#like he always had Joe and his family but now it’s none of that

[vitos-pink-shirt]

So I replayed the house fire mission and all I can picture is Vito driving to Joe’s apartment and turning the radio on to have any noise besides his own breathing, and hearing the reports of his house and flicking to different stations but they’re all reporting on it, and finally they say his name and when he finally pulls into the parking lot he just starts screaming and slamming on the steering wheel in anger as he realizes that he’s back to nothing again.

[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~ ♡

[jordyn14]

Request

Angst turning into fluffff???

I was wondering if you could write more about Joe and y/n becoming parents. With like troubled that lead to arguments but they talk it out. I HAVE NO IDEA IF THIS MAKES SENSE 😭.no pressure!🤍

Pairing: Joe Burrow x fem first person

Words: 4601

Notes: I kind of combined this fic with another request: Is there any way you’d be able to write a second part of them just bonding with Noa and the team meeting Noa?

I would be lying if I said bringing a newborn home from the hospital was easy, because it’s not. It has been the most amazing thing bonding with her and watching Joe become a dad to our precious little girl, but it’s exhausting as well. Most nights, Joe and I only get a few hours of sleep because if I’m not feeding her, one of us is changing her diaper or walking the halls with her to try and calm her down when she starts to cry. On the plus side, it’s already been a week since we brought our little Noa home and none of us are dead yet, so there’s that…although sometimes it feels like I might when she wakes us up.

I walked down the steps very carefully, clinging onto the staircase as I focused on every single step. My body was starting to feel so much better, but those few days after giving birth were the worst and it hurt so much to stand up, so I was still walking around like I would break any second, and Joe was too. Whenever I would stand up, he wouldn’t take his eyes off of me, and he usually was right by my side when I walked up and down the stairs. Typical Joe.

Joe was easy on the eyes but even more beautiful on the inside. To say that he has been absolutely amazing would be the understatement of the century. During feedings, he’s right there with me, making sure that if I’m not sleeping, he’s not sleeping. Everything has been a lot easier because of him and I make sure to thank him everyday for it.

Once I got downstairs, I yawned while walking over to the couch. As soon as Joe heard me, he looked up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes and that amazing pearly white smile. “Hey baby, how are you feeling?” Joe asked me. I laughed a little bit and walked past him and gently sat down on the couch next to him. “Tired.” I said and looked down at little Noa as she slept soundly in his arms. She was absolutely perfect. She had the most amazing blue eyes, just like Joe and the cutest nose in the entire world that looked exactly like Joe’s. She was like his spitting image.

Joe chuckled a little bit and kissed the top of my head. “I know, but isn’t this amazing? We have a family.” Joe said and rested his head on top of mine. Gently, I put my hand on Noa’s tiny foot and started stroking it gently. I felt like I always wanted to be near her, or at least see her at all times. It was like I was connected to her still and felt empty when she wasn’t with me. It was such a weird yet beautiful feeling.

“This is everything I always wanted. I love our little family.” I said. I could feel Joe shaking his head that was resting on mind. “Can you imagine when our little tiger can come to my games next season? I’m going to be the luckiest man in that entire stadium with my beautiful wife and daughter up in that suite.” He said. Our little tiger. As soon as Joe found out I was pregnant and because we didn’t know if it was a boy or girl yet, he started calling her his or our little tiger. It made my heart skip a beat every time I heard it because it was so special. It reminded me of the day I told him I was pregnant and that he was going to be a dad. Now I got to watch him be a dad, and it was amazing.

“Or when she’s old enough to realize that it’s her daddy that’s on the field? I can just see her now pointing at you and asking if that’s her daddy.” I said, smiling down at her as I imagined taking Noa into the stadium when she is old enough to know that her dad is the one playing in the game. I could tell Joe was smiling from ear to ear from above me while imagining what that would be like. To be on that field knowing that his wife and daughter were up there cheering for him. It made me excited just thinking about it.

While we sat there and talked about how perfect our little tiger was and how it felt to be new parents, she started to wiggle in joes arms and fuss a little. Immediately I knew that was her ‘I’m hungry’ fuss. I never believed Robin when she told me that I would be able to understand what she wanted or why she was crying until l started to be able to tell a few days ago. It’s crazy, but she was right. If there’s one thing to know about Robin, is that 99.9% of the time, she’s right.

A week later, the lack of sleep was really catching up on me, but we were getting by without fighting, thankfully. I walked downstairs after getting dressed and found Joe sitting on the couch again, holding Noa who was crying. I knew she was hungry, so I pulled my shirt and bra down a little bit as I made my way over to them. Today was supposed to be the day that some of the team was coming over to see her for the first time, and Joe was super excited.

From the very start of the pregnancy, he always told me how excited he was to show the team his son or daughter, especially Ja’marr and Sam since they’ve known Joe for a long time. Today, only Ja’marr, Sam, Tee, and ted were coming over to see her for the first time.

Once I reached Joe, I grabbed her from his arms and started bouncing her slightly in my arms. As soon as she felt me, she latched right on and stopped fussing. I let out a big sigh and closed my eyes while rocking her in my arms. “Are you okay down here if I go upstairs and get ready real quick?” Joe asked me while he gently hugged me. He grabbed the back of my head and placed a kiss on my lips and then kissed my forehead. “Yes, Joe. I’m not completely incompetent just because I gave birth.” I kind of snapped at him a little bit. Joe looked down at me with a worried look in his eyes, but I walked away and to the couch, not in the mood to talk right now.

“Hey, hey, talk to me, baby.” Joe said and started to follow after me. I sat down on the couch and looked down at Noa who was looking right up at me while she drank. Seeing her all scrunched up with those bright blue eyes looking up at me made me feel so complete. “There’s nothing to talk about. Just go and get ready.” I said. I began to yawn again and shook my head after, trying to wake myself up more. Unlike Joe, I had a hard time going straight to bed after I was woken up by Noa’s cries. Joe and I were opposites when it came to sleeping. While I was a deep sleeper, he woke up at any noise he heard. While I took a little bit of time to go to bed, Joe was out within seconds, which means I haven’t been getting as much sleep as him.

Joe kneeled down in front of me and put his hands on my thighs. “It’s not good to keep things bottled up, I know that better than anyone.” Joe said, looking up at me with those same eyes as Noa. “I said I’m fine.” I said. I really didn’t know why I was snapping at him. I wasn’t mad at him. If anything, I loved him even more than I did when we weren’t parents, and I didn’t think that was possible. “You need to get more sleep tonight.” Joe said and reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of my face behind my ear. “More sleep? What does that mean? Can you not stand to look at your ugly wife with bags under her eyes?” I snapped at joe again. My brain was so foggy and I was so irritable. I hated feeling this way. I hated being mad at him.

“I didn’t mean that and you know it.” Joe said and was about to open his mouth to say something else but I talked over him. “Just go get ready, Joe.” I said and looked away from him quickly and to Noa who now had her eyes closed. I guess she was a heavy sleeper like me.

With a defeated sigh, Joe stood up and started walking away from me. I listened to his footsteps as he walked up the stairs and then shut the bedroom door. As I sat there in my thoughts, I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. I was so stressed and sleep deprived that I was taking it out on a joe and I felt terrible about it. While he was being an amazing husband and doing everything humanly possible to make things easier on me, I was being so incredibly rude. He didn’t deserve that.

After a few minutes, Noa stopped drinking and fell completely asleep in my arms. While still crying, I stood up from the couch slowly and started making my way to the stairs. The whole time, I made sure not to make any sudden moves because I didn’t want to wake her. All I wanted to do was go upstairs and apologize to Joe for being an absolute dick to him.

When I got upstairs, I walked over to the bedroom door and opened it up. After I swung it open, I heard the faucet running from inside the bathroom, so I walked over and set Noa down in her bassinet that was right next to the bed. Sniffling a little, I turned around as the water was turned off and saw Joe who was walking over to me. Joe scanned my face and after reading my expression and seeing the tears in my eyes, wrapped me in his arms. I began to cry into Joe’s chest while we both held each other so tightly. “I’m so, so sorry, Joe. I don’t know why I’m so angry.” I said. “Shhh, shhh. Look at me baby. Look at me.” Joe said. I leaned back from Joe and looked up at him as he led us over to the bed. Both of us sat down on it, still holding each other.

I kept sniffling over and over again and wiping my tears. Hell, I didn’t even know why I was crying so much. “When I told you you needed more sleep, that wasn’t me trying to be a dick. I also wasn’t saying that because I thought you looked ugly, because that’s impossible.” Joe said and cupped the side of my face. I melted into his touch and nodded up at him. “I said that because I love you and care about you, and I only want what’s best for you. So, instead of me waking you up all the time like you wanted, I’ll let you sleep more often and I’ll deal with Noa unless she wants to be breastfed instead of bottle fed, or unless she just wants her gorgeous momma.” Joe said.

“Are you sure?” I asked him. Joe reached up and wiped off a tear that streamed down my cheek. “I’m a million percent sure.” Joe said. I nodded and leaned forwards, giving him a quick kiss. Joe was literally the best husband ever. There are so many days where I ask myself how I got so lucky, and this was definitely one of those days. When our lips separated, we kept our foreheads together. “I love you so much, Joey.” I said. “I love you so incredibly much.” Joe said.

From in the bassinet, Noa started to fuss a little bit. It wasn’t one of her hungry fusses, it was her lonely and bored type of fuss. Joe leaned back from me so I could reach over and grab her, and when I did, I carefully placed her on the bed in front of us for some tummy time. Joe and I both laid on our stomachs in front of her, propped up on our elbows while watching her. The both of us kept laughing at the little grunts she kept making as she looked at the both of us. “You’re so perfect little Noa.” Joe said and chuckled while he gave her nose the smallest boop. I let out another yawn while watching her. Just as Joe was about to say something to me after seeing me yawn, Noa started to strain and then I heard that delightful sound of her diaper being filled up.

From the sound of it, Joe and I both covered our mouths a little bit and laughed, knowing this would be a rough one to clean up. Because Joe changed her diaper last time, I started to get up from where I was at on the bed, but Joe shook his head and scooped up Noa. “I’ll go and change her diaper, why don’t you take a nap?” Joe said and stood up from the bed. “It’s fine,” I swung my legs over the bed and planted my feet on the ground, “she’ll need to be fed soon anyways.” I smiled up at him, but Joe stood in front of me so I couldn’t stand up.

“You have pumped so much that there’s a supply to last a few months and she’s going to pass out soon anyways, so take a nap. We’ll be fine, won’t we Noa. Yeah we will.” Joe told Noa and started to rock her in his arms. I glared up at him, feeling like I shouldn’t take a nap, but I couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he was with her. A nap did sound amazing right now. “Okay, but the team’s gunna be here soon.” I said. “I’m going to text them and tell them today isn’t a good day. We can have them over when you’re not being a dick.” Joe joked with me. We both laughed a little bit, knowing it was true although he was joking. “Fine, but if you need me or if she won’t stop crying, wake me up.” I said.

With a smile, Joe bent down some so I could see Noa before I took a nap. “I will. Say goodnight to mommy little tiger.” Joe said in that cute baby voice. I giggled a little bit and stroked my hand gently across the top of her head, feeling her soft hair. “I love you, Noa.” I told her and then looked up at Joe. “I love you, Joey.” I said. Joe looked down at me and kissed my lips. “I love you more.” He said and slowly started to back away. After they disappeared down the hall, I scooted underneath of the blankets and as soon as my head hit the pillow, which was unlike me, I fell right asleep.

After I finally started to get more sleep and take naps when Noa took naps, I started to feel a million times better. I wasn’t as irritable any more and I actually was having so much fun bonding with her. Because I was feeling better, the day finally came for some of Joe’s teammates to meet Noa. Although we planned on having Ja’marr, Sam, Tee, and Ted over for a little bit so they could meet her, we ultimately decided to only have Ja’marr and Sam over for now and introduce her to the team at an Easter get together that we were going to hold. We figured that since we still have a month until people meet her, we can grow into ourselves as parents more and soak in these few weeks of privacy and calmness before a ton of people came over to see her.

“Hey Jordyn, have you seen any of my LSU sweatshirts?” Joe asked me. He was in our walk in closet and I could hear him looking through all of his sweatshirts to find them. I sucked in my lips a little bit and looked down to my chest to see the giant LSU letters on it that I changed into to wear for today. While Joe was wearing the other matching one earlier, Noa decided to surprise him with a little bit of throw up. After I looked down at my chest, I looked at Noa in my arms who was yawning. “Oopsie.” I laughed a little bit. Joe, hearing me, walked out of the closet and began to chuckle when he saw what I was wearing.

“Do you want me to change? I’ll put on one of my LSU sweatshirts instead of yours.” I said. Joe just shook his head and leaned back into the closet quickly, snagging out a bengals sweatshirt. “That’s okay, it looks better on you anyways.” Joe said with a wink when he started walking over to me. Once he reached me, he placed a small kiss on my lips and then stripped off his shirt so he could slip on his sweatshirt. I sucked in a small breath at the sight of his bare chest and couldn’t help but stare. In between my legs started to ache a little bit so I crossed them slightly. From the corner of Joe’s eye, he could see my slightly flustered state and began to flex his arm muscles.

With a scoff, I slapped his arm. Joe and I both started laughing at how unserious he was. I was flustered though. Let’s just say it’s been a few week’s since I’ve had sex and when I see Joe looking extra good, all I can thinking about is sex. Like literally, all I can think about is sex. The bad news, we haven’t had the time to actually have sex, which has been hard.

All of a sudden, I heard someone knocking on the door from downstairs and a smile flashed on my face. “They’re here, let’s go Joe Shiesty.” I giggled a little bit as began to walk out of the bedroom. “Are you ready to meet your half uncles? They may scare you at first, especially Sam since he’s a d-linemen, but he’s like a marshmallow inside, so don’t worry.” I said and kissed the top of her head.

Joe followed after me after slipping on his sweatshirt and as soon as I started walking down the stairs, he put his arm around my back and put the other on my arm, making sure I didn’t fall with Noa in my arms. “Joey…thank you so much, But I know how to walk down the stairs.” I laughed a little bit at how concerned he was whenever I walked down the stairs. “I know, I know. But what if you slip or twist your ankle and fall?” He said. I looked up at him quickly and squinted at him. “When have I ever slipped or twisted my ankle while going up or down the stairs?” I asked him, waiting for an answer. “Last year before you were pregnant and hung out with Karissa.” He said with a ‘hmph,’ feeling triumphant that he had an answer to my question.

“Joe, I was drunk…that doesn’t count.” The both of us laughed a little bit as Joe said, “touché.” There aren’t many times where I get absolutely hammered, but that was definitely one of those times. Me and and my best friend Karissa went to her house to catch up after she got back from a 2 week vacation and one thing led to another, and one drink led to another, and the both of us go so disgustingly drunk that when Joe had to come and pick me up and drive me back home, I may have thrown up in his new car…but that’s besides the point.

I stood back from the door and Joe opened it up. As soon as he did, I couldn’t help but smile as I laid my eyes on Ja’marr and Sam who were waiting patiently for us to answer the door. The last time I saw them was the day of the Super Bowl, and now they each have their first ever Super Bowl rings. Joe dabbed the both of them up and then invited them inside. Ja’marr stepped in first and looked at me and then little Noa who was wide awake, meaning she’d want to eat soon. “Oh my goodness look at her. She looks just like Joey B.” Ja’marr said, covering his mouth with his hand slightly. After he looked at her and ran his fingers over her arm, he looked up at me.

“Hey Jordyn, how are you?” He asked me and carefully hugged me. “I’m doing a lot better now that I learned to actually take a nap when she does.” I laughed a little bit and hugged him, making sure not to move Noa around. “Good, good. Damn. I can’t believe this. Ya’ll are parents.” Ja’marr said and stepped to the side so Sam could see her. “Wow, now those are some long legs. She’s gunna be a D1 player when she grows up.” Sam chuckled and gave me a small hug. “Hey jordyn.” He said. “Hey Sam. It’s good to see you.” I smiled up at him.

We made our way to the living room where we all sat down so they could hold her. When I tell you I was a little nervous to give her up, I was telling the truth. So far only Karissa, my parents, and Joe’s parents have held her, and even then I was nervous for them to hold her. Every time someone held her other than me or Joe, something in me told me they were going to drop her and all I wanted to do was snatch her from them and hide her. Being a mom was a damn weird feeling.

I sat down on the other couch to the side of ja’marr and Sam and who sat on the same one. Before Joe sat down, he gently scooped up Noa from my arms after making sure I was okay to part with her and walked over to Ja’marr who was closer to him. “She’s so tiny dude.” Ja’marr said with a big smile on his face as Joe placed her in his arm. When she was in his arms, I couldn’t help but smile. Even though they weren’t related by blood, the team was still her family, especially Sam and Ja’marr.

Once Ja’marr got her in his arms, he started to look a little nervous and looked like he forgot how to hold a newborn. “Pretend she’s a football. Hold her just like a football.” Joe reminded him. It looked like something clicked in Ja’marrs head as he slowly readjusted Noa in his arms so he was holding her the right way. “You have a kid Ja’marr, how did you forgot how to hold a newborn?” I asked him with a little laughed and folded my legs underneath of myself while watching Noa who was looking up at Ja’marr. At first she looked a little scared, but after a few seconds she just accepted it.

“Yeah, well, he ain’t no newborn anymore. I forgot.” Ja’marr said. We all laughed a little bit. While he held her, I noticed that he kept smiling down at her and her little features. Her beautiful blue eyes. Her perfect little nose. Those wonderful rosy cheeks. Her tiny lips. Everything about her was perfect and it made my heart soar with emotion just thinking about them and how other people are loving them just as much as me.

Once Ja’marr and Sam both held Noa, Joe handed her back to me and she fell asleep right away. Laughter and chatter filled the room as we all talked together about anything and everything. For a while most of the conversations were about the Super Bowl and how amazing it was to win it, so I took that time to go upstairs and feed her real quick. It felt amazing to talk with people other than just Joe on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong, I love Joe so incredibly much and don’t know what I would do without him, but it’s nice to talk with other people too.

After a little while, I started to get hungry, so everyone followed me into the kitchen so we could resume our conversation. Before I got to the kitchen, I grabbed the baby wrap and wrapped it around myself and placed her inside of it so she could sleep comfortably on my chest without me having to hold her. In the kitchen, the boys all gathered around the island counter while I grabbed some crackers and cheese from inside of the pantry and fridge. Before I walked to the counter, I asked the boys if they wanted anything and they all said no. “Why’d you cancel on us the other day. All I got was a short, ‘sorry, gunna have to plan another day for you to come over.‘” Ja’marr said.

I turned to look at Joe and started laughing. Joe just gave me a shrug. “What kind of text is that Joe? That’s about the same text I sent you 10 years ago. Luckily you wouldn’t take no for an answer.” I said. It was true, that’s about the same text I sent Joe about 10 years ago when I was on the fence about going on a date with him. Let’s just say i’m extremely happy Joe was extra persistent. “Wow…are you breaking up?” Sam asked Joe and Ja’marr with a little gasp and We all started laughing at Sam’s joke.

I popped a cracker in my mouth after putting a piece of cheese on it and shook my head. “Don’t worry, that would never happen,” I laughed, “I may have been a little sleep deprived and snapped at Joe when I thought he called me ugly.” I said. “Y’know Joey B would never call his girl ugly. You should hear the way he talks about you in the locker room. ‘She’s so beautiful, I love her with all my heart, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.’” Ja’marr laughed when Joe slapped his arm, not liking that little interpretation of himself. “What did you even say?” Sam asked Joe.

“I told her that she should get more sleep since she’s been exhausted and I wanted what’s best for her, and she took that as a, ‘I don’t want a wife whose ugly and has eye bags,’ she was validated though, having a newborn is exhausting. But jordyn has been amazing.” Joe said and smiled down at me. My face flushed red from the small compliment and I shook my head, trying to get it to go away so nobody saw. “Well I’m glad everything’s going good now. I can’t wait till she’s old enough to run around the facility with us.” Sam said, looking at her as she was curled up against my chest.

While Joe couldn’t take his eyes off of Noa who was sleeping, I noticed ja’marr looking right at Joe. “Dude, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger already.” Ja’marr chuckled a little bit. Joe nodded and let out a sigh. “If that ain’t the damn truth, I don’t know what is.” Joe said and looked up at me with that perfect smile.

[joeybsversion]

Trouble

Joe Burrow x Reader

Your friends and family aren’t fond of Joe

“Seriously, he’s trouble. I can’t believe you’re going out with him.” Your friend scoffed, turning off the end of the Bengals game.

“He’s not trouble!” You defend him. “Really, he’s a nice guy!”

“Oh really? Is that why you’ve refused to tell your parents you’re dating him?”

“They’re just not big Bengal fans. It has nothing to do with Joe.” You lied as your friend rolled her eyes.

You had been secretly dating Joe Burrow, the Cincinnati Bengals Quarterback for 7 months now. It’s true, most people weren’t fond of Joe. He comes across as cocky, rude, and privileged. Plus his current bad boy edit doesn’t help much. Joe had recently gotten himself into trouble. He’s found a love for partying, blowing his money, and being reckless. All causing excess fame and a negative spotlight, something you wanted to avoid.

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he got suspended from games for legal trouble? Or has shown up to practice violently hungover?”

“How’d you hear about that?” You questioned.

She laughed, “It’s all over the news. He’s gonna get himself into some real trouble and not have a career here soon.”

“He’s working on turning things around. Really. I swear.” You do your best to defend him again. You seem to be doing that a lot lately. “Plus we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. I’m just having fun.”

“I know, and I’m happy for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But I know none of that is going to change your mind, so go have fun tonight.”

“I love you. If my mom asks, I’m here!” You remind her and head out the door, “Your pizza should be here soon and I logged into my Netflix account!” You figured if your friend has to spend the night posted up in her room to cover for you, you might as well take care of her.

You hopped into your car and headed over to Joes house, he was throwing a party after the game. Joe’s parties were always fun, usually a little wild, and typically ended with the police kicking people out and shutting things down. As much as Joe was trying to work past his bad boy edit, he couldn’t help it. He’s young and having fun.

The loud music from Joe’s house is rattling your car as you pull into his driveway. He’s outside on the porch with some teammates smoking a cigar.

As you walk through his thick cloud of smoke and clear the air in front of your face with your hand, Joe pulls you into a hug.

“There’s my baby.” His words slurred, you’re unsure if it’s from alcohol or the thick cigar pressed between his lips.

“Hi, Joey.” You wrap your arms around his waste and snuggle into his chest. “Good game, congrats on the win.”

He pulls the cigar from his mouth, “I want you to come to the next one.” He smiles.

“Me? At the game? Isn’t it in a different state?” You question, suddenly nervous. You and Joe had been casually dating, nothing was public yet.

“The next home game.” He laughs, blowing a thick cloud of smoke over your head. “2 weeks.”

“I’ll think about it.” You try and reassure him.

“Think about it?” He asks offended.

“Well, yeah..I don’t… I’m not sure…” you feel his arms drop from around you. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go public yet.” You nervously tell him.

“It’s a football game. Not a red carpet.” He says annoyed.

“I know but…”

He cuts you off “It’s fine. Don’t come.”

“Joe I want to!” You reassure him.

“Seems like it.” He scoffs before heading inside, you following close behind.

“Joe I do! Really, there’s nothing I’d love more! I just still haven’t told many people about us, and you know, you haven’t had the best press lately and I don’t want to mess that up anymore for you and I just worry that-“

He presses the cigar to your mouth “take this.” He laughs cutting you off. “I’m sorry about the press. I’m working on it. Tomorrow I have a fun event at the elementary school. Next week, the high school. And the whole team is volunteering at the blood drive. Nothing but positive press up until the game.”

“Wow, what’s next? Taking a shift at the old folks home? Serving in the soup kitchen?” You tease.

He rolls his eyes, “So are you coming to the game or not?”

“I guess you better find me a Burrow jersey, because I’ll be there.” You smile.

The rest of the night is a blur. Lots of drinks, lots of dancing, too many sweaty bodies, and even louder music. You wake up the next morning tangled up in bed with Joe. His heavy arm around your waste and soft breathing on the backside of your neck. You slowly loosen his grip and start to make your way out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grumbles, barely audible.

“Home.” You slip your shoes on. “And you need to get up too. Your elementary school meet and greet starts in 45 minutes.” You sit down on the side of the bed again. “I don’t think the elementary school principal appreciates his guest of honor showing up smelling like a mini bar.”

“You’re probably right.” He slowly starts to sit up. “I’ll reserve some spots for you for the game.” He says. “Any request on where you want to sit?”

All the nerves come back. “Doesn’t matter.” You smile at him, wishing you could avoid the game all together. It’s not that you were ashamed to be with him, you were just anxious about what people, especially your parents will say. “I’m gonna get out of here.” You quickly excuse yourself, not sure if the sudden butterflies in your stomach are from drinking too much, or the next home game.

You call your best friend on your way and tell her all about the game.

“You’re gonna have to tell your parents.”

“I can’t! They will freak if they find out I’ve been dating him!”

“So are you going to keep your relationship a secret forever?”

“I don’t know I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Well scratch that thought, it’s not a secret anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check your phone.”

As you pull in your parents drive way, you pull out your phone to see a news article your friend sent you, a picture of you and Joe is on the front page. “Where did you find this?” You panicked.

“I was just checking E! News. It looks like every major magazine is covering it now!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You sigh, “I have to tell them now. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you later. I’ll probably need some support.”

“Good luck!” She says and ends the call.

“You’re WHAT?” You dad hollers, slamming down the news paper he was reading.

“Dad, he’s a nice guy. Really I -“

“No. The little romance you guys having going on is over. I can’t believe this. You’re such a good girl, why would you want to be with someone like him?”

“He’s nothing like what the press makes him out to be. He’s actually really kind, and supportive, and is volunteering a lot for the community.”

“I don’t care if he’s the president. You are not being seen with someone like him.”

“About that..”

“What?”

“Well the news got pictures of me at his house last night and leaked a story.” You hide your face in your hands.

“At his house?” Your mom questions. “So you’ve been lying to us? Clearly he’s a bad influence to be hanging around.”

“I lied because I knew you would react like this. You’re not even giving him a chance.”

“I’ve never seen you defend someone like this. What is going on?”

“I’m…”

Your dad crosses his arms across his chest “I’m in love with him. And I’m going to be with him and support him no matter how you feel. You don’t know him like I do.”

“I’ve never seen you fight for someone like this.”

“Because, I love him.”

Your dad sighs, “I don’t know if I like the sound of that. But I’m willing to give him a chance. Why don’t you invite him over.”

“Really?!”

“Like I said,” he pauses, “I’m not crazy about him, but I can tell that you, and for that reason, I want to get to know him.”

A few hours later, Joe shows up on your front porch and confidently knocks on the front door.

“Hi Joey.” You greet him with a smile and hug. “You look great… did you iron your shirt?” You tease him, brushing a hand across his perfectly pressed shirt.

“Steamed it actually.” He smiles, “I wanted to make a good impression.” He nervously takes your hand and follows you into the house.

“Mom, Dad, this is Joe.” You awkwardly present him to your parents.

He politely shakes their hands and takes a seat at the table next to you.

You feel his hand find its way to your thigh, his palms are sweaty, and his fingers are nervously tapping across your leg. You reassuringly take his hand into yours and lightly rub across the top and share a confident smile.

At the end of dinner, you and Joe excuse yourselves and you walk him to the porch.

“They loved you.” You kiss him.

“I’m so relieved.”

“My dad even wants to go to the game with me!”

He laughs, “I’ll get extra tickets.”

Relieved that your parents were pleased with Joe, you walked him out, he kissed you goodnight, and you sent him on his way home.

It’s official and the world knows, you’re in love with Joe Burrow.

[icallhimjoey]

Explain Us

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: So, more than flatmates... but, what exactly? Would be fantastic if you would just, you know, talk about it. But communicating is not your strong suit and you're extremely certain that it's fine. Confusing and vague, but, fine.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, a continuation of define close, no need to read it to enjoy this, though it will help!, language

Author’s note: yea joe fucked up. not talking is fixing exactly nothing between the two of you. but we can be adults about this, can't we? (we can't)

Wordcount: 4.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You’d held on extra tight all night.

Squeezed with your fingers, your arms all tense, because what if Joe wasn’t joking and this was the last time you’d get him all to yourself like this? There was this shared invisible way of being that you’d created together which you had always pretended was just normal flatmate behaviour.

It wasn’t.

Of course it fucking wasn’t. And now that Joe had casually said he was moving, your brain seemed to have shut down.

Just touch. Keep touching.

What would you even be to each other if not flatmates? If forced proximity wasn’t working in your favour anymore?

Just friends?

You had to swallow down bile at the mere suggestion of being just friends with Joe.

Flatmates was such a safe way to describe each other.

It just meant, yea, we live in the same space. We share our comfort zone. We see each other a lot and are kind of like family a little, just because of that.

People never asked questions.

There was no need to explain how well you knew each other. How much time you spent together. People would hear 'flatmate' and would assume.

They would assume wrong, because there definitely was more there. But it wasn’t weird when they witnessed you laughing at inside jokes together. Or if they heard you ripping each other to shit until you ended up in a weird wrestle that didn’t stop until someone knocked an elbow to a table top too hard. Or if they heard you casually talk to Joe through a door whilst he was sat on the toilet without acknowledging that he was, you know, actively sat on the toilet.

The term flatmate was safe.

But it was also scary.

Because how many of the other flatmates you’d ever had did you still speak to?

Precisely none.

Not that you’d had many previous flatmates. But still. You didn’t speak with any of those people anymore. They were now merely vague acquaintances that held a spot on your Facebook friend list, which was utterly meaningless, because who even still used Facebook these days?

They’d been chapters in your life that you’d so easily moved on from.

People who, if you’d see them down an isle in a shop, you’d avoid them at all costs and pretend you hadn’t seen them.

You’d never even fully considered that Joe would also one day turn into a chapter of your life that you’d have to avoid in a supermarket and wasn’t that just the most fucked up stupid thing you’d ever even heard?

You knew you were avoidant.

Didn’t really dabble in foolish shit like confrontation.

So it made sense that you weren’t exactly doing so great now that you were being confronted with how avoidant you actually were.

Joe said he was going to move out.

The pile of clothes outside of his wardrobe suddenly made sense.

Had he not said anything before? Had you just not paid attention? Not registered what you didn’t feel like registering? Was your brain working against you with that much conviction?

Felt wild.

But it took you maybe five seconds to decide that you were not going to freak out.

You could be totally cool about this.

Have a night of cuddled up sleep like Joe hadn’t just said he was going to leave you after you’d properly fucked for the first time and, if you wanted to freak out later, you could do that by yourself in a locked bathroom with the shower running after he’d moved out.

So you tried to sleep.

Couldn’t. Because your mind kept going.

But you tried.

Tried relaxing every time you noticed that your fingers were digging into his flesh.

Couldn’t.

But you tried.

And Joe’d just fallen asleep like he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb into his bed. Like everything wasn’t suddenly shattering all around you. Wasn’t all falling apart. Wasn’t forcing you to slip on your armor, your mask, your disguise. The one you’d wear when you and Joe were around others. Where you pretended to be normal and helpful and friendly and not touching and kissing and essentially licking each other all over.

You’d have to wear the disguise for Joe.

What a disgusting turn of events.

Could you blame him? Yes.

Were you going to? No.

You could be the cool girl. Keep Joe around. Not scare him off with questions like, “How long have you known about this?” and, “Is this legally even allowed?” and, “What the fuck do you even think you’re doing?”. Questions that definitely all needed answers, but you weren’t going to ask them.

You’d learn the answers along the way, you were sure.

Cool girl.

Come dawn, you had managed to stuff your own emotions down somewhere deep. Hoped they’d stay down there until you decided they could bubble back up.

You also hoped that where your cheekbone pressed into his hair would somehow leave a bruise there. On both of you. So he could feel and see how fucked up this was.

Joe’s alarm went, and you swallowed all feelings even further down.

Closed your eyes and felt Joe stir.

Felt him remove the arm that had stayed in place around your waist to turn the alarm off.

Heard him groan and move back to snuggle up close again, and for a minute, you decided to fully just enjoy it for what it was. Closeness with the guy you liked.

Fuck.

The guy you liked.

You let a hand snake into his hair as you felt him burrow back into your neck. Classic five-more-minutes move. When you softly scratched at his scalp, Joe moaned.

All drawn out.

All sleepy.

“Gon’ make me drool,” he croaked, voice hoarse and low. “Fall back asleep.”

You could burst at the seams with how much you wanted that.

Tightening up a leg around his, you used your other hand to lightly stroke fingers up and down his back and felt how Joe sank deeper.

Was this not the nicest thing ever?

Was Joe not going to fucking miss this?

Why the fuck was he going to move?

Joe allowed himself your touches for a few more minutes before a forced deep inhale pulled him from your grasp on him. It was still dark outside, and when Joe disappeared for a morning shower, you contemplated your next move.

Go to your own bed, fall back asleep, and then hopefully sleep through the whole day?

Or go wash your face, do your make-up, and get ready for the day?

Or have breakfast now, and disappear into your bathroom when Joe would have his?

Yea.

That seemed smart.

Breakfast now and then get ready for the day when Joe would come in to have his.

You got out of Joe’s bed, let your eye fall on the big pile of clothes and decided that, in some weird sort of passive-aggressive-possessive way of feeling, that you deserved one of his hoodies.

That you could wear that today.

Make him see something.

You didn’t fully know what, exactly, but it felt right.

You fished one out, not even one that sort of looked like one of yours, and took it.

Get fucked, Joe.

You only just finished a bowl of granola when Joe stepped into the kitchen, his phone and a balled up pair of socks in hand.

“Movers should be here soon,” he checked the time on his phone, tried to make conversation maybe, but you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want to talk about it.

You watched him hike one knee up to put a sock on, balancing unsteadily on one leg, and then as you walked past him to leave the room, you couldn’t help but let a hand slide across his back.

Last time you got to do that? Maybe.

Shit.

About 10 minutes later the doorbell went and you checked out the window to see a large moving van waiting outside.

When you moved house, you did that by forcing your friends and family to come haul cardboard boxes for you, and you’d thank them by having cheap beers in your new place that didn’t have any unpacked furniture yet.

Not Joe.

Joe got a company to come do all the work for him.

Three men brought in stacked up big industrial strength plastic moving bins and big rolls of plastic sheeting and... it was actually real.

Joe was moving out.

You didn’t even know where to. You could guess. But you didn’t know anything.

You hid in your bedroom for most of it. Made tea with your back turned to all the chaos at one point, but truly didn’t involve yourself in any of the chaos.

From your bedroom you heard Joe pointing out what needed packing. What didn’t need packing. What needed extra care.

It didn’t take all that long. Just as well. Joe was paying these people.

You listened to Joe tell one of them that someone was at the other address, so they were good to head over. Said he’d meet them there later.

The front door shut, and you stared at your bedroom door for a moment. Tried to imagine what Joe’s bedroom looked like now, all empty. And the living room, now without the big cabinet Joe kept old DVDs in that he never watched but didn’t want to get rid of, because teenage-him had begun a collection, and these were the best films.

You kind of didn’t want to see it. The new emptiness.

But then a soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yea?” So casual. So laid-back.

Slowly, your door opened, and Joe got to see how you sat on the edge of your bed, heels on the frame, knees to your chest, wearing his hoodie.

Joe leant in the doorframe, head tilted to the side, hands in his pockets, and he looked at you like he felt sorry a little. Apologetic in the worst way. You kind of hated it, but you didn’t want to let him see.

Cool girl.

“Wanna come see the new place?” he asked it like he really hoped you’d say yes but fully expected you to say no.

Which was exactly why you were not going to say no.

“Sure.” you shrugged.

“Yea?”

You got up and grabbed your phone, took it off its charger and pretended to check something, mostly to avoid eye-contact and seem all casual as you said, “Yea, why not. I can help you unpack. Don’t have anything better to do.”

Joe didn’t move aside when you stepped closer, and when you looked up, you were met by his little smile, tongue pushed into his cheek whilst his eyes scanned you up and down a second.

Be cool.

You didn’t know if you wanted Joe to say anything about the hoodie you were wearing.

“Or not, if you don’t want my help?” you shrugged again, face blank, and Joe fucking saw right through you.

He chuckled to himself as he removed his hands from his pockets to grab hold of you by the fabric draped over your shoulders, and he pulled you in for a hug.

One that you didn’t return.

“Don’t have to help,” Joe muttered as he squeezed you tight and, yea okay. So, you didn’t get your arms involved, but you could definitely rub your face into his chest a second.

Feel his strong embrace and close your eyes a second.

Smell him a second.

“Won’t put you to work, just want you to come see.”

Cool girl.

Just friends now.

Future acquaintances.

Strangers, eventually.

Joe hugged you even tighter until it became so tight it was funny.

“Fine.” you sarcastically complained, voice all constricted because Joe wasn’t letting up. “Won’t lift a finger.”

You avoided looking at the empty spaces in your flat that used to hold Joe’s things and then left the flat together.

On your way to Joe’s new place you walked side by side and you kept your eyes on the pavement for most of it. Kept your arms crossed over your front. Made sure you were extra spatially aware, because Joe had said that you always bumped into him when you walked together, and you were ready to prove him wrong, prove that you were actually an excellent walking-partner.

Like that was something that was on Joe’s mind right now.

Like he wasn’t in the middle of moving house.

And then, Joe talked.

And you just listened. Nodded along. Went, “Oh, all right.” and, “That’s cool.” and, “Mhmm.” a bunch.

There were several months left on the lease, and Joe offhandedly said it was taken care off, that you didn’t need to worry, like it wasn’t a huge sum of money he was talking about.

Said it would give you some time and space to find someone else, a new flatmate, no rush.

Said his new flat was really nice, and Joe said that like your flat wasn’t.

Said his new flat was in a really nice area. Like your flat wasn’t.

It was.

But, you understood that this one was likely nicer.

You didn’t comment or ask any questions. It just was what it was and you were going to have to deal with the reality of the situation whether you wanted to or not.

No point in pushing anything.

Best to just go with the flow.

You weren’t enjoying the flow, but you were definitely letting it float you downstream.

Joe’s dad was over at his new place now, and halfway there, Joe got a call from him. The movers had arrived, and was there a way to prop the front door open, did Joe know?

Joe didn’t know, but he said he’d be there soon.

Said he was bringing an extra pair of hands and looked at you as he said it. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, and Joe quickly said, eyes.

He was bringing an extra pair of eyes.

However, you were absolutely going to be helping, you knew. Roll up your sleeves and do some heavy lifting, if only to keep yourself busy. And you’d be silly about it, rolling eyes and sighing loudly, all heavy with pretend annoyance, sarcastically exclaim “I thought I was meant to just come over and get a tour?” and then his dad would make fun of Joe for being less of a help than you, and Joe would scoff loudly and stumble through excuses, and then you would flex an unimpressive bicep, and you’d all laugh.

Nothing was going to be a problem unless you made it one.

And then it sort of went like you had predicted.

You walked past the moving van, ended up helping getting furniture into the lift, and the first thing his dad saw of you was your back as he held a door open so you and Joe could carry a cabinet inside.

Then, quickly, before his dad could launch a million questions at him, Joe invited you on a grand tour of the place. Made his dad smile as he listened to his son saying stupid things like, “This is the living room that won’t have a sofa for at least six more weeks because apparently delivering sofas takes for fucking ever...” and, “Here we have a lovely view of, just... other flats, no, don’t actually look, it’s not a nice view, but it’s fine, I didn’t buy the place for the view, looking outside is overrated...” and, “Instead, be impressed with the size of the kitchen, and ignore the mystery drawer that we’ve not been able to open yet.”

Idiot.

Fuck.

Joe was really moving into his own flat. One roughly the same size as yours. Not even that much nicer, you thought, as he showed you ‘round.

But it was all his, and he seemed proud and embarrassed about it, which was devastatingly cute.

You were obviously going to kind about it. Be all impressed. Be a good friend. Postpone the supermarket-avoiding by actually being friendly.

“This is so nice!” you said after you’d gotten to see all rooms. His bed had been taken apart and movers had just placed the pieces of it in a stack alongside one of his bedroom walls, mattress wrapped in plastic stood upright next to it.

Felt stupid, because that wasn’t your bed, but... that was kind of your bed.

“Yea, you think? Not too flashy?”

It wasn’t flashy at all. The bathrooms didn’t look like they’d been redone since 2004, maybe.

“Just that you were able to buy it,” you joked, but weren’t wrong. Buying property in this area of London was absolutely the most ostentatious thing Joe’d ever done. “Everything else? Shockingly normal. There’s Ikea flatpacks in the hallway for fuck’s sake!”

Joe laughed, which in turn made you laugh, and fuck off, you were sort of killing this cool girl thing.

Made Joe laugh when in all honesty you didn’t think he was allowed to feel all joyful right now.

Well, he did.

This was a big deal.

And it wasn’t like you were going to be flatmates forever, were you?

People moved on. People found new phases of life. Next steps. Onto bigger and better things.

In Joe’s laughter, he bent. Leant back with his eyes squeezed shut, reached a hand out to balance himself and it was fine when he just grabbed your arm. You had your arms crossed over your chest, protective and closed off, so a hand gripping a bicep just to keep a body from falling over was fine. You were laughing too, it was fine.

But then Joe used his grip to pull you closer and slung his other arm over your shoulder, and with your arms still folded, Joe pulled you right into him as he hugged you.

You accepted it, but you didn’t.

Wanted to unfold your arms and make your fronts touch, but you didn’t.

Wanted to violently push him away and scream and cry because why hadn’t he fucking said anything.

But you didn’t.

Instead of all those things, you just tensed up in Joe’s hold. Locked your shoulders and bit at the inside of your lip and prayed Joe wouldn’t notice.

Joe immediately noticed.

Without letting go, Joe moved his head back just far enough to get a look at your face. He could easily detect the upset. Could easily see how exhausted you were. Joe saw the anger, the frustration, the sadness all covered in a light sheen of fatigue. And Joe also witnessed from up close how you were working really hard to hide all of that.

Like you could ever hide shit from him.

Like Joe wasn’t fucking trained to snuff it out on you.

Like he hadn’t felt you grasp onto him for dear life all night. Like he hadn’t seen the hunched up shoulders. Like your arms hadn’t been protectively crossed, literally hugging yourself, since you’d left your flat.

And he’d been waiting.

Always waited.

You always took the lead on everything. Steered this ship over dark seas with waves so high, Joe couldn’t see past them until whatever new thing you’d introduced into your friendship became normal and routine. It was safer that way. Have you call the shots.

But he understood waiting had been the wrong move here, and it was already too late when he realised he should’ve said something so much sooner. He just hadn’t wanted to have that awkward conversation. You never talked. But he should have. He knew he should have.

And now seemed as good a time as any to still try his hand at it.

“Hey,” Joe soft said, and gave you a little shake.

You took it as a way of Joe trying to cheer you up and get you to smile.

So you did.

Just smiled.

“No, don’t– you can be honest,” Joe pulled away a little more, getting a better look at you. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

An invitation to yell at him.

But your smile only grew, and for a moment, Joe almost believed it was real.

“Well, I’m thinking...” you said it in a humorous way, and stopped the moment before it could even become sincere.

Joe gave it one more try, though.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how I–...”

“I think that wall needs a splash of colour. Bit of paint.”

You didn’t want to talk about it.

You and Joe never talked.

Not talking felt important now.

You needed the not-talking now more than ever and Joe couldn’t taint what you barely even had right now with talking. You were trying so hard, and having him try to suddenly talk seemed so unfair.

So you looked past him, looked at one of his bedroom walls and changed the course of conversation to safer waters.

You felt how Joe’s eyes scanned your face a second. Saw him give in. Felt like he owed it to you to let you call the shots, because he’d made the mistake of not saying anything.

Joe turned around and looked at the same wall for a second before he turned his head to squint at you, countering lightly, “Do I really need to?”

You squinted right back, “I don’t think you really want my honest opinion.”

You knew Joe was going to keep all his walls white. Keep it safe. Keep it boring.

“But you know what would look really nice? Big palm in that corner.”

You tried to keep the mood fun and playful and hoped you could make him laugh again. Which, he did. Joe did laugh. But only for a second, because, “Oh! That reminds me!” and without explaining what reminded him of what, he walked out.

You hesitated to follow, unsure if you wanted to continue this weird interaction with other people present. The hesitation was only short, because it only took a few seconds for Joe to jog back down the hallway and–

Your stomach dropped.

No.

The small crispy wave plant.

What?

Joe proudly raised the little pot he was holding in his hand and walked it over to place it in the window. Then he stepped back and admired it and–

No.

That was– no but, that was yours now. That had gotten moved into your bedroom and, yea, all right, you kept calling it Joe’s plant, but he was the one that kept correcting that it was in your bedroom.

When had he even taken that?

Had he just gone in and grabbed it in those three minutes you’d gone to make tea?

What the actual fuck?

Then Joe turned to look at you, smiled and said, “It's a start?” as he shrugged one shoulder and, no. It fucking wasn’t. That couldn’t be a start. That plant didn’t belong in here.

And neither did his bed, all taken apart.

Neither did he.

All of this was yours, everything inside of this room belonged to you, and if you had arms big enough you’d grab everything and haul it right back, what the fuck was he even thinking?

But then, “Joe?” his dad called him to the living room. Movers had questions. With a final squeeze of a shoulder, you were left in Joe’s new bedroom by yourself.

With his disassembled bed.

Wrapped up mattress.

And that stupid plant.

Which, not yours, apparently.

But you know what?

If not yours, then also not his.

You stepped closer. Touched a leaf with a careful hand. It really was a nice little plant. So vibrantly green. You knew Joe was so pleased with the pot he’d chosen. It was nothing special, but he’d mentioned it a little too often to know he wasn’t being normal about it.

But if not yours, then also not his.

Like a cat, you pressed a finger to the side and slowly pushed it. Made it slide across. Watched as the sun danced over the wavy leaves until it just... slipped off.

Just like that.

Crashed to the floor.

Potting soil spilled.

Plant pot cracked right down the center.

Good.

If not yours, then also not his.

You left right after that. Walked straight out. Ignored Joe as he called after you and took the stairs instead of the lift. Were quick, moved your legs as fast as they could go without turning it into a run.

A deep frown stayed etched into your forehead until you got home, where you angrily shook your coat off like your coat was the one that told you it was moving less than eight hours before the movers showed up.

Where you then also angrily pulled off Joe’s hoodie because fuck him.

Where you rushed into your bedroom and let yourself drop down onto the bed face first.

Where you let yourself cry in heaving sobs.

Where you heard your phone ring and pushed it off the bed when you saw it was Joe trying to reach you.

Where you finally looked up to look at your window.

And saw Joe’s stupid little plant there.

Unmoved.

Uncracked pot. Soil still inside. Leaves soaking up the sunlight.

And–

Fuck.

So much for being a cool girl.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[mamaestapa]

maybe joe gushes about you in an interview or post game press conference, maybe even like a speech from winning something

My Girl|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: During a post game press conference, Joe gushes about getting to spend the bye week with you

•warnings: none, all fluff

“So Joe, first of all congrats on the win.”

Joe nodded as he spoke, “It’s always good to, to win against a team like them.”

The Bengals had just beaten the Chiefs 23-20. The entire game was close, each team going back and forth with scoring. With just seconds left, Evan McPherson scored the game winning field goal, giving the Bengals another win before their mid season bye week.

“What are your plans for the bye week?” another reporter asked, causing Joe to move his gaze to the female reporter. He nodded as she continued.

“Watch film? Practice? Work out? Relax?” the reporter finished with a chuckle. A small smile made its way onto to Joe’s face as he answered the question.

“Yeah I plan on relaxing a bit, take a little break from the heavy workouts. I’ll definitely some film though, gotta keep that win streak going when we get back.” he smirked. Joe loved winning. Especially against the Chiefs. The Bengals were never the favored team when they play the Chiefs. It always felt good to prove all of their doubters and haters wrong.

He cleared his throat, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he spoke, “But uh, I’m actually going to spend most of it with Y/n, my girlfriend. She’s got some family in another state that we’re going to visit for a few days, take a mini vacation. I don’t get to spend a lot of time with her during the season, so I’m very excited.”

“Awe,” the reporter cooed, “I bet she’s excited too.”

Joe nodded, a smile pulling at his lips, “Yeah, she is. Like I said, she and I don’t get much time with just the two of us during the season. It’ll be good for us to take a little vacation together away from football.” He gushed as he talked about you.

“And you’ve been with her for how many years now?”

“Four. Met her my last year at LSU.” Joe said, a happy smile on his face.

You met Joe after the season opener in 2019. You were at your best friends house who happened to be dating someone on the football team at the time. The two of them were throwing a party and you and Joe both happened to be invited. He met you while you were pouring yourself a drink. The two of you hit off instantly, the night ending with him asking you out on a date. You went on a date in downtown Baton Rouge Friday after your classes and the rest was history.

“Do you guys take many vacations during the off-season?”

Joe shook his head, “Not really. We usually take one or two, but we like to stay in Cincinnati or Athens. But the off-seasons nice cause I get to spend all of it with my girl, so yeah.” Joe smiled. He didn’t talk about you often in interviews or press conferences because he liked to keep that part of his life pretty private. However, Joe didn’t mind gushing about you or your relationship every once in a while. The fans deserved to know how much he adores you.

A different reporter spoke up, “Will we be seeing an engagement in the future?”

Joe shrugged as a sly grin made its way onto his face, “Maybe.”

That’s all the confirmation the reporters and the football world needed. You were going to be Joe Burrow’s girl forever.

hey loves!!

first blurb of the night!🤩 this was a bit on the shorter side, but all blurbs will be different lengths depending on the concept and idea i get.

i’ll be posting some more in a bit :)

feel free to send me more ideas!! i won’t get to them tonight, but definitely in the next couple blurb nights!🤍

[sourholland]

WELCOME TO THE STYLE MASTERLIST

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → hope u guys like this :)

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 6

“It’s one picture, don’t drive yourself crazy over it,” Joe’s voice came through your phone. “I get why you’re freaking out, but I think we both agree that it could be a lot worse.”

“That’s the problem. This was our first time out together, who’s to say there aren’t more pictures like this but worse? We haven’t exactly been careful about seeing each other, Joe.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his car air conditioner creating a white noise in the background of your phone call. He texted you back almost instantaneously after you sent him the screenshot from Twitter. He said he would have to tell his coaches he was having an important family matter so that they would allow him to walk out to take the call in the middle of analyzing game film. It took him all but five minutes to get outside and phone you.

“I know,” he sighed, inhaling a quick breath before he spoke again. “We’ll be better about stuff, you know I’ll make sure I’m not so–”

“It’s more than that and you know it. This doesn’t just end with one shitty photo on Twitter, it only gets worse from here. It makes no difference if we’re trying harder to sneak around because at some point one of us is going to fuck up, that’s if we already haven’t and don’t know, and then would all of this have been worth it?” You snapped at him, thankful he could not see the tears threatening to spill over and dampen your cheeks. “The fucking around and being casual hookup buddies. Will it have been worth it? Maybe for you, but that’s because you’re Joe Burrow and we both know we’re not even in remotely similar spots in this situation.”

“What are fucking talking about? That’s all bullshit, you know that’s bullshit,” his voice raised slightly, a twinge of hurt evident. “Look, Y/N–I understand that we aren’t exactly in the same position, but that doesn’t make it fair for you to act like none of this matters to me or whatever the fuck you’re going on about as far as all of this being worth it. What’s going on between us has never had anything to do with me, or my name, or what position I hold on the team.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Of course it has something to do with who you are, it always had something to do with who you are and you can’t seriously tell me you don’t know that. You’re in the NFL and a star quarterback for fucks sake. You went to the Super Bowl last year! You can’t seriously sit here and tell me we’re risking the same things?”

The line was quiet, save for the sound of both of you breathing. Perhaps you were being petty, but Joe was being inconsiderate of what a loss of job would mean for you. He sounded hurt by the fact that the two of you hooking up was not a good enough reason to lose out on the extra money. The public humiliation you would receive was a whole different factor to be conquered in itself. While you might not know what this was like for him, he sure as hell wouldn’t ever know what it is like for you. 

Social status and money were such fickle things, seemingly unimportant in some scenarios until suddenly they became the center of the universe again. Joe would never again live a fully mundane life, he couldn’t see through the eyes of a college student who already had trouble making ends meet. It felt so unfair to know how this story would end, however if you could potentially stop it from being made worse, you might be thankful in the long run. 

“You’re right, that was a stupid thing for me to say. But Y/N, I’m just as much in this as you. It’s not easy for me either.”

“It shouldn’t have to be hard,” you sighed, face hot with emotion as you stared downward at your feet. “I just feel like we might be better off leaving this where it is, you know? Before things get messy. Which they will, you know they will.”

Joe didn’t speak at first, his silence left a sharp ache to burrow itself deep within your ribcage. His voice came out firm but hoarse, “If that’s what you want.”

As your breath grew slightly ragged, you realized that you hadn’t been preparing for his nonchalant response. Selfishly, you let a hand slide to your chest and then throat as you swallowed and attempted to formulate a response to his words. The line was silent, save for the sound of Joe’s breathing. 

“Is that what you want?” You asked him.

“It seems like that’s what you want, seeing as you were the one who brought it up. And if this is just sex then why should it matter?” said Joe, his tone defensive and his voice breathier than usual. “This is just sex to you, right?”

No, you wanted to shout at him. This is so much more than sex and you know that, but the second you said it aloud it could not be taken back and then things truly became complicated. Joe wished to provoke you, the tone of his voice said as much. This annoyed you, his desire to make this even more difficult for you. 

“What do you want me to say to that?” 

“It’s a simple question,” Joe hurled, clearly irritated.

“No, it’s not. You know that,” you sniffled. “How I feel about you doesn’t matter when we’re in this situation, anyway.”

“Bullshit, it’s not a simple question because you’re making it complicated. How you feel doesn’t matter because you say it doesn’t matter,” Joe answered furiously. “Look, I have to get back inside, but I just want to say that you saying all of this right now is really fucking selfish. Especially after all of the mixed signals you send… I never know what you actually want from me. One second you’re pissed off at the idea of me even seeing another girl and now you’re breaking stuff off with me over the phone.”

You flinched at his assessment, “I’m just trying to do the right thing for both of us.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The line went dead and you knew he had hung up, frustrated with you and the entire situation. You let your hands run over your face, feeling a deep pain in your chest as you buried your face into the blankets on your couch that still held his distant scent. He surely hated now, unable to comprehend how deep your feelings for him went. Much deeper than his for you, you were sure of. When you told him that your relationship would grow messy, you hadn’t been lying. However, a piece of you was not solely referring to the conflict within your work. 

You debated calling him back, but knew that he would have already made it back into the facility. He sounded so upset with you, more so than he had ever been before. Joe was usually quite relaxed and level-headed, though now he was most definitely frustrated by the argument itself. 

Joe made no other attempts to contact you for the remainder of the day. That night, you let your phone sit idly by as you made dinner and still nothing. Maybe the two of you had broken up, that was what you had insisted anyways. He made you act like a complete idiot sometimes, thoughts skewed and rash as if you were once again sixteen. Nothing about Joe was in disarray, he always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say and do. It never came out awkward or clunky, despite how he described his usual anxiety during interviews.

Attempting to sleep was difficult, your mind racing a mile a minute. Thoughts of Joe persisted, leaving you ridden with guilt and sadness about the supposed no contact. You knew not to text, though. Not only would it have been unfair to you, but Joe as well. There was also the fact that it would never work between the two of you, the carousel of disappointment and pain was unavoidable. 

⋆------------⋆

The Bengals lost their next preseason game against the Giants, the game was close but ended the same as the Cardinals had. The only difference in this game was Joe’s attendance, he wore a headset on the sidelines with his coaches as the team played. Still out on injury, he was helping to give instruction to his teammates most of the game. 

You had briefly locked eyes with Joe before the game began, everyone scrambling about to get into positions. His expression was blank, as if he had no idea who you were and there was never anything there. Your eyes raked over him, the way that the shirt he wore hugged his biceps and back. Joe spared the cheerleaders more glances than usual this game, watching more than he ever had time to while playing. You caught his lingering gaze once or twice, mind racing.

The final preseason game against the Rams played out the exact same, save for the fact that the Bengals won. It had been two weeks between the game and the morning of yours and Joe’s heated argument. The post on Twitter had somewhat died off at twenty thousand likes and his fans eventually found something new to speculate about. 

Sydney and Lena were absolutely furious when you divulged all information regarding the fight you had caused, earning a few much deserved playful swots to the arm. They attempted to coerce you into calling him and smoothing things over, insisting that you shouldn’t just end things on such an awful note. Once you explained more of the predicament and how you felt no desire to be ripped apart on the internet or by your coaches, both girls simply sighed and nodded at your decision. They understood how difficult it was for you, especially after silent tears had begun to fall during the long winded explanation of how seriously NFL executives and management took player-cheerleader fraternization and how it would unfortunately not just be swept under the rug when you two inevitably got caught.

The wallowing in self-pity lasted for another week before the girls had finally called for the bedrotting to end, “Babe, don’t cry. Come on, wipe those tears. We’re going out tonight,” said Sydney, sitting criss cross on your bedroom floor. “It’s Friday night, you’re hot as fuck and you’re an NFL cheerleader. I love you so I’m going to be honest with you right now, I get that you fumbled Joe Burrow, but we both know that he was just a guy at the end of the day. So again, you are hot as fuck and we’re going out. What do I always say?”

“I’m not feeling it tonight, Syd,” your reply was muffled as you spoke into the pillow you lay face down into. “Go without me.”

“Bitch, stop. You’re going out, we’re getting fucked up. Lena’s already on her way over here and you know she’s not leaving without you so let’s go. You’ll feel better, by the time we get to the club you’re going to be like ‘Who’s Joe Burrow anyways?’”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” you sighed, turning to look up at the ceiling. “You don’t want me to come, I’m miserable and sad and I’m only going to spoil everyone’s fun.”

“I don’t care, Y/N. Spoil my fun, ruin my night, I’d say throw up in my clutch but you already managed that last time we went out. I just want to see you out of this bed for something other than practice, work, or class. You’re like a ghost and I’m not going to watch you throw away your senior year because of some erotic work hookup with a guy who I’m sure couldn’t even hold a candle to you,” Sydney spieled, perched on the edge of your bed. “The only way to get over a man is to get under a new one!”

Eventually Sydney did manage to get you up, it only took ripping all of the blankets off of you and hiding your phone. Once Lena came in and began tidying up the somewhat mess you’d been allowing to collect, you realized getting out was probably the best course of action. Although you had no plans of getting under any new guy, Sydney appreciated your partially willing participation once she began to do your hair and makeup. 

Lena dumped a bag of going out tops onto your bed, sifting through them and throwing each top into a certain pile. Some of them were from freshman year, leaving both you and Sydney to cringe and shout at her to make sure it went into the rapidly growing mass of ‘absolutely not’ tops. Eventually you settled for a fitted lilac top, adorned with sheer lace everywhere but the cups. Sydney wore a timeless black bodysuit that she had swiped from your closet during study abroad and Lena opted for blue slip dress and promised Sydney she would take care of her leather jacket if she let her borrow it.

The three of you Ubered to the club, knowing that you planned to drink. As soon as you slid into the backseat of the SUV, Sydney pulled her purse into her lap and was suddenly handing out shooters. There was one Malibu, a Fireball, and a Pink Whitney.

“Fuck that, I can’t even smell that shit without wanting to throw up,” you shook your head, pretending to gag in a dramatic motion. “You’re better off throwing the Pink Shitney out the window.”

“Throw up?” The driver’s head whipped towards the backseat suddenly. “No, no! If you throw up, I charge extra.”

“Nobody is going to throw up, sir,” Lena reassured him and looked back at both you and Sydney with a laugh. “Well, I don’t want it either. Rock, paper, scissors?”

Sydney and Lena went first, Lena won and chose the Malibu. You faced Sydney now, playing rock as she threw out scissors and proceeded to hunch over in fake despair as you snatched the shot of Fireball. Not that the taste was much better, but after a few horrible experiences with Pink Whitney during freshman year, you could no longer stomach it without revisiting the memories of endless mornings spent hugging the toilet bowl of your dorm floor after drinking with your girls and relishing in the alcohol that tastes identical to Minute Maid once you grew drunk enough.

The drive to the club was about fifteen minutes from your apartment, each of you taking a couple of photos together and dissecting Lena’s texts with her ex from the night before.Sydney was bantering with the driver once you finally pulled up beside the curb out front of the club, a considerably long queue already forming at the front door. 

“You look so hot,” Lena told you, practically skipping to join the line and get inside. “So do you, Syd.”

The bouncer worked quickly, only sending a few people away as he looked over IDs and gestured clusters inside of the club. Thankfully, your fake ID days had passed and you were finally able to toss it. Most of the drinking you had done over the course of your time at school was with small groups of girlfriends and occasionally nights spent at sleazy bars that weren’t strict about obviously fake IDs. Frats had never been your scene, although you managed to go a few times during your freshman year for the experience.

Once the three of you made it inside, Sydney immediately went to the bar after claiming the first round of drinks were on her. There were colorful lights illuminating the crowded atmosphere of those dancing and drinking with friends. The club mix that was playing boomed, your ears adjusting to the insanely loud music as Sydney approached with drinks and held up her phone to snap a photo of you and Lena.

“Drink up!” Sydney called out to both of you, taking a long sip and looking around the club in search of tonight’s target. 

It didn’t take long for Lena to pull both of you to dance, integrating yourselves with a group of sweaty, twenty-something girls who were the level of drunk you hoped to be soon enough. The floor vibrated, moisture collecting at your temples and hairline as you rocked against Sydney in a slightly buzzed bliss. One of the girls you had just met had her arms thrown around your neck, all of you singing at different pitches. 

A rotation of going to grab more drinks and then rejoining your group on the floor had begun, both you and Lena alternating who bought the next round of shots after Sydney found a cute guy at the bar to flirt with. The film of sweat clinging to your skin became unnoticeable after you grew drunk enough to stop caring, your face hot from drinking and dancing. 

“Lena!” You called over the music, drink in-hand. “I have to pee, I’ll be right back!”

“What?” She leaned in. “Bathroom? I’ll come with you!”

“No, stay! I’ll be good,” you promised, knowing she had already made two trips with you.

“You sure?”

“Yes!” You shouted over your shoulder, already making your way to the slightly grungy, low-lit bathroom.

There was a singular open stall, stray bits of toilet paper and a fake eyelash adorning the floor as you drunkenly made your way around the girls reapplying makeup in the mirror. Thoughts of the game washed over you, in turn bringing on thoughts of Joe. Something about going to the bathroom and finally having a few moments of peace allowed you to assess how intoxicated you truly were, which was considerable. The thought of talking to him outweighed the small voice of reason in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding that it would be a problem for your sober self.

As you left the bathroom, rather than going back out to dance with Lena, you leaned against the wall of the hallway and braced yourself in order to stay upright. You pulled your phone from your clutch, sighing and opening his contact. It was late, he might be asleep, you thought. Without thinking much, you dazedly pressed the call button and closed your eyes as the phone rang and you awaited his potential answer.

“Y/N,” his voice came through clear, not even taking two rings to pick up your call.

“Hi, Joe,” you concentrated very hard on your tone and slightly slurred speech, doing your best to sound sober.”M’sorry it’s so late, I just–I was thinking about you, which I know that I shouldn’t because we’re broken up but I was. I wanted to talk to you, I know you probably hate me and everything, or I hate you or whatever. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” His voice comes out level, emotionless even.

The silence between the two of you is palpable, “No,” you hiccup.

He says nothing for a few seconds, “Are you at the club?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I can hear music and people talking, it sounds like you’re in a club.”

This was wrong, you should not be calling Joe. Why couldn’t you shake him? After all of this, you only continued to want more. All you have done is hurt him and yourself through this situation, unable to make up your mind. Everything you have worked so hard for should be worth more than Joe Burrow, so why didn’t it feel like that?

“Yeah,” you replied, the slurring evident in your voice. “You got me.”

“This isn’t fair, YN… You calling me fucked up and out with who the hell knows isn’t right, not after you call me and tell me you would rather, ‘leave things where they are.’ I like you! I feel like I have made that incredibly obvious, and yet here we are once again.” He rattled off, voice slightly raised. “Look, I’m sorry to be an asshole but clearly you either can’t see or don’t care about how this has affected me or my life. And I get it, you’re still in college and we’re just in completely different stages of life as far as your age–”

“My age?” You finally interrupted his rambling, ready to counter him with what you would most likely regret saying tomorrow. “How come you’re suddenly so fucking mature and I’m just a kid?”

“Well for starters, you are the one who blindsided me a few weeks ago over the phone. You are the one who just called me up at one in the morning, for what? To tell me again that you don’t want to be with me? Or is this some sick joke where you apologize and then can’t remember when you wake up?” He snapped at you. “So yeah, Y/N… I would go as far as to say you’re the immature one in this situation.”

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of you, internalizing Joe’s words as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. Everything was fuzzy, your thoughts askew and irrational as you tried to compile the right words to respond with. He had never taken that tone with you before, nor had he ever sounded so hurt. Maybe he was right.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” was all you could muster without giving away how inebriated you truly are, figuring that would only make things worse. “I regret everything, all of it. We shouldn’t have started anything in the first place, but everytime you come near me it’s just so hard not to want you–” You trailed off, regret was most definitely not the right word, you mean to say that you regret how things have played out.

“Y/N, stop. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying,” he sighed. “Are you safe? Should I get you an Uber or do you have a way home?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you say quietly.

“Then I’m gonna get off of here, call me once you’ve sobered up.”

His words stung, your heart cracking at the justifiable dismissal. He was most definitely not in the wrong here, but it didn’t make it any less hard. His usual flirtation and humor was long gone, replaced by obvious disdain due to the way you had ended things. 

“Bye, Joe.”

“Get home safe, Y/N.”

taglist - @humannoodlesoup @nikkisimps @teasandcrumpets @chmpgnnlace @hummusxx @rivivie @madsblogsstuff @nngkay @raeofsunshine629 @siutforjjmaybank @alternativemadchen @ryiamarie @ohreggieboy @coldheartedmar @obsessed-fan-alert @buckystwilight @dessxoxsworld @manic-pixie-bitch2 @hallecarey1 @heyitskay-21 @stylesyourmine @toterry @countryday @adventuremood @blu3jeanbaby @sriusun @mikeyspinkcup @kittyhorror777 @riverdalexvixens @hornyforherbert @tomriddlesenchantress @nhlbabes @unsaidjaelinrose @joselyn001 @littlelou22 @harryweeniee

[radfemverity]

Tucker Carlson's interview with misogynist, human trafficker and rapist Andrew Tate has been endorsed by Elon Musk, the man who brought Tate among many other reactionary and far-right commentators back to Twitter when he purchased the platform.

There is nothing spontaneous about Musk doing this, and if you're surprised then you're a fool. This has never been about upholding free speech - hence why you've never seen any of these men promote interesting left-wing thinkers.

The ‘SJW’/‘woke’/progressive Left, as unbearably annoying as so many of them are, just keep getting proven right.

They said Nick Fuentes and Kanye were Holocaust-denying anti-semites.

They said Jordan Peterson supported rapists, and didn't believe women should have legal equality.

They said Ben Shapiro and Matt Walsh would use the gender critical movement to blame gay people and women for any and all degeneracies.

They said Tucker Carlson and Elon Musk's recent ‘free speech’ moves were about repositioning themselves so that they could more effectively elevate the voices of overt extremists.

Again and again, their accusations are ageing like fine wine. The reactionary right’s mask is well and fully off.

Andrew Tate, Elon Musk, Tucker Carlson, Jordan Peterson, Ben Shapiro, Matt Walsh, Joe Rogan, Konstantin Kissin, Paul Joseph Watson, Ian Miles Cheong, Andy Ngo, Michael Malice, Elijah Schaffer, Zuby, Milo Yionnopoulous, Tommy Robinson, Nick Fuentes, Kanye West, Donald Trump… obviously some of these men could dislike each other, I can't imagine Shapiro and Fuentes at the same house party.

But their ideal societies don't look too different. None of these mens’ do. Because any racial, religious or ethnic prejudices they have against each other will come second to their common-ground.

The organised reaction against this brand of progressivism that has rapidly come to monopolise every sector of public life in the last 10 years, is well and truly underway. Musk, Carlson and Tate have given us the sign. And while I pretty heavily dislike the current ‘woke’ progressive ideology (and have a lot of questions about its top-down cultural spread), I'm scared of these guys way more. And if you're anything but a straight man who doesn’t care about any demographic besides straight men, you should be too.

The reason I say ‘straight men’ and not ‘straight white men’ is because, come on, the reactionary right is more racially diverse than most left-wing groups at this point. 😂😂 White nationalists the world over have bent the knee to a mixed-race man who admitted moving to an Eastern European country because of their more lax laws on sexual assault, and in turn, the ease he would have in exploiting the local women in the country’s already active sex-trafficking trade.

White nationalists (whose role in the reactionary right cannot be discarded any more, after Trump and Kanye had a personal dinner with Nick Fuentes) feel more of an affiliation with a non-white, human trafficking violent rapist, despite evidence of his crimes having been public for a while now, than they do with his WHITE victims.

Jordan Peterson, whose daughter has revolved her entire public image around him, who works with and for him, and whose lingerie photographs were retweeted by him, made a dogwhistle in May about women having their right to vote retracted.

Examples of men devaluing the contributions and rights of the women in their families, communities and wider societies are withstanding the test of time, over and over again, because no matter where in the world they are, and no matter what tensions the different religions, cultures, ethnicities and races of men have with each other, there are traits that unite them all. Misogyny is the most obvious one.

The men of these diverse, far-reaching societies, in many ways feel far more of a kinship to each other, than they do to any woman, girl, gay person, disabled person, mother, child, or any other demographic.

The pendulum always swings back, and now that we know these men have got the owner of the world's biggest social media platform on their side, that is a major sign it could be coming soon. Be on guard and look after each other gyns ❤️

[hellfiremunsonn]

Why Are You So Nice To Me? Joseph Quinn x Reader

Why Are You So nice To Me?

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

SUMMARY: This new life is taking a toll on you. Desperately trying to not seem ungrateful leads you to an overstimulated panic attack that Joe helps you through.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

AN: A big thank to @creme-bruhlee​ for giving me that one liner that sparked me to finally finish this. I love u

Warnings: None really? Fem!reader, reader has a panic attack/anxiety attack, mentions and descriptions of said panic attack/anxiety attack, Joe being the softest sweetest boy, I love him. (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

Wordcount: 3069

Since the premier of Stranger Things season four my life hadn't had a moment to slow down. It was interviews after interviews, sometimes multiple ones in the same day, different hosts, different shows, websites, everything. Adding all of that with so much traveling, especially with Jospeh, Jamie, and I being three new characters; our schedules were often linked together because of it; Although now, I stood a few feet away from them, leaning against the wall closest to the elevators.

It was about 6 pm at night and I was standing in the lobby of some fancy hotel in Brazil. A white and black dress wrapped against my skin, the hot weather and sun, giving me a healthy bronzed glow. I stupidly decided on a classic pair of very high all black stilettos. I should have opted for an open toe wedged heel or something. But I wanted to impress everyone. My first acting gig, first round of interviews, first time traveling far without family, it was nerve wracking but I wanted every second of it to go well. Something I didn't think that would bother me as much as it did, was not constantly having my phone on you. I didn't realize how much I relied on it as a coping mechanism when I was anxious, or uncomfortable. It was difficult to not have that immediate distraction.

Picking at the black nail polish on my thumb I sighed heavily, trying to get myself into the proper mindset for this Stranger Things party? Event? Meet and greet? Whatever it was, I was ill prepared and uncomfortable to say the least. Jet lagged, sweaty, homesick, and anxious; but it didn't matter, not when you had fans to impress, people to impress, companies to impress. I never had a moment with my own thoughts for more than five minutes before being escorted to another room, car, or airport, it was always something. Not to say I wasn't grateful for everything because I truly was; just there's simply nothing that can prepare you for something like this. A cliche at its finest. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud at my own thoughts. Only another 'famous' person would understand, and in a way it almost felt pathetic, even if I knew it was true.  

A tap to my shoulder startled me slightly. I turned around to see Joe with a soft smile on his face.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just tired" I lied. I think he could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly but he didn't comment.

"The heat doesn't help either I don't think" He said laughing.

"God no, it makes me feel like I'm wrapped in a warm hug, but also in a warm bath? Maybe both at the same time? I don't know but either of those sound better than a party right now" I said sighing. Tapping the tip of my shoe against the shiny tiled floor.

Joe looked like he was about to say something but just as he opened his mouth, we were waved over and instructed on where to go and what to do.

The three of us stationed at the entrance of grey double doors. I stood between the two men, both of their arms coming to wrap around my waist, and mine on theirs.

"Let's get this show on the road yeah?" I said forcing a smile, glancing between the two.

The doors swung open and as the three of us sauntered in, the small but crowed room filled with applause and music begun to play. Jamie slipped his hand into mine and gave me a slow twirl to introduce me. I blushed and gave an awkward wave, and a clumsy curtsy to match his energy. Then turning to Joe, I grabbed his hand and twirled him around to do the same as Jamie did to me. Joe was far more graceful as I was and I watched as the girls swooned over him. It was hard not to, if I was being completely honest with myself; but that was another thought for another time. Right now I had to be present, and put my game face on. Which is exactly what I did. I walked around and mingled with everyone, taking pictures and answering questions as best as I could, especially without giving anything away, just incase there was anyone around who hadn't had the opportunity to finish the season just yet. The music was uncomfortably loud and I struggled to hear what people were saying, barely able to make out the often broken English, but I tried my best.

After a while I snuck away to the back of the room, attempting to people watch while I clutched my glass of ice water to my chest. A few minutes alone and hidden from the eye of people I leaned my back against the wall, trying to regulate the beating of my heart. Nothing seemed to help it, and it only became worse, at this point I was facing the wall, desperately begging myself to stop hyperventilating. I could feel my bottom lip wobbling as I tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. A hand on the small of my back startled me and I almost dropped the glass in my hands as I whipped around. It was Joesph, once again, a knight in shining armour. "What are you doing all the way over here?" He asked.

I looked at him. My heart still thumping in my chest, and I could feel words on the tip of my tongue but when I opened my mouth to speak they wouldn't come out. My brows furrowed, and the only noise I was able to make was a small whimper, but it sounded more like a choke. "Come 'ere" He said wrapping his arm around my waist. He took the glass from my hand and placed it on a nearby surface. Strategically moving around the people in the room as he lead me out and back into the lobby. Security following us quickly until we were safely out of sight from any lurking people. My chest rising and falling faster now, my hands covered my ears and my eyes were shut tight out of instinct and I didn't even realize I had done it until Joe was facing me in the elevator placing his hands over mine. My anxiety had heightened everything, every noise, and light and moment seemed all too much and I could feel myself getting overstimulated; suddenly hyper aware of how the fabric of my dress clung to me, and the way the tag was digging into my spine.

When I opened my eyes to look at him, the tears hidden behind my lids fall easily down my cheeks. When the elevator dinged he lead me down the hall; his hand still on the small of my back only letting go of me to reach out for the small bag I clutched in my hands. "Key?" He said softly and I fumble with shaky hands, pulling out the keycard to my hotel room. He took the card gently, his free hand never leaving the small of my back while he unlocked the door, encouraging me to walk in before him, stopping only a few feet from the door. He closed and locked the door behind me and came to face me again.

"What's going on?" He asked quietly, while his hands were rubbing both my arms up and down in attempts to sooth me.

"I-I just" I choked out a sob, my head falling to my chest.

"Hey you're okay, everything's okay"

I shook my head. "No, no everything is not okay, I'm not okay" I cried, pulling away from him a little more aggressively than intended. Leaning one hand on the wall I balanced on one foot ripping one of my heels off, and then doing the same with the other shoe. Chucking them onto the floor. I desperately grabbed at the back of my dress, trying to reach the zipper. "I'm losing my goddamn mind Joesph" I mumbled, through snot and tears. "I can't remember the last time I was home, or the last time I slept in a bed that wasn't in a hotel. I haven't seen my mom in months and I'm so fucking lonely and I fuck!-" I stopped trying to reach for the zipper, my hands balled into fists at my sides. I tried again to take control of my rapid breathing, I really didn't want to be having a full meltdown in front of anyone let alone Joesph but he stood there quietly and patiently, giving me the space I needed.

Calming slightly I tried reaching for my zipper again, only for it to get stuck about a quarter way down, stuck on the fabric. I tugged at it harshly before trying to pull it apart but I couldn't get a proper grip reaching behind me.

"Can I get your zipper for you?" He asked after a had a couple of minutes to lose my temper.

"Please?" I said desperately, turning around and walking back over to him, my bare feet padding against the floor. I turned around so my back was facing him, pulling my hair to the side and over my shoulder so it wasn't in the way. His fingers traced lightly against the back of my neck, moving a few pieces of hair I had missed in the process. Goosebumps coated my skin and I tried to control the shiver that attempted to surface, hiding it with a shaky inhale. He pulled at the zipper, bringing it back up and down, feeling it tug at the fabric again, even with Josephs nimble fingers.

"Just rip it-Please I need it off of me" I pleaded.

I felt him tug at it a few more times before I heard him sigh, shifting behind me. I went to turn around when his hands returned to my back and he pulled both ends of my dress apart, ripping it in one go. I gasped in relief, almost losing my balance, one of his hands coming to land firmly on my waist pulling me back into him, my back against his chest, holding me steady for a moment. The dress hung loosely under my breasts, sitting at my waist, my strapless bra keeping my chest covered.

Joesph cleared his throat and I turned my attention back to him, stepping away from him and turning to face him. He avoided looking at me, eyes looking every direction other than the one in front of him. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just n-needed to get that dress off of me" Stuttering over my words, with my body still wobbly from the anxiety.

"S'all good, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable either" He said laughing a little, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Um, a hug would be nice?" I said clenching and unclenching my hands, trying to free them from the tingling numbness that coursed through them.

His eyes softened, and I felt a fresh wave of tears form as he held his arms out to me. A small cry slipping past my lips, sounding more like a pathetic whimper as I walked into his arms, burying my face into his chest. His hands warm, one of them coming up to the small of my back, while the other cradled the back of my head. "I got you baby, don't cry, m'right here" he said quietly, into my temple. His breath warm as he placed a small kiss to the skin just before my hairline.

He began swaying slowly back and forth, and we stood there like that for a few moments before I leaned my head up to look at him, cheek still resting on his chest. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"What?" He said, pulling me away from him slightly so he could see my face better. Hands held softly onto my elbows. "What do you mean 'why' ?"

I shrugged looking down to avoid his curious eyes, a little embarrassed at my question. "I just... I dunno, I think you're the nicest man I've ever met" catching a quick glance at him, his eyes softened.

"Fucking christ" he breathed with a laugh. "You're just the sweetest thing aren't you? Bet you don't have any idea"

"Any idea about what?" I asked furrowing my brows.

"That I've been crushing on you since you walked into that room on day one of the table read" his hands coming up to rest on either side of my neck, thumbs just under my jaw. "But I don't think now is an appropriate time to tell you all this- I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you being in a vulnerable state, so just ignore me" He was blushing, and fumbling over his words, nervous after his confession. A hand coming to scratch at the scruff on his chin, he cleared his throat, turning away to the rest of the room and said "lets get you into some comfier clothes yeah? We could-"

"N-no" I stuttered, reaching out for his arm quickly. He raised a brow. "Just keep talking? It's helping" I said bashfully, arms wrapping around myself.

He smiled slightly, clearly trying to act more casual about it. "I can do that" he said with a nod.

"Just, sit on the bed o-or something, I'll um, get changed" I said while heading towards my messy suitcase, shifting through the clothes to find something better to wear while Joseph sat on the end of the bed, laying back facing the ceiling with his hands across his stomach.

"Well as I was saying" he said with a laugh. "When you walked into the room, with that big sweater- you were swimming in it but god I thought you looked adorable" he sighed. "You sat next to me, and I remember hiding my pen, just so I could ask you to borrow one, and then when you laughed? I tried so hard to play it cool, but I don't think I did very well" he paused. "I mean how could I when someone as beautiful as you was smiling and laughing, and looking at me with those fucking eyes"

It was almost difficult listening to someone say so many nice things about me, to me, let alone hearing them from Joe himself. The man I had been crushing back on since the first time I saw him.

I smiled to myself listening to the sound of his voice while I finally found the clothes I wanted, a pair of green paperbag shorts and a white t shirt, something comfy enough to relax in, but loose enough to not sweat to death in. Joe was lost in thought, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye while I slipped out of my dress, removing my bra quickly, throwing on a soft bralette in it's place before tugging my shirt over my head. The movement of me untucking my hair from the collar made Joe turn to me briefly and he smiled.

I blushed, looking down bashfully as I tugged the shorts up my hips with a couple of hops. "Distracted?" I teased.

"M'always distracted when I look at you" he said sitting up, holding his hand out to me. I walked over to him slowly, taking his hand in mine.

He pulled me closer to him so I was now stood in-between his legs "How you feeling?" He asked, thumb smoothing over the back of my hand.

"Better" I said honestly. "Still a bit jittery, but better"

"Good" he said smiling.

"I um" I cleared my throat "I have a crush on you as well, by the way"

"I know" he laughed.

"What?" I scoffed "How?"

"You're a great actor when you're acting for the camera, but you're shit when you're with me" He laughed again and his smile spread, all too confident and cheeky. "Every scene we had together you'd tense every time I touched you, and when we had our kiss, I could just feel it"

"O-Oh" I was slightly embarrassed, but I think deep down I always knew that he had some sort of idea, it was getting impossible to hide. Maybe I was trying to hide it from myself more than I was from him. His hand left mine, both of them coming to the back of my thighs, squishing the skin there. I stumbled a little at his touch, my hands coming forward to catch myself on his shoulders.

"Are we going to keep pretending, or can I finally call you mine?"

"I mean we should probably go on a date first" I said jokingly, leaning forward to wrap my arms around his neck, his hands quick to land on my waist.

"Order room service, I'll take you our tomorrow, right now I just want to hold ya, and watch you get all shy when I say nice things about you" he said with a smirk, pulling me into him while he fell back onto the bed, pulling me up and next to him.

"You just want to get me in bed" I teased, playing with the collar of his suit jacket.

"Aren't you already?" he quipped.

I pushed at his shoulder playfully but he only tugged me closer, leaning so he could kiss me on the forehead.

"I'll go get changed while you order food yeah?"

I pouted, holding onto him a little tighter, already not wanting him to be far from me.

"I'll be five minutes, you wont even have time to miss me" he said while pushing some of my hair back and away from my face.

"Kiss me first?" I asked shyly.

Somehow this kiss felt different. We had kissed many times on set, and even had to have a heavy make out session for one scene. But right now, the way he slowly pressed his lips to mine; it made everything inside of me feel aligned, like he was missing from me and it almost took me too long to notice. I sighed happily into the kiss and he hummed in response, breaking away to give me a few extra light pecks before pulling himself from me.

"Five minutes" he said quietly, kissing me one more time before he left, a wide smile on his face.

[thesithdiaries]

One-Sided Love (part 2) (Criston Cole imagine)

One-Sided Love (part 2) (Criston Cole imagine)

Pairing: Criston Cole x female!reader

Requested: no

Warnings: this is yandere behavior im sorry, pregnancy cause being in westeros means you had to pop out those babies quickly, angst, delusions, spoilers for episode 6, criston being a complete creep, like joe from you creep

Part 1

-

The past ten years were eventful in the Red Keep. The King now had three children with Alicent Hightower and Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Laenor Velaryon also had three children, of suspicious paternity.

After the wedding feast, Criston became Queen Alicent’s sworn shield and a close companion. That was also the last day he ever heard of Y/N.

She did not return to King’s Landing. The only thing he is aware of is that she often visits Driftmark and Dragonstone, but nothing else. Nobody around him speaks about her, and if they do, they wait until he is not present. King Viserys and Rhaenyra often write to her but he also never read those letters. 

His love and fixation for her never faded, it only grew more potent thanks to so much longing on his part. He truly missed her presence and companionship. He always wished that he had done more, and fought for the women he desired the most even after all of those years apart. He spent his nights wondering if the thought of him ever crossed her mind if she had missed him as well.

Criston was guarding the door of Alicent’s bedchamber during the night when he heard noises. His hand immediately reached for his sword.

As the sounds grew closer, it was easier to identify. Children laughing and the soft pitter-patter of their feet. He was more confused, the only young child in the castle at the moment was Rhaenyra’s third son. The following sight almost made him faint.

Three children, all boys. Their hair was dark and all of them had a small streak of silver hair, sort of like a birthmark. They kept smiling while looking down the corridor.

Her. Criston’s blood ran cold at the sight of Y/N. She was still as beautiful as the last day he saw her. 

“Mother, hurry. We want to see our cousins,” the older boy rushed causing her to laugh. 

Mother? Oh. Oh, gods. Those are her children. Criston could not stop staring. That was when he noticed she was pregnant. Another child?

The smallest one pulls her skirt softly to get her attention. She immediately placed him on her hip. The little boy looked tired as he rubbed his eyes but it was clear he did not want to miss the excitement. The other two walked side by side with their mother.

Criston felt chills through his body as they made their way toward him. My beautiful wife and my boys. It was such a dull day without them but none of that mattered now. Y/N looked precious, the way the boys talked to her made his heart beat faster. All of them looked just as beautiful as her, they shared all of her features. He smiled thinking about the next babe, hoping it looked like him with dark hair and similar “dornish features”. His body started making its way towards her, not being able to contain the happiness he fel-

“Y/N! Wait for me, love!” A man’s voice made him snap out of his fantasy. As he refocused, he saw Jon Arryn, the man he hated the most. “You were right next to me. How did you get here so quickly?”

“Your sons would not stop rushing me,” she tattled while giggling.

“That is not true, father,” the middle child said with a laugh. “We would never.”

They all walked down the corridor, turning in front of Ser Criston to go somewhere else. He wanted to greet Y/N, but his voice failed him. His hopes were slightly crushed. She did not even look at him as she walked by.

That night, the hours moved slowly. The only way Criston spent that time was dreaming about Y/N and the children. If only he had taken her with him to Braavos, those could be his kids. He could've gotten them a beautiful home. Y/N would have stayed with the children while he worked because he wanted to provide for his family and make sure they were taken care of. 

-

Criston was walking towards the small council room when he saw Y/N, this time speaking with a maid. He hid behind a pillar to listen to their conversation.

“Lady Y/N, how wonderful it is to see you again.” The maid gushed excitedly. “I saw your children, they look just like you.”

“Thank you for that,” Y/N laughed softly. “Jon never lets me forget it.”

“What are their names?” Yes, tell her the names.

“Rhaen is the oldest, his tenth nameday is coming soon. Next is Silas, who is six and the little one is Aemmet, who is four.”

“And the babe? Is it nearly time?”

“I believe so. Our maester said I had until the next full moon but I believe it will be before that. The babe is moving too much.”

Criston left after hearing this information. He wanted to scream in frustration. The oldest is almost ten. That means… that means she let Jon put a baby in her right after she left for the Vale all those years ago. She gave him all these kids and now she was waiting for another one.

-

Criston had been charged with training all the princes. Of course, it was sort of an annoying task but it was better than doing nothing.

Harwin Strong was always there supervising and getting too invested in it. He was painfully obvious, not even bothering to hide the affection for his bastards. 

It was not a normal day. Y/N’s sons decided to join. They had a close bond with Harwin, Jace, and Luke and wanted to be with them. They were courteous toward Aegon and Aemond but did not bother to include them in their play or conversations.

Criston was nervous and decided to let the boys do what they wanted. He did not know how to treat Y/N’s sons. He feared that if he pushed them around or trained them too harshly, she would be mad.

Since Aemmet was the smallest, he could not participate. From what Criston heard, he was offered to stay with his parents but refused, saying he wanted to spend time with his cousins. 

“Momma!” The little boy exclaimed, running towards her, Harwin following close behind.

Oh, gods. She looks beautiful.

“Hello, my love,” she greeted him. The boy hugged her legs as she ruffled his hair. “I hope this one is behaving,” she told Harwin.

“He's a good lad, no trouble at all,” Harwin promised her. 

Criston felt jealousy as he watched them talking quietly amongst themselves. That should be him talking to her, not some brute with no manners. The hate he had for Harwin grew bigger by the second. 

The time seemed like it was not moving for him. The children were having a nice time, although Aegon and Aemond were not with the others. A whimper was heard throughout the yard, making everyone stop.

Y/N eyes were squeezed shut as she held onto Harwin for support. Her other hand pressed tightly on a side of her stomach. Criston wanted to sprint towards her, to ask her what was wrong and how he could help. Unfortunately, he could not do that.

“Mother, are you alright? Should I go find father? Is it time?” Rhaen asked her as fear crossed his face.

Y/N let out a breath, shaking her head. “No, there's no need to call him.” She motioned them to come closer, “the babe is moving.”

“Really?” Silas gasped, almost running toward his mother. Y/N placed his small hand on her stomach and smiled at his expression. “It is true!” 

Rhaen felt glad that it was just a scare. He remembered being very attentive to her during the other pregnancies. Aemmet shyly lifted his hand to touch as well, he giggled at the strange feeling. Aegon and Aemond stared in curiosity from afar. “Come here, boys. You can feel as well,” she encouraged them. Harwin looked at her in awe, remembering when he felt his own sons kicking.

Our babe is moving. Y/N is so wonderful. She is carrying the product of our love. I cannot wait to mee-

Criston shook his head at those thoughts. All the boys were talking amongst themselves, sharing stories about their own mothers when they were with child. Harwin escorted Y/N back inside the castle, probably to her bedchamber. The children follow close behind, leaving Criston by himself.

-

Cristin wanted to speak with her. They had not crossed paths alone and he was dying to explain why he did what he did during the wedding feast.

After finishing his duties with the queen, Harwin went to his assigned chambers and removed his armor. He needed to be quiet as he did not want to draw attract any unnecessary attention to himself.

Y/N was staying in her old bedchamber, the same one she had ten years ago. In reality, nobody slept there during that time. Criston was glad for that, he did not need anything disturbing it.

The feeling of sadness and emptiness was still asphyxiating him almost six months later. Criston sat in her bed when he was not on duty, letting his mind wander to a fantasy world he had created. The bedding had been washed, and the smell of her was gone. He often laid on the bed, imagining she was next to him after being apart all day.

Criston walked down the corridor, clearly on a mission. The castle was empty as it was so late in the night. He heard voices not so far from him as he approached the bedchamber, making him stop in his tracks.

“Come on, boys. Time for bed,” Jon Arryn called, making the children groan.

“It is still early,” Silas begged. “We are not even tired.”

“Your little brother fell asleep at the dinner table,” Y/N reminded him as she carried Aemmet.

The family entered a bedchamber at the end of the corridor. Criston hid in the shadows, waiting. It took some time for Jon and Y/N to walk out again, holding hands. They had smiles on their faces, happiness oozing through their veins.

Criston waited more since he was in no rush. Good things happened to those who wait. 

When he felt it was appropriate, he approached the door to their bedchambers. His hand was on the handle but a noise made him freeze. It sounded like… a moan.

He did not know what to do or how to feel. Listening to the woman he loved while she felt pleasure was one thing, but another man, not him, was pleasuring her. Criston had imagined the noises she made and he was not disappointed. However, the anger and jealousy at that moment were greater than any fantasy.

He stood there, motionless, waiting for them to stop. When there were no more noises, he quietly opened the door.

They were sleeping.

The chamber was quiet and peaceful. Y/N and Jon lay on their bed. He was shirtless but she had put on her shift, which did not cover much of her skin. As Criston got closer, he could see the outline of her breasts through it. He took a deep breath to stay focused.

He stood there, at the foot of the bed, staring. The dagger he had on his hip was burning him. Criston could end this now, kill Jon Arryn in his sleep and take Y/N away to the Free Cities. Nobody would go and try to find them.

Y/N had betrayed him so long ago, by choosing Jon Arryn over him. As if that was not enough, Rhaenyra betrayed him as well. He was alone, the only people he spoke to were the queen and her children. Since he sided with her, nobody cared about him. He knew Y/N felt the same, he knew she supported the princess above all else, and seeing him with the opposing side hurt.

Criston heard the sound of the door opening. He quickly moved to hide behind a wall, peeking around to see that Aemmet was the one that walked in. He was dragging a small quilt and had a frown on his face. He rushed to the bed but stopped, looking right at where Criston was hiding. He stared for a few seconds but saw nothing. 

The little boy move to his father's side and tapped his arm softly. Jon Arryn stirred and slowly tried to open his eyes. “Aemmet? Are you alright?” He whispered. 

“Scared,” Aemmet confessed. Jon pulled him up on the bed. The boy settled between his parents, Y/N had slightly woken up at the movement. Subconsciously, her body reached for her son’s, placing her arm around him. She quickly fell asleep again. “Father?” He quietly called for him. “I saw a shadow…”

Jon hummed. “It was probably your imagination playing tricks. We are safe here.” He reassured him. Aemmet was not entirely convinced but decided to not push it, especially at this late hour. 

Criston stood there watching them sleep, plotting his plan. Y/N was his and he would have to do whatever it takes for her to be with him. 

//

Part 3

//

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[whatsupsonnyboy]

fire and water || Joseph Quinn

SUMMARY: you and Joseph get to spend quality time together during your holiday and everything’s working quite well until you panic. 

warnings:  smut (poorly written sorry!), mdni!!!, p in v sex, a little angst, mentions of dysfunctional families, swearing, overthinking, fluff, friends to lovers

wc: 5.8k

a/n: So, here it’s part two to burning love. It’d be lovely if you check it out if you hadn’t but you don't have to enjoy this one 😌 Sorry I take too long but I wasn’t at home so it was way more difficult to get to this. I took the name from 1d’s through the dark, if you hadn’t listened you should 😜

           request are open | masterlist

fire and water

His apartment was not far, a nice ten minutes walk you two used for exchanging opinions about the latest music releases, you had always shared music taste. In the way for his place, you noticed how a few people stared at him, none of them approached him though. It was really weird for you, because it wasn’t like having the feeling of being observed, you were pretty sure those young teen girls were staring. For a second you had even thought they were taking pictures or something of the two of you, but Joseph couldn’t care less, so you didn’t want to bring attention to it.  

The second you stepped in his apartment the both of you dropped the small pep talk. Joe took your coat and his and hanged them on a coat stand next to the door. You followed him into the living room, which was actually an open concept that shared space with the kitchen and the dining room. The apartment was nice and fancy. You could tell the furniture and the decoration had been carefully selected. Everything in the space fit harmonically.

“Want something to drink?” he asked gently and you could swear you hear a little nervousness in his voice. You shook your head in a no and smiled at him, the fact that he was maybe, somehow nervous about everything, was really sweet to you. “I hope this is not weird ok? Like-” you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” you asked with a grin in your lips” “You liking me?”.

“I don’t know” he answered shily and he let himself fall into the big grey chaise longue.

“Is it weird for you that I like you too?” you said looking directly to him. You were sure now he was, in fact, nervous. You could see it in the way his feet tapped rapidly the floor under it. A hand rubbing his tight, making impossible for you to not looking.

“No- I guess it’s not”. It was almost a hiss. His hand passed through his hair, messing up with his brown curls and god, how sexy it was… and he wasn’t even trying. “Look, y/n I just… my life is a mess and I just don’t want to mess with your life too” he confessed as he sat up into the edge of the sofa.

You could see how millions of thoughts were floating through his mind, excitement mixed with worries that were making him anxious, and you knew because you had some of those too, but you had the feeling that maybe, you didn’t need try to solve anything yet, the urge to kiss him and feel him close was so intense it almost hurt.

“Joe, I don’t want be rude but-” you spoke as you got closer. “I don’t really feel like talking…” you confessed quietly.

Joseph seemed confused and he was about to ask when you decided to sit on his lap, you didn’t think it twice. You fitted yourself above him and brought your hands to the back of his neck. Joe was looking at you with widened eyes, but he didn’t look mad or uncomfortable. You joined your lips with his in a tiny and tender peck that made the both of you sigh. When you pull away a little to check on him, he was the one to pull you closer again, sealing your lips in a more heated kiss this time. Joseph’s right hand was on your waist, and the other cupping your face, you held back the moan that almost scaped from you when you could taste his tongue against your own. The amazing feeling that went down your body was simply too much.

The atmosphere started to get thicker, hotter. You got your hands to his hair, messing around with his curls as his lips devoured yours in wet and passionate kisses. You felt desperate to feel him closer to you, you needed his body to merge with yours so you couldn’t help to grind against his crotch. The moan that scaped his lips was all that you needed to do it again.

“Y/n,” Joe sighed against your lips, pausing your kiss to trace a thumb along the curve of your lips. “I- I don’t want to sound like an idiot, but I want to be sure you’re 100% fine with this”.

You looked at him in disbelief, it just amazed you how sweet and gentle he could be. You could only nod your head as you leaned again to catch his lips. His breath was heavy and you could feel his heart bumping fast in his chest. He pressed your hips towards his crotch and you could feel the hard-on on his trousers. This time you couldn’t hold back the moan and he laughed against your lips. Your hands get closer to the hem of his black t-shirt, carefully sneaking a hand behind it and caressing his back, getting to feel his hot skin made you more eager, but you definitely thought you could explode right there when his mouth reached your neck and he started to leave warm and soft kisses all along. Your back arching to the feeling of his teeth on your flesh. He was the one pulling his shirt off reveling his naked torso. The sight of the little body hair in his chest and his silver chain hanging there along with his big sparkling eyes filled with desire and his parted plumped lips sent shivers to your whole body. You took then you own top off, leaving you in bra in front of him.

“God, you’re perfect” he murmured just before kissing your lips again. He drew a trail of wet kisses until he reached to your breasts. He kissed them over the thin fabric of your underwear but managed to quiver your center. The whiny sounds you were making encouraged him to unhook the clasp of your bra, he tossed it to the side and continued to kiss the sensitive skin of your tits. When he got to your nipple you moaned loudly and pulled his hair, every second it passed the more needy you felt. The feeling of his hard cock against your core not helping. You grinded your clothed pussy against his erections as he took care of your tits.

“Fuck it y/n” he sighed to the sensation and you could listen in his voice he was as desperate as you were. He suddenly made you to get on your feet so he could stand up too, but he didn’t say a thing. He took your hand and rushed through the corridor into the last room. He pushed you carefully against the big king-sized bed and you laughed when you bounced a little as your body made contact with the mattress. Joseph took his trousers off before approaching you, a pair of Tommy Hilfiger the only thing covering his hardened dick, it made your mouth dry. He kneeled in the bed just to reach your jeans and took them off too, leaving you only in a white thong that made him sigh. He caressed your legs before pulling them apart so he could fit in between. His hands held your hips as he went to kiss your lips again. He rocked his hips against you core and a filthy sound left both of your mouths.

“Joe, please” you almost whined and if it wasn’t because how horny you were, you would have blushed from how desperate you had sounded. But Joseph grinned against your lips and kneeled between your legs again.

“Gosh, you’re already soaked” he said delightfully as he rubbed his hand against the silky fabric covering your cunt. He teased a bit with the hem of your underwear until he finally got his hand inside, getting to feel your wet center. “Fuck” he grunted and your moan was louder this time. You felt his fingers teasingly going around your clit, making you more desperate. When he finally caressed your extremely sensitive spot you felt relieved and really good, he knew well what to do, how to move his fingers to drive a woman crazy. But you wanted to touch him too, so you reached for his crotch, rubbing him over the fabric of his boxers, the guttural sound that left his lips showed again he was just as needy as you. You pull them down to free his hard shaft and the sight of it made lust grow inside you, you really needed him to be inside you and as if he had seen it on your eyes, he fully took off his underwear, reached for his side table looking for a condom and passed it to you.

You carefully opened the metallic package and roll it down his big and veiny dick, he sighed to your touch, even it was the slightest. You get rid of your thong too and he fitted again between your legs, ready to go inside you. Joseph leaned to be closer and you felt the tip of his dick already pressing your entrance. “Go, do it… please”. You didn’t have to ask twice. He slid his cock into you, slowly, stretching your walls and giving you time to adjust to him. Both of your moans melting into vicious sounds that filled the room and made the both of you hornier if that was even possible.

“You’re big… fuck” you let it out in a whine without even thinking. He laughed against your lips, the air leaving his lungs tickling them and making you laugh too. But you weren’t overpraising him, he was indeed, big. He pecked your lips and started moving, his peace was slow and calm, allowing you to feel each inch of him inside you, making your arousal to increase.

You tangled your legs around his but and pushed him against you, he got the message perfectly and started to pump harder into you. The feeling taking over you was simply jaw dropping. “Fuck, Joe…” you whined and he couldn’t help it but fasten up, the way he rocked his hips against yours making your eyes go blurry. You loved how he felt.

He went more and more breathless, the wet sounds of your pussy getting fucked mixing with both of your whiny and filthy sounds. You thought he was getting close to the edge, but you knew you were not going to cum like that, and as if he had read your mind he slowed down and asked you to arch your bag. He put down your lower back a pillow and this time when he started to pump into you, he didn’t hover over you. You missed having his breathy sighs near your face as long as his lips but god, that felt incredibly good. Joe looked straight into your eyes as he went in and out of you relentlessly holding you still with both hands. But you couldn’t hold his gaze anymore when he placed one of his hand in your mound and his thumb started to rub gentle circles on your clit. “Fuck… y/n, fuck”. He groaned as your cunt got wetter and tighter from the way he was touching you. You threw you head back, your hands gripping the sheets of Joe’s bed and you were sure then you could cum from that.

“I… I don’t think I could go much longer” he stated with a shaky voice that made you shiver. You realized then how hard he was holding himself back. “Oh, god y/n”.

“Joe, fuck… keep going, I’m close too” you said as an encouragement and that was the only thing he needed. He speeded up not just his thrust into you but the finger on your clit, instantly making you feel the familiar feeling to grow in your lower belly. “Y/n…” he hissed and it sounded more as warning than as a plea. But he didn’t stop and for you that was it. You felt your orgasm explode deep inside you, shaking your legs heavily and getting your walls to clench uncontrollably round Joe’s dick, sending him to the edge too. He swore and let out deep moans as he discharged all his seed into the condom, still you could feel his dick throbbing as he cum.

You both sighed in relieve and you couldn’t hold the laugh that provoked the sight of him all covered in sweat and a stupid smile printed in his plumped lips. He looked at you with complicity but didn’t say a thing. Joe got out of you before he went completely soft and before laying on your side, he took off the used condom and threw it on the floor.

He pulled you closer to his body, making you rest your head on his chest. You could still listen to his rapid heartbeat and he could feel your messy pulse in the crook of your neck. None of you said a word, it wasn’t necessary. You just laid there, enjoying the peaceful silence, like the one that remains after a big storm.

-

The following days you two did pretty much the same thing. You tried to spend as much time together as you could and making the most of it, sometimes it’d mean grabbing a coffee at a nice Italian cafe and having a walk through Hyde Park. And others he’d pick you up from your place and take you to a fancy and horrendously expensive restaurant to have steak tartar and a fine wine. But your favorite was for sure spending the whole evening at his place, watching a classic movie such as Donny Darko, having delivery food and sharing cigarettes after really good sex. You two even managed to meet on Christmas Eve just to have brunch at Soho and on Christmas day he showed up at your parents’ house with a present. You were sure that the look in his eyes when he gave you the ridiculously big stuffed animal that pretended to be an oyster would be in your mind forever.

“You’re crazy” you said trying to hold back your laugh.

“Oh I am, indeed crazy-”. He said with the biggest of the smiles. “I am crazy about you” he said in a whisper, as he was confessing a secret.

“God, shut up” you answered back shyly, your cheeks burning red.

“That way you’ll always remember me” he stated and you hit his arm playfully.

“I don’t need this to remember you silly”.

“Oh, no?” he brought you closer to his side “You don’t?” he asked really near to your lips.

“You’re such a dork” he pecked your lips and you laughed against each other mouth.

“Aha, but you love it” he said before plastering small kisses on your mouth repeatedly. “I gotta run, the train leaves in less than an hour”.

“Okay…” you said in a sigh. You completely understood he had to go but that didn’t mean you were happy about the fact that you couldn’t spend more time together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” you kissed again before letting him go.

You waved goodbye as he got on his car. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were absolutely head over heels about this man.

Joe was supposed to spend Christmas day at his mom’s in Liverpool and get back the next day around dinner time, but your texts had been left unread even before he had supposedly caught the train back to London. Saying you were panicking would have been an understatement. He never took too long to answer, even less these past days. You’d tried calling twice, the first time the phone getting unanswered, the next time you had been sent directly into the voicemail. If you were realistic, the most likeable scenario was that he had run out of battery and that he would get to you once he had arrived at his apartment and charged his phone. So, you tried to be patient and wait for him to call you or text you back, he always did and there was not a single reason for him to not do it.

But as hours passed by, and without any news, your anxiety only got bigger. By half past eight you were absolutely desperate and done with waiting, so you decided to go to his place and check if he was there. A part of you had started playing worst case scenario… so you just need to check on him to stop your mind. You quickly got ready and left your house without even saying a word, ordered an uber and commanded the driver to Joe’s.

You called a couple of times into the entryphone, not getting lucky. You called again to his phone, getting to the voicemail again. Fuck it, what the hell was going on. You were dead worried, and maybe even a little angry. Not being able to understand what was happening made you frustrated and frustration got you moody. You picked up an uber again back home and when you entered the house it was like your family sensed you bad humor and decided to make it worse.

“Weren’t you with that kid?” your dad was the first to talk. You just look at him but didn’t say a word. “Look like fun’s over uh, you gotta spend the rest of your vacay here with your family” he said in a hurtful way.

“Oh god, don’t do this…” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t talk like that to father” your brother snapped.

“You shut up, okay? At least I’m not over 30 and still trapped in here”.

“Oh, sorry if Ms. Manhattan don’t find this house to be the royal palace she thinks he deserves” your dad grunted.

“My goodness… just drop it!” you couldn’t keep your voice quiet anymore.

Thankfully, your dad and your brother didn’t say anything less, but the look in their eyes was enough to make you feel shitty plus the feeling on the back of your neck from the glacial look of your mother, who was silently judging you as she always used to do.

You stormed out of the living room and went upstairs determined to pack your stuff and leave the place, it was not worthy to stay there even if you had to sell a kidney to pay for a room in the city or sleep in a fleabag hotel.

When you had picked up almost everything, you sat down for a second to check your phone in case you had news from Joe… but there was still nothing. And that’s when it occurred to you that maybe, you could check online. You knew he had told you not to look up his name on any social media, that it could only bring headaches and an annoyance, but you were feeling so helpless that you couldn’t resist it.

You typed his name on twitter and regrated it the second later. All kind of content would come up, news, photos, rumors, really weird stuff… it was a deep hole in where you weren’t feeling comfortable. Yet you couldn’t stop scrolling down the pages, it was uncanny and at the same time curiosity kept you going even you were not liking a single bit of what you were seeing. And then you found them. Pictures of him and some blonde girl around Paris from like a month ago, you two were already talking on a daily basis. You of course knew he had been there for work, what you didn’t know was that he had been in such good company. You feel sick in your stomach, guilty mixed with disappointment hitting you hard. You knew it wasn’t okay to look at those picture, those had been taken without his consent, invading his privacy and being posted into the internet was horrible but…. who the fuck was her and why hadn’t he told you about her? Fuck it. Despite your conscious telling you to log off, you clicked on the post, unfolding a whole thread of photos from his week on Paris, there were a big amount of pictures and of many kinds, but in too many of them if they asked you, he was with this blonde girl. The stupid jealousy was killing you, you were getting a headache and you could almost feel your stomach tighten. But you had already been stupid, you were not going to stop there already. You were going all the way down, reading the terrible things that people would say about that girl just because he happened to be with Joe. Your hands were trembling when you clicked to see the whole account. Your phone suddenly drowning in Joseph’s photos, mostly of them taken without his awareness. It was disgusting but you couldn’t stop. And then it popped up. You knew you were being observed, now you had the proof. It was a short video showing the two of you sharing a cigarette while walking towards his apartment. But by far the worst part was the replies to the post. The comments were a massacre. Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe there were just a few bad comments about you, but god… how it hurt. These people behind a screen talking about you in such a horrible way because of…  nothing. Your heart was racing faster than ever and the weirdest of the feelings was making your whole body feel heavy. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You tossed your phone away trying to hold your tears and your need of screaming. You needed to focus, the first thing you had to do was getting out of there and finding somewhere to sleep. Next, you could deal with all that. Maybe.

-

“I’m so fucking sorry!!! Run out of battery before I even got in the train back home and I absolutely forgot I got this stupid promo thing at Harrods… don’t hate me please 😔 I’ll make it up to you!”

You read the text a hundred times but you didn’t feel like talking, you didn’t even feel like being in London at all, all you wanted to do was run away and hide from everything and everyone, you knew that wasn’t the most intelligent thing to do, but facing your family, or Joe, wasn’t on the table in that moment. So, your dad’s calls got unanswered as well as Joe’s. You only texted your mom the hotel you were staying so they wouldn’t report you missing to the police and you were completely certain that none of them were going to look for you, they were too arrogant to do that.

Next morning, you texted Joe back but you didn’t call, you really wanted to talk to him but you were feeling so overwhelmed about the whole thing that you didn’t even know where to start, so you just hide in the hotel room as if that way things would get better. But he wasn’t stupid, he knew something was going on, the simplicity of your answer made it pretty obvious and especially, you not answering his calls. So he just decided to go to your parents where your mum, without any detail, just told him that you had left the night before, but Joe was charming enough to convince your mum to tell him where you were staying so that he could bring you back to them, of course that was the last of his intentions, he just needed to see you and check that you were okay. Maybe he was kind of pissed off, because why all of a sudden were you acting like that, it didn’t make any sense, you were mad okay, but what was the point of not being honest… what did you win by avoiding him like that?

It caught you by surprise when you heard the knocking on the door of your room. You hadn’t ordered anything from the room service so they might got it wrong, but when they insisted you didn’t have another option than to stand from the bed and go and tell them.

“What are you doing here?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth at the sight of him on the frame door.

“I’m glad to see you too…” he said and you could tell he wasn’t really happy, he look in fact kind of angry, what the fuck was he angry about.

“Listen, I don’t want to” he didn’t let you finish.

“What? You don’t want to this… that might work you with your family, but not with me y/n” he stated dead serious.

You knew he didn’t mean to hurt you but damn, that wasn’t something fair to say, or at least you felt that way because you were already hurt and angry so that wasn’t helpful at all.

“Oh, and what works with you? Going mia for hours? Laying maybe? Tell me Joe, what does work for you?” his eyes widened and he for sure couldn’t believe what you were saying, but he was way more sensible than you, managing to stay calm and not making a scene in the middle of the corridor.

“Why don’t you let me in and we could talk about… whatever you feel like talking about”.

You took slow breathes because you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to kick him out and hide between the sheets until you could wake up in New York. But you not only knew that wasn’t possible, you knew that wasn’t the solution and if you care about him, he deserved that you were honest and maybe he had something to say that was worthy of listening. When you moved from the door to let him in, he muttered a soft “thanks” and your heart skipped. If you were so mad it was only because you were so crazy about him.

Joe walked around not knowing where exactly to sit or even to stood up, you went directly to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, you think that being sat down maybe would make you less anxious. He turned over his heels and looked at you, for a moment his heart melt to the sight of you, sat down with your legs crossed, a pout in your lips and your finger nervously tangling a lock of your hair once and once again. He was nuts about you and the way you were behaving was breaking his heart.

“Talk to me y/n… please, be honest and tell me what’s the matter” his tone was soft, almost paternalist, not that you father talked like that ever.

You went from anger to shame in a second, because he was simply too much. He was kind, and sensitive and thoughtful and funny and everything a women could’ve ever asked. And you… you had only acted childish as a 28 year old woman that isn’t able to confront his problems and would rather runaway… just the same as you did back when you were 18. But the truth was you were having a hard time about the whole situation, and you didn’t even know how to start. Maybe the beginning was a nice starting point.

“I- I was really worried about you yesterday” Joe didn’t say a word, he was listening carefully to you. “If I’m honest I’d say I was panicking and started overthinking and you wouldn’t pick up your damn phone and you weren’t at home either and then I saw those pictures and read the horrible stuff people say on the internet and…” you didn’t even realize how frenetically the words were slipping from your mouth, your eyes watering,

“Woah, woah, woah… slow down, would you?” Joe was still calm and he came close to you, getting down so he could make eye contact but you wouldn’t look at him. “I know you were worried; I’d have been too… I’m so fucking sorry about yesterday, I really am y/n” you looked over until your eyes meet and all you could see among the tears was pureness and honesty in his big chocolate eyes. “I lost track of time and when I realized that I had to take that train my phone was dead and as unbelievable as it sounds, not a soul in that damn train had a charger I could borrow, and I forgot mine at my mom’s. Then I got to London and there’s my agent to get me into a car and drive me to Harrods, throw me into a stinky bathroom to get changed and styled only to lock me into that dead boring event for hours where, again, not a fucking charger” you couldn’t help but laugh and he smiled at the sound of it. “It was like this children's novels… A Series of Unfortunate Events”. You laughed together this time and he sat down next to you.

“You’re being kind of dramatic…”

“Am I?!” he pretended to be offended.  “Part of the job”

“Yeah…” your eyes still a little watered, because that was not the worst part, that was next.

“Now, tell me about the pictures and comments and all you’d just mentioned, and if you are kind enough, be really clear about the part where I lied to you if you don’t mind”.

“I’m sorry okay?” he frowned to your apology. “As I said I was panicking so I did the last thing I should’ve done and went into social media to see-”

“What? I told you-” he tried to interrupt you but you didn’t let him.

“I know, I know you told me… please, don’t make me feel worse than I already do”. He sighed and nodded his head in a sign for you to keep going. “Last night it didn’t seem that terrible so I just did it and gosh, If only I could unsee what I saw”.

“Who’s being dramatic now” he tried to make you laugh but you weren’t pretending to be funny you actually feel like that.

“I know you were not alone in Paris last month, when you told me you where there for work” he frowned* again and stayed silence for a second, you could see he was thinking, trying to figure out what you were talking about. “I saw you two Joe”.

“Oh god, you talking about Amanda?” you shrugged your shoulders, you didn’t know what her name was and you didn’t want to either. “She’s a friend, fuck… not even a friend I’d say… she’s a model I worked with during the shoot for the brand and she was nice so we hanged out, not a big deal”.

“Not a big deal?” you said in disbelief. “Maybe we should ask your minions on the internet… they wouldn’t agree”.

“Are you kidding me?”  Joe’s tone showing how uncomfortable the whole situation was making him. “You telling me now you care about these… about what some random people say on the internet?”

“Oh I shouldn’t give a fuck about you not telling me about Amanda? And of course it doesn’t matter shit people calling me a slut and a gold-digger and not to mentions being recorded without consent!” your tone increased until you were almost shouting in his face.

“Well, you shouldn’t” he stated and stood up. “Those people are no one to us y/n and of course I know it’s not nice being followed or recorded without permissions but there’s nothing I can do about it”

“Oh so I got called those horrible things and I’m supposed to be all chill about it?”

“For fuck sakes, why do you even care?!” his tone raised a little this time. “Y/n… I didn’t lie about anything okay? And I don’t give a fuck what some mean people post in the internet and you shouldn’t either”.

You somehow knew he was right, you had never been the type to care a lot of what other people had to say about you but it was a hard pill to swallow to be exposed in such way, you felt unexplainably vulnerable and small. And about that Amanda girl… he sounded honest, why would he lie? It didn’t seem necessary… but you had to ask again anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Because I didn’t see the point on spending time talking with you about this random girl who I don’t give a single a fuck about, specially not during those days in which the only thing that made me sane in between the fucking chaos where those ten minutes we get to talk to each other”.

Your heart skipped a bit to his words and not because he was being flattering but because you felt exactly the same. It didn’t really matter how crazy the world had been for any of you, sharing time together made it safer, cozier.

“I’m sorry Joe” you said and your voice was shaking. “I’m sorry I acted like this I just… panicked”.

“It’s okay… I think I panicked a little too” he smiled and came closer to you again. “I’m okay with panicking as long as we do it together” he confessed and you bursted out in a laugh, maybe it was the nerves or the odd way of him confessing.

“You trying to say something?” you picked on him a little and a grin appeared on his lips.

“Oh, yes I am indeed” he sat down next to you and placed his hands in both side your hips to bring you closer. “Listen carefully, would you… maybe you have a hard time swallowing it” he teased you this time. “As I told you I know my life is a mess but, as long as you agree, I’d love to mess with your life a little too because I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let this chance pass, I lost you once and I’m not willing to lose you twice”.

You were completely out of words, your heart racing in your chest and your mind working 100 miles per hour.  Millions of things in the tip of your tongue but none of it coming out when you opened it.

“Yes” it was the only thing that you could say. Joe’s confused expression forced you to continue. “Yes, you can mess with my life as much as you want, you can tear it down into pieces actually” he laughed out loud to your words and then he leaned to join your lips.

It wasn’t a heated and crazy kiss but a soft and sweet kiss. A kiss that tasted like promises and future. Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy, both of you knew well, but you were also certain that it was worth it. Yes, his life was indeed a mess, and it was way far from what yours was and what you were expecting but you didn’t care because the universe bringing him again into your life could only mean that maybe you needed a little messiness on it and you couldn’t imagine anyone better to shake your world in such a beautiful and breathtaking way.

[chelleztjs18]

Cupcakes For My Cupcake (E.O)

Elizabeth Olsen x Short!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everybody calls Lizzie "The Y/n whisperer" for a reason or maybe two.

Warning: None, I think. Just a little teasing about height. But mainly FLUFF.

Requested: Yes.

A/N: Hello! I'm glad to say that I finally got some requests done and this is one of them. Thank you @honey-sweet-hiraeth for helping me brainstorming and picked the title. I was dealing with ear pain and couldn't think of any title.. lol. Also, this wasn't proofread well. Anyway, happy reading! I have another Lizzie fic coming. Enjoy!

“Cut!” Anthony, one of the directors exclaimed and the filming of a part of a scene stopped instantly. All the cast who are in this scene turn their head to him. “Uh, okay, Y/n, maybe we should try to move you somewhere else. I can barely see you from any angle if you are next to Hemsworth. It looks like you are gone completely when you stand next to him.” Anthony expresses his thoughts as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. His thinking face looks so obvious.

“Aww, come on y/n. Don’t be shy and hide behind me.” The Australian actor pitches a joke in a sing-song tone. You laugh. “I wasn’t hiding, it’s just your muscles are too bulky and taking my spot here.” Everybody laughs. It was a playful sarcasm but they found it funny.

Being 5 feet tall has its own pros and cons. People always think you are adorable. It’s not hard to find clothes your size and other perks. The cons? Well, of course they are no fun. Despite being called adorable sometimes makes you feel nice if it’s in certain circumstances by certain people. You are definitely not immune to some or perhaps lots of jokes about how short you are. Families and friends casually poking fun about it and you are used to it. Sometimes you play along but sometimes you don’t. And when you don't, they never take your retorts or feisty come back personally. They all love you.

For working situations, as an actress, it hasn’t been really an obstacle for you to get a role. Surprisingly, you got some projects with Marvel. It's no secret that your height has been a little something extra for the director to figure out especially on camera angles because your friends a.k.a other marvel casts are taller than you. Sometimes the directors think you are “drowning” when you are surrounded by them

Since you joined Marvel, you have officially taken Scarlett’s title as the shortest Marvel’s cast and she is pretty much happy about it because now, she is not the target for all those height jokes anymore. You are.

Today’s filming has been a little challenging for you. If you can be honest, you are tired and the jet lag from the time difference of different filming locations doesn’t help at all. You were excited when you woke up to go to work but then your mood descended as soon as you found out that Lizzie is not scheduled for today’s filming. Your friendship with her has been very close and inseparable. She is your favorite person you met through Marvel.

“How about if she stands next to Benedict?” Joe proposes his idea. “Yeah, we can try that.” Anthony agrees.

You follow their instructions to move next to the British actor and restart the scene filming. You understand that this is about your height but this time it agitates you a little, not to them but to your own shortself. You thought the angle problem had been solved this time but you were wrong.

“Cut! No, it still doesn’t work well. How about next to Mark? No. We can’t put her next to him either because of the Hulk visual effect.” Joe mumbles her thoughts.

“Maybe we should lift her up a bit with the invisible wire, put a little visual effect so she will look a little taller.” Benedict’s heavy voice and thick accent cover another teasing comment and this time you let out a fake bitter laugh but everybody’s laughter sounds really spontaneous. “Don’t mess with a short girl, Benedict. With wires or not, I still can kick your ass.”

"Ouh, you better be careful, Benedict. Don’t piss the little one off, you won’t be able to see where shorty goes and before you know it, you’ll get your ass kicked. " Another one of the cast, Josh Brolin, adds a remark, joining in with the other joking around. This time you only patch a quick smile and reply “Okay, purple giant. I guess, thanks?” Josh laughs at your snarky response.

“Y/n, how about standing on Jer's left? I think that would be the best. Sorry, y/n.” Anthony requests and he notices how tired you look and having a mood swing but he understands and even kindly apologizes to you.

Your stomach growls but not loud enough for anybody to hear. You are starving because you didn't get the chance to have breakfast. “Yeah sure. No problem.” You agree without hesitation and move again. Then they ask you to wait for them to check the view from different angles. 

“Don’t worry, y/n. We all know that you are vertically challenged, we’ll figure out the best angle so fans will see you in this scene.” One of the camera crews pointed out more as he laughed with others and that was it. You are on your limit on being bombarded with endless height jokes.

“Well, I believe that making fun of the short girl really IS the best way to let out everyone know you are compensating for a ‘sizeably’ challenged dick.” Just like that you blew up a little and you made the air quote. “Oooohhhhh burn!” everybody reacts in unison at your reply to him.

“Dang! Y/n! Mic drop.” Anthony Mackie was genuinely surprised by your words and a few seconds after that everybody laughed along with the guy that you addressed your frustration just now.

“You know what? I’m sorry, I need a few minutes.” With that, you walk off the set to your trailer.

“Uh-oh. She is pissed.” Jeremy comments as he watches you walk away. “Of course, she is. It was like one after another of jokes you guys threw at her. Poor y/n. She’s not in the mood today.” Scarlett finally breaks her silence.

“Oh yeah, shit. How couldn’t we notice that? Lizzie’s not here today. I guess we kinda forgot the line with the jokes.” The god of thunder actor points out his realization.

“So, should we call the ‘Y’n whisperer’ to make her feel better? Lizzie has been the only one who can calm her down or cheer her up.” Mackie lets out the first solution that came up in his mind.

“It’s Lizzie’s day off, we can’t call her for that.” Chris Evans disagrees. “Well, just let her take her time a little bit. We all can take a break. It’s almost lunch time anyway.” The directors announced.

Little do everybody know, Scarlett stepped aside and reached her phone to call Lizzie but she got no answer. A minute later Lizzie walks in with her hands full. The security guards help her to bring some more stuff in.

“Hi everybody! I cooked some food for lunch. Come and get it!” She greets as she puts on the tables where the food usually is. The casts right away greet her and go to the table to have lunch together.

One by one they thank Lizzie for the food. “Where is Y/n?” It was the first question that jumped out of Lizzie’s lips as her eyes searched for her while she set the food.

“Y/n walked off the set. The boys pissed her off.” Scarlett answers quickly. “Aww, did you guys joke around about her height again?” Lizzie guessed with a knowing look.

“Not me. It was Hemsworth, Benedict, Josh and one of the camera crew, I forgot his name.” Jeremy denies and casually tells Lizzie who did it with a little laugh. “But she gave a great come back to him though. It was awesome and she was feisty!” Mackie proudly tells Lizzie about you while he scoops some food to his plate.

“And she called Josh ‘purple giant, don’t forget that’.” RDJ slips in a comment and they all laugh. “Well, she is probably tired and hungry. I made her favorite food so I’m gonna find her and talk to her.” Lizzie casually speaks and grabs one brown paper bag that was separated from others. With a smile, she walks away to find you.

_____

You heard a knock on your trailer door. “I’ll be on the set in a few minutes.” You subtly refuse to open the door to whoever it is behind the door.

“Y/n, it’s me. Let me in, please. I cooked your favorite food.” Oh that voice feels like rain on a desert. It soothes you and lifts up your spirit. Your favorite person comes to surprise you. You quickly opened the door and a wide smile welcomed her. “Lizzie!” You open your arms inviting her into your hug.

“Hey you, grumpy Gus. Whatcha doin here?” Lizzie jokingly greets you and hugs you tight and rubs your back then walks in. “Oh, nothing. Just need a little break.” You smile awkwardly then close your door and back to your chair.

Lizzie puts the paper bag on the table and takes a seat face to face with you. “I heard what happened.” She starts the conversation and grabs your hand tenderly. Her thumb delicately rubs the back of your hand, making your heart leap.

In a millisecond, you are not upset anymore. You feel better. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to be a bitch about it. You know me, I usually don’t mind their jokes about me being short. I was just not in the mood I guess.” You try to keep your cool in front of her while explaining to her.

“I know, y/n. You are tired and hungry. Also, you miss me aaand my cooking." She scrunches her nose and confidently shows you how well she knows you and followed by a little laugh as her sparkling green eyes look at you.

"Yes, yes and no." You tease her by your pretend disagreement that you miss her and your cooking. She was right, you miss her. That's what trigger your mood swing in the first place.

"Ooh?? Okaaay. I see how it is now. You don't miss me and my cooking? Alright then, I will go right now and take this with me." Lizzie cutely plays along with your joke and pretends that she is leaving with the bag she brought.

"No..no..no.. Wait.. wait.. I was just kidding. Yes, I miss you and your cooking.. Happy now?" You admit it in defeat and giggle as you grab her hand. She turns around. You hear her laughing and saying " Yes, I am. You know me, I love it when I'm right." She gently taps your nose with the tip of her finger followed by her adorable giggle.

"Now, where is my food?" You ask as you rub both of your palms excitedly.

"Well, it's on the table where we usually eat. Everybody is eating now but I also made this special for you." She slides the small brown paper bag to you.

"Really? Special for me?? Sweet!!" You quickly open the bag and pull out a box of it like a little kid on Christmas morning. Her warm forest green eyes are drinking the view in awe. Cherishing every second she has with you.

"Cupcakes for my cupcake." She said, her eyes sparkling with adoration and love. She always loves seeing your excitement every time she makes something for you.

"Chocolate cupcake!!" You exclaimed with an ear to ear smile.

"Uh-huh. With Scarlet Witch red frosting too. Since you like her so much." She points it out in a proud tone.

"Yes, I like her so much but I love the actress that plays her." You casually speak as your finger takes a little of the frosting and you taste it. You hum in such enjoyment with your eyes closed.

You and Lizzie are really close friends. Both of you sometimes casually express how much you love each other or compliment each other and even tease each other.

"Gosh, I love everything you cook and bake. They are always so delicious." You compliment with a satisfied sigh.

"Don't tell the others that I brought you these cupcakes because I only made them for you." She giggles. "Oh, wow. I'm that special. I'm honored, Liz."

"Of course you are." Lizzie leans and gives one quick soft kiss on your cheek before she stands up. You died a little inside with happiness for a few seconds. The feeling of her lips brushing your cheek makes your lungs forget what oxygen is.

"You are my favorite short girl, remember?" She jokingly pats your head.

"Well, special for you, you can call me short or joke about my height anytime you want. I don't mind." You voluntarily propose the idea.

She laughs louder and the sound of it makes your brain turn into a puddle. "I know, honey. Now, let's go have lunch. Everybody's waiting for us." She grabs your hand and leads you out of your trail.

_____

“Y/n! You are back! Come here, have lunch with us!” Scarlet welcomes you in such a thrill. “Well, look who’s back!” Jeremy gives the same excited tone as Scarlet did.

“See! I told you! Lizzie, the ‘Y/n whisperer’ ! I was right. Only Lizzie can cheer Little Miss Grumpy back and bring her here.” Pride sounds clear in Mackie’s tone.

“Hi guys! I’m back!” You greeted them with a cheerful tone, totally opposite from how you were earlier.

“Come sit here” Hemsworth’s heavy voice chimes in as he points at two empty chairs between him and Benedict. You take your seat. “Y/n, we are sorry if our jokes crossed the line.” The man with the red cloak apologizes on behalf of everybody.

“Oh no. It’s okay. I’m sorry too that I was a little over reacting.” You stated.

“A little? You were a total drama queen earlier.” Mackie blurted out playfully. You know he was joking. “Well, an adorable short drama queen.” The buff blonde man wraps his arms around your shoulders close to him in a brotherly manner. You gotta admit that what Mackie and Hemsworth said were funny.

“Okay, y/n. Here, I already prepared a plate for you from home.” The brunette lays the plate of food in front of you. You thank her and instantly take a bite of it.

"Oh my god. My favorite..So good.." another praise comes out of your lips as you eat. You even dance a little from how delicious it tastes.

"Wait, Y/n got a special prepared plate? Wow. You both need to date, seriously." The archer cast finally vocalized what everybody has been thinking.

You choke a little from the comment and grab a drink right away. You look at Lizzie, she doesn't say anything but all smiling complete with blushing cheeks.

"What–uh what did you mean?" You clear your throat nervously as you stutter with your question.

“Oh please y/n. You know what he meant. We all know you both are VERY close." Scarlett stated with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, like Mackie said, Lizzie is the only one that can cheer you up whenever you are not in the mood. Everytime Lizzie comes to the set or any event, you are the first person that she will ask or look for." RDJ adds more facts to back Scarlet up.

"Well, look at you now. Just from eating what Lizzie cooked, you are a completely different person now, all smiling and dancing. Earlier you were a feisty little woman." Chris Evans laughed out loud with his hands on his chest as soon as he finished talking.

"And, Lizzie here keeps smiling. Not saying a word says a lot about this, darling" The tall British guy takes his turn pitching in his opinion. As Lizzie sits between him and you.

You look at her, and Benedict was right. Lizzie is all smiling yet not saying even a word, you start to think if she agrees with everybody that you both need to date. Does it mean she likes you?

You have been having a crush on her for a little while now. You don't know what to do because you are worried it will change your friendship. Also, you think that there is no way the goddess of beauty herself will like you back more than as a friend.

You try your luck to find out by playing along with them and joke "Well, maybe if she'd ask me out we would be dating already." You try your best to look as if you're joking but deep down you were actually serious about it. That's actually the thought you have been thinking every time you have a "what if Lizzie.." thinking session by yourself.

"Oooohhhhh" the cast exclaimed all at once, very thrilled. “The truth has come out!” Hemsworth exclaimed as he raised his hand up as if he just won something.

Lizzie finally hinted in a subtle way the truth from her side. “Y/n, you’re already coming over for movie night, tonight. I’ll order take out and we can cuddle on the couch and call it a date.” She innocently smiles, glances at you and then takes another bite of her food.

“It’s a date!!” Mackie shouted in elation. Without a doubt, the others cheer.

Meanwhile, you marveled at what Lizzie said and how she nonchalantly addressed it. A pat she gives you on your shoulder brought you back from your daze. “You okay?” Her gaze really lifted your mood and calmed you down. It felt like a caffeine buzz and sedative at the same time.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay.” Once again, you stutter. You got a warm, fuzzy feeling.

After lunch, everybody walks back to the set and you are the last one at the table. “Well, Liz, I gotta go back to the set. Thank you for the lunch and the cupcake. I love it. You made my day.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tonight for our first date.” Excitement raced through her. She glows inside. You feel drunk in happiness as you get another kiss on your cheek before you walk away.

You felt giddy and couldn't stop smiling. Tonight, you will have your first date with the woman who always has her way to your heart.

A/n: Well, that's it for today. I hope you enjoy the fluff! I'm in the mood of fluff writing, so you'll see more fluff coming. Reblog and comment are highly appreciated! Follow me for more. See you!

Cheerio!

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[one-smuts]

You've been a ranch hand with Millies family for years, and are none to pleased when they hired on a new guy for "extra help." even less pleased when he turnes out to be a massive douche bag. an incredibly sexy and charasmastic douche, but a douche none the less. you want him to think that you want nothing to do with him. but the walls at the farm are thin, and you rearely keep track of what your saying when you're in the heat of the moment. that's when the truth of the matter really comes out.

~~~~~~~~

Honestly there is not nearly enough striker smut out there and it is a crime. so let me try to get the ball rollin. reader is Afab and Fem, an imp, and as always, requets are open ;)

"Son of a bitch!!" You yelled as the Hell Hog threw you off. And right as you got an opening too. "I swear to Satan, I will gut you." You growled to yourself as you charged for the animal again. You didn't get very far though. Of course Striker has to show you up, jumping in to "help you out" and slicing the pigs throat easily, stealing your thunder in the process. 

"Well that hog was one tough son of a bitch, huh Y/n?" He asked you with his signature mischievous grin. In your mind you always heavily equated him to a con man. He went over to offer you a hand up, but you brushed it away and got up on your own. 

"Yea, whatever Striker."

"Well now darlin', you sound pissed! And why's that?" He smirked, cocking his head to the side as if he didn't already know the answer. Ever since Lin and Joe hired him to help around the farm, he'd taken a great pleasure In showing you up whenever he could. Maybe because you were a woman. maybe because he didn't like not being the only farm hand. Maybe it was just because he found you adorable whenever you got angry. Doesn't matter why, really. You just wish he'd knock it the fuck off. 

"I had it handled you know." You said, answering his question without answering it. 

"Oh, yea. You really had things handled from the ground." He laughed, "really had the upper hand there." 

"I only missed my opening because you distracted me!"

"By being so handsome?" He smirked.

"By being so annoying. What were you yellin' about anyway?" You asked. 

"I was tryna see if you had the hog slaughtered yet. The answer was no, by the way."

You rolled your eyes as you hoisted the hog onto your shoulder. Being an imp, the damn thing was almost twice your size, and you struggled with its weight. But knowing Striker was just waiting for you to buckle so he could come in and "save your ass" once again gave you the spite needed to haul it into the kitchen. 

"Oh, Y/n!" Ms.Lin sighed as she saw you toss dinner onto the counter to be skinned. "Now why in the 7 rings would you carry that in here all by yourself? Wasn't Striker out there to help?"

You sighed and grit your teeth, knowing Ms.Lin met well. You had injured your shoulder a few days back. She just didn't want to lose another hand. "Don't worry Ms.Lin, I'm not made of sugar," You said as you let out a calming breath. "I've carried these fuckers in 1000 times before, I can keep doin it, on my own." You smiled. 

She shook her head. "You know, you can accept help, right? It's kinda what we hired him for." Lin said as she crossed her arms and popped her hip.

"Then fire him." You retorted.

"I knew you were gunnin' for my job." Striker laughed as he walked In, "man, you should seen yourself, strugglin' to carry in that piglet." He snickered. "I wish I'd had thought to record it"

"Well, ya didn't scrub." You hoped, "now are you gonna help us skin this thing or what?"

~~~~

“Hey, Y/n? Quick question, what the fuck was that?” Sallie Mae asked you after dinner. You raised an eyebrow as you finished up the dishes and turned to her. “At dinner,” she added for clarification. “What the fuck was that at dinner?” You were still confused. 

“What are you-” you started.

“With Striker.” Sallie groaned. Oh, she met THAT.

“That motherfucker kept kicking me under the table!” you burst. “He was tryna get a fucking rise outta me Sallie Mae, and it worked! What kind of elementary school bullshit was that! And then to act shocked when I kicked him back, who the fuck does he think he is?”

“Y'all we’re playin footsie under the table?” Sallie Mae asked as she crossed her arms. She looked unamused.

“What? No!” you protested. “Did ya not hear me Sallie? I said that cocksucker kicked me, it was full blown war under that table!” 

“Mmhmm.” Sallie nodded, not very amused. “So you fuck him yet?” She smirked at your shocked face. Maybe you were oblivious to it, hell maybe even Striker was oblivious to it. But everyone else around you two could see a lot of your problems with each other could be solved with a solid hate fuck. 

“Sallie Mae, I swear on all that I hold dear, if you were not my best friend, I would feed you to the Hell Hogs right now.” you growled at her, face flushed with either anger or embarrassment. Or, more likely, a mix of both. “Have I fucked him yet,” you scoffed, “Girl, you know I have standards!” you snapped as you walked away from the conversation, tail swishing angrily behind you. 

Sallie wasn’t going to let you get away that easy though. She followed you. “Standards, huh?” Sallie laughed, “How’s that been working out for you lately, Ms.Sahara?” she would use your dry spell against you. 

“Just fine thank you!” you snapped. “Even if I hadn’t gotten dick in years, I wouldn’t fuck that snake. Motherfucker has gone out of his way since he got here to disrespect me at every turn.”

“Maybe he thinks you have a degradation kink?” your friend offered.

“What the fuck about me screams degradation kink?” you scoffed.

“Your posture.”

“What?”

“People who want respect in bed dont stand like that Shug. everything about you screams ‘call me a slut daddy.’ I thought you knew that.”

You looked at your friend for a long time trying to figure out where she got off reading you like that. “I take offense to that.” you finally said. Sallie smirked.

“You're only offended cause it’s true, huh?”

“Shut up Sallie Mae.” you scoffed as you got to your room. “Look Hun, it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I’d like to get to sleep.” you told her as you stretched to pop your back. 

“Ok, well just answer this for me,” Sallie said, leaning in close to whisper to you. “Honestly, hand to Satan, have you never even thought about it?” She asked. Have you ever thought of it? What a stupid question, of course you had. You weren't too bitter to admit that Striker was an incredibly handsome imp. One that made you blush the first time you laid eyes on him, something not many men could say. Of course you imagined what fucking him would be like. But that was before he revealed himself to be an incredible ass. 

“Not even once.” you said.

“Liar.” Sallie called you on your bluff. You rolled your eyes.

“Good night Sallie Mae.” you said as you closed your door in her face. You scoffed as you went over and plopped on your bed. Sallie had a lot of gaul to have that conversation with you. But, She’d had always been like that. It was why you loved her. Still. That bitch had gotten the thought of Striker stuck in your head. 

There was no way in Satan's hell he would actually want you, right? If he did, he wouldn't have been such an ass about everything. This isn't middle school, you don't show a girl you like her by pulling her hair. Not that I would particularly mind if he pulled my hair. You thought. Then physically shook your head to get that thought out of it. No! No! Bad Y/n!! You’re only thinking like that cause you’re horny! You mentally chastised yourself.

 Fuck, it really had been awhile, huh? A part of you considered dressing up and going out to a bar to try and get out of this dry spell. Then you remembered that you we’re in the Wrath Ring of hell, and that most of the guys here looked like inbred fuckin toads. Not all of em. Striker’s pretty. Fuck, you gotta get laid. Or at least off.

You hopped off your bed and went to your dresser, looking for old reliable. A small bright pink vibrator lovingly named Barbie. You smiled as it whirled to life in your hand. Who needs another imp when you have Barbie? You rid yourself of your torn jeans and got back on your bed, ready to get down to business. Your legs fell apart and you bit your lip as you started teasing your own clit. Involuntarily, an image of Striker entered your head, pinning you to the bed and running his fingers in between your folds. FUCK. This asshole couldnt even let you have your fucking fantasies. Well…fuck it. He’s already here, you already started, and who knows. Maybe it’ll help get him out of your head.

~~~~~

Striker sat on his bed polishing his knife. And no actually, that's not a euphemism. The man was meticulous about weapon care. He heard you and Sallie talking outside of your room, and rolled his eyes to himself. These walls were impossibly thin, and he hated it. Especially having his room right next to yours, it made it hard for him to do any business on the phone. Couldn’t risk it.

He finished cleaning up his knife and put it back in its holster. He checked the time on his phone and considered turning in for the night. Being a farm hand sucked. He was never one for early mornings, but farm work demanded it. It was a not so small part of why he left the wrath ring to become a gun for hire. Murdering people was genuinely easier for him than getting up at 5 AM. He tossed his phone to the side and laid down.

“Striker.”

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of electricity coming from your side of the wall and instantly sat back up. No fuckig way. He’d been working on this farm for weeks now and had never heard this before. He was starting to think you were a prude. He laughed softly to himself. This was gonna be great ammo against you tomorrow. There was one highlight to being a farm hand, and that was getting to fuck with you every day. You were adorable when you got mad, and it was so easy to rile you up. He quickly decided if he couldn’t fuck you, he would just fuck with you and be content with that. 

That caught his fucking attention. The last thing he expected to hear from the otherside of the wall was his name. He didn’t expect the effect it had on him either. Something about the way you sounded so desperate for him made his heart race and his dick ache. 

“Striker..Striker please-”

Thank fucking Satan for thin and sin walls. Striker made a mental note to personally thank the king of hell for them. He could hear you so clearly, and yet he still found himself pressed against the wall to hear you better. His hand moved to the crotch of his pants. He plamed himself through the fabric to ease some of the pain. “Fuck darlin’” he groaned out, voice just above a whisper. He didn’t realize just how bad he wanted to fuck you until now.

“St-Striker, fuck me! Please! Fuck me-” you moaned breathlessley through the wall. That was in invitation if Striker had ever heard one. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Striker laughed as he made his way to your room. The panicked ‘meep!” he heard as he left confirmed to him that you did indeed hear him. He’d never been more thankful to share a wall with someone. He got to your door and knocked, then turned the knob experimentally. It was locked. You really were inviting him in, huh? He slipped through the door and could help but smile at the scene before him. 

You were glowing with blush, blanket thrown haphazardly between your legs to give yourself some sense of modesty. A hot pink vibrator, slick and abandoned, at the foot of the bed. You were looking at him, but couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. “Ya know darling,” Stiker said as he approached your bed. There was something dark in his eyes, “If you wanted me that bad you could have just asked. But I do appreciate the show ya just put on for me.” he chuckled.

“Why were you listening to me, you creep!” you lashed out in anger, trying to turn this on him and away from you. He didn’t take the bait. He laughed as he caged you into your bed, face just centimeters away from your own.

“It’s kinda hard not to when the whole farm can hear you begging me to fuck you darlin.” he chuckled softly as he ran a hand down your side. It sent shivers down your spine. “Now, the real question is; didja mean it? Or are you just the biggest tease in this ring of hell?” he asked, causing your face to heat up even more with desire.

“I meant it.” you said before your brain could stop you. Fuck it, maybe Sallie Mae was right. Strikers wicked grin alone could almost convince you of that. Stiker grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. 

“Good girl.” he said as he pushed his lips into yours. He tasted like coffee and nicotine. You shyly moved your hands to wrap them around his neck. He crawled onto the bed on top of you, finally releasing you of your kiss. His hands ran down to the hem of your shirt. “You got no idea how many nights I imagined doing this.” he rasped, taking your shirt off of you. His smirk only grew. “Black lace, huh? you really are a whore, aren't ya doll?” He tisked as he easily unclasped your bra and threw it to the floor. “They’re prettier than I imagined.” he praised as he ran his thumb over your hardening nipple.

“Are you going to shut up at any point in this?” you scoffed, finding yourself again as you pushed his jacket off his shoulders. You could feel his sculpted chest under his thin shirt and it excited you more than you wanted to admit. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it darlin’.” He grinned. He let you unbutton his vest and rid him of both it and his shirt.

“Mother fucker.” you whispered as you ran your hand along his toned chest. It was covered in scars, both healed and not so healed. You wanted to know the story behind every single one.

“Like what you see?” He asked. You could hear his tail rattling in anticipation. He was more excited for your approval than he was letting on,

“Very much so.” you smiled, finally finding the courage to look into his yellow green hypnotic eyes. 

“Right answer.” he chuckled as his hand moved down your body. You tensed instinctively as he reached your cunt. “Fuck Darlin’, I knew you’d be wet, but i wasn’t expecting this wet.” he purred as his fingers ran across your folds. “All this for me?” He teased, fingers finding your clit with the quickness of an expert. You sheepishly nodded as you realized he’d definitely done this more than you had. “I knew you wanted me.” he said smugly as he began to rub circles into your clit, sending electricity soaring through your body. 

“Ya like that, Slut?” the cowboy asked you. You nodded in response, focused on the pleasure he was giving you. Until he suddenly stopped.

“Striker!”

“Use your words Doll.” he warned.

“Yes, I liked it! I liked it so much, I kinda wanna punch you for stopping!” you hissed. Striker launched and continued his movements, much to your relief.

“And that's why you're my favorite.” he purred at you. His thumb had taken over rubbing your clit as his fingers began to work your pussy open. “Even when you’re the one in a compromised position, you never lose your fight.” It suddenly struck him that that was a little too intimate than he wanted to get at that moment. So he switched gears and fully pulled you under him. You gasped as you looked up at him. He was only on his knees on top of you, but he still seemed so much taller. It occurred to you just how much bigger than you he was.

“Ya know darlin’,” he stared as he leaned down to kiss your neck, “Ever since I laid eyes on you,” he began to trail kisses down your body. Your neck, your collar bone. Littering marks down your body, “I’ve wanted to know how you taste.” he groaned as he made it to his destination. Your body was on fire with anticipation. He spread your legs for him and let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see a cunt as pretty as yours.” he admitted as he kissed the inside of your thighs. He bit gently, sucking marks into your soft skin. He wanted whoever may be here next to know you were his first. Finally, he made his way to where you desperately wanted him most. He smirked at you one last time before licking at your clit. 

Your whole body jolted at his touch, as if it was made to react to him and only him. He sucked at your clit as his fingers began to work you open. “Fuck Striker, how dare you be this good at head.” you groaned as your hands knocked his hat off and tangled into his hair. You could hear him laugh from in between your legs, but didn't really care. His fingers began to massage you from inside, quickly finding the spot that would surely make you see stars. “Fuck!” you gasped as your back arched and your legs tried to clamp around his head. Striker would be the one man you’d been with able to find the G-Spot.

He used his free hand to keep your legs open. “Careful now Sweetheart. You wouldn't want me to stop now would ya?” He asked in the most condescending tone you’d ever heard. 

“Fuck, no! No, you asshole, don't stop.” you almost screamed when his fingers stopped moving. “You bitch! What the fuck did I just fucking say?!” you all but yelled at him.

“Say it nicely.” he grinned at you.

“Fuck you.”

“I know you want to Doll.”

“I'm going to kick you.”

“I’ll leave,” he threatened. 

“Fuck no!” well that was more desperate than you wanted it to be. “No no! Don't leave! Just…Fuck, please don’t stop Sir! Please, I need you.” you moaned. You almost cried when not only did his fingers start going again, but he added a third.

“Good girl.” he praised, his head dipping back in between your legs. He began sucking harshly at your clit, massaging it with his tongue and tying the knot in your stomach tighter and tighter. Your hands found their way to his hair again, and you found yourself bucking into his face. You felt your body tense and your pussy flutter. 

“Striker, I’m Close.”

“I know.” he muttered from between your legs.

“How?!”

“You’re not exactly hiding it sweetheart.” he laughed, picking up the pace ever so slightly, forcing you to forget the argument at hand as your vision exploded with stars and electricity ran through your body. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck fuck!!” you yelled, your legs closing around his head and your hands pulling him closer. Striker realized he couldn't breathe, and decided that yes. This was how he wanted to die. With his fingers working you through your orgasam as he lapped up as much of you as he could.  “Dear fucking Satan.” you moaned as you released the cowboy. Your legs still shook with the aftershock of your orgasam. It had been awhile since you had sex, yea. But it had been even longer since someone made you feel like that.

Striker smiled as he wiped his mouth and sat back up. “Feel good Sweetheart?” he purred to you. You nodded blissfully. He smiled and gently tucked a strand of your hair back. You nodded, your brain still unable to form words. “That's great Doll. We’re not done yet.” he informed you. “Good.” you chuckled, causing him to smile. You watched as he freed himself from his jeans, and couldn't help the blush that formed on your face. Of course, it wasn’t enough for him to just have a pretty face. Oh no, he had to have a pretty dick too. 

“Fuck man, how’s it feel to be Satans favorite?” you huffed. 

“Isn’t that more of a question for yourself, Gorgeous?” Striker asked as he pumped his dick a few times. He bit his lip as he looked down at your body. He wanted to remember every curve you had. Every scar, stretch mark, birthmark, everything. He wanted to own it. He wanted to own you. He dug his teeth into your neck as he began to push himself into your cunt. You screamed, the mix of pleasure and pain taking over your body as he sunk into your still sensitive cunt. You could feel him sucking a mark into your neck. You knew there would be questions in the morning. You didn’t care. 

“Striker, God damn. You’re too fucking much.” you groaned, trying to turn your head to hide your face in the crook of his neck. 

“You feel so fucking good Y/n.” he breathed to you. “Like you were fucking made for me. Made to be a sleeve for my cock, made to be mine.” he growled. Fuck that alone send ice down your spine. You were not prepared for him to start moving, pumping into you like he was on a mission. He set a brutal pace. Your legs wrapped around his hips to keep up. You clawed into his back, determined to leave marks of your own on him. It was only fair. 

His tail tangled with yours as his hand tangled into your hair. “I’ve been waiting for this for way too long” he huffed, “Do you know how many times I thought about bending you over and putting you in your fucking place? Shit darlin’ if i knew it would be this good i would have done it sooner.” he repositioned himself to stroke at the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. It was too much.

You groaned and bit the fuck out his his shoulder, causing him to help, then laugh, but never falter in his thrusts. He was a professional after all. He pulled your hair, forcing you to release him. “Fuck darlin, we bitin’ now?” he laughed, as if he did not just leave a very prominent mark on your neck. “I-it���s only f-fair!” you argused, struggling to make coherent thoughts. He smiled almost softly and tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck to you. “If ya gonna leave a mark on me, might as well go big or go home.” he challenged. He desperately wanted everyone to know what happened tonight. And while the thin walls would assure that for the people that lived on the farm, he wanted the entirety of hell to know.

And you were far too cock drunk to think of the consequences. You buried your fangs into his neck, savoring the hiss of pain he let out. He tugged gently at your hair one last time, before using that hand for support instead, and using his now freed hand to rub almost violent circles into your clit. You let out a high pitched and breathy moan into his neck. He could feel your pussy flutter around him, a clear sign you were close.

“Fuck, you gonna come for me twice Darlin?” he groaned. As if on cue the knot inside your stomach snapped in two and you screamed into his neck, your legs clamping around him as your body spasmed with the heat of your second orgasam for the night. And shit, you we’re fucking gorguous. “Y/n, I’m close,” Striker warned as he realized you we’re not letting him go. “Y/n, let go, I-”

“Cum in me.” you moaned. He did not need to be told twice. He picked up his pace, pounding into your spent pussy before his own orgasam finally overtook him. He rode out his orgasam, shooting red hot cum into your cervix. His best move? Definitely not. But that was a problem for tomorrow Stiker and Y/n. Tonight Striker and Y/n couldn't get over how hot the whole ordeal was. Finally he slowed to a stop. He lightly tapped your thigh and you finally let your legs fall to the bed. 

“Shit Darlin’ I knew you’d be good, but..fuck.” Striker laughed, causing you to swell with pride for being the reason he had that reaction. He pulled out, leaving you feeling more empty than you expected.

“You’re a good lay.” you laughed as he rolled over next to you. 

“Why thank ya,” he laughed with you instead of at you for once. He pulled you into his arms, and you didn’t protest. He was warm. “So do we go back to hating each other in the mornin’, or?..” he asked, rubbing gentle circles into your hips.

“In the mornin’? Yes. buut I wouldn’t be against this happening again, so I guess we can like each other at night.” you giggled. He chuckled and nodded.

“Alright, I can get behind that. It’s a start.” he nodded, snuggling up to you. You hadn’t kicked him out of bed yet, might as well enjoy it. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at your door, causing you both to panic. 

“So Y'all are done feudin’ now, right?” Sallie Mae’s almost jovial voice came from the other side. 

“SALLIE I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” you yelled from your bed as Striker laughed his ass off next to you.

[jalwyn21]

“Like I said, I'm just trying to be a Joe Alwyn (and The Last Kingdom) fangirl in peace. But ts is on a mission to destroy his life, his career and his reputation. And her fans are harassing Joe and Joe's fans. So, this is defensive more than anything else.”

To quote her…”I love you. (but) It’s ruining my life.” I don’t want to hate her. I loved her music for a long time. And I felt horrible for her (and Joe) when it ended. But it lasted exactly 11 days before she started pulling shit. I don’t know where it came from, but my empathy for Joe is overwhelming. I love everything he stands for, how respectful he and his family and friends were for all those years, the way people know him talk about him, the way she wrote about him, and his very English way of being. The punching down that she has been doing and will continue to do when she knows he wants to live outside the spotlight and is probably a big reason why they split makes me ILL for him.

I think we all know that she is not okay - her drinking, her moving from one man to the next, this PR created nightmare of a “relationship” she is currently in that is legitimately the opposite of everything she had with Joe, her behaviour that makes it very clear that she believes she could shoot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue (to quote the god awful orange man) and get away with it, that she is so incredibly online (see the jet issue using Insta comments in the lawsuit and all her time on TikTok) and knows her ex is being sent death threats and threats of physical violence every day and continues to give her fans red meat. She’s flying within meters of the sun and she doesn’t give a fuck. She’s not okay. But I’m sick that Joe has to be the one to suffer because of it.

This album was always going to be written - this was always the ending for them because it’s clear they are not compatible. But just from the timing of it, she wants the story out NOW. And that’s her right. I just don’t trust her to be thoughtful and introspective of the end and realize her role in the breakdown. The clues are everywhere on how she is going to approach it and I guess I’m just praying for Joe. I hope everybody in his life that loves him protects him wholly. He is going to need it because you are right - she is out to ruin his life, his career and his reputation.

Joe has a loving family and extremely loyal friends. He is well loved.

And, like I already said, I have NO sympathy for her. None. After what she did in 2023 and she is about to do in 2024? I hope that Karma she believes in, gets her!

If you think that she is not happy.. good! Call it poetic (pun intended) justice . 🤷‍♀️

[joeyquinndrabz]

Inked- Joseph Quinn x Reader

TW: none im trying to give you guys a break from the angst I have in my drafts 😭

Being a tattoo artist was a dream you’d had since you were a kid. Your friends would laugh and tell you to ‘get real’ but you knew it’s what you wanted to do and so you did. Your grandfather was a tattoo artist in London and became highly respected by the whole city, everyone wanted a tattoo from your grandfather and so did you. When you were 18, he gave you your first tattoo after years of pestering. His talent was impeccable and his art was your inspiration. You soon began an apprenticeship at his shop and , it must be in the genes, because you’re very good at it too. Of course you were aware of the privilege you had due to your grandads high status, but it didn’t mean you didn’t have to work hard. It took years of practice to get to the level you’re at now, but being 28 and working alongside your 68 year old grandad was the gift that kept on giving. His guidance was still so important to you and your relationship was unbreakable. He wasn’t your stereotypical elder male tattoo artist, his style was still the same as it had been in the 70s. Checkered button ups, flares, docs and a very impressive moustache. He was ridiculously cool, your grandma was the same. A stylish woman with a blue rinse on her grey hair and she was always sporting a pair of new glasses. She worked on the front desk, greeting each client with a smile and being the first point of contact to ease that anxiety many of them had. It was a family run business and a great one at that.

It’d been a busy day, it was a Saturday and you’d tattooed a lot of people and a lot of different things. You were getting ready to pack up when your Grandfather could be heard chuckling out in the corridor. There were two different male voices that followed and curiosity killed the cat, you wanted to find out more.

“Ahh this is my wonderful granddaughter I’ve been talking about. She’ll enjoy this one lads.” He chuckled at the two mystery men as he pulled you in for a side hug. “Enjoy what?” You questioned, smiling at the two strangers. “It’s slightly embarrassing but we got very drunk and stick and picked out initials onto each others feet but they’re not looking the best.” One of them told you, you noticed the curtains he was sporting and the slight permanent smirk that was stuck on his face. “Yeah not our brightest idea.” The other man laughed, you noticed something different with this one. He was looking directly at you, admiring your tattoos with each passing of his eyes. It was cute. He was cute.

“Let’s get you lads sorted, I’ll do yours Wesley and Y/N can do Joe’s. I won’t make you do them both kiddo you’ve been here since 6.” Your grandad aimed the last bit at you, you smiled and nodded before taking Joe into your part of the studio.

“I’m really sorry about this, I didn’t know you’d been here that long. I’m more than happy to get it fixed another day.” The man who you now knew as Joe was rambling and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly it’s fine, if you were coming in for a back piece then I would’ve said otherwise but I’m sure we can fix this in no time.” You smiled at him as you handed him the consent forms. “Do people genuinely come in last minute for things like that?” He asked whilst signing all the needed paperwork. “You’d be surprised, we don’t actually do walk ins but my grandads had a rule that if he likes your ‘vibe’ then he’ll allow it in some cases.” This caught Joes attention, looking up at you from the clipboard to give you a massive smile that you could only assume was because he’d realised he met your grandads criteria. “He’s a cool man.” Joe continued to smile as he handed you the papers back. “He’s my favourite discussion point, the man’s a walking, talking 70s masterpiece.” You laughed and soon heard him joining in with you. “I’d kill to have him as my grandad, you’re very lucky.” Joe was admiring the art on the walls, walking closer to his favourites then standing back with a tilted head to take it all in. “I’m forever grateful for him, he’s the reason I do what I do.” You smiled to yourself, getting ready to fix the drunken scribble on his foot. “Looks like you’re pretty bloody good at it too, love.” He turned to face you, admiration on his face. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You shyly smiled back before asking him all the boring questions required.

Joe was now sat on the tattoo bed, showing you the tattoo in all its glory. “I mean.” You tried to find the words but struggled with a chuckle.

“Yeah I know I think Wes was shaking a little bit.” Joe grimaced before laughing with you. “It’s an easy fix don’t worry, are you okay for me to start?” You asked, in a weird way hoping he’d say no so you had more time to talk to him and hear more about his life. But he was ready, he told you he was more than ready and watched you as you got to work.

“You ok?” Looking up from the W and to Joe, you’d expected him to flinch or say something about the pain but he didn’t. Instead his face was plastered with a picture perfect smile. “Peachy keen darlin’.”

You were aware of the blush spreading on your face so got back to fixing the W and soon you had finished, wiping it down and wrapping it up.

“There we are, all finished.” You beamed and watched as Joe admired it in the mirror. “It’s perfect, thank you so much.” He mirrored your expression, happy there was now some symmetry to his drunken decision. “You’re more than welcome, grandad will sort out the payment and everything when Wesley’s finished.” You explained as you began cleaning up your station.

Soon the pair were at the front desk, paying for their tattoos and laughing with your grandad. You were still cleaning up so hadn’t realised they’d left due to your fixation on making the studio ready for you tomorrow morning.

“Knock,knock.” Your grandad announced his presence and walked in with a massive grin on his face. “What’s got you smiling so wide?” You laughed at his animated demeanour as he slowly approached you with his hands behind his back. He sat on the bench and smirked, before pulling his hands from his back to reveal a piece of paper and five £20 notes. “You got a big tip and a new admirer.” He laughed before handing you the money and the note. “But it was a tiny tattoo?” You were in shock, complete and utter shock.

“Read the note.” Your grandad pressed, leaning forward in anticipation. “Grandad!” You exclaimed,laughing at his eagerness. “Oh Cmon kiddo I’m dying over here.” He laughed back.

You opened the note and scanned the page with your eyes, a smile growing after each letter.

I’m sorry if this is totally inappropriate and i completely understand if you rip this up but just wanted to say I really enjoyed getting tattooed by you today and I’d love to get to know you more. Here’s my number, again I’m sorry if this isn’t appropriate I just think you’re pretty incredible and I’d love to get to know you more.

The tip is because you’re a brilliant artist and I hope you treat yourself with it and get something to help ease the stress of today.

All the best,

Joe

XXX

You grabbed your phone and copied the number into your phone immediately, passing your grandad the note before going outside to ring Joe.

“Hello?” He answered, anxiety evident in his voice.

“I’m leaving here in 10 minutes, fancy sharing a couple glasses of wine with that tip?” You had no idea where this confidence had emerged from but nether the less you were extremely thankful for it.

“Darlin’ that’d be a dream.”

[deanwanddamons]

Undercover - Chapter One

Summary: Homicide Detective Dean Winchester and Detective Y/F/N Y/L/N go undercover to solve a spate of murders. 

Universe: Detective AU

Pairing: None (yet) 

Chapter Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Dark subject matter. Angst.

A/N 1: As always thank you to my beta @winchest09, who helped me with the idea for this story. You are my cheerleader, my bestie and my constant support. I love you. A/N 2: As you may or may not know, I haven’t written anything in an absolute age. I have been struggling with writer's block and life has simply got in the way. But…I started this series a long time ago and a few chapters were just sitting in my docs. So I thought I would post the prologue in the hope that you guys enjoy it, want to read more and it may give me the inspiration to continue with it. I’m happy to say, most of you seemed to enjoy it so here is Chapter One. Please let me know what you think - comment and reblog if possible ❤️ Tag list is open if you wish to be added.

My Masterlist

Undercover Masterlist

3 weeks before Prologue 

Dean walked through the winding streets of Pasadena, Los Angeles, making his way towards the precinct where he would now be working. 

After spending a week in the hospital after ‘the incident’, he had been ordered by his Captain, Rufus Turner, to take some time off work to recuperate from his ordeal. Dean wasn’t happy with this command, and had been very resistant to agree. The police force was his life, and the idea of just sitting at home doing nothing was alien to him. But he knew that Rufus was not the kind of man you could argue with. 

Rufus had been his chief for several years, and Dean knew that he wouldn't back down once he had made up his mind. He had tried to reason with him, explaining the importance of his job as a police officer, but Rufus had already made up his mind.

Flashback

"Look, I know how you feel," the older man had said, his tone firm. "But you need to take some time off. You've been working non-stop for months. You need to recharge your batteries, spend some time with your family, and just relax."

Dean knew that his Captain was right. He had been putting in long hours, working weekends and holidays, and neglecting his personal life. He had missed important family events, and he could feel the strain on his relationships.

"I understand, sir," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "But what am I supposed to do? I can't just sit at home and do nothing."

Rufus smiled. "I'm not asking you to do that. There are plenty of things you can do. You can take a vacation, travel, catch up on some reading, or do something you've always wanted to do but never had time for. The point is to take a break, clear your head, and come back refreshed."

The officer nodded, silently acknowledging the wisdom in the words he had just heard. He knew he needed a break, and he also knew that his Captain had his best interests at heart. He would take some time off, reconnect with his family, and come back ready to serve and protect.

"Thank you, sir," he said, standing up. "I appreciate your concern, and I'll take your advice."

Rufus nodded, pleased. "Good. Now, go enjoy yourself. That's an order."

When he eventually returned to work, the idea of being given a new identity and to move away from Lawrence, Kansas had been posed to him. He had been furious, but had eventually agreed when he realised if he didn’t, his life could be in danger. 

It was going to be strange. A new day, a new station and a new name. 

He pulled the badge from his pocket, the one that was mailed to him by his new superior Captain Bobby Singer. 

Detective Jon Elliot. 

Dean huffed a laugh. He recognised the mixture of names that had been chosen. Jon Bon Jovi and Joe Elliott. He was impressed. Even though he didn’t think he looked anything like a ‘Jon’, the name was something he was going to have to get used to. His life, and many others, were at stake.

Opening the heavy doors of the police station, he walked over to the desk officer. 

“Detective Elliot to see Captain Singer,” he announced. The deputy nodded and picked up the phone. Dean turned around, noticing a few chairs to his left and sat down. 

He looked around the reception area. It was full of people, coming and going, and was much bigger than the station he had worked in back in Lawrence. It consisted of a large communal area with around twenty desks and three offices. One that belonged to him and his partner Benny, one that had belonged to Captain Turner and one that had been used as a store room. There had been very little crime in the area he had originally worked in. 

That was until Michael had come to town. 

He shook the memory from his head, determined to not let himself be distracted today. 

“Detective Elliott?” A burly, thick set, bearded man in his late 50’s was walking towards him, his hand outstretched. 

“Captain Singer.” Dean stood and shook the man's hand. 

“Please. Call me Bobby. There’s no formality here,” he said “Come with me if you will,” he continued, gesturing to a corridor on his left. 

Dean nodded, and side by side the men walked quietly towards an open door. 

Entering the spacious office, Bobby closed the door behind him as Dean took a seat by the large, oak desk. Taking a moment to look around the room, the Detective took a deep breath as he tried to get himself accustomed to the new surroundings. Photo frames filled with smiling faces adorned the wooden space in front of him. He could only assume that it was the family of the older man who he would be reporting into. 

"Dean, I was sorry to hear about Benny," the Captain started, taking his place in his plush office chair opposite him before he steepled his fingers. "Terrible situation."

“Thank you,” Dean acquiesced, taking in the grim expression on Bobby’s grizzled features. He appreciated the concern, but was hoping that he wouldn’t be expected to go into too much detail. He wasn’t sure he felt quite ready enough to discuss what happened in depth with a stranger, even if he did mean well. 

“Losing one of our own is always a deep blow,” the elder man continued, “And for it to be your partner while you were on a case must make it even harder to bear. I have lost a few colleagues…” Bobby’s words trailed off as he realised Dean was fidgeting in his seat, loosening his tie with his right hand, the fingers of his left hand drumming against the wooden arm of the chair. 

“Anyway, I digress,” he went on, mentally kicking himself for making the new Detective feel uncomfortable, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in here. I trust your new accommodation is to your liking?” 

Dean was happy that the subject had been changed. As Bobby had been speaking, he could feel his heart rate begin to raise, his palms getting sweaty. He wondered briefly if the Captain had noticed, and that was why he had stopped talking. If that was the case, Dean knew he needed to get himself in check. He could not perform his duties correctly if he couldn’t bring himself to talk about Benny. Even though no one else in the precinct knew his real identity except his superiors, it was enough that Bobby asking him questions had made him react this way for him to realise he may need to take the force up on the offer of a therapist. 

“Yes, yes thank you Sir. It’s very nice,” Dean lied. The small apartment he had been supplied was in a rough part of town, above a liquor store, but he was grateful for the relative safety the tiny rooms afforded him. 

“Okay so,” his new Captain went on, “I’ll introduce you to the team, using your assumed name of course. They��re a good bunch. A few mavericks that need to be reigned in now and again, but besides that, they behave themselves most of the time.” 

Raising from his seat, Bobby buttoned his jacket as he walked past Dean towards the door. He opened it and gestured for the younger man to exit the stuffy office. 

He was led through a corridor into a bustling investigation room. Numerous staff were typing away on keyboards, the clack of their fingers creating a cacophony of different rhythms. Desk phones were ringing loudly, most of them being ignored. A large white board containing photographs of suspects in the particular case they were currently investigating stood at the front of the room, words written in different colours of magic marker, some circled, some underlined filling in the gaps between images. 

Dean followed his superior as he moved between the desks, the occupants standing up as the Captain passed, nodding at him briefly before taking their seats again and getting on with whatever work they had been doing. Some of them glanced at Dean as he walked closely behind, others ignored his presence. 

It was clear that Bobby ran a tight ship and was well respected by his subordinates. The fact that they stood up when he approached their work station was a surprise to Dean, as this was not something anyone did for Rufus back in Lawrence, but he made a mental note to remember this in future. 

The duo had reached the desk of an attractive blonde police woman. Her face was open and pleasant, a bright smile on her lips. She rose to her feet, as Bobby introduced her. 

“Detective Donna Hanscum, this is Detective Jon Elliott.” 

“Pleased to meet ya,” she said, holding her hand out. Dean shook it, warming to her friendly demeanour straight away. 

“I’ll leave you in Donna’s capable hands,” the Captain told him, “come by my office before you leave for the evening.” 

As Bobby turned away, Donna pulled a chair out and patted it. “Take a seat.” 

“Coffee?” she offered, her eyes moving towards a vending machine in the corner of the room. “It’s not gourmet, but it does the job.” 

Dean was relieved. He was desperate for some caffeine. “Please. Black, no sugar.” 

“You betcha.” 

As Donna prepared the beverage, Dean took in more of his surroundings. The staff were a mixture of uniformed and plain clothes officers, male and female, young and old. Some were busy on their desktops, others were leaning back in their seats, cellphones to their ears. Food was being consumed at work stations, papers were being shuffled, names were being yelled. 

It was so different to what Dean was used to, but he liked it. It distracted the tumultuous thoughts that haunted him, even in his waking hours. 

Donna, returning to her desk, brought him out of his reverie. He took the plastic cup gratefully and gingerly sipped the tepid liquid. She was right. It was far from gourmet, muddy tasting and luke warm, but it provided the caffeine hit he really needed right now. 

“Nasty right?” Donna chuckled, obviously noticing Dean’s disdainful expression. 

“It’s fine,” he smirked, placing the cup down.

“So, Jon,” Donna said, turning her body towards him, “What brings you here?”

Chapter Two

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