he chats with your dad and brother about his last season on LSU’s baseball team. He feels Sarah rub her face against his shirt and glances at her, checking the time on his watch. It’s about half an hour past Sarah’s usual bedtime, and if he doesn’t get her back home, she’s going to be as grumpy as he is without a full eight hours.

Wishing your dad and brother goodnight and thanking them for hosting, he turns to make his way across the deck and glances around in an attempt to find you to say goodnight. It’s Saturday, which means he won’t see you tomorrow, and the thought of that contracts his chest. He can’t think of an excuse to go on a search to seek you out, and without a reason, he meanders back over to his house.

Joel gets Sarah into her pajamas and lays her down for the night, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair back. He smiles to himself at the peaceful look on her face, rubbing her back gently before shutting off her bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

Retiring on the sofa, he turns on some reruns of the latest cable show, zoning out on the screen as his thoughts drift to you.

The smell of chlorine on your hair starts to give you a headache, so you make your way inside and up to your room to shower off. Changing into your oversized sleep shirt and shorts, you fall back into bed and grab your book from the nightstand to read some pages to distract your brain before going to sleep.

You glance out your window to see if Joel’s come up to his room, like that first night you had waited for him and every time since then. When you can’t see his silhouette or any lights on in his window, you take a guess that he must be parked in front of the TV since he brought Sarah home.

After a chapter or two of your book, a vibration muffles against your comforter. The book gets discarded, probably losing your page while your hands scramble to find your device before the ringing stops. Right before it rings through, you grab the small phone and hit accept without a chance to check the contact.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The raspy drawl crackling through the line raises your heart rate, your eyes glancing to your alarm clock to see the time - 11:48 pm.

Why was Joel calling this late?

“Joel? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing serious. I, uh, just got a call from Tommy and he’s way too drunk at some bar downtown to drive home. I gotta go get him, but I don’t wanna wake Sarah to put her in the car or leave her by herself here obviously. So I was wondering if you’d—”

“I’ll be right over.”

Joel sighs, full of relief and breathes out his next words filled with gratefulness.

“Thank you so much, darlin’.”

You make a quick goodbye, gathering your phone and slipping out of your bedroom. Downstairs near the door to your garage, you slip on your flip flops and head over across your front yard and Joel’s. The humidity in the air has lessened, but your damp hair still sticks to the back of your neck. Your nails scrape up the hair and hold it off your neck, legs carrying you up the short set of stairs and up to the Miller front door. Your right hand knuckles tap quietly against the painted wood, letting your hair down and rubbing your sweaty palms on your t-shirt.

The door swings open with Joel on the other side, a sleepy grin on his face as he waves you in. He looks soft in his washed out Cypress Hill t-shirt and gym shorts, the vision of him in his version of PJs tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you again for coming over here, darlin’. Sarah’s sleeping, should stay asleep while I’m gone. She was exhausted after tonight.”

Following Joel into the living room, he gestures to the couch and the TV that is still turned on to whatever he was watching before.

“Should be back soon, feel free to hang out here. Help yourself to anything to drink or if you want a snack, you know where everything is.” He smiles at the mention of you knowing your way around, grabbing the keys to his truck and slipping on some sneakers as you plop down onto the couch.

“Sounds good, I’ve got my cell so if you need any more help, text or call. But I’ll be camped out here until you get back.”

“Hopefully won’t need anything else, been dealing with Tommy my whole life. Always gonna be the annoying little brother,” he chuckles softly and lingers near the door, glancing around before his eyes find you again, “Guess I should head out, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Drive safe! And tell Tommy I say hi,” you add with a quiet giggle, watching as Joel shakes his head and laughs to himself, heading out the front door. The truck rumbles to life in the driveway, and you watch from the window as he heads down your street and towards the city.

The engine shuts off in the driveway, and Joel can still hear some echoes of the party carrying on from another neighbor's backyard. Getting Tommy from the bar took way longer than he thought it would, and it’s now 1:26am. Traffic was horrible attempting to cross the city ‘cause of some country show getting out right as he hit downtown, and Tommy wouldn’t answer his damn phone when Joel did get there. He sped back to Tommy’s and basically made him roll out of the car, idling to make sure his brother got inside alright. He was insufferable with his drunk babbling, and now by the time Joel finally got home, he felt a swirl of guilt in his stomach for making you come over. He thought it would be quick, and now he’s slinking inside to apologize profusely for taking an hour and a half.

The front door squeaks on its hinges, the hollow sound of the TV cracking through its speakers at a low volume. You don’t greet him as he slowly clicks the door back in place, locking the deadbolt and kicking off his sneakers into the pile of shoes in the entryway.

Sock covered feet echo muffled thuds across the wood floors of his living room, a grin tugging on his lips when you finally come into view.

Fast asleep, you're laid out on the leather couch with your legs curled into your stomach. One arm’s under the throw pillow your head rests on and the other is bent limply in front of you, fingers wrapped into a loose fist. The movement of your chest is languid and deep with your breaths, lips parted in relaxation and eyelashes resting against your skin.

Painfully angelic.

He’s frozen for a moment across the room, watching you sleep until the time reaches past 1:30am and he knows that he needs to wake you to get you back home and into your own bed. He selfishly wants to let you sleep there, doesn’t want to interrupt any sweet dreams you might be having or the rest you need after taking care of his daughter all week, after helping him too.

Sighing faintly to himself, he moves towards the couch and bends down to gently rub your shoulder to wake you.

“I’m back, sweetheart, you can head home.”

You gasp from the shock of being woken from a deep sleep, scrambling to sit up in a panic with heavy lidded eyes. Your soft touch presses warmly against his thigh through the fabric of his gym shorts, and he looks down at you as you start to fully wake.

“Joel? Oh god, I’m so sorry I fell asleep, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. I took a lot longer than I thought I would,” the cozy look in your eyes plucks at his heart strings, and the touch lingering on his leg turns into an electric burn, “‘M sorry you had to sleep on the couch for a bit.”

Your head shakes with a dopey grin, fingers brushing his skin as it slips back towards your lap. The spot once covered with your touch sends a chill throughout his body. His eyes track your motion and his own hand reaches out for you. Large fingers slip between yours, Joel’s gaze returns up from your locked hands. Before you can say anything to him, and before he can overthink, he leans in and catches your lips in a fragile kiss.

Everything stops around him in the moment. The TV is muted in his ears, the chill of the AC isn’t felt with the fire alighting in his gut, his eyes close and bring him into an abyss where all he can feel is the plush of your lips against his and all he can smell is the candied scent of your green apple and lime body wash mixing in his nose with the bluebell and jasmine notes of your shampoo. It’s overwhelming, the way you have completely surrounded him with one kiss.

Your mouth is still against his for a few more beats, Joel imagining the shock you must be in and he immediately feels his stomach drop in a rush.

Fucking idiot. Why would you think it would be okay to kiss her? She’s obviously uncomfortable and now you are going to have to grovel out an apology for being creepy and completely unprofessional.

Joel’s head moves back to break the kiss, his eyes opening with dread flooding them. Scanning your own expression, he can’t quite read you.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor—”

“Do it again.”

Now Joel is still with shock, confusion contorting his face as his head tilts minutely.

“What d’you mean, sweetheart?”

“Do it again,” the smooth skin of your hand trails up his arm, across his shoulder, and wraps around the side of his neck, “Kiss me.”

His brain takes a few seconds to process your words and fire actions to his nerves and muscles, but when everything finally connects in him, he’s leaning in and molding his mouth to yours in a deeper exchange.

With hands intertwined, he reaches his other up to caress your cheek. His fingers splayed across your face, grazing the line of your jaw as you sigh into his mouth. The slight part of your lips with the exhale gives him a chance to lick into your mouth, his tongue tasting yours. Your hand on his neck tugs to pull him over you further, his back aching at the angle.

He pulls apart from you, breaths shallow as his eyes search yours for any signs of wanting to stop. When he can’t find any, he moves to sit on the couch, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

Joel chases your honey kisses, taking peck after peck as his hands run over your back. He feels your hands scratch into his five o’clock shadow, groaning against your lips when you sit back on his thigh and the front of your shorts brushes against his semi-hard cock in his pants.

Kisses intensify, heating up again. Joel’s hands skim down your back and each grab a handful of your ass, coaxing a small whimper from your lips. The sweet sound flips another switch in Joel, his hips canting up against you as he feels himself swell more in his pants.

Against your lips, he rasps out, “Y’have no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you, darlin’.”

“You could’ve. I’ve wanted it just as much…” you breathe out, a soft whine slipping after, “Don’t know how you didn’t—didn’t notice how much I wanted you.”

Joel’s mouth presses kisses at the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down your neck. He nips at your lush skin, moaning quietly and fanning out humid air at your collar. His hips grind up against you again, your inhale catching in your throat in a gasp.

“I noticed, sweetheart. Trust me, I noticed. Just couldn’t bring myself to touch you. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” his words tumble out in a lustful haze, the taste of you and the feeling of you lowering his inhibitions, “But I wanted you so bad. Ached for you, darlin’, and when I saw you in your window from my bedroom one night, dressed in nothing but those sweet little white lace panties you got, I watched you putting lotion on and fucked my hand. Felt so good watching your hands all over yourself, wanted ‘em to be mine.”

He moves one of his hands from your ass, slipping it between your bodies and groping one of your breasts through the thin material of your sleep shirt. You moan his name louder than before, your smaller hand gripping right onto his shoulder. He catches your lips in a kiss again to stifle your noises to be sure you two wouldn’t wake Sarah.

Your lips detach from his with a smacking sound, eyes looking into his blown wide with wonder.

“I knew you were there. I did it for you.”

Joel stares at you in disbelief, lips parted as he waits for you to continue.

“I wanted you so badly, that I thought—I thought if you saw me, it would maybe make you see me. Think I’m pretty or something. So I waited for you that first time, glancing over until I finally saw you in the window. And when I noticed you staring, I started to change my clothes but that wasn’t going to be enough cause it would be over so soon. So I put on my lotion. I could see you sitting there when I looked out my window, and I just—I guessed what you were doing cause I saw your arm moving and your head tilted back a lot. And it seemed like you liked it, so I kept doing it for you, and waiting for something to finally happen.”

His cock is rock hard and throbbing for some kind of attention. He can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers from his pre-cum leaking out of him.

You knew. You saw him getting off to watching you parade around your room mostly naked. You liked it, and you kept doing it for him.

It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever told him.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing, huh darlin’? You did that for me every time?”

Joel uses the hand that was on your breast to brush your hair behind your ear, eyes piercing yours. He can see the shyness in you still, the hesitancy coating your expression and shaky breaths.

“Uh huh.”

“You wanted me to feel good? All those times, I got to take care of myself, but nobody took care of you?”

An audible swallow cuts the silence you’ve created, a shrug of your shoulders before your meek voice vibrates Joel’s ears.

“Um, sometimes—sometimes I would touch myself or rub against one of my pillows after I turned out my light. Not every night, but when I really needed to I did.”

A pout juts Joel’s bottom lip out, his head shaking back and forth.

“Mmm, poor thing having to touch yourself, bet it didn’t ever feel like enough, huh? Probably were thinking about my hands, my mouth, my cock. Am I right, sweet girl? Were you wishing I would find you in your room and make you come?”

His words are shooting right to your cunt, fluttering inside of you and soaking your panties. This moment is more than enough for you to have your imagination run free, even if Joel never so much as kissed your cheek again. But his voice is addictive, his touch setting of ripples of goosebumps and making your body feel as if it’s filled with helium. You thought you would float to his ceiling if he wasn’t holding onto you so tight.

“Yes, yes I wanted that,” you close your eyes, the contact with Joel’s too much as you work up the courage to spill out the embarrassing reality that you’ve been dreading to tell him if you were ever caught in a moment like this, “I’m, um, I’ve never had anyone…”

Joel’s one hand plays with your hair and the other squeezes your bum gently. Your eyes open to see him staring at you full of doting affection.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you? You’re a virgin?” Your eyes cast down to the graphic on his t-shirt, nodding and feeling that meager inadequacy you’ve felt when the confession has come up to other guys and boyfriends in the past.

It wasn’t like you were saving yourself for any reason, it just never felt like the right moment. You never really wanted it with anyone in the past, and you took it as a sign when most guys, especially during college, would bolt after you told them. Your friends comforted you, after the first time telling you how shitty guys were and how they all had this complex that girls become obsessed and clingy with the guys they lose it to.

You braved yourself for that moment to happen now, waiting for Joel to tell you that ‘this wasn’t going to work’ or ‘that it’s getting kind of late’.

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. We can do whatever you're comfortable with. Including doing nothing if that’s what you want.”

“What?”

Your head snaps up in surprise, facing writhe with skepticism. In Joel’s expression, you can’t find any signs of him being humorous or lying to you.

“I said, we can take this at your pace. I’d be happy just having you near me, pretty girl. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.”

“No, no. You’re not,” your hands run across his broad shoulders, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to his lips, “I want it with you, all of it. What I’m missing out on.”

His chuckle fills your ears, not laughing at you maliciously but as if you’re endearing to him.

“That can all happen eventually, darlin’. Not tonight,” Joel gives you a heady, yet tender kiss, pulling you by your waist over to his right more. Your knees lay on either side of his thigh, and you stare at him when he pulls back from you.

“How about tonight, you just show me how you make yourself come? I want you to show me what you like. Wanna see your beautiful face when you come. That alright with you, sweet girl?”

“What d’you mean?”

He’s patient with you, a warm palm running along your side as his head tilts.

“You rub your pretty little clit against my thigh. Just like one of your pillows. That okay? Think you’ll feel good doin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yeah. I wanna try it.”

Joel’s smile is sweetened as he looks at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. He pushes you to stand from his lap for a moment, holding you up on shaky legs while one hand tugs down the waistband of your shorts a few inches. He looks up at you through his long lashes (why do men always have the best lashes?) and presses a kiss to your hip bone.

“Can I take these off for you, darlin’?”

You nod slowly, feeling the words get caught in your throat as tension builds between the two of you.

“Need you to tell me. Always need to hear your words.”

Swallowing hard, your throat clears with a barely there hem and your voice comes out thick with want.

“You can take them off. Please take them off.”

Joel moves with your consent, smoothly pulling your cotton shorts down your legs and dropping them to the ground. He leans forward and grazes his lips along your thighs with a warm exhale, ending his exploration with a suckling kiss.

“Such a sweet, polite girl. How’d anyone resist you?”

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, bringing you into his lap and settling you over his right leg again. You whimper at the feeling of your weight pressing your clit against his thigh, the moment of friction as he adjusts your positions sending a jolt of energy throughout your bloodstream.

“Alright, pretty girl, you just move your hips how you do in your bedroom alone. Right here against my thigh.”

Hands on his shoulders brace yourself as you give your hips one roll against Joel, the wetness of your cunt leaking from your panties and onto his skin. When you pull back, you can see the slightest hint of sheen on him, mouth falling open at the sight of part of you marking him, even temporarily. A slow rhythm builds, Joel’s large hand encasing one of your ass cheeks and the other on your waist to help you find your pace.

“I imagined you over me like this all the time. Y’know what I would say to myself when I was looking at you, sweetheart?” The timbre of his deep drawl vibrates against your eardrum as he leans his head in to press a kiss right under your lobe.

“W-What would you say?” your voice is high-pitched and throaty, eyes screwing shut as you focus on his voice and the feeling of your clit dragging against him.

“I would say things like ‘Quiero saborearte’ and ‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ and ‘Quiero dártelo’. Do you know what any of that means?”

Is he really giving you a Spanish lesson right now?

When you don’t answer, his hands grip you tighter and skid your hips to a halt, a whine pulled from your lips involuntarily as you look at him.

“I asked you if you understood what I said, sweetheart. I wanna know. Then you can keep going.”

He’s being serious, and you huff out a breath in frustration before you respond.

“All I understood is ‘quiero’ which is ‘I want’ and ‘saborear’ is to savor? I think?”

Joel rumbles out a satisfied hum, removing his hands from you completely. At the freedom, you move your hips faster, your arousal forming a wet spot on his shorts and skin. Quiet moans of his name are the only thing that you can speak as you listen to him again.

“‘Quiero saborearte’ is ‘I want to taste you.’”

Oh fuck.

His hands grip you again, moving you in figure eights to grind you harder on his leg.

“‘Apuesto a que te sientes tan apretada y mojada’ means ‘I bet you feel so tight and wet.’”

“Fuck, Joel…”

His dark chuckle cuts through after your breathy adlib, the burning hot coil in your gut twists tighter.

“God, you look so pretty like this. Can’t wait to see what you look like when I have my fingers or tongue on you. I know I’ll get you screaming my name.”

Smug fucker.

“And ‘Quiero dártelo’ translates to ‘I want to put it in.’ Is that what you thought about when you were making a mess on your pillows, sweet girl? Thought about me giving you my cock?”

“Joel, I-I’m gonna—“

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Let go, come on my thigh.”

That’s when the dam breaks and you're swept up into the flood of pleasure that washes over you like a tidal wave. All you can respond to Joel is “yesyesyes” as your eyes roll back into your head with your jaw dropped, his hands continuing to slide your hips back and forth to ride out your orgasm.

“So beautiful, darlin’…”

The feeling dissipates eventually, your chest heaving breaths to slow your heart rate down. Your eyes meet Joel’s again, a Cheshire smile wide across his face as he leans in and kisses you passionately. He pulls away, pressing quick pecks on your lips and around your cheeks, coaxing a laugh from you. You press his back against the couch, grin filled with a shy affection as you stare at him. You move to stand on your knees to climb off of him, your leg brushing his bulge and feeling his cock twitch in his shorts. Eyes snap back to his, a curious expression covering your features.

“Can I do something for you?”

“Another time, sweetheart. S’real late now, probably should get back home to get some sleep.” Joel thumbs your lip as you pout, wrapping around him in a tight hug.

“I don’t wanna leave.”

“I know, darlin’, I wish you could stay with me all night. But wouldn’t be the best look for you to walk home tomorrow morning from my house in your little PJs.”

You sigh deeply, pressing a light kiss to his neck before sitting up again and nodding in understanding.

“You’re right. I should get home,” you stand from the couch and pull on your shorts, slinking over to the front door with him in tow to slip into your flip flops, “See you Monday?”

You look up at him with wide, doleful eyes filled with hope, relief washing over you as he pulls you into him and gives you a breathtaking kiss.

“Can’t wait for it, sweet girl. Have a good Sunday.”

He sends you out the door after one, or a few, last kisses, standing in the doorway to make sure you get in alright.

Feeling your mind in the clouds and floating on adrenaline, you glide up to your room and flop onto your bed. Laying with your thoughts recounting the last hour of your life, you’re only pulled out when your phone buzzes with a message.

Joel:

Think you can sit up on your bed, sweetheart?

The message confuses you for a second until it clicks and you sit up quickly, turning on your mattress to face your window.

Joel’s lights are on for once in his room, his silhouette standing in the window. One hand supports him against the glass, shirt off and shorts pulled a few inches down his thighs. His arm flexes as he jerks his cock, breath fogging up the spot he’s closest to.

A wave of arousal rushes to your core, watching him on full display unlike every other time you’ve been the one to put the show on for him. It only takes a moment looking at you sitting on your bed, even in your pajamas, before his head is rolling back, jaw dropped and hand against the window clenching into a fist as he paints his hand with his come.

You fall back onto your bed when he walks out of sight, assuming he’s cleaning up. One more buzz sounds before you turn your light out, a second message from Joel:

Need you to stay late on Monday.

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