#heavy on the joe :((( i miss him

[ugh-yoongi]

a word from our sponsors | knj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s cute.”

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

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

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

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

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

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

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And second of all?”

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

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

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

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

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“—one should we start with?”

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

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

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

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

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

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

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

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

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

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

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

“No it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

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

Namjoon rattles off a time.

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

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

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

“Haaa, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

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

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

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

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

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

It’s just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You going out of town again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

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

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

“What?”

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

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

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

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

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

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

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

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

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

“I can see that, but… why?”

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

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

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

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About us.

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

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

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

“Can you not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

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

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

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

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

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a completely normal question.

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

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

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

You swallow. Hard.

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

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

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

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

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

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

Showtime.

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

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

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

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like a challenge.

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

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

“Gummy bear?”

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

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

He continues:

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

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

It works. “No,” he scowls.

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

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

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

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

Then he reads—

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

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

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

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

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

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

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

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

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

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

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

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

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

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is very, very bad.

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

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

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

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

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

You do not get through recording unscathed.

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

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

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

The two of you had sex.

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

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

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

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

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

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

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

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

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

Today, he wears none of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t get any better.

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

Thirty-five minutes back home.

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

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

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

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

That’ll cure you.

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

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

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

Except—you’re not.

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

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are fucked beyond belief.

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

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

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

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

“I forgot them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

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

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

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

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

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

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

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

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

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

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

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

“Not with you, preferably.”

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

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

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

“How weird?”

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

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

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

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

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

You want to fuck Namjoon.

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

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

And then someone knocks on your door.

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

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

“Uh, hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you’re the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

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

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

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

It’s seamless.

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

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

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

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

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, engineer, heavy, medic, sniper, and spy (i forgot demo i'm so sorry)

↳ warnings: bad translations, slight mentions of world war two and malpractice

↳ song: with a little help from my friends—joe cocker

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• He would be so smug about it

• Puffing his chest out and everything

• His friends in the past- and even family members -have teased him for mispronouncing words or speaking too fast, and it’s made him a bit self conscious about the way he talks. But after hearing that you find it endearing, its a giant ego boost for him

• “Yeah dat’s right! Who’s awesome? I’m awesome!” Scout smiles as he flexes his arms in your face, subjecting you to what he likes to call a surprise gun show. You pretend to hate it as you shove his arm away, but chuckle all the same

• He’s already gloated before that he already knew his accent was the best. Boston is the greatest place in the world after all! But hearing it from you really just sent him over the moon

• Makes a point to talk to you a lot more now; as if he didn’t already

• “Yo! Hey did you see that kill out there? I totally messed dat Spy up! One wrong step and pow! He’s dead meat!”

• “I saw Scout. I was covering your flank while you did it, remember?”

• “Yeah yeah, but I just thought you’d like ta hear about it again.”

𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐫

• Didn’t consider himself to have an accent until you pointed him out

• Sure, he says the occasional y’all and ain’t, but not enough to qualify as a whole different way of speaking

• It wasn’t until he dropped a hammer on his foot and cursed that he understood what you’d meant

• “What in the sam hill! Sweet hell!” He’d exclaimed, startled. Once the throbbing in his leg had subsided, Engineer replayed his words in his head, making a slight o with his mouth as he realized you were probably right. To some extent at least

• He was a born and raised Texas boy, so it makes sense that the culture rubbed off

• Doesn’t understand at first that you find it nice. Maybe he thought you pointed it out just because you could? He’s a bit distracted when it comes to anything but machinery, so he misses context sometimes

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲

• Surprised that someone like you who can speak English fluently finds his mannerisms attractive

• Gets frustrated sometimes when he can’t remember certain words in English. Heavy is a very smart man, so it aggravates him when he looks illiterate in front of his team

• That’s why hearing that you like his mother tongue caught him by surprise

• “But you don’t know any Russian?” He’d rumbled out as a question. When you shook your head no, still sporting a smile, his eyebrows furrowed further

• “Nah. But I like hearing it when it comes from you. It sounds more natural. Like you’re more comfortable than normal, you know?”

• You’re technically right. When Heavy slips into Russian, often whilst talking to Sasha or simply forgetting that not everyone on the team know how to speak it, he is more comfortable in his words. They flow better, and he’s flattered that you’ve noticed

• One hundred percent offers to teach you Russian in his spare time. He finds it slightly adorable how you stumble over words in your broken translations, but always manages to softly correct you

• He’s a really good teacher

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Positively thrilled that you like his voice

• When you tell him for the first time, he goes into shock for a moment before breaking out into the biggest smile you’ve seen. Somehow its a perfect balance between excited and malicious

• “Do you hear zhat Archemedies? Mein freund here enjoys my accent!” He cooes at his bird, chuckling in a way that would make anyone’s insides squirm

• Once you look past Medic’s initially devious reaction, it’s very clear he enjoys knowing this

• If anything, the ex-doctor would have thought that you’d enjoy the more stereotypically romantic sounding languages. Spanish, Latin, etc

• German has always been considered harsh or scary sounding, and it turned a lot of people away from hiring him after the events of World War Two, which he understood. Still, Medic finds himself absolutely tickled that you are drawn to his accent

• Finds himself slipping more and more into German while doing checkups on you now. When he catches himself, he translates most of what’s he’s said back to you. But sometimes he’ll simply forget, and it leaves you wondering if he’s offered you a glass of water or the opportunity to swap your bladder out

• You sincerely hoped it was the former

𝐒𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

• Oh my god you killed him

• Sniper is very reserved. Living in his camper, hunting his own game for dinner instead of joining the others, literally pissing in jars, etc etc

• Being a man of few words comes part and parcel with that; which normally works out just find because Scout talks enough for ten people

• Hasn’t said much to you before. He mostly communicates in head nods or slight tilts of his coffee mug in your direction. Maybe a few ‘good mornin’s’ tossed around, but nothing more than that

• “You know, you should talk more.” You’d said to him one day while pouring a fresh pot of tea you had just boiled into your own mug. He preferred black coffee himself, but whatever floats your boat

• “You voice.” You elaborated after a sip. You must have noticed his confused look as you carried on. “It’s nice. Can’t imagine that you don’t have gals throwing themselves at you all the time because of it.”

• Suddenly very grateful he wasn’t drinking any of his brew at the time, because what you said surely would have made him choked

• He, in fact, had had a few ladies approach him in town before saying something along the same lines. Even a few fellas. But nothing made him blanch this strongly like you had

• Excuses himself as he walks out of the room suddenly, tilting his hat down to cover his face no one can see the furious red tint forming

• Sniper leaves you in the communal kitchen. Holding a steaming cup of liquid and looking very confused

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• Already knew before you told him

• To anyone else, it would have been passible as just curiosity. But Spy’s job is to know things, and it is an undeniable fact that you found his voice attractive

• Doesn’t utilize this weapon often. You are not a weak willed person swayed by just a few words, so when he needs something he pulls out all the stops

• Of course, that doesn’t stop him from being impressed when you eventually admit your little not-so-secret-secret to him. And of your own free will. He didn’t have to pry it out of you, which was a feat on its own

• Much like Heavy, he extends the offer of teaching you how to learn his language. Now that he no longer has this knowledge as a bargaining chip, he might as well seize the opportunity to teach you a proper language

• Considers using electroshock therapy to condition you faster, but nixes it pretty quick

• Again, like Heavy, he finds it cute how horrible you are at French. More amused than anything, but he can appreciate the way you practice verbs in your free time even when he isn’t leaning over your shoulder

• That you know of, that is

• Praises you often in french, letting excited phrases slip when you nail a particularly hard set of words

• “Merveilleux ! Tu t’améliores beaucoup, ma petite. Encore une fois.”

• While you don’t understand the full extent to his words, you smile and continue on, eventually realizing what he had said later in a fit of embarrassment

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Line art from part 4

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :) I greatly appreciate the support and kind words this little story has received. Take care!

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie

@luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter

@cmbghost @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula

@opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs

@strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

@astraluminaaa @mehjustalasshere @corruptowlette @youllgetafuneral

@lyenera @kcmizzz @s-rinaldi-18

[lushlovers]

frat joe with drunken confessions definitely !!!!

Drunk Promises, J Burrow

summary; joe being absolutely gone and rambling about things he shouldn't.

warnings; swearing, kisses, mentions of drinking, drunken rambling

word count; 700 something

note; i'm so bored and tired but i can't sleep so i decided to fulfill this request while i have some downtime:)) also hey?? Its been like a million years, more frat joe coming soon;)!

The porch is spinning and Joe swears he sees three different door knobs after he's struggled with only you to help him drag his heavy limbs around. He attempts to reach for one of them but misses, swishing his hand around before he finds it to unlock and shove the door open. You mumble every swear that comes to mind when it slams into the rubber stopper on the wall, surely waking up everyone in the house and a few houses down, "Welcome to my humble abode, gorgeous," he smirks, stumbling into the wall, trying to play off the fact that he nearly fell over by leaning on it with arms crossed over his broad chest.

When your eyes meet him, his brows raise playfully. At this point it's taking everything out of you not to bust out laughing at his advancements, he's not one for compliments unless he's high as hell or drunk out of his mind, "I've been here more times than I can count, but thank you," you shake your head as you unstrapped your heels, leaving them to rest on the shoe rack.

After he'd struggled as much coming up the front steps, you're thanking God he chose the bedroom on the ground floor rather than up or downstairs. "To my bed then," he asks hopeful as all hell and you nod, taking his hands and leading him straight to his bed. He falls back onto it slowly scooting himself toward the headboard.

Quickly you bolt to the kitchen in search of hangover relief and some water before he gets any stupid ideas whilst left alone. Upon your return, you're greeted by a shirtless Joe who's struggling to get his jeans from around his ankles. Shaking your head for the thousandth time, you tug them off, discarding them in the hamper in the closet. "Eager for me?" You scoff at the ever-deepening of his voice and allow him to unzip your dress.

When his hands swiftly push the fabric from your shoulder, "Not tonight, Joey. Why don't you get some sleep" you step back and he continues attempting to pull you back into him. Joe watches intently as you find one of his LSU shirts folded atop his dresser, give it a smell test, and climb into bed beside him.

"Pathetic excuse for panties," he mumbles through hiccups, using his index finger to snap the elastic against the meat of your hip. You roll your eyes and as you inch away from him his arms wrap even tighter around you, keeping you plastered into him. He grinds his hard-on into the back of your thigh holding onto your hips moving you only where he sees fit.

"Sleep, Joseph," you murmur against his pillows but of course, he's relentless with his wet, sloppy neck kisses. This time you sit completely in bed, snatch the pillows from behind your head and throw them onto the floor. You fumble in the dark for the throw blankets at the foot of his bed, once you've found them you make your spot on the floor, but before you even put the pillows into position he's mumbling and hiccupping through protests.

"mmmm, baby noo, get up here with me. I sleep a bajillion times better with your body next to mine," when you meet his eyes they're glazed over, almost like he wants to cry but is fighting it with every fiber of his being. You're quite shocked, never has this man ever cried in your presence and for that to happen right here, right now, wouldn't shock you with the way he's been acting since his third drink. "And you're drunk, I don't want you to do or say something you'll regret, honey."

He's melting internally at your use of that sweet little nickname you love to use when he's been drinking, "I'll be quiet about all that, mama, I promise" You sigh, and give in as soon as a pout begins to show itself on his pretty, perfect face, picking up your stuff off the floor just as fast as you had put them down. Before you're even back into his bed, he's giggling and scooting over to leave much more space than you need to keep his promise.

[sheafrotherdon]

Nicky’s first glimpse of Joe in many weeks is of the back of his head, the two of them separated by a throng of pedestrians. Joe has his beaten-up backpack slung over one shoulder, a crooked rainbow patch sewn onto the pocket, but Nicky would know him anywhere by his gait, the breadth of his shoulders, the curl of his hair, the way he nimbly weaves between tourists and strollers, and casually flips off cab drivers when they try to turn right on red. Seeing him is gloriously ordinary, and Nicky’s heart squeezes with delight as Joe turns left to head to the apartment where Nicky’s been making a makeshift home for all of them, waiting for each to return. Switching his heavy bag of groceries from one arm to the other Nicky quickens his pace, turns the corner after him, and mumbles a fervent Ligurian word of thanks for the thinned-out crowds.

The door to the apartment building has a keypad, and such things have been Joe’s nemesis for far too long. Nicky can see his profile now, the way he’s chewing on his lip as he presses four buttons and tries the door; presses four more and tries again.

“1099,” says Nicky as he slows to a stop beside him.

Joe looks up, eyes wide, and then he smiles so suddenly and broadly that Nicky can’t help but smile back, his whole being downshifting into something familiar and warm at the sight of the crinkles beside Joe’s eyes and the dusting of freckles on his nose.

“You’d think I’d remember,” says Joe, taking the grocery bag out of Nicky’s arms.

“You would,” says Nicky, turning to punch in the code and shivering once at the way Joe presses close. “Come inside.”

“Hmmm,” Joe agrees, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t make space for Nicky to move either, but instead presses a soft kiss to the back of Nicky’s neck, as if they aren’t on the street, as if it’s just the two of them, as if the moment is entirely private.

“Yusuf,” Nicky whispers, and Joe steps back, and when Nicky turns his head, Joe’s grinning again, and Nicky reaches out, tugs gently on the curl that’s fallen over Joe’s forehead. “I have missed you,” he says, and there’s a lump in his throat for some reason, and Joe’s expression is so fond.

“I’ve missed your pasta,” he says, and that surprises laughter out of Nicky, and he pulls on the door and ushers Joe inside.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Off The Grid blurb

♡ WC: 932 ♡

─ -ˋ °. • ⚘ •. ° ˊ- ─

When dating a professional athlete/ prominent figure it’s easy to get lost in their looks and craft. At first, all you really see is the guy on the field, then as time goes on you get more and more of who they are as a person, and what their personality is, etc.

Looks don’t mean everything in a relationship, but they certainly get your hand in the door to build something more. So imagine after spending a few weeks apart from your beau and coming home to someone entirely different. And not personality-wise.

“Joe?” You called out while rolling your suitcase through the corridor into the living room. There wasn’t a verbal response from him but you could hear a door opening accompanied by heavy steps coming downstairs.

You’d just spent a month in the motherland with your extended family. No American TV, wonky internet access, and an essential break from social media meant you hadn’t seen your boyfriend clearly in about 30 days. It was just a month of reconnecting with a part of your being, so now you were very ready to reconnect with your favorite human being.

“Welcome back, mama.” A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. “How was your trip?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into him, a gentle smile lifting your cheeks when his lips kiss the side of your neck and then settle in the crook of your neck.

“It was good, I missed you though.” Sighing as his arms strengthened their hold on you and his lips pecking the exposed skin around your bodysuit strap. “I missed you so much.”

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” He groans as you card your fingers through his grown out locks.

“I think I can make a pretty good guess.” You chuckled using your other hand to squeeze his wrist.

“Mm mm, I’m holding back from really welcoming you home right now.”

“Yea? Why’s that?” You tease sliding your fingers down the side of his face that’s not stuffed in your neck.

“Gotta feed my girl first, can’t have you passing out on me- unless that’s all my doing.” Your eyes slightly widen as you feel a light tickle along your cheek.

Turning around in his grasp, both of your hands admire the scruff aligning his jaw. “This is new.” You bite the side of your lip meeting his crystal blues.

His hands drop lower onto your hips still maintaining the pressure of their hold as a smirk buds on his pink lips. “You like it?”

You nod tracing the line up to his lips. “You don’t think it’s too itchy?”

“I’ve never seen you with this much facial hair before.” Ignoring his question and continuing your exploration of his facial adornment that’s strangely satisfying to the touch.

“Call it the off the grid look, it’s getting cooler out thought it was a good idea when you left. I meant to shave it this morning.”

“Don’t!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“Oh I see, my girl really likes it. Don’t you mama?” He smirks backing you up against the counter.

All you can think about is how’d it feel against your lips and between your thighs. “I just, it’s just-

“I know, you were gone for a long time. I bet you weren’t even able to take care of her the whole time. Just counting the days until I could have you again.” In one swift motion, he lifts you up onto the counter and takes the space between your legs.

Even with the extra height that the counter gives, you still have to look up to meet his sultry gaze. "Hi." The breathy tone of your voice gives away just how much he's affecting you.

"Hey, there gorgeous. Wanna tell me why I'm being held hostage by your legs?" He asks with a coy smile, voice husky and low.

Looking down you realize you automatically wrapped your legs around him before he could say anything. "No, not really." Joe chuckles and rubs up and down your thighs.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere mamas." He says lowering his body with a smirk. Your eyes widen realizing what he's intent on doing next.

"Wait no!" His brows shoot up as you pull him back up with the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Yes- His words get cut off by you pulling him forward and pressing your lips together in a long-awaited kiss. Joe hums against your lips and tilts his head to take full advantage of your soft plump lips igniting the love and connection you've built over the months of your relationship.

The kiss itself is gentle and slow, just two lovers enjoying the simplicity of being together without any kind of stressor present. Your arms locked around his neck, his big hands gripping your thighs, and his soft scruff gently rubbing against your lips as your head nods pecking the sides of his pink lips.

"Baby." You open your eyes to the beautiful blonde's smile as you peck his nose before one last kiss to his lips.

"Yes?" You smile back, he shakes his head and then pecks your forehead.

"We should've started with that." He chuckles, and you join in nodding.

"I agree." A calm sensual mood washes back over you as you slowly lean back and spread your legs. Then smirkingly you nod down.

Snickering Joe smirks and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. "Your wish is my command." He winks sinking back down to his knees.

"Fuck you're perfect."

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Main Masterlist

[toxic-aries]

keep those on (1.1k words)

paring: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), missionary position, unprotected sex, slight cursing, mentions of hickies, cringey writing, please let me know if I missed any.

a/n: due to joe wearing those glasses, this is where my brain went. sorry if it seems rushed, my migraine took over. eddie x reader really get straight to the point in this blurb.

feedback & criticism is very appreciated. please let me know if you have any thoughts on how I can approve. thank you :)

It was unexpected what you saw when you opened Eddie's bedroom door. Your boyfriend sat on the edge of his bed in nothing but old gray sweats, guitar in his lap, long locks clinging to his face with beads of sweat dripping, and glasses. Glasses? Circle glasses with wire frames to be exact. “Since when do you wear glasses, huh? ” you ask, placing a kiss on his exposed shoulder as you sit next to him. 

“Hmm.” he mumbles, adjusting the glasses by their arms, “Well, I only really wear them at night.” Aligning his body more towards you, he gives you a quick kiss. You run your fingers along the edge of his face, brushing away the strands of hair that gripped to his forehead. Maintaining eye contact with his pretty brown eyes through the lenses of those glasses. “You like them? ” he asks as his lips rest along your jawline and his hand moves up your thigh, stroking it. 

“I like them a lot...” you say, lifting your head back slightly as he places kisses along your jawline, moving his lips down your newly exposed neck. Eddie’s hands grip on your thigh as he places a few love bites along the sensitive skin of your neck. You begin leaning back slowly, as he follows your every move until your back is pressed against the mattress and he’s now hovering over you. 

His hands brush over your thighs, spreading them open slightly – just enough for his hand to palm you through your jeans. You pick his chin up with a couple fingers, lifting up his pretty face from your love-bitten neck. “You look so pretty with those glasses...” you whisper, drawing him into a passionate kiss. With your parted lips, his tongue wanders onto yours and kisses you fiercely. 

His hands move to the buttons of your jeans, as he unbuttoned them he pulled them off along with your panties. After removing your exposed half, his hands reach for his sweats and strip him off quickly. As you break free of his kiss, you pull the hem of your shirt off your body as rapidly as possible, exposing your bare chest to him. “You think i’m pretty.” he chuckles, his hand moving to your bare cunt, rubbing circles around your clit. 

The moment he touches you, you gasp, your head snapping back, and the sensation of pleasure already immerses you. With his free hand he begins gripping the sides of his glasses, attempting to pull them off – you grab his wrist before he could. “No.” you say in between gasps as his fingers travel your folds, “Keep those on…please.” you plead with him. 

He pulls his body back slightly, eyebrow raised, “You want me to keep them on?” he questions. You nod your head in response. You watch as he grips his cock, “You want me to fuck you in these glasses, huh?” he says as he drags the head against your throbbing clit in a teasing manner.  

“Please Eds.” you whimper in frustration at the intense pressure between your legs, wishing for relief. You feel him slip into your tight little cunt and slide his thick full length into you. Moaning, you push your back deeper against the mattress as you feel his cock fill you.  A few moans escape his lips as your pussy grip tightens around his length. He lowers his body closer to yours as you both get comfortable to the position, you push his glasses back up his nose by the bridge. 

With his hands firmly hooked beneath your knees, he raised your legs so they were around his body as his thrusts began slowly. His goal was that you would feel every thrust, every aspect of him. As his forehead rested on yours, the heavy breaths combined with yours caused his glasses to fog up. “You get off just seeing me in these stupid things?” his chuckle breaks through groans, pressing his cock deep into your cunt. 

“F-Fuck.” you groan, bucking your hips at the pressure forming, “I-I do. I want you to fuck me in those all of the time.” you cry out as you feel his cock thrusting in and out of you again. His pace quickens with each thrust, gripping his shoulders as he pushes deeper with every motion into your wet cunt. “Fuck baby..”  He grunts through his teeth, his hand leaving a bruising grip on your hip “You're soaking wet.”

He moves his mouth to your bare chest, taking your hard pointed nipple between his clenched teeth, looking up at you – glasses slid almost to the tip of his nose. Fuck. Your walls tighten around his cock at the sight of him, his free hand grasping harshly on your other tit. “Eddie…” you moan out, snapping your head back as his lips clasped around your nipple. His tongue danced with it. His teeth clench hard around your sensitive skin. 

The sound of moans and cries, mixed with the sick slapping sounds of his cock pounding into your dripping cunt echoed throughout his room. You grab ahold of his chin, maintaining the heavy lustful eye contact between you two. And just so you can stare at those pretty glasses. “Keep looking at me like that.” You whimper, as his deep thrust pounds your g-spot. 

You caress his face with both hands, watching his subtle facial expressions as he pounded his cock into you. He moves his hand from your chest, brushing your strands of hair out of your face, “You look so pretty while I’m fucking you…” he coos as his hand that had a bruising grip on your hip moves to play with your clit, “Pretty pretty girl…” he continues. 

His fingers danced with your throbbing bud as the cock continued to slide in and out of you. Your legs began to tremble at the upcoming orgasm that was building in the pit of your stomach. As he sped up his rhythm, Eddie pressed his face against your neck, lips panting against your skin. His cock tenses inside your cunt, as he pants out, “I’m going to cum...”, and between heavy breaths, his lenses fog up once again. 

You pull his face from the nape of your neck to look him in the eyes, watching as the foggy lenses fade. “Cum in me baby…” you whine out, trying to hold back your own frenzy. With a few more harsh thrusts, you throw your head back in pure ecstasy – his cock tenses as he fills you with his warm spurts. He pulls out slowly as you both ride out your climaxes, his hot sticky spunk leaking from your folds as he does so. Taking a brief look at you through his lenses, he sees you smiling slightly and he mutters, “Shit.”

if you enjoyed please consider commenting or reblogging, it makes a huge difference ♡

[bumblesimagines]

Love Quinn

maybe we could try going on a proper date this time.

by the time i woke up, you were gone.

i didn't have time to get involved in anyone.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical You warnings, mentions of the murders of Delilah and James, mentions of grief over spouse's death, mentions of wanting to cheat/have an affair

"Oh, Love!" 

The automatic deep inhale the brunette had to do only made her rethink her choice to move to Madre Linda. She thought a quaint small town with beautiful suburbs and far from the mess left behind in LA would help her settle into her new life as a mother and wife. If only the real estate agent had mentioned the irritating vipers itching to drain the life out of anyone who stepped foot inside the town.

Plastering on her most genuine-looking fake smile, she spun around to face Sherry and her minions. "Hey! How are you?" She asked, her voice going higher in pitch as she leaned in to hug Sherry and each of her equally fake friends. They all smiled back at her, their smiles full of feigned glee and eyes eager to find anything amiss. 

"We're doing amazing now that our favorite florist is back in town," Sherry revealed, her arms looping around Love's and pulling her along. The giggles and whispers exchanged by the other girls, along with their big coy smiles, told Love Madre Linda's florist was either the most miserable man around or the happiest. 

"So, The Lotus is finally open for business?" Love questioned, her memory flickering back to all the times she passed by the prettily decorated flower shop in town where the sign on the window always remained flipped on 'closed'. Every once in a while, she'd catch an elderly woman shuffling into the shop and spraying some of the plants with water, but the only time Love managed to catch her for a chat, she'd only been told the shop was closed until the owner returned from out of state.

Sherry nodded eagerly, her soft pink-tinted lips stretching out into what Love could only describe as a flirtatious smile. "(Y/N)! Ugh, my god, you missed so much, sweetheart!" 

Immediately, Love's eyes darted forward, her desire to rush back into Joe's arms and complain about their neighbors zapping out of her when she laid eyes on a man she'd been searching for since James's death. She'd searched for him high and low, visiting each social media site she could think of in desperate search of any information, but of course, no first name was ever truly unique. Her friends in LA had told her the obsession was unhealthy, something caused by her grief that forced her to latch onto him; they never truly did learn of the real her.

The memories remained vivid in her mind but how could they not when it was all she ever thought about? Joe had been a lovely distraction, a revelation that others who loved as deeply as she did exist, but she often let her mind wander onto the man who'd strolled into Anavrin with a quiet demeanor and an aura of mystery. She'd been deep in her grief and guilt over James's death when he appeared in the doorway, the light of the setting sun casting an angelic halo over him that drew her eyes to him instantaneously. She'd been a goner the second their eyes met and while she'd been able to enjoy his presence the following days, he disappeared the day after she finally learned how his lips tasted and his hands felt on exposed skin.

"I'm sure I did, Sher." (Y/N) released a quiet sigh heavy with exhaustion and turned his back to the snack table to face them. He looked over each of the women present with lips pulled into a faint polite smile until they locked eyes, and Love felt that rush go through her veins. She'd felt it with Joe once in LA but it'd simmered down immensely after Delilah's death and Henry's birth. 

"This is Love Quinn-Goldberg," Sherry lightly squeezed her arm. "She and her husband, Joe, moved in while she was expecting their adorable little son, Henry. Love, this is (Y/N) (L/N), our resident florist. He can be a little grumpy at first but trust me, he's a gem once he warms up to you."

From the way (Y/N) squinted his eyes slightly and pursed his lips, Love assumed Sherry certainly hadn't reached that point yet. 

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Quinn-Goldberg," He stuck his hand out, the familiar warmth of his touch surrounding her when they shook hands; a warmth she'd once felt when his hands had touched her skin, palms pressing against her and fingers gripping firmly yet gently enough to avoid leaving marks. "You can pop by The Lotus any time and I'd be happy to help with whatever you need."

"Thank you," Love spoke softly. "A-And Love is fine. Quinn-Goldberg can be a mouthful." 

"Well-"

"Actually," Love interrupted Sherry swiftly, wriggling her arm free and stepping forward, the subtle smell of his cologne hitting her like a truck. "I, uhm.." She swallowed thickly. "A friend of mine is hosting an event and she's been asking if I knew anyone who could help with floral decorations. Would you mind if I asked you some questions so I can relay back to her?" 

(Y/N) stared at her in silence, glancing away to spare the other women the smallest bit of attention before nodding. "Yeah, sure, come this way."

His hand landed on her midback, high enough to appear polite but the touch still sent a shiver down her spine. Her lips pressed tightly together in hopes of fighting back the urge to smile, her eyes angled toward the ground as they walked out of the backyard and into a more quiet spot within the house. She hardly knew the hosts of the party but they'd been kind enough to send her and Joe an invitation to their tenth wedding anniversary so she felt inclined to accept, and boy was she glad she had.

Sparing a glance over her shoulder and raking her fingers through her hair a few times to tame the strands that'd gone rogue, Love subtly took in a deep breath and faced him in the hallway, her back pressing to the wall. She drank him in for the first time in a long time and felt a nostalgia and feeling of familiarity she dearly missed in the chaos of a new home and new faces. 

"I never thought I'd see you again after.. after everything that happened. I-I thought we'd had a good time together and then by the time I woke up, you were gone. I hoped you'd show up again but you never did." Love's brows furrowed slightly. "What happened?"

"It's.. complicated, I guess. I went to LA to escape this nightmare of a place and figure out what I wanted to make of my life. I didn't have time to get involved with anyone, not when I barely knew what do to with myself." (Y/N) sighed heavily, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat and his head tilting back to gaze over the ceiling. "It was shitty to leave like that but my grandmother called me to ask me to take over the shop for her here and I thought maybe it was a sign that I was meant to stay here. LA was hectic, anyway. At least Madre Linda is predictable, and that's probably the only comfort I can give you about this place."

Love chuckled breathlessly, a certain exhaustion lingering in the air. "Maybe... maybe we could try going on a proper date this time.. a- a friendly one, at least. You're the only person here I know and the only one I can trust not to gossip about me." A friendly date... that could lead to more. She could feel Joe pulling away from her with each passing day, it was only fair she had her own fun.

[sheisjoeschateau]

misha's masterlists

Hi, I'm Misha. Thank you for diving into my stories and supporting my writing :)

My fanfics [+this blog] are dedicated to Steve Harrington. All fanfic series, one-shots, blurbs, etc. listed below are written by me. Do not repost or share anywhere without proper credit. Thank you.

SERIES MASTERLISTS:

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..."

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

[PART I] | [PART II] [PART III] | [PART IV] | [PART V] [PART VI] | [PART VII] | [PART VIII]

[Part IX - blurb] | [Part IX - full]

[Part X] | MORE COMING SOON

SUMMARY: WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU.

HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU...

BUT WILL HE?

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"You're there. You've always been there."

Steve Harrington x OC!fem!reader Childhood friends to lovers. Sloooowburn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Action. Told from second-person view, reader is Nicole (character from S1), different POV, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, pre-S1-S4, eventual post-S4 universe.

[PART I] | [PART II]

Summary: Steve Harrington was six years old when he met you: Nicole St. James, the girl who carries the other half of him. Since 1972, the two of you have been inseparably tethered by the soul. You give Steve a home in his big house with no parents, and he gives your introverted heart a longing for someone. The King of Hawkins High and princess of this small town, you tell each other absolutely everything...except that you are in love with each other.

Everything changes that one afternoon at school, when you catch the school's social outcast -- Jonathan Buyers -- has been stalking Steve, his posse and his girl, Nancy. Little do you both know, the monsters in your favorite fairytales are real. And you're both going to have to fight them together.

You both share the best days and worst days, through childhood and teen years, until you both find yourselves roped into the perils that exist beneath your feet in Hawkins.

But through it all, despite all the doubt, Steve knows one thing: you're there. You've always been there.

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"At the Chateau, We'll Be Alright."

Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x fem!reader A crossover au inspired by Saltburn and Call Me by Your Name. Additional Inso from Joe's theater performance as in Spring Awakening. Song Inso: "Chateau" by Djo

Strangers to best friends to lovers. Slowburn. Angst. Romance, with polyamory themes and schemes. Smut with hella plot.

[MULTI-PART SERIES] COMING SOON. Click here for a preview.

Summary: The reader lives with her parents at a fancy chateau, in France.  This year, her father offers their home as a housing sanctuary to a select student or graduate.  He decides to invite two graduate students to live with their family over the summer, coming from different working class backgrounds, and help with their academic paperwork as a professor of archaeology.

Steve Harrington: a rich kid from a swanky boarding school with a bad boy reputation and too much charm for his own good.  Surprisingly, his grades say otherwise.  A’s and B’s, his parents claim that is seeking one-on-one tutoring so that he can progress in his studies — but it sounds more like an excuse to ship him off for longer periods of time, giving them an out for having their son around during the summer.  The pretty boy’s all about ladies…but that’s only because he hasn’t met a boy who awakens his bisexuality.  Yet.

Jonathan Byers: a kid from the lower working class, excelling in his studies and AP programs at the same boarding school as Steve which he only got into because of community sponsorship and grants.  Quiet wallflower, little to no friends, a bit cynical.  A closeted gay, he’s more determined to stick with being perceived as “ace” than come out of the closet.  Until he goes to stay at a chateau with a handsome boy, and a beautiful girl who understands him.

Twists, turns and terrifying risks, you all put your hearts on the line that summer at the Chateau. Add the reader's cousin Eddie into the mix, along with her best friend Robin, Steve's ex-girlfriend Nancy, Jonathan's estranged mother and your progressive parents alongside Steve's absent parents -- it's a cruel summer.

[angels-sins0]

based on this post.

Bodyguard!Ghost x Famous!Reader

Cw: infidelity (i don’t condone that shit), unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, lmk if I missed something

Your boyfriend gave you a quick kiss before grabbing the handle of his suitcase and heading out the door.

Boy, were you fucking happy he was going away for two weeks. You didn’t necessarily hate him, he was sweet at times but he had a tendency to ignore your feelings. 

He felt a sense of entitlement for being able to say he was going out with you, given the fact that you were a well known actress.

You made your way to the kitchen and picked up your phone, shooting a quick message to Simon.

“He just left. See you tonight?”

Followed by his instant response.

“Gonna be there at 8.”

Fuck…you were buzzing with excitement already. 

Simon was an irresistible man in your eyes. You had lusted after him long before you started dating your boyfriend, Joe, but since he was your bodyguard, you decided to keep it professional.

It was a long night full of drinking when you first gave into each other, having convinced him to let loose and him hesitantly agreeing. 

You both had one too many drinks and ended up driving back to your home where you had sex, going multiple rounds before falling asleep.

It was exactly 8pm when you heard a knock at your door, quickly getting up to open it and letting him in.

Simon wasted no time, going in to kiss you desperately. You moaned into him as he slid his tongue into your mouth.

“Hey,” you breathed out when you pulled away.

“Fuckin’ missed bein’ able to touch you like this.” He pulled your body close to him as he guided you into your bedroom.

You laid down on your bed and he got on top of you, pulling you into another kiss as he started undressing you.

Your hands instinctively reached down to unbuckle his belt and push his pants down, making quick work of his shirt as well.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you, darling?” His voice was thick and raspy and you were growing more desperate as the seconds went by.

“Fuck, need you so bad, Si.”

“Beg me for my dick if you need it that bad.” He gave you a sly smirk.

You whined in protest. “Please…please, Simon, need to feel you inside me— been waiting for you to fuck me for so long.”

“Not bad.” He said before attacking your neck with kisses.

This was amusing to him. Simon had a strong feeling you weren’t sexually satisfied with your boyfriend and his goal was to have you seeing stars by the time he was done with you.

You almost screamed when he slid himself inside you, bullying his cock into your wet cunt.

He set a slow pace that left you wanting more, causing you to scratch his back and whimper loudly.“Mmh-fuck, need you to…”

“Need me to what, baby?”

“Need you to go harder, please!” 

And he did exactly that, ramming into you so hard that his balls were slapping against your ass.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking big!” You moaned into his ear.

“But you take it so well.”

The sounds you were making were obscene and it was almost enough to push him over the edge but he held himself from doing so.

“Do you think about me when he fucks you, hm?” Simon said suddenly, causing you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Yes! Fuck, yes i do!” You scream. He felt so good, it made tears form at your eyes.

“Yeah? Can he fuck you like i do? Does his dick have you screaming out like this?” He said while fucking into you harder.

“No one fucks me as good as you, Simon!” 

“That’s right, baby. Wanna feel you cum around my cock, can you do that?” You quickly nodded. The knot in your stomach bursting as you finally came. 

It felt like heaven as Simon pounded into you through your high. Your hands pulled at the back of his hair harshly, eliciting a groan from him.

His thrusts got sloppier as he emptied himself inside you and you could feel him getting soft by the time he was done.

He stayed on top of you, dick still inside as his forehead touched yours. The only sound in the room being your heavy breaths as your bodies calmed down.

“How long did you say he was gonna be away?” He asked. “Two weeks.”

“I’m gonna make you cum more times in those two weeks than he has since the start of your fucking relationship.”

[billthedrake]

LITTLE BRO'S HOMECOMING

Joseph Murphy didn't even have to knock on the hotel door. He'd texted Kyle to get the room number and as he strode up to 1139 in the downtown Boston hotel, the door opened right up.

Kyle was dressed in his Marines cammies - either he hadn't had time to change since checking in or else he wanted to be in uniform for the older man. A big smile formed on the 21 year old's face. "Hey," he muttered as he stepped aside to let the beefy cop enter.

"Hey yeuself," Joe hissed in his thick New England accent as he stepped right up to the young Marine and placed his hands around the stud's waist, drawing him in.

Their kiss was hot. A tongue heavy, facing sucking kind of kiss. Officer Murphy didn't do finesse, and it turns out Kyle Smith was A-OK with that. It had been TOO long since they'd been together, or even seen each other. They'd had a conversation before Kyle's deployment about whether they were dating. The cop didn't feel comfortable with that, and Joe hadn't even reached out to the Marine over the last few months. It was only an instant reply that Kyle received when he said he was coming home that made him realize there was still a spark there.

More than a spark. Officer Murphy was pawing at the ridge of hard military cock in the camo pants. And Kyle was feeling up all the cop beef through the man's long-sleeve Pats T-shirt. THIS was the young man's type to a T. Some heft on his bones, thick muscle, a beer belly. It had been the body Kyle had been into since he first started jacking off. Joe reminded him of his middle school wrestling coach - and even, if he was honest, of his own father.

Officer Murphy was even a dyed-in-the-wool working class New Englander like Kyle's father, only more brash even.

Indeed, the booming voice came as he backed off. "How's my fuckin' parn stah doin?" the cop bellowed, fingers tracing the long ridge of Marine meat sticking up in the uniform.

"Holy fuck, I missed you, man," Kyle said with a big grin. Maybe that was too much to say, but he felt it.

"I bet ya did," Joe said as he crouched down, fingers already fumbling with the uniform. "I know how to take care of this bad boy."

The cop's fingers felt good as they undid the trousers. "Are we gonna wait?" Kyle asked. "I mean, we said..."

Already the cop's big mitt was on the young stud's boner, pulling it out and gently stroking it. "You got a couple in ya, Corporal," he growled. "Come on, Jesus, four months and ya gonna fuckin' blue ball me?"

Officer Murphy didn't give Kyle a chance to answer. The question was rhetorical anyway. Because already he was taking the thick, long tool into his mouth.

"Oh fuck... fuck yes," Kyle hissed as he felt the police officer's hot wet mouth go down on him. The cop sucked dick like he kissed. No finesse. But it was amazing, especially after no sex for the last four months.

The Marine didn't realize he was carrying around so much tension in his body, but as Joe blew him, he felt himself relax, his stance widening just a little and his hand placed gently on top of the man's medium-short hair. He'd experienced a Joe Murphy BJ in full Boston Police uniform. THAT had been incredible, but even now he loved looking down on the man's thick-set daddy bod, face getting redder as he bobbed up and down more quickly. Kyle was still in full uniform, for his part, and he suspected that was driving Joe wild.

"It's not gonna take me long," Kyle warned.

The cop spit out his cock. "Dont ya dare, buddy." He wiped the spit off his chin with the back of his hand and leaned back. Kyle loved that view of him, the way it showed off Officer Murphy's broad rounded shoulders and massive chest.

Kyle knew what the man meant. He actually didn't have a lot of experience with other men. He'd met Joe Murphy when he was still 18, still a senior in high school. But the sex was electric between them. Joe was such a deeply sexual man, and the cop's hunger for a younger top, a much younger top, fueled Kyle's own lust.

"On the bed, Officer," he hissed.

Joe broke into a huge grin. Standing up, he started undoing his jeans and kicking off his sneakers.

"Keep that fuckin' unifo'm on buddy," he growled.

Kyle nodded. "That's 'Corporal Smith' to you, Officer."

"All right, Corporal," Joe chuckled. "Don't hold back. Just go for it, OK?"

Kyle was getting lightheaded now, he was so horny. Especially seeing Murphy pull off that T and reveal that beefy daddy bod. His big brother had teased him once when he showed him a picture of his cop lover. "You a chaser, Kyle?" Brandon had laughed. Kyle stood his ground those. The beer belly on such a meaty frame did something for him. He liked having a lot of daddy to hold onto.

That lot of daddy was naked now and crawling onto one of the queen beds on all fours. Kyle got in place.

"Aw yeah, eat my hole, Corporal. Aw, fuck yeah... root around with that tongue buddy. Get up in daddy's ass. Oh, fucking nasty, buddy."

Kyle remembered the first time he rimmed Joe Murphy he was worried the man would get freaked out. But it was one of Kyle's favorite things to watch in porn, so he just went for it. As they say, history was made. He and Joe rarely had sex without some ass eating.

Still, both knew it wasn't going to be a long rim session. Their absence had been too long. Kyle leaned back up on his haunches and gave a light slap to the cop's surprisingly smooth rump. Leaning over, he pumped out a couple of squirts of lube, which he applied to his boner, and then to Joe's hole.

The cop wasn't exactly slutty, but he was wanton in taking taking cock. Spreading his legs and wiggling his ass some as Kyle fingered him. Then, as Joe felt that thick piece of Marine cock bore in, he hissed and did his best to relax.

"Easy, buddy... easy... I'm fuckin' tight... ya gotta open daddy back up for business OK?"

"Yeah," Kyle hissed. He didn't want to cum yet. He knew if he could get through the penetration he'd be good for a bit.

Joe's verbal streak quieted down as Kyle slowly penetrated the older man. Murphy had lied about his age when they first met on the app, but the cop was 50. Squarely middle aged. The young man sometimes wondered why he was wired for older men, men like Murphy. But now that he was boning Joe, he didn't feel the need to question, his heart and mind and cock knew this is what he wanted.

Finally his balls pressed against the man's ass.

"God, yes," the Marine hissed. THIS was what a homecoming should be.

"I can feel your uniform against me, Corporal," Joe said in a surprisingly quiet tone. "So very hot."

Kyle held the man's waist. The skin was hot to the touch. "I dreamed about doing this in the barracks," he hissed. "Even fantasized about banging the Master Sergeant."

That got a chuckle from Joe beneath him. "I bet ya did, buddy. Just as I've had the hots for the new rookie on the force. Fresh faced fucker."

Kyle pulled back and pushed back in. Not fast, not yet. But he could feel the cop's insides open up for him, some.

"Anyone else fucking you, Joe?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

The reply was quiet. "A couple, Kyle," the cop answered. "It gets lonely, you know."

"Yeah," Kyle said, sadly. He wished he was the only one. But they'd never had that conversation. This was probably not the time to have it. "Man, I wish we didn't live so far apart."

The next thrust was hard, real hard. It knocked the wind out of Joe a little, and if Kyle hadn't fucked the cop like this before he would have been concerned.

"Give me a sec," Joe finally hissed.

Kyle slowed his roll and watched as the man reached over for his own squirt of lube.

The Marine didn't need to be told to resume fucking. That's how it was between him and Joe. Perfect synchronization of needs. The minute he saw the man reach down to jerk his cock, Kyle started fucking hard. Jack hammer thrusts in and out of the man's now relaxed hole.

"That's it, stud... horse hung Marine gonna fuck my cop ass..."

"Fuckin' take it, Officer," he hissed. Getting into it.

With other men Kyle had fucked it wasn't like this. It was usually fucking for his own pleasure or for the bottom's. But he and Joe Murphy were on the same wavelength, the older man rapidly jerking while Kyle threw his strength into hard fucking the beefy daddy.

Just the sight of the man's bare back, strong and full, and the love handles and the way Joe's face turned redder when he was getting close to cumming. Kyle felt that light headed feeling again and knew the cum was already traveling up his piss tube, pumping out from his balls.

"Oh FUCK!" he whimpered.

"SHIT!" Joe grunted.

Their orgasm was simultaneous. Kyle's body clenched and held still as his dick continued to unload inside the man. It had actually taken a few times to talk Officer Murphy into barebacking, but now he couldn't imagine sex between the two any other way. This was just sex, and it was just the hormones talking, but Kyle was in love with the man.

He started to pull back, but he saw Joe's hand reach back, as if to stop him. "Don't, Kyle... stay in me for a while longer, OK?"

The Marine nodded and placed his hand softly on Joe's lower back, feeling up the clammy sweaty muscle. He wondered if his dick was going to go soft. It usually did after a cum like that, but being connected with the police officer meant it still felt rock hard.

***

Brandon Smith waited in the hotel bar, sipping his beer. He was always a little nervous waiting for Preston, but he was getting that pit-in-his-stomach now. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it only took the sight of his sorta boyfriend in the mirror to brighten up. Preston Weldman cut the vision of a real executive, as tall as Brandon, and his figure looking fit in slacks and a sport coat. The gray temples were the icing on the cake, so to speak. Brandon felt an instant chub in his jeans.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," the business exec said as he sidled up to the hunky 32-year-old. He placed a hand on Brandon's shoulder. Not obvious but the touch felt electric between the two men.

"No," Brandon shook his head. "Anyway, it's good people watching here," he said.

Preston smiled. "Scoping out the business daddies?" he whispered. He knew Brandon's type. It was how they'd met each other on an app when Brandon was back home visiting family. Leaning in more, he growled. "You're looking really good, Sergeant Smith."

Brandon's heart pounded. "SO good to see you, Press." That had been his nickname for the man. Then, his eyes sweeping up and down, something clicked. "You're not wearing your wedding ring?"

Preston shrugged. "You disappointed?" he joked. "The divorce isn't final but it feels like it, you know?"

Brandon nodded and with concern asked, "How you doing?"

"We'll talk about it later, OK? We have the whole weekend, right?"

Brandon smiled. Long distance was tough, and there was military life on top of that. But maybe that's what worked for this divorced hunk. He had his own busy career to deal with, and his kids, too. "Yeah. I have some stuff I wanna talk about too."

"Yeah?" Preston replied. "You wanna talk about it now, kiddo?"

Brandon shook his head. "I think the guys are up in the room waiting for us."

Preston's lust was visible on his face, even if he normally had that WASPy repressed thing going on. "Sure you're OK with this?"

Brandon laughed. "I was gonna ask you the same thing, Press." He stood up and set down some cash to pay for his beer. "It'll be way hot."

"You're bringing out my naughty side for sure." Preston was definitely in a good mood.

Brandon leaned in and whispered. "How do you think I feel? He's my brother." Then he pulled back and gave a wink to the man before grabbing his overnight bag. "Come on, let's go up."

Even on the elevator ride up, the two couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Preston still couldn't believe he'd scored a young man as hot as Brandon Smith. 6'3" ex-football jock, his body honed by years in the US Marine Corps. The 26-year-old was like a porn character come to life. The superstitious, or realist, part of Preston knew this affair was on borrowed time, that Brandon would move on. But he'd sure as hell enjoy the ride.

***

Joe had dozed off but the knock on the hotel room woke him up. He was naked in the damp, disheveled hotel bed. The kid had gone for seconds, all right, and the middle-aged cop felt well and truly fucked. Like, a sleepy, tired and satisfied level of truly fucked.

The man felt bad for telling Kyle about the hookups he'd had. But he didn't want to hold back from the young man. Besides, there had just been two men over the last few month. They hadn't meant a thing and certainly couldn't hold a candle to Kyle fuckin' Smith.

Another knock came. Louder.

"All right," Joe called out. "Coming!"

He jumped out of the bed and sauntered over to the door. He could hear the shower running, and realized Kyle was in there.

Brandon and Preston were surprised to see the door fling open to reveal the full nakedness of a thick-set 50-ish man they'd never met. Lightly furred front, soft dick dangling beneath.

"Come in, fellas," Joe said. "Kyle's in the shower." Unceremoniously he turned and let the men indoors.

It took a second for Joe to pick up on their reaction. "Why be shy, right?" he said in his thick accent. He flashed an impish smile. "I can cover up if it bothers you though."

"Guess you're right," Brandon said. He held out his hand. "I'm Brandon."

Joe took the hand in his own strong mitt and shook it. "Definitely see the family ressemblance."

"Joe," the cop said.

"Preston," the businessman said as he greeted the cop.

"Jesus what the fuck kind of name is Preston?" Joe quipped.

Brandon got angry. Protective and angry. "We can call this off," he said through gritted teeth.

"Call what off?" came Kyle's voice as he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist.

Preston's eyes noticeably showed excitement. If he had to pick, he'd choose Brandon's body, but Kyle had a shorter, more compact build that was scrlpted with tight, rounded young muscle.

Kyle immediately picked up on the vibe. "Jesus, Joe. Did you shoot off your mouth again?"

The cop looked genuinely contrite. "Sorry fellas. Guess I'm shitty at first impressions. Preston," he said, turning to the other daddy in the group. "I'm sorry man. Really. That was a shitty thing to say."

"All right," he said in a clipped Yankee accent. "I guess we're not here on a date or anything," he joked.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, the Smith brothers are the stars of the weekend, right?"

Brandon looked at Kyle. "You guys already get started?" he asked his brother.

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, couldn't wait, sorry."

Brandon turned to look at his lover. "I wouldn't mind a little one-on-one time with Press first."

"Yeah, babe?" Preston asked. He wasn't sure how this scene would play out. But as much as he wanted to see Kyle in action, he was drawn to Brandon first and foremost.

The hunky marine pulled Preston closer to him, then guided his arms around the man's waist to draw him into a kiss. It was soft and sensual. Brandon Smith was SUCH an amazing kisser, and inspired Preston to give his best in return.

"We can give ya guys some space," Joe spoke up. Amused to see a version of what he and Kyle had just experienced.

"Yah," Brandon almost said. Only Press' hand gripped his arm.

"It's OK if they watch babe," he said. The older man had a playful look on his face. "I kind of want 'em to."

Brandon looked at Preston in amusement. This buttoned-down divorced dad had a way of surprising him. "OK, he said.

Kyle was still in his towel as he sat on the bed, feeling Joe settle in behind him. The cop's mitts felt good feeling up his ripped Marine muscles. If Kyle hadn't just fucked the man, twice, he'd be boning up fast.

"You OK with this, Kyle?" Brandon asked.

Kyle nodded. "Go for it, bro. It'll be hot to see you guys."

That was all the green light it took for Brandon and Preston. It was like it was just them, alone in the room, even as they were also aware of putting on a show. They slowly stripped each other and made out.

About the only thing to break the spell was the cop's outburst when Brandon removed Press's button-down shirt, revealing a DILF-y gym-toned body.

"Holy fucking shit, he's a frickin' magazine model."

The cop's loudmouth approach had rubbed him the wrong way, but now he enjoyed having Preston's amazing body recognized.

The lovers were soon naked and Brandon was reclining them down on the other bed. Kissing softly even as their bodies humped more urgently. They were matched in height, but Brandon had some more muscle on him, and Preston was feeling up every inch with his hands.

Soon the older man was parting his legs, letting Brandon's body find that spot between them. Their kissing grew more impassioned, until Brandon leaned up.

"Fuck you feel so good, Press," he sighed. "I love ya, man."

"Love you, too, Big B." This was the only thing that made Preston self conscious about having an audience. But he knew this was part of sex between him and Brandon. The emotional openness.

"I need to be inside you, Dad," Brandon hissed.

"Please," Preston said. "I need you, Son."

Joe felt Kyle's body tense in his arms. The cop was a pervy enough man that the dad-son play didn't phase him. But he sensed it hit differently for Kyle. This was his brother, talking about "Dad." Joe just held the 21-year-old tight against him and kissed the side of his neck.

"OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered back.

Then Joe felt Kyle's hand grip his forearm, pulling it down. Joe thought the kid was rejecting his embrace but instead Kyle guided Joe's hand lower, right to the towel, where there was a ridge of hard dick. The kid was turned on.

"Jesus, it's a like a Lifetime movie," Joe almost said, but restrained himself. Everything was so frickin sensuous between the other couple. Even the lubing of cocks and the fingering of Preston's hole. The man was glas Kyle was into more animalistic fucking. The kid always had been, even at 18.

At last the divorced exec lifted his toned legs, and Brandon gingerly positioned the ankles on his meaty shoulders. The two locked eyes, silently, lovingly.

And Brandon entered his daddy lover.

Preston winced at entry but after a second, his hands were on Brandon's muscle ass, coaxing him to push in further.

"Not gonna last long today, Dad," Brandon hissed. "You feel so fucking good."

"We got all weekend, Son," Press countered. Before Brandon he didn't enjoy bottoming. Hell, the times he fooled around with men he usually preferred getting head. But this Marine had a way of rocking his world, turning it upside down. Of making him want cock like this. "Fuck me. Fuck your father."

Brandon let out a low deep grunt and powered in. Slowly, sensually at first. God he was SO turned on. Being with Press, hearing that roleplay talk. But also know his little bro was watching. "I'm gonna go a little harder, sir," he hissed.

"Do it!" Press urged.

And like that came a serious of slow, rough thrusts.

"Yes!" the exec grunted. Only Brandon could make him love it like this, too. Hard, with a roughness to each inward push of that meaty cock. "Attaboy."

Brandon had a few trigger words and that was one of them. He knew orgasm was coming now. So he humped more excitedly, hard stokes working to get himself off with this perfect man's ass.

"Yeah, Dad," he hissed. "Gonna cum!"

He felt Press's hands caress his sides, encouraging him to give it up.

"UNNGH!" Brandon grunted and unloaded.

"Yes!" Press said excitedly. He loved watching his Big B cum, loved seeing that mix of youthful masculinity and almost childish need. Already he was stroking his dick to get his own nut.

Brandon took a second to come down from the high but when he did he started working his dick in and out of Press's warm hole. Fucking slowly but hard, the way Press liked it.

The older man wasn't a loud cummer, but Brandon knew how to read the signs. Sure enough. the middle-aged man's body clenched and white hot sperm flew out. Preston Weldman came a lot when he orgasmed.

Brandon pulled out and only then was self conscious that his brother and his brother's lover were looking on.

Kyle had a look that was clearly horny and maybe a little embarrassed. "Why don't we give you some space, Bro?" he said quietly.

The older brother rolled off Preston's body. "We freak you out, Kyle? I guess I should have warned you that we do the roleplay thing."

Joe spoke up. "Don't let the kid fool ya, he loved that shit."

"Jesus, Joe," Kyle objected. But the man was right.

Preston leaned up. He felt a strange fondness for Kyle, a dude he'd never met. "Kyle, it took me a while to get into it." He ran his hand up and down Brandon's strong back. "I don't know... your brother's a persuasive man."

"Eight inches is a lot of persuasion," Joe quipped. He'd just witness the other brother's endowment, and Brandon was as hung as Kyle, for sure.

"Joe, what the fuck?" Kyle pestered. But Brandon and Preston were smirking.

"Fuckin' Christ. What the fuck are we for? It's supposed to be a fun weekend, right?" He patted Kyle's chest affectionately and gave a soft, contrite kiss. "Come on, let's go get a pint and we can talk more at the pub." The cop pulled his meaty body back from his younger lovers and stepped off the bed. "Apparently we need to talk about 'ground rules' or some bullshit," he bellowed.

Brandon had to admit the policeman was growing on him.

[toppersbitch]

"You Like That One Huh?" // Joe Burrow x Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Summary: While watching one of Joe’s post-game interviews you can’t help but get excited, he knows when he gets home and treats you.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: NFL Joe, dom Joe, horny joe, horny you, cunnilingus, unedited work

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

You sat patiently waiting for Joe to return home, the post-game interview was playing loudly through your shared house. You listened as you chopped various mixed vegetables to grill for his dinner. You couldn’t tell anyone's voice apart but Joe’s, his voice making you miss him even more. You loved the game day when you could attend, but were saddened when you couldn’t. You couldn’t wait until joe returned, you’d eat dinner, watch interviews and such about the game while he rubbed your feet. He was the most generous partner ever.

“You like that one?” you heard Joe’s voice from the TV, snapping you out of your thoughts, but quickly you were put back in. Joe always said things like that when he would eat you out, in between heavy breaths. The images running through your head made your stomach light and your legs weak. You tried to stop them, Joe would be too tired for sex tonight. 

To no avail, you ended up in your bedroom, on top of the sheets, touching yourself, replaying images and his voice in your head. 

You were reaching your climax, so close to tipping over the edge, eyes squeezed shut in euphoria just when the door unlocked. You shot out of bed, pulling your pants up, you hurried out into the kitchen, busying yourself with the vegetables. 

“Hi baby,” Joe turned the corner, dropping his duffle. His face lit up, shining his pearly whites at you. 

“Hi,” You smiled back, walking over to plant a kiss on your cheek, “go shower, and dinner will be ready,” you ran your hand down his arm. He sent you a puzzled look as he left the room.

You set the table waiting, he walked out his casual clothes in their usual mismatched but somehow stylish order. 

“Are you okay today?” were his first words as he sat at the table.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” “You didn’t do your usual greeting,” He frowned as he took a bite. Your usual greeting, running to him at the front door, jumping into his arms, and giving him the sloppiest kiss on the cheek. You’d done this every single game, whether you went or not. 

“Oh, I was just busy with dinner I guess,” You lied, not convincingly, it was a pathetic excuse and even you knew it.

“No, what's really wrong?” he raised one eyebrow at you. How could you possibly tell him that just his voice turned you on? Such weakness would be used against you lovingly in the future. 

“No really, just dinner,” you couldn’t meet his eyes. He stared you down from across the table. His gaze makes your cheeks feel hot, “okay fine I was in the bedroom doing something, and I lost track of time.”

“The bedroom?” his eyes turned intense as he took a sip of water. You simply hummed in response, “what could you have been doing in the bedroom?” He knew, but wanted to make you squirm, “No were you?” His eyes widened for show, teasing you. 

“Joe,” one simple word and he was out of his seat walking towards you. 

“What was it?” he was asking what made you so horny, you didn’t want to wait anymore. After one ruined orgasm you couldn’t wait one more second.

“Your post-game interview,” you looked down submissively. He tilted your head up by your chin.

“Mhm what part?” he ran his hand down your cheek.

“The part when you said you like that one?” you looked into his eyes. He smirked before crouching down to meet your face. He got close, brushing his lips past yours. He motioned for you to stand and you did so. 

He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his torso, you leaned in for a kiss but he simply tsked. He knew what he was doing now, and he knew exactly why that phrase turned you on so much. He set you so you were sitting on the table, pushing your plate off to the side, it clattered on the ground, food spilling onto the floor. His eyes didn’t leave you. 

“Let's find out which one you like?’ he lets his finger trace your thigh through your pants.  He reached the waist and pulled them down, your panties were soaked, slowly slipping them off then twirling them on his finger and flinging them. You watched intently as he kneeled, his face inching closer to your heat. 

His nose connected with your inner thigh, your breath hitching. His arms wrapped around your legs pushing them apart. You pushed your body forward, his mouth finally making contact. You let out a whimper as he placed a kiss on your clit, and then another. Then he was sucking, the suction making you feel ecstatic. His finger came up, playing with your slit, never entering. 

“Do you like this?” his breath made your hips buck. You moaned in response.

He pushed his tongue inside you, twirling it around, letting it drive you crazy. Your hands grabbed onto his hair, holding for support. 

“Mhm, you like this one better?” The vibrations of his voice were thrilling, it felt like electricity shot through your body. He pushed a finger inside, his mouth working on your clit. He pumped his fingers in and out, making a wave motion hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he began to flick his tongue over your clit. You moaned, pulling his blonde hair hard. You squeezed your eyes shut, the euphoric feeling from earlier returning.

“Joe!” you yelled out.

“Oh, you like that one huh?” You felt yourself release the second his mouth met your clit again. His arms held your legs open, not a fair fight in the slightest. You felt your body tense and relax and tense and relax. 

“Yes!” you answered his question, your voice shaking, “oh my god, yes” he removed his finger slowly, your walls tensing around them. He backed away, his body forcing itself against you, your legs staying open. Your cunt so sensitive even the cool air made you jump. He placed a long sweet kiss on your lips, pulling you into a hug, and rubbing your bad.

“I like that one too,” he said softly into your ear, you knew he was smiling.

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

I really really like this one...lmk what you guys think <333

Check out my other works HERE

[thetomorrowshow]

Okay so basically I have posted 100 fics on ao3!! Wow!!! Anyways here's the top five wips that could be posted as number 101 pls vote ty

Explanations of each one under the cut!

1. Jimmy goes through some really traumatic stuff and turns to terrible coping methods. I'm really proud of this one and excited to start posting it! super angsty though. Heavy themes of s/a and addiction. ~35k words. M. Title: oleander

2. Jimmy goes missing and shows up on hermitcraft a year later - but he can't remember anything of his life before. Joe Hills takes him in! ~65k words. T. Working title: yranac

3. What more can I say. The final part of the trust au is here! There will be short stories (and a sequel???) to follow, but this wraps up the main storyline. ~7k words. T.

4. Jimmy and Scott are well-adjusted and happy now - until some mysterious force starts amplifying the powers of everyone in the city, causing serious problems - in both Scott's control and his relationships. ~40k words (i don't really remember how long it is tbh). T

5. This fic is my pride and joy, and i'm so sad i've barely written anything in it. College au where Scar falls madly in love with a beautiful woman at the bar - who doesn't let him know that she is, in fact, Grian from his study group. No word count and no working title because i am only like two chapters in. T

I think the vote would be fun but i may not listen to it in the end and choose what i want, but it very well could influence my decision!!

[usedtobecooler]

smutty stocking stuffers day one - mr quinn x babysitter!reader

Pairing | Mr. Quinn x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), age gap (early twenties/mid thirties), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, riding, drooling, breeding kink, bulge kink, glasses kink, and a dumb little fluffy moment at the end.

Word Count | 2.2k

A/N | seeing joe dressed as a literal teacher in his silly glasses did things to me and it resulted in this because i'm a slut!!! happy day one!

Mr. Quinn throws himself down onto the sofa next to you, huffing out a big sigh. He's disheveled, shirt untucked from his pants and rumpled up, dress trousers crinkled where they'd bunched up around his thighs as he sat. Bags under his eyes hidden by his thick rimmed glasses, curly hair as unruly as ever.

"Long day?" You question quietly, pulling your legs up under yourself, elbow propped up on the back of the sofa, hand resting on the side of your neck comfortably. You can't help but think that even like this, tired and worn out, Mr. Quinn is still the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on.

"You have no idea." Joe groans, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes until he's seeing stars, letting his glasses slip back down once he's satisfied, "How were the boys for you? Good, I hope?"

"Henry was a bit sad at bedtime so I popped on his little Superman nightlight," You explain and Joe winces, knowing Henry only ever had his nightlight on when he'd had a hard day and missed dad, "Tommy was fine, said he wanted a chocolate bar at bedtime 'cause mummy's babysitter usually allows it, but he wasn't fooling me."

Joe laughs at that, his smile reaching his eyes and it makes your heart flutter, because that didn't happen often. When he was genuinely happy, he was ethereal, like a completely different person.

"So... I know you said you don't do Christmas presents but," You start, and Joe scrunches his nose up at you, getting ready to protest, "shut up, don't say anything. You've been so good to me this year, Mr. Quinn, you've paid me far too much, always left food for me, even let me stay over when it's been harsh weather and I've been too frightened to drive home. So, there's a gift under the tree for you. You don't have to open it til Christmas, but it's just a token of my appreciation for you."

Joe slaps a hand down on your thigh and rubs it a little, a soft gesture he'd done a million times before when you'd gone out of your way to do something you didn't necessarily need to, unaware of how much it made your heart skip and your mouth run dry. He huffs out a little sigh, "I didn't get you anything, darling. This was very unexpected, thank you."

You lock eyes unexpectedly, and your breath hitches. You realised your relationship was odd for a babysitter and parent, you were close - comfortable. Always respectful, a boundary had never been crossed.

But. Joe had heavy eyes, like he was tired and wound up and like he needed... relief. You wonder when the last time was that he'd ever been pleasured by anything other than his own right hand. Hell, you're not sure he even had dealings with his hand. He was a busy man, no time for anything but work and his kids, surely he was overdue some much needed relaxation.

In your daze you hadn't noticed Joe's hand rising higher, sitting snug in the crease of your thigh where your belly met it, comfortable there in the heat, still not pushing any further than that. Joe's hand was a flame and you were alight.

You don't know who closes the gap first but you don't care, Joe's lips slotting with yours like they're meant to be there. The scruff of his beard tickles your top lip and your chin, tinged slightly with the faint smell of leftover cigarette smoke. It's intoxicating, enough to have you lunging forward and crowding into his space, pushing against him until he's knocked back against the sofa arm and you're mounting him.

You rock your hips down into Joe's, only the thin fabric of your panties and his pants separating your skin. You silently thank yourself for wearing a plaid skirt with knee high socks on this particular day, you never usually dressed up so well for babysitting, but you'd had some spare time in the morning to doll yourself up.

"Tell me what you need, Mr. Quinn, I can be so good for you, please," You beg in between kisses, rucking up his silly little sweater and his crumpled shirt so you can feel at his soft belly, trace your fingers down his happy trail to the waistband of his slacks, until he's moaning against your mouth, gripping at your hips.

"Pretty girl, what're you doing to me," Joe's voice is deep, gruff with want and it makes your cunt quiver, "need to feel that pretty pussy, please?"

And who were you to refuse such a pretty man such a simple request? You would usually draw this out, expect to be touched and taken care of beforehand, but Joe's sleepy eyes filling with lust for you, mixed with his little begs were enough. All the other parts could wait for another time, if you ever got another time.

"I've thought about this for so long," Joe gasps, eyes going wide as your fingers dance along the hem of his pants, working the button and zip with ease as if you'd done it a thousand times before, "what would a darling girl like you want with a man like me, hmm?"

Joe emphasizes his question by tugging at your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pad of his thumb grazing your kiss swollen, plump lips, and you can't help yourself. The tip of your tongue slithers out, engulfing his thumb with the wet heat of your mouth. Joe groans, presses down on your tongue until you're gagging. It's filthy, the way he keeps the pressure until you're drooling from the edges of your lips, keening into him.

You let his thumb slip from your mouth, a string of spit connecting them as you pull away, making hasty work of ridding him of his clothing. He tilts his hips up to allow you to slide the offending material down his thighs, leaving them bunched just below his ass. You had no patience; you couldn't wait any longer.

His cock slaps up against his belly, and the sight before you is enough to make your mouth water. He's uncut and thick, alluringly so, and you should've known if his fingers were anything to go by, you'd caught yourself lingering before, on how big his silver rings were, how his hand would engulf a glass. Your cunt quivers, knowing he's going to be a stretch.

You grasp a hold of his cock with your nimble fingers, sliding the foreskin down until the shiny, pink mushroom head is exposed, a blurt of precum dribbling from the slit. It's so pretty, so fitting to Joe and the rest of his body, it clouds your brain.

You slip the head between your slick folds and bask in the way that Joe watches your bodies connect in awe, brown eyes glassy behind the thick rim of his glasses. He's watching your cunt catch on the head of his cock whilst you watch him staring, until you're sinking down on the length in one fell swoop, causing Joe to squeeze his eyes shut and choke off a moan.

"Young thing like you always this wet?" Joe groans, fingertips digging into your hips as you rock back and forth, using his pubic bone as friction on your clit, making you gasp and shudder as you struggle to adjust to his size, "God, darling, never thought I'd get to see you like this."

You moan quietly at Joe's words, throwing your head back as you use your knees for leverage and start bouncing up and down, slowly and barely even letting a few inches slip out, torturing him, almost, "Didn't think you, fuck, wanted me, Mr. Quinn. I was basically throwing myself at you."

Joe's hands leave your hips to roam up your loose sweater, grasping at every soft line of your body, gentle fingertips running along your belly and pressing down until you're gasping for air, "You feel me there, darling?" He makes a point of pressing down again, until you're crying out and your hips stutter, "Deep, right? You take me so well, such a good little thing."

Of course you can feel him, he's so deep you feel like he's in your throat, so thick your walls can't help but clamp down on him, your whole body hot with a prickly heat, "You're s-so big, can feel you everywhere," you cry, bounces becoming increasingly quicker, Joe's hands rising up further to cup at your tits through the thin material of your bralette, thumbing over your hard nipples, making you gasp.

"You want me to come in you, pretty girl? Would you like that?" Joe's voice is almost cruel, and you nod your head fervently, needing to be filled with his release, you want to feel him leaking out of you, you need it, "Fill you with my come and put a baby in your belly, yeah?"

You cry out, hands grasping at Joe's sweater and tugging, your eyes connecting with his own, blown out underneath the thick rims of his glasses, "You can't - can't say that, Mr. Quinn," You moan, the coil in your belly suddenly tightening unexpectedly, the spongey spot inside of you constantly being assaulted as you ride him, "Please, please. Need it, please."

"Gonna pump you full of my come and make you a mummy, yeah? You'd like it, I know you would," Joe's grin is salacious, he knows what he's doing and you can hardly stand it, your mouth opening in a silent moan, overwhelmed by Joe's dirty words and the filthy sounds coming from your cunt sucking him in, your sweaty skin clapping and echoing into the otherwise quiet room.

"Joe, please, I-" You barely get the words out before the coil in your gut is snapping and you're coming with a loud cry, walls spasming around Joe's thick cock as your vision turns white, your ears ringing. It's earth shattering, the way it just keeps coming, your body going limp under his touch.

"Good girl, that's a good fucking girl," Joe's voice wavers, his arm snaking around your back to hold you there as he pistons his hips up from below you, allowing you to go floppy so he can use you how he likes, fucking you so hard you're wailing, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He comes with a gruff grunt, cock pulsing and filling your aching walls with his load, one hand digging into your thigh and the other gripping at your back so tight you know he's going to leave bruises. You can't find it in you to care, you hope he leaves his marks behind, as a solid reminder he was ever there to begin with.

You lay on top of him in stunned silence, the only noises being both of your panting breaths as they begin to level out, Joe's spent cock slipping out of you unexpectedly and making you hiss. You're not sure when Joe's grip on your back turns into a soothing rubbing motion, but you keen into the touch, like a cat getting stroked.

"That was... maybe a mistake," Joe's quiet voice startles you, and you can't help the sinking feeling in your chest, but you might've expected this to happen, "I took advantage of you there a little, darling. I'm sorry."

"You didn't," You speak abruptly, looking up at him through hazy eyes, unable to stop the clenching in your chest when you notice how soft and relaxed he looks despite his words, "You didn't take advantage of me, Mr. Quinn. I wanted this to happen, I wouldn't of let it if I didn't."

"I think we're well past Mr. Quinn now, sweetheart," Joe tries at a joke, scrunching his nose up cutely, the bottom rim of his glasses digging into his cheeks. You laugh anyway, an embarrassed flush taking over your features, "And, uh about the... baby stuff-"

"I have an IUD, Joe," You interject before he can even finish his sentence, and you have to bite back a smirk at the way his body sags under your weight with relief, "don't worry about it. But I liked the dirty talk, it was nice."

"'Nice'," Joe bristles, grinning up at the ceiling, "Are you free next Saturday?"

You look at him, puzzled, "Joe, I don't babysit for you on Saturdays."

Joe laughs, "Think it'll have to be my mum for this one, seeing as my babysitter is busy, she's going on a date, you know?"

Your eyes widen momentarily before you regain composure and join in on the little bit of banter, "Really? Is she? Who's she going on a date with, is she going anywhere nice?"

"Ach, nobody really, just some worn out school teacher who's a bit of a loser," Joe looks down at you, wiggling his brows and eliciting a gentle giggle from you in return, "I was thinking SoHo, there's this really nice restaurant that does the most incredible beignets."

"Oof, already talking about deserts? A man after my own heart," You fawn, unable to wipe the stupid grin off of your face, "I think she'll really enjoy that."

"Good, that's what I hoped for. I'm kind of wanting her to stick around."

(the biggest of thank yous to @munsonquinns & @chainsawmunson for being my biggest cheerleaders and spurring me on to write and post this 🖤)

[naughtyneganjdm]

Turn That Frown Upside Down

Summary: Billy is at home having a hard time dealing with his visions of Kessler. After trying to determine why Joe Kessler is the man that his brain conjured up, Joe reminds Billy why he's certain Billy chose him.

Characters: Billy Butcher, Joe Kessler & Hughie Campbell

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57520939

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Smut, Slash, Mocking, Dubious Consent, Butcher banging his imaginary best friend, etc.

Notes: This is a short little smutty slash fic that was inspired by this tumblr post made by @shirley-girly. Plus, I'd like to see Joe Kessler & Billy Butcher f*ck. I'm not gonna lie. Enjoy.

“You can’t ignore me forever you know,” Joe’s voice echoed in the back of Butcher’s mind again causing Billy to groan out in frustration. “You can’t get rid of me. Not with all that fun little super cancer growing inside of you. I’m here and I’m here to stay.”

“Ignoring ya has worked so far you cunt,” Billy pinched at the bridge of his nose, scoffing as he sank further into his couch, his thighs separating when he let out a frustrated breath. There wasn’t an escape from this because Joe was always there. Always mocking him whether he wanted him there or not.

“Aw, you’re being mean to me,” Joe spoke in a condescending manner as he dropped down on the couch beside Billy, his eyebrows bouncing up in amusement. “There’s the Butcher I know and love. The bastard of the man I always knew.”

“You’re not even real,” Billy blurt out as a reminder to his vision of his friend that he had lost back in the war. Maybe it wasn’t even a reminder to Kessler as much as it was a reminder to himself. The excitement of seeing Joe Kessler was something that had brought him some of the greatest happiness he had experienced in a while. Finding out he wasn’t real? Well that was an unfortunate event. Knowing that Kessler was part of him and the darkest parts of him was worse.

“I’m as real as you are motherfucker,” Joe reached out to curl his arm around Billy’s shoulders causing him to scoff. It was strange how he could still feel the touch and presence of Joe. It felt like Joe was really there even though Billy knew he wasn’t. “I’m as real as that cancer inside of your head.”

“Fuck off you wanker,” Billy snapped when Joe poked at his temple and he swatted Joe’s hand away. It had Joe snorting, his deep rumble of a laugh drawing chills down Billy’s spine.

“You say that now, but you don’t want me to leave,” Joe suggested, sliding down in a similar position to the way that Billy was sitting on the couch beside him. A long sigh fell from Joe’s lips when he wiggled his legs back and forth. “You want me here. You know that.”

“Oi, when I say fuck off, I mean fuck off,” Billy insisted, throwing his hand up again to give Joe the middle finger. It had Joe’s nose wrinkling in amusement before he shook his head.

“See, you say one thing, but your brain thinks another,” Joe lifted his hand to point at his own head, tapping at the temple. Unhurriedly, Billy tipped his head to the side to glance over Joe. “You keep forgetting that I am you. I’m a part of you. You don’t want me to go. You want me here because you miss me.”

“You’re a cunt, Kessler. You’re not even fucking real,” Billy retorted stressing once more what he knew to be the truth. “I don’t even know why my brain picked you. Of all the people in the world. It could have been Lenny. It could have been me dad. Instead, it was fucking you.”

“You know why it’s me,” Joe suggested which had Billy shifting on the couch, his eyes narrowing when Joe’s dimples became more prominent. “You may have left me there to die, but we both know how you felt about me…”

“I…” Billy paused, a lump growing in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Joe grunted, reaching up to loosen the tie around his throat. A wince fell from his throat when he adjusted his positioning on the couch again. “You focus pretty heavy on that waitress you fucked, but you were still with Becca when you did the things you did with me.”

“Shut up,” Billy sneered, his eyes narrowing at Joe from where he was smirking beside him. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, right. Sure. Nothing happened,” Joe mocked Billy, his head nodding about before a big, wolfish smile expanded out over his features. “Is that what you try to tell yourself at night to feel better about leaving me to die or is that something you’ve truly tried to make yourself believe? Because fuck, I sure as hell have a different memory.”

“I don’t get why I’m even bothering talking to you,” Billy tried to force himself to look away from Joe who turned on the couch to keep his stare locked on Billy. Joe’s hand outstretched to lay across the back of the couch behind Billy. It had Billy’s breathing growing louder with how Joe was locked on him as if expecting him to act a certain way. “Fuck off Kessler.”

“Maybe I can help you remember,” Joe’s voice was quiet and it had Billy sucking in a sharp breath of air. “I’ll go with the first time. Maybe that will fucking help you stir some shit up in your brain. It was late at night. We were alone in the tent. Drinking. Drinking a lot…”

“Stop,” Billy demanded, his voice raising with every muscle in his body tensing up.

“I remember distinctly you talking about missing the touch of someone. How you’d wake up with your cock hard every morning. How much you missed fucking,” Joe continued and in that moment it had a breath catching in Billy’s throat when he felt Joe’s hand lowering in over his thigh. “We started swapping stories, when…”

Billy’s eyes came to a tight close when he felt the warmth of Joe’s breath lingering at the side of his face. A tremoring exhale escape his throat when Joe started kissing at his jawline toward his neck. It had Billy’s lips parting, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. The sensation had Billy’s heart kickstarting in his chest and it felt like the room was spinning. Leisurely, Joe’s hand slid up further until Joe reached between Billy’s thighs cupping him firmly. Tipping his head back gave Joe room to start nipping at his flesh. The rough sensation of Joe caressing over his length had Billy holding back making a sound.

“Stop,” Billy screamed, shoving Joe back hearing his laugh fill the air when Billy knocked him away. “Enough.”

“You were uncomfortable then too. But I saw it. I saw it in the way you looked at me. The way you would watch me when we’d fucking shower. Stealing glances at my fucking dick every chance you got. Asking me to pull it out so we would have our dick measuring contests,” Joe hissed, moving forward again to grab a firm hold of Billy’s face to get him to lock in on him. “The way you followed me around like a lost fucking puppy dog, listening and doing everything I told you. You may pretend with others, but with me you couldn’t hide that fucking part of you. No, you couldn’t.”

“It was a mistake,” Billy winced surprised with the pain he actually felt from Joe’s grasp on his face.

“A mistake happens once. Not multiple times,” Joe claimed, his eyebrows furrowing when his lips pressed in closer to Billy’s. Sliding in closer to Billy, Joe’s fingers pulled apart Billy’s belt in a swift movement. Next was forcing open the button of Billy’s pants and then Joe’s rough fingertips tugged at the zipper. Instead of fighting him, Billy’s hips arched up when Joe’s fingers sank beneath the material of his pants. Once the strength of Joe’s fingers curled around his cock, Billy groaned out and closed his eyes. “Any chance we were alone, you were always crawling in beside me wanting me to play with your dick while you played with mine.”

“This isn’t real,” Billy tried to remind himself with a slur, his moan filling the air with Joe jerking him off. Grunting, Billy felt Joe releasing his face to help get the material of his pants to the bottom of his waist allowing Billy’s hard cock to bounce free from the prison it was behind.

“Tell that to your rigid fucking cock,” Joe teased Billy, hovering his lips over Billy’s. When Joe’s lips came crashing down over his, Billy didn’t fight him. In fact, he kissed him back. Hungrily. Wanting the sensation that it brought forth. Joe wasn’t gentle in the way he was stroking Billy’s manhood. Yet it had Billy thrusting his hips up toward the movements. “It’s just like it was then. You being a little bitch, yet inside your pants you couldn’t hide your erection. Thrusting your hips up into my grasp like the thirsty little fuck that you are.”

A deep rumble of a moan escape his lips when he felt Joe biting at his bottom lip, giving it a firm tug. It was rough and after Joe did it, Billy was certain he tasted his blood in his mouth afterward, “This was always how it started off. Drinking, getting close, being bitchy and it would lead to my hand down your pants and yours down mine. Jerking each other off. And once we came you’d run off at first. Until you started wanting more. There was always that curious side to you Butcher. The one that wondered what things felt like. You were such an alpha male that you needed to have that power taken away sometimes.”

“Don’t,” Billy whined when Joe started kissing down over the side of his neck. There had been so much pain lately from the way that he was feeling that the pleasure from the hand job was welcomed. Yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. To think about this.

“I promised you then that I wouldn’t tell anyone how you liked sucking my cock and having me do the same for you,” Joe grumbled, his nose nudging slightly at Billy’s jawline. Grasping tightly to Billy’s neck with his free hand, Joe forced Billy to tip his head back and bit at Billy’s neck having him wincing out. “Or how you would crawl into my cot sometimes to ride my cock.”

“No,” Billy tried to reach for Joe’s wrist to get him to stop.

“No? No to what Butcher? I’m part of you. And the real Joe would know the truth too,” Joe’s face scrunched up. A grunt fell from Butcher when he felt Joe tugging at his leg getting him to slide down onto the couch. Growling out, Butcher felt the strength of Joe turning him over onto his stomach. Pulling him up onto his knees. It had Butcher’s face pressing into the couch cushion when he felt the material of his pants being tugged down his thighs. “Come on Butcher. Let’s turn that frown upside down.”

“This isn’t happening,” Billy’s eyes slammed shut when he heard the sound of Joe’s belt being pulled open. There was shifting behind him, a weight change on the couch bringing him in closer to the warmth that was pressed against his bottom. Lazily opening his eyes, Billy watched Joe’s hand outstretch to reach for the drawer in the coffee table. Pushing things around had items falling to the floor before Joe grabbed a small bottle. A moment later, there was a pressure at the back of Billy’s head pushing him further into the couch. “This isn’t real.”

“Tell yourself whatever you have to make yourself feel better,” Joe’s voice rumbled from behind him with the slick sensation of the lube that had been grabbed pouring over his ass. It had Billy’s forehead clenching, his lip sucking into his mouth. “But notice you ain’t running from the idea Billy. You know just as much as I do why I was the person you conjured up.”

“Fuck,” Billy arched forward when he felt fingers prodding at his ass. It had him wincing out when he felt one finger being pushed inside of him before another working to open him up. It had been a while since he felt something like this, but he wasn’t rushing away from the idea of it. Joe wasn’t wrong. That was a part of him that he tried to push away for so long and hide. At first, Billy’s fingers dug into the material of the couch, wincing with the way that Joe’s fingers thrust inside of him. He was fighting just how much he truly wanted this. How much he needed to feel this.

“You were always my little bitch Billy,” Joe growled out, pulling his fingers from Billy’s body. There was another pop of the lid from the bottle that Joe grabbed before he was throwing it on the coffee table again. “And you loved every second of it.”

“Bloody hell,” Billy felt the fingers digging at his flesh pulling him back. Wincing out, there was a pressure at his tight hole with Joe lining himself up with Billy’s body. Groaning, Billy’s eyes squeezed shut when he felt the warmth of Joe’s cock pressing into him. It had him fighting to not make a noise. Joe was not one for subtle or taking time. In fact, the moment he thrust into Billy, he only gave him enough time to get used to the sensation of Joe before Joe’s hips were thrusting fast from behind. The sounds of flesh smacking filled the room and it had Billy humming out. “Kessler…”

“This is the Butcher I know,” Joe grunted from behind Billy, his hands bringing Billy firmly back against him while he fucked his former friend. “People would be so shocked to know that the Butcher they knew used to beg for me to fuck him in the middle of the night while pleading with me to let him come.”

“Shut up,” Butcher winced, his hand reaching back to squeeze at Joe’s flexing hip while the thrusts were forceful bouncing Butcher upwards. Keeping his eyes closed helped Billy focus on the pleasure of what it was drawing from him and he moaned out when he felt Joe’s left hand curling around him to wrap his fingers around Billy’s swollen cock. When Joe’s movements stopped it had Billy hissing out. “Keep going…”

“You want to come Butcher?” Joe leaned over Billy, biting at Billy’s earlobe before snickering. The warmth of Joe’s breath had chills running down Billy’s spine. “Then make yourself come. Fuck yourself on my cock like the bitch that you are.”

“I hate you,” Billy maintained with an angered sound after Joe pressed into the back of his head firmly burying it against the couch. Using the strength that he did have, Billy started rocking his hips backward taking Joe in. Then gradually pulled forward allowing him to pull out. It had a breath catching in Billy’s throat and with each movement Billy was able to make it stronger. At the same time, it had his hips bouncing forward toward Joe’s hand that was curled around his hard cock jerking him off. So he was getting stimulation both from his prostate and from fucking Joe’s hand.

“It sure looks like you don’t fucking hate me,” Joe’s moan was loud in Billy’s ear, the grasp Joe had on Billy’s hair growing tighter while Billy worked to fuck himself with Joe’s cock. “You always did love riding my cock Butcher. And you looked good doing it. Just like you do now. Sick and all…”

“Fuck…” Billy’s face grew hot, both of their breathing labored while Billy controlled the movements and the tempo that was set between them. He wanted it hard. He wanted it rough. He wanted to feel everything. There was a tightness in Billy’s testicles with his thighs tensing up. He was nearing an orgasm.

“That’s it, almost there,” Joe urged him on, his moans matching Billy’s with his fingers that were in Billy’s hair digging so tightly into his flesh that it felt like it would leave a mark. “Come on Butch…show your old friend just how much you hate him.”

Joe bit at Billy’s chin with Billy growling out when he felt the first line of his cum cover the couch beneath him. Keeping up with his movements, Billy rocked back against Joe until he reached the end of his orgasm. At the end, Joe took control pumping his hand furiously over Billy’s cock drawing him to moan out at the sensations it drew deep from within him.

“Uhm, Butcher,” another voice pulled Billy from the moment, drawing his head to turn to see that Hughie was standing at the door to his apartment holding onto the doorknob. Breathlessly glancing back over his shoulder, Butcher grumbled to himself when he saw that his vision of Joe was snickering and buckling his pants back together as he sat down. “I can come back if you’d like me to.”

“What did ya see?” Billy shakily stood up, his body weak when he pulled his pants together. Hughie’s face was red, his eyes doing their best to avoid making eye contact with Billy.

“Nothing,” Hughie stammered, waving his free hand up in the air to avoid the conversation.

“Oi, don’t be a cunt,” Billy called out, noticing that his cum was covering his hand and he reached for a tissue from the coffee table. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Well, you were on the couch…” Hughie pointed in the area of the couch, it had an amused expression over Joe’s face while he kept his hazel eyes locked on Billy. “You were humping what looked like the air while jerking off.”

“Oh,” Billy adjusted his clothing and sat down on the couch attempting to catch his breath.

Billy could have been embarrassed that Hughie found him in a fairly sexual position, but it wasn’t the worst position someone found him in so there was no reason to feel bad about it. He knew Hughie had seen worse, so it was what it was.

“Was I supposed to see something else?” Hughie stepped into the apartment, cautiously closing the door.

“Like what?” Billy cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders when Hughie moved across the room to sit on the coffee table before him. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” Hughie was quick to respond, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“There is a spot next to me,” Billy looked to the couch to see that the cushions were covered in his seed. Hughie made a disgusted face when Billy snatched another tissue to clean things up. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing you’d ever had happen to ya. Sitting in a bit of cum.”

“Right…” Hughie shifted uneasily on the coffee table before Billy. Tossing the tissue at the garbage, Billy missed by a long shot and grunted. “So you like the ass thing with the fingers. Annie has been trying to get me into the pegging thing. Started with one finger, worked her way to two, but…”

“I don’t need to hear about starlight fingering your asshole,” Billy was disgusted, scoffing out and waving his hand in the air.

“I just figured since you like ass play maybe you could give me some tips,” Hughie rambled when Billy groaned and got up from the couch. “You were using your fingers there and…”

“The boy has no idea how much you like ass play,” Joe snickered from behind Billy and it had Billy tensing up. “How do you think he would feel to know that you like being fucked in the ass by your imaginary fucking friend.”

“Shut up you wanker,” Billy retorted hearing Joe snort when Hughie went pale. Realizing that Hughie thought he was talking to him, Billy threw his hand up in the air and tried to think quickly of something. “If you like it. Do it. If you don’t. Don’t. It’s not that hard. It’s just a few fingers in your ass. How hard can it be?”

“Smooth,” Joe joked, stretching his legs out from where he was seated on the couch. There was a sense of arrogance flooding over his features and Billy realized there was no getting rid of this part of him. But Joe was right, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to go. After what just happened, Billy knew there was a part of him that he would have to start embracing and accepting. It didn’t mean he would tell anyone about it. He was fucking nuts after all. But there was a reason he picked Joe. As fucked up as it was, the answer was always right there for him to see.

[juniperss]

Could you write something with Joe Liebgott where maybe they are friends but he’s got a crush on the reader but refuses to acknowledge it so he tries to distance himself from her. Then maybe one night something goes wrong and she gets hurt and it causes him to admit to his feelings. Some big angst and fluff :)

this is such a cute idea! Since I'm only taking headcanon suggestions though, I'm gonna answer in that format, <3 Joe Liebgott you can run from your feelings but you cannot hide them! I wrote these with gender neutral pronouns, i hope that's alright!

Honestly the fact that he has a crush on a friend is one of the last things he feels he needs in his life during the war. It's just another series of emotions that he has to deal with now and he can't believe that he's had to go and get a crush on you, of all people. Because honestly, in his mind, there are only two ways this is gonna pan out: you're gonna tell him "aw thanks, Joe that's really sweet but I don't feel the same" or you're gonna like him too and he's gonna risk losing you in combat. No thank you, either way!

Now....is that entirely rational or true? Nope. But he doesn't want to admit that he has feelings for you and lying to himself about the outcome is certainly a way to help suppress them.

Really though he's worried that admitting a crush on his best friend is going to mean losing you, one way or another and he doesn't think he can live with that. Not now, not after everything that's happened.

Him denying his feelings results in trying to put distance between the two of you. Which is really obvious since being friends with him meant that you two were usually joined at hip. And it's sudden too, he doesn't just gradually or subtly introduce spending less time with you. Because as soon as he's hit with the realization that "OH shit, I love them", he starts the distancing. Better to nip it in the bud now.

And it hurts. You're not sure what you did to upset him and cause him to ask for a different patrol partner or for him to turn around and walk away when you approach. And if you try to bring it up, he gives some bullshit about "I'm not acting any different, what are you talking about". I can also see him starting to be a bit mean towards in an attempt to get you to stop asking him about it. Throwing rocks at the dog kind of situation.

This goes on for a few weeks and one day while he's making some rounds he hears about an ambush on the patrol just a little bit ago. The patrol that he knows you were on because he asked Muck to switch with him earlier in the day.

There's some serious injuries he hears and no one around seems to have the same answer about what happened to you. There's so much panic building up in him and a heavy sense of dread and guilt. He's booking it towards Doc Roe's station to find you.

Literally pushing past people trying to track you down and when he finds you sitting on the ground with a bandage around your upper arm he wants to throw up. So many apologies pouring out of his mouth that they jumble up and don't even make sense, but you can pick out the words "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" multiple times.

You think you can see tears in his eyes too but you don't have time to investigate because he's hugging you and you're wrapping your arms around him too. You missed your friend and you missed how good it felt to hear him speaking to you with kindness.

He explains his behavior over the last week or two as he helps you back to camp. Saying it out loud has him feeling really dumb because he can't believe he thought that would work when you're looking at him with such big eyes and a frown. He just feels like an ass.

When he finally admits that it was all because he has feelings for you, he has to look down at him feet. He can't take saying it directly to you. It's odd seeing Joe Liebgott shy and self conscious about something. He only looks at you once you've taken his hand in yours and squeezed it gently.

Ends with a tender kiss, but is quickly followed up with promises to never ignore you again. He'll spend as much time as he needs to get you to forgive him despite your acceptance of his apology.