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ugh-yoongi · 5 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s cute.”

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

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

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

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

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

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

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And second of all?”

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

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

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

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

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“—one should we start with?”

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

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

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

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

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

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

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

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

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

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

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

“No it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

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

Namjoon rattles off a time.

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

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

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

“Haaa, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

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

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

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

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

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

It’s just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You going out of town again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

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

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

“What?”

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

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

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

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

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

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

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

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

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

“I can see that, but… why?”

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

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

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

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About us.

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

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

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

“Can you not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

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

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

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

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

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a completely normal question.

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

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

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

You swallow. Hard.

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

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

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

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

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

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

Showtime.

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

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

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

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like a challenge.

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

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

“Gummy bear?”

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

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

He continues:

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

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

It works. “No,” he scowls.

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

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

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

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

Then he reads—

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

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

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

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

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

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

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

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

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

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

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

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

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

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is very, very bad.

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

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

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

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

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

You do not get through recording unscathed.

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

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

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

The two of you had sex.

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

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

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

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

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

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

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

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

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

Today, he wears none of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t get any better.

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

Thirty-five minutes back home.

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

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

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

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

That’ll cure you.

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

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

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

Except—you’re not.

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

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are fucked beyond belief.

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

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

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

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

“I forgot them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

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

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

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

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

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

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

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

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

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

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

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

“Not with you, preferably.”

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

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

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

“How weird?”

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

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

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

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

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

You want to fuck Namjoon.

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

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

And then someone knocks on your door.

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

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

“Uh, hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you’re the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

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

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

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

It’s seamless.

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

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

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

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

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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reds-skull · 24 days

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Fanfic Recommendations: Writers

I thought of making this kind of list for a while now, since in my notes I save writers when I like most/all their fics (instead of saving each work individually)

This list is going to be very long, I'm gonna try to add to each writer a little description of the type of work they usually write.

Should leave this as a disclaimer for all my fic rec posts, but always look at the tags and CW on each fic before reading!

As always, if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[This list will include both SFW and NSFW writers, since a lot of them do both]

thirteenbullets - Writer of Anytime You Need Me, basically the ultimate hurt/comfort series. [fun fact, part 6 was the first fic I read in this fandom, and I partially blame how good it was for how fast I got obsessed with cod lol]

mothbeast - Writer of Pattern Breaker, one of the more well known fics for ghostsoap (for a good reason!). Love their other fics as well [some are NSFW]

glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Non AU fics, where they put ghost and soap and various situations for angst! [some NSFW]

Red_Clegane - non AU and AU fics, some of the best non-military AUs I've read. All of their fics share a similar taste, but they're all equally good, so if you like that style you'll enjoy most of them [some NSFW]

sauceboss_yahoo - AUs with supernatural elements, and non-military AUs. Some a/b/o if that's your style [which obviously means there's some NSFW]

yourvaliants - AO3 account of valiants on Tumblr, I'll expand more when I get to Tumblr users, but this is just their place to post NSFW comics since Tumblr doesn't allow that.

wayfaredsoldier - non-military AUs, AUs with supernatural elements, and in canon universe [some NSFW]

MildLimerence - If you want smut with good plot, this is the writer for you haha. They have several soulmate AUs and fantasy/supernatural AUs, as well as canon universe [mostly NSFW]

Arodana - supernatural AUs and non-military AUs, very enjoyable long works [some NSFW]

crown_twist - a mix of NSFW and hurt/comfort oneshots, if you're in the mood for something short and good this is the writer for you [some NSFW]

ElizaStyx - mostly oneshots for a variety of pairings, a mix of NSFW and fluff [some NSFW]

Sillililli - Canon and non-military AUs, with just a pinch of NSFW [little NSFW]

Louffox - Canon and non-military AUs, a lot of angst and hurt/comfort. A few longer works and a good amount of oneshots [some NSFW]

kcisbroken [previously artbykc0001] - Historical AUs, sometimes MCD, some non AU oneshots and NSFW [some NSFW]

Hochseeperle - non AUs, angst and hurt/comfort, with NSFW [some NSFW]

eggtimelads - Supernatural AUs, non AUs, oneshots that literally changed my brain chemistry (not clickbait) [some NSFW]

blackbird_flyaway - supernatural and non AUs, recently started a zombie AU (that I just discovered and go read it after finishing this lmao) [Some NSFW]

TheLastTheosaurus - hurt/comfort oneshots. Good ol' reliable [no NSFW]

Nuria123 - absolutely amazing non AU, non-military AUs, and fics so emotional they made me full on sob. A mix of oneshots and longer works [some NSFW]

AvaLoren - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fantasy, and medieval AUs, mostly oneshots with some longer fics [some NSFW]

WhisperedWords12 - non-military, non AU, and a little bit of fun shifter AU, many oneshots that are mostly NSFW [a lot of NSFW]

Wheezing_Joe - non AU, oneshots with some onehsot series, hurt/comfort and angst galore. Very nice stuff [no NSFW]

coderaven - non-military AUs and non AUs, emotional hurt/comfort, a little supernatural AUs [some NSFW]

oh_ellie - non AUs, hurt/comfort, and a whole lot of smut [mostly NSFW]

headlocket - author of all that's said in the low light. I don't need to say anything else, if you didn't read it yet, you really REALLY should! [little NSFW]

Grangers_apprentice - [note: majority of works locked for users with no AO3 accounts] non-AU, supernatural AUs, some oneshots and some longer works with series. A bit of a/b/o if that's your style [some NSFW]

DarkMoonMaiden - non AU, hurt/comfort and smut. Mostly oneshot, some series [mostly NSFW]

merikai - non AU and non-military AUs, hurt/comfort and angst oneshots [no NSFW]

simcoehole - supernatural but military and non AUs, mostly smut [mostly NSFW]

Epifauna - non AU oneshots, a lot of fluff with some angst [little NSFW]

prettyunhinged - non AU oneshots (some as long as multi chapter works though), angst, fluff and smut [some NSFW]

oshikiri_toru - non-military and non AUs, with some supernatural elements. Very long oneshots with angst and smut. Very underrated writer imo! [some NSFW]

xEclipse - non AU, fluff and smut oneshots that can get very sweet [some NSFW]

unravelledorfrayed - non AU, misunderstanding hurt/comfort (the good kind) [no NSFW]

lkst - very unique AUs, as well as non AUs. A bit of smut and a lot of angst [little NSFW]

now, there are some blogs here that write a lot of little drabbles that are always a treat to read, so I'm also gonna add some of them.

cod-dump - mostly non AU, with the exception of the Teen!Ghost AU.

forestshadow-wolf - AU and non-AU, also has many downloaded fics for you to read (they're a lifesaver when AO3 is down)

valiants - as mentioned above, comic artist and occasional writer, honestly a huge inspiration for me, it terms of storytelling and art style.

ghcstao3 - also has an AO3, wanted to put them here because they post a lot of drabbles here that don't get posted on AO3.

captain-mj - also has an AO3, like ghcst posts a lot of fics here that don't get posted on AO3. Many are NSFW, as a heads-up.

That's all for now, in the future if I make fic recs for longer works, you will probably see some from these writers.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #fic recs #not art #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #i put links for blog bc i didnt want to tag everyone #doing this instead of uni work bc i really dont feel like doing it :DDD

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mlmshipbracket · 1 month

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ROUND 4: POLL #7

ROUND 4 POLLS [HERE]

PROPAGANDA BELOW

Jean Luc Picard/Q:

Propaganda by @cchipollo [HERE]

Eternally devoted omnipotent being, human who can't let himself have fun with said being because duty comes first. UST galore!

Angel Dust/Husk:

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

one year has passed since the rising star and influencer (y/n) (l/n) said ‘I do’ to industry veteran and artist galore, Eren Jaeger. Better known by his moniker, EJ the Don. With busy, conflicting schedules, press releases and new business ventures, the couple finds themselves dealing with the woes of married life in the spotlight. As well as more time apart than the pair would have hoped. Amid rumors of indefinitely and talks of early divorce circulating, the couple decide to treat themselves to a second honeymoon, where they reignite not only their love and passion for one another but learn new things about each other as well.

content warning: black fem reader, slight angst, tiny conflict (not much bc I hate seeing my babies fight) lots of fluff, passionate/sensual sex, alcohol use, praise kink, affirmations, eren speaking fluent Italian, eren and being a complete romantic, ice and food play, choking, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), breeding (slight pregnancy mentions), foot play, crying (not dacryphilia) this is a super long fic and it’s equal parts porn and plot, so you might be here a while!

“Till death do us part, right? Well they’d have to kill me to keep me from loving you, mi amor..even then, I’d still find my way back to you in a million lives over.”

📝: said I was going to sleep as soon as I got from work but y’all have rewired and altered my brain chemistry with this headcanon so please enjoy. I hope I have done it justice! Also, minors stay the FUCK off my page.

word count: 6.8K

PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT

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the boisterous sounds of blazing jet engines roared through the pillowy clouds and clear skies of the Boeing 747’s spacious cabin. Delicacies scattered about across the table, courtesy of the flight attendants on board; consisting of champagne, hors d'oeuvres and a few desserts…just a few of the many amenities provided on the thirteen hour flight from your hometown of Miami. The destination? Well…that had been left a surprise, thanks to your husband! The only inkling of a clue was a bouquet of white lilies and a card with a red star tucked between them, left on the kitchen counter. All incredibly vague, and seemingly left as some sort of subliminal message by him but your mind was drawing nothing more than a blank. Now here you were jetsetting halfway across the world without the slightest idea where you’d be going. Your only instructions were to pack for a couple week’s stay and prepare for the best vacation of your life. Words that had been stuck within your mind all week as you made arrangements..postponing gigs and photo shoots, backing out of a club appearance on shorter notice than you’d ever hope for but expressing sincere remorse for having to do so. Telling any potential party goers via an Instagram live that something came up but you’d be making it up to them the second you touched back down.

truthfully, as professional as you were..nothing took precedence over your relationship and as things stood between the two of you, it was best to accept this offer of his. (Y/N) (L/N) and Eren Jaeger, a union that shocked the world and damn near collapsed the internet when it was first announced over two years ago. Blogs and fan pages seemingly appearing every five seconds to document the events of your dating journey as they unfolded in the public eye. To the candids of you sitting pretty in the passenger seat of his McLaren as it was spotted on a strip of South Beach, to a rare appearance of him showing up on the award show carpet, clutching your hand to the wedding that shook the world; a beautiful ceremony rivaled by that of fairy tales. That had you front and center on The Shade Room, Hollywood Unlocked and a plethora of other publications, being dubbed as a ‘modern day Cinderella’. As the girl from humble beginnings who used to hang out at the corner stores and was raised in the hood to marrying your musical prodigy sweetheart; helping reform his image of the bad boy loner to beloved husband. But as with anything in the media, after a while, the narratives begin to change. The same people singing your praises were now putting out false headlines, claiming that there was a trouble afoot in your newly formed matrimony. And granted, your trust, love and bond were as strong as ever..they were just being tested beyond their limits right now! Especially since he had been away on tour with his crew overseas not too long ago and you had been jetsetting to various islands for a music video and two big photo shoots with major magazines. Although exciting, it was pulling you away from the one you loved..and you hated it. Hated that people were praying and wishing that you’d break up because they felt you’d been married too soon and would fall pregnant, ruining the ‘hot girl’ imagery they’d concocted or that you were only with him for the clout and his namesake. Which was insane because you guys were certainly the most tame and in love when it came to a lot of new age celebrity couples. Only making money, making love and having fun. It was all baseless accusations he was hoping to put an end to with this impromptu trip. Not for their sake, but yours.

he could see how heavily all of it was weighing on you and needless to say, the mental anguish was putting a strain on the once perfect partnership you two had. Resisting the urge to address it all at his request and it wasn’t exactly easy when your livelihood quite literally depended on keeping your followers in the know of every aspect of your life. Or so they thought!

“You know, you’d feel a lot better if you put that phone down. You don’t owe those assholes anything..not even your time.”

this most recent scandal in particular came as rumors began to circulate that EJ was sleeping with his ex when the two performed an older song they did while together out in Sweden. The dedicated fan girls of the former pair began bashing you and saying awful things of how you had ‘ruined their ship’. That you’d never be her. Sad part was, you were starting to believe it yourself. Which in turn, caused an all out war between your fanbase; defending your honor and his devout followers, who felt you weren’t good enough. Of course, he wasn’t worried at all! He never was. Not when he had all he wanted right here and he wasn’t going to let a bunch of weird, obsessed bitches ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Yeah..” the dry response leaving your pouty lips as you took another sip of the chilled bubbly in your glass. “I know..” Eyes averted out of the window before you felt yourself being spun around by his gentle hand cupping your chin. Placing a gentle peck on your forehead and a few on your palm. Scooting closer to you on the leather couch, Eren kept a soft grasp on your hand, fixating his gaze on you. “Listen..I get it. Having people talk shit about you when they don’t know the first thing about your life is irritating and it’ll piss you off. Everybody’s got an opinion on something, everyone thinks they have some profound fucking insight into our relationship, into who you are as a person and annoying as it is…who cares? We know it’s not true so why even trip like that? As much as you don’t wanna hear it, it’s something you’ll have to get used to. They’ve been doing this shit to me since my first mixtape came out and it’s not going away anytime soon.” “So I’m just supposed to be fine with people calling me out of my name and making shit up? That’s not fair, Eren. They’re taking this too far and I’m tired. I just wanna say some—“

it wasn’t long before tears began to well in your eyes and he wasn’t going to stand for it, quite frankly. Reaching over into your lap, he’d grab your phone swiftly before you could even react and press the power button, turning the device off. You were everything he could’ve ever prayed for in a wife but damnit, if you weren’t the most stubborn ass woman he had ever met! “Hey! Why’d you?—“ “Because if you sit around addressing every bullshit ass rumor these people make about you, you’d be here all day.” The frustration visible all over his face, as well as the disappointment. “I..I just want you to be happy, (y/n). You’ve barely even smiled since I came back from tour and all of this started. I love you and I don’t know what else to do to prove that. Does all that shit really matter more to you than what I say? Do these people online really mean more to you than me? I get it’s your job and all, and I told you I’m cool with whatever you have to do but..I don’t like what it’s doing to you..what it's doing to us.” You’d never seen or heard him look so sad and instantly, you felt regret for bringing these stupid issues on what was supposed to be a dream getaway. An escape from it all and you were ruining everything! Pulling him close, you’d begin to giggle as you placed a kiss to his cheek, letting a few of your stray tears fall.

“Of course not, baby. God, I’m so sorry..I’ve been really selfish about all of this..I was too busy being upset that I didn’t even realize what I was doing. You know what? You’re right. It doesn’t even matter..let’s just enjoy ourselves and have a good time, okay? No more distractions or work..or any of this shit.” “You promise?” Questioning while wiping away your tears. “I promise..” That seemed to be all that he was looking to hear. The sheer joy creeping across his face the moment he saw you he saw you genuinely smile. The only thing that would make this all the more worth it in his opinion. “That’s more like it…” holding his hand up, signaling for you guys to do your little signature handshake, the same one that had become a staple in his pre-performance ritual and now you were using it to seal your declaration. Intertwining your fingers with your wedding bands in the process. Kissing you right afterwards with tiny pecks..not wanting to let go but at least he had garnered a happier reaction. Mumbling sweet ‘I love you’s’ against one another’s muffled lips. How could you possibly be concerned with anything else when you had this amazing man sitting in front of you?!

“Now…are you going to tell me where we’re headed?” If you hadn’t known any better, you’d sworn that Eren’s little plan was all premeditated; perfect timing as he asked you to glare out of the window, only to be met with the sight of an airplane hangar and a sign with the words ‘Welcome To Venice’ inscribed on it. Italy! A place that you had always spoken about visiting. On your bucket list in fact! “Oh my gosh…EJ..seriously?! What the—“ “Seriously. Happy anniversary, princess.” As it had been one year to the day since the inception of your official union. What was supposed to be the original destination of your honeymoon was now the location of your one year commemoration. The sheer excitement that surged through you was indescribable but little did you know…the best was just around the corner. What lied in store for you this week, was a world full of love, laughter and unexpected surprises!…ones you’d never suspect either..

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time skip and page break

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after a fairly lengthy flight, the small conflict that arose right before your arrival…and the impromptu ‘make up session’ that nearly left you two disheveled, the vacation was finally underway. You and your beloved would be spending the next week and a half touring all of Italy. With the first destination on the docket being your main stay, Venice. The illustrious City of Love (technically, it’s Verona, but we’ll go with it for this). Infamous for its captivating scenery, several canals and romantic origins. A place where even the most stoic and stone hearted would find themselves swooning. The ideal place for a couple to reconnect and focus solely on one another. Once touching down, the two of you wasted no time exploring the sights, taking everything in and just enjoying this gorgeous city. Instantly, your mood perked up and was only coupled by that when you began visiting the historic landmarks; from Saint Mark’s Basilica to the famed Rialto Bridge, where one of the city’s most frequented canals ran and the famed boat tours took place. “You know what? I think this might be my next tape cover. They can edit me on the Vatican next to the Pope, we can put you in a nun’s outfit with ya’ ass out, doing at least twenty thousand on the first day.” The wild statement followed by a loud roar of thunder in the sky. “God, that was his idea, not mine. Please don’t strike me down.” Visiting local shops, trying a variety of food and snacks and really just enjoying each other’s company. “Cannolis! My granny used to make these things all the time. And the tiramisu..babe, you have to try this.” “Alright, you know I got a bad sweet tooth. I’ll have my suitcase loaded with these, don’t get me started..” You guys were soaking in so much, it felt surreal. Having only been recently of celebrity status, (y/n) wasn’t used to traveling to all these places but you had begun to build a repertoire of destination spots. And Eren truthfully had only been here once, but only for a press release. This was the first time in forever that he was truly living life from behind a booth or microphone. And nothing was better than doing so from beside his beautiful bride. Who he was proud to display! Whipping out his phone and yours to snap a plethora of photos to commemorate the occasion. Your outfit coordinated perfectly with the location and he looked as sexy as ever, even in something so casual. Making you pose and model in true influencer fashion. “Your Instagram is about to love this. You look so damn good.” “You’re so sweet, pumpkin but I think we’re in these people’s way.” But trust, they had no issue when they recognized who was behind the lens and asked for pictures of their own with the both of you. “EJ! EJ!” They’d chant.. “(Y/N)! Oh my gosh..” “siamo grandi fan.” “Grazie!” Telling you guys that they were huge fans and you were extremely humbled. All in all, it was a pretty solid first day!

rounding out the evening with a private dinner near the canal, surrounded by the water and soothing sounds of ambient music, played by the band. Flickering candlelight surrounding your faces, plates of delectable appetizers setting before you and a bottle of wine, along with freshly poured glasses nearby. It may have been the first time in a very long time that the two of you had been on a proper date; no distractions to interfere. Getting the chance to just sit down and soak in one another..only bringing out your phone to capture more aesthetically pleasing photos to later curate your feed and flex a little on those that swore it was trouble in paradise. Including a picture of your right hands; wedding rings on display over a plate that had ‘happy anniversary’ inscribed in chocolate. Showing off those designer threads you sported out to dinner…his all black ensemble, complimenting your own. And of course, the gifts he copped in lieu of celebrating your nuptials. But right now, your only focus was Eren. That handsome face, those tattooed hands extended out over the table to reach for yours as you guys talked and reminisced on past experiences. Especially your very first time out together! Which had the two of you cackling.

“And they ended up having a fire alarm at the restaurant so we had to evacuate. You remember that?”

“I couldn’t forget. You were so pissed..we were starving and everything was so packed, we said fuck it and went to Sonic instead.”

“God, and the dude who came out to take our order made a scene about us being there..I was actually embarrassed for once. I just wanted my damn chili dog in peace. He was cool as hell though.”

thinking back to the simpler times in you guys’ lives and how you longed to just have more nights, riding around Miami Beach, holding hands in the front seat of the Wraith..just vibing without a care in the world. Shutting everyone else out…hence why you were here now. Just falling in love all over again. And from the way you hadn’t stopped laughing since you landed, he could most certainly write off day one of this trip off as a success! However..it was merely getting started as far as he was concerned. Because there was so much more he had to expose you to. Show you the side of him he hadn’t gotten to previously. “You know, I just wanted to say, (y/n)..I’m sorry about earlier. The last thing I ever wanted was to invalidate how you felt or pretend it didn’t matter. I’ve been doing this so long, I’m used to letting things slide off of my back or pretending I don’t give a damn. I’m learning everyday to be a lil’ more considerate, y’know? I thought everyone else would feel the same. I just hated the idea of seeing you worry so much..I adore you more than life itself and I just want you to know..that you’re the only person in this world I want to spend the rest of forever with.” With his hand clutching yours, glaring down at the table, Eren reached over for his glass and grasped the stem..hoisting it in the air for a toast and you’d follow suit. “To my beautiful bride, my wife, the future mother of my kids..my everything..I love you, (y/n).” His sweet words alone nearly sent you into hysterics as no one had ever spoken to you in such a way. Showered you with so much praise; stomach ablaze with butterflies and made your heart flutter with pure joy. EJ was never much for expressing his feelings or being vulnerable but you brought it out. Gave him that place to grow and be a better man. “And I love you, more than I could ever put into words. You are everything I could’ve ever imagined and living proof that God answers prayers. The man that came into my world one day, and is now my entire universe. I am not only proud but honored to be Mrs. Jaeger.” Making his cheeks illuminate red with your kind words. With that quick exchange of makeshift mini vows, the two of you clinked the glasses together and let the liquor glide down your throats. This was truly a breath of fresh air and the best night you’d had in a long time.

it was only when the waiter would return to ensure that all was to your liking that you’d be met with yet another surprise from your beau. The waiter began asking him a question, something about the meal and suddenly, you’d hear him respond: “grazie mille, tutto è perfetto.” The words flowed so casually from between his lips, it caught you by surprise..yet, it was nothing to him. He’d continue on speaking to the man in fluent conversation before he walked away. Turning back towards you like normal. Which brought up a soft chuckle from your end. “What’s the matter, princess? What’re you laughing about?” “Okay, Mr. Bilingual. You never told me you spoke Italian and so perfectly too.”

but like many other talents of his, Eren attempted to downplay the whole thing and wave you off. You’d be even more shocked to find out he was actually trilingual..with a bit of German underneath his belt as well. “It’s nothing, just a little something I picked up from my granny and mom when I was a kid. And I took a few lessons here and there.” But something told you that he was far more versed in the language than he was letting on. So much so, (y/n) shot him a glare and batted those pretty little lashes. “Well I like it. Say something else.” Seeing how swayed you were by the little display, he’d decide to do something special. “Yeah? Good to know.” It was such a romantic language and nothing would be more swoon worthy than a dance underneath the moonlight as he sang into your ear. Waving the waiter back over, he’d whisper something to him in Italian yet again before extending his hand across the table. “May I have this dance, mi amor?” In that moment, your cheeks burned and your body went flush with happiness. Gladly accepting. That much you understood! “Why, yes sir, you may..” Helping you to your feet, he’d circulate until the two of you conjoined as one in a cradle. His arm rests at the small of your back and yours on his shoulder as your opposite hands intertwine. Those beautiful green eyes glaring at you as if you were a precious jewel..one he wanted to protect and cherish. Swaying you back and forth to the rhythm of the music, head pressed to his chest as he held you close. Then something even sweeter happened…

“Wait…I recognize this song—“ and indeed you should have, as it were the song you guys danced to at your wedding. The instrumental created by the orchestra is spot on. But the best part was when you heard the lyrics being recited back to you in such a beautiful voice..and the language of the country! “uno, è come un sogno che si avvera. Due, voglio solo stare con te.”

Eren serenading you with his absolutely amazing voice along with his mother tongue was not something you’d ever expected but you were ascending to cloud nine right now. Tilting your chin up with the tip of his finger, he’d peer down at your pretty face and kiss you once more. “You’re so beautiful, princess. I don’t know how I got so lucky..” but you had the same sentiment! He truly was one of a kind. You’d spend the next twenty minutes or so dancing about under the stars, being entranced by the various renditions of your favorite love songs. “Talk to me again, baby? I love the way you speak to me..” And honestly, lost in one another. Filling your ear with sweet nothings in that second language..telling you how much he loved you and how beautiful you looked. “voglio solo stare qui per sempre con te..” Along with subtle touches to your thigh as he raised the hem of your dress or lowered his hand residing on your back. Suave and smoother than ever. He had put so much thought and care into it; this only being the first twenty four hours of it had you stoked to see what else he could possibly have in store..there was no way this could be topped!..

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or so you had thought when you made it back to the hotel you were staying at for the duration of this excursion. The Gritti Palace, Venice’s most popular resort for tourists and celebrities alike. Its gorgeous architecture and rich background..all a way to draw people in. And you were sold the second you came through the door. But the master suite he had booked? It was reminiscent of something from a fairy tale. You couldn’t believe this was real! An hour or so had passed..and while you were getting checked back in, your husband was making some other arrangements. Such as getting a trail of roses strewn from the entrance to the bathroom, ending in the bedroom across the mattress where it had a rather sweet message inscribed, chocolate covered strawberries sitting near the bedside, a bucket of ice, and a bathtub full of bubbles where the two of you were now. Sipping on glasses of Ace of Spades whilst your feet rested against his chest. His hand gently massaging your instep and rubbing on the soles as he kissed the perimeter of it. Subtly suckling at those white painted toes. Your bodies submerged into the sheath of foamy soap. “So, what you think of your first time in Italy? Meet your expectations?” The question was all but rhetorical. You were blown away by everything he had done so far and looking forward to what was coming. “Exceed is more like it. I can’t believe you planned all of this, just for us…” Eren would merely chuckle as he watched you with deep seeded, lustful eyes from afar..you still nursing your drink and him massaging your legs. “I told you, I’d do anything to make my baby smile..anything.” Saying so with much conviction and a rather suave voice. The look on his face, that of one signaling for something a little more. And trust, it didn’t take long for you to pick up the hint. Seeing as how he had wooed you and worked so hard to make this dream destination possible..you couldn’t help but to want to return the favor.. “..you’re too good to me.” And it was apparent exactly what he was in the mood for at the moment. Raising a hand from beneath the water, Eren took his index and middle fingers; both wrapped with silver bands and tattoos and waved you over. To which you’d maneuver and crawl over onto his lap. “Oh, I’m just getting started..” Swaddling you in his muscular arms as he brought you down for a kiss. Your tongues slowly intertwine in sloppy pecks. (Y/N) eventually brought your hands to the back of his neck and began to straddle his lap in the process. “Mmm..is that right?” “..come find out.” Faint moans filled the air of the bathroom and eventually, what started out as a simple bubble bath had evolved into a full blown make out session. The water underneath your bodies sloshing around as a result of the not so subtle movements you were making..his hands scouring the perimeter of your ass; only to leave it with a sharp smack afterwards. “Ooh!..damn..” And you rubbing yourself against his obvious erect..the friction driving you both insane. So much so, he had to make the next move. “I want you so bad..”

admitting through baited breath as he lifted you from the tub and the two of you made a beeline for the bed. Your sud soaked bodies entangled on the fluffy mattress. It was almost instinct for your legs to spread in his presence..honestly, you had never felt the attraction and lust for any man that you had for your husband. But that’s what happened when he made you feel so safe..secure and loved. Not to mention..so sexy. Eren’s palms trailed further south and circled slowly all over that frame while he made home between your thighs. “God..you’re so perfect…reminds me of our wedding night. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when I took off that veil..” confessing as he hovered over you, rubbing your cheek with a gentle brush. Those gorgeous brown eyes agleam with pure adoration for him. “Look up at me, baby?..” And he was equally as excited. His lips split into a wide grin..laughing with that thumb brushing over your lip before parting them and sliding inside. “..yeah, that’s the one. So damned beautiful..I just wanted to stay inside of you forever.” Truthfully, Eren could go on for hours about that night. Despite all of the hookups and hot sex you two had, all of them paled in comparison to the night that you consummate your marriage. To the night that you officially became his forever person. When you told him it was his, he knew it was real this time and that there was no chance of ever losing it. By the time you finished, you were both a wreck. Holding hands and exchanging tears of joy and wedded bliss. He wanted to not only relive that wonderful sensation but to create something far more special. With your palms cradling the back of his head, (y/n) stared lovingly; your fingers tangled in his chocolate colored locks before lowering it to the point that you were mere inches apart. You’d utter to him in a faint whimper: “..take me, Eren..it’s yours, baby. Make love to me the way you did that night.” And that was all of the motivation he needed. Splaying you across the silk sheets, taking a moment just to examine the beauty that was before him. A goddess-like figure, gorgeous brown skin rivaling that of Godiva..you were the living proof that angels existed. Diving deeper between your thighs, he’d bend further, pressing a bit of his weight down as your tongues meshed yet again. Feeding each other sloppy, slow kisses..ones that had each of your bodies ablaze with pleasure. Moaning one another’s names and brushing each other’s skin. When he finally withdrew back, he’d tug your bottom lip with his teeth gently before leaning up and reaching over to the bucket on the bedside. Filled to the brim with cubes of ice, Eren would casually place it between his fingertips whilst hovering over you. His mind was racing a million miles a minute. Normally, he’d already be buried seven inches deep inside of you with your nails scraping his shoulder blades but tonight..tonight was special. You required a lot more subtlety and care. To be romanced..teased and brought right to the edge until you could no longer take anymore and then, he’d take your body to heights never before felt! But first, he had some ideas and that much was told by the devious smirk on his face.

“You wanna know what one of the most beautiful parts are about being married? Is learning all about the other person..finding out something new everyday..” while he was speaking, that frozen little square made its way from your trembling lips, down your neck and to your breasts, where he circled them stagnantly against your nipples, which made you whimper and suck your teeth. He could see the little brown buds growing harder almost instantaneously.. “..what you like, what you don’t and my favorite part?..” and when he lowered his head to flick his tongue across them, he’d trail his hand south “..What turns you on.” simultaneously and let his fingers explore those folds. Soaking wet with arousal, all for him. Mainly due in part to his switch in vernacular earlier in the day. He could easily see how you were lovingly...and lustfully glaring at him when he began to fill your head and ears with Italian. How buttery smooth the words flowed from his tongue with no pause. How charming he was with it..you had never seen him so suave before. Make no mistake, he could get you out of your panties off of the simplest things but this hit so differently. “So..I’ll take as long as I need to. Stay here all night..touching, kissing and rubbing alllll over this pretty body..” and it was then that you felt that free hand move to your throat whilst that ice sat dormant in the center of your abdomen and he’d pull you close, whispering: “finché non impazzisci per tutto questo cazzo..”

naturally, you’d have no way of knowing what he just said to you but the way he lightly chuckled and placed a kiss to your jawline, you knew he was about to be a problem and that it had to be some freaky shit. So with that very hot declaration, he’d resume cooling you down with that clear cube; lapping up the remnants in all the places he had previously placed it. Taking extra time to fixate on those tender nipples. His warm breath on the chilled area as he gently suckled..even taking them between his teeth for a moment. Meanwhile, that ice landed on your mound and with a single pop to your skin, he’d part those legs even wider so he had room to run it down your thighs. Slowly guiding that frozen chunk all over your legs. A string of your moans growing louder and he’d be quick to quell them with a few pecks. But he wasn’t much in the way of wanting to quiet you down. He wanted to hear those sweet cries..to know that he was doing a good job. He could see that swollen clit protruding out for him and as badly as he wanted to spit on it and suck the little bud, he wanted to also make you climax before he even so much as put the tip in. Which he’d plan to make happen by finally moving the ice to your sensitive hood..circling it and whilst you were preoccupied, he’d slide a couple fingers into that tightness that was previously spasming on air. “Oh my gosh, ‘ren..baby..” your voice, shaky from the feeling of the cold brushing your skin. “I know, baby..but look. Look how wet you are for me already..that’s my girl.” Still lapping on your nipples and rubbing you with that ice. All his limbs worked in tandem to bring you unbelievable pleasure and all you had to do was keep laying your pretty ass right there, moaning. That grip around his digits only grew tighter when he commended you for how well you were taking him. It became apparent to him early on how much being praised made your heart and pussy flutter for him. You’d eventually find yourself fucking those fingers as that ice melted into your dripping warmth..coagulating with the rest of your wetness. Eren would then reach over for a secondary piece which he placed on your titties yet again. By this time, you were a salivating, stimulated mess..eyes faltering back in the process as his middle and ring fingers remained sunken into that needy heat. “I’m gonna come..fuck yessss. Right there..” He was thoroughly enjoying watching you come undone at his hands. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted and it didn’t help when you’d hear him pose yet another question that had you twitching and craving more. The aggression and passion in his voice oozed pure sex appeal. “Sì? verrai per me, mami? vuoi fare un pasticcio su queste lenzuola? sulle mie fottute dita?” Knowing you had not the first clue what he was asking but it was getting you hot and bothered..so much so, you were about to drench his entire forearm. Uttering all of this as he kept a tight grip around your throat and the other fingers plunged inside of you. Your mouth agape and jaw slack while exchanging wet kisses. Even swapping spit as he glared into your eyes. “Just nod your head, baby…say yes. You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you? You don’t even need to think about it, isn’t that, right?” “Yes, daddy! Whatever you want..”

crying out as you clawed into his arm and shook within his grasp. (Y/N) began to gasp, breathing heavily and he’d pump a bit faster. From there, you could barely contain yourself. Drool trickling down your chin, tears streaming down your face and your feet dangling in the air as you found yourself clawing into the backs of your own legs; folded up on instinct. “Then come, baby..let it out..” Withdrawing his hand at the same time. When he did so, he found himself met with a shower of sweet liquids..spurting out until he unplugged your tightness entirely and allowed you to flood his hand and eventually, his face. “Ooh..! ‘Rennnn..okaaaay!” Before you knew it, he had your legs locked into a hold and his face buried in that pretty pussy. Sucking on your clit, nose scouring your cunt and the sounds of his moans humming against your sex. But not before he so casually stuck one of those strawberries between your teeth as a way to pacify you.

“Mmmm..it feels good, don’t it, baby?” Questioning while spitting down into your entrance. He was always so nasty when it came to eating your pussy; digging that same saliva out with the tip of his tongue. His long hair tangled between those long nails. That fruit puckered between your lips before he’d lean up and get a taste of both you and it. “So good…God, I love the way you eat this pussy.” Chuckling in disbelief of how amazing it all felt. Which in turn boosted his ego tenfold. He loved when you talked to him and more so sang his praises. “Right there, baby..put that tongue in it..ooh fuck. I’mma come again..” meanwhile, Eren had reached underneath his body and began stroking his cock to the sounds of your voice. It always got him so hard…and soon, he wouldn’t be able to withstand another second of not being inside of you. “I’m cool with that.” Leaning up in a swift like motion, only to flip you over onto your side and mount himself behind you. Taking one leg into the air and his shaft in the other palm to rub it momentarily. That thick length slapping against your slit..drumming up that gorgeous slick. “As long as you do it on this dick. You can make a mess all you want.” Gritting his teeth against your jawline before pushing himself inside with a gentle grip to the back of your neck, keeping you reigned in and entirely focused on him. “Right there..” sucking his teeth as he made home inside of that clamping flesh. And it felt as if it were the very first time all over again! “Fuck…così stretto..baby. la figa è così buona..” causing you to giggle at the sensuality in his accent. Coiling his arms around your torso and holding you close, Eren would begin to thrust into you..feeding you deep strokes almost instantly. As if he had been dying all day to be one with you. And now that he was, he didn’t want to let go..didn’t want to leave you ever again. Gripping his forearm, (y/n) gently grazed those fingertips into his skin; marking it up. Eventually, that gently paced pounding turned to you being fucked relentlessly. His arm coiling you in a makeshift headlock, his lips pressed to your ear and his balls slapping up against your ass. Already, he had caused you to start creaming all over him, which always drove him mad. Made him want to fill you with some of his own…

“Ahh! Eren…baby..” he then realized just how hard he was going and had to dial it back a couple notches. As to not hurt you or blow his load too early. He wanted to savor this moment…savor the sensation of being immersed in your warmth. “Sorry, sorry, baby..I got a lil’ carried away. But I just can’t help it.” Clutching your jaw between his fingertips and lightly squeezing, trying to keep you coherent. Even so, he was buried to the hilt..trying to hit the inner corner of your cervix. So much so, a slight bulge began to form at the pit of your stomach. But as he continued, you’d feel him reach down to massage your aching little bud. “You feel so good…look so pretty when I’m fucking on you..” mumbling on and whimpering as he began to throb and lose his pace. It wouldn’t be long before he filled you up but not until he finished bragging about his beloved. Telling you how wet it was, how you made him never want to pull out and how he wanted to give you his child. Just losing his mind in it..even breaking into a bit of tears as he neared his climax.

“Voglio entrare così in profondità in quella figa, sarai così carina con il mio dado che gocciola fuori da te..”

it wasn’t long before he was helping you rub your own out and you found yourself coming undone, releasing all over his pelvis and your own thighs. As well as the sheets and did you make a mess for him! One that had you quivering and apologizing. And Eren could do nothing more than hold you close and let you ride it out. “It’s okay, mama. Don’t be sorry…I got you…” quelling you with soft kisses. But it wasn’t long after he was the one in need of calming down. Because with you spasming; contracting around his length, he couldn’t slow down afterwards and next thing you knew..

“I’m coming, baby! I’m nutting in that pussy..hold still f’r me..”

“Oh God!…yes..”

clutching you in his arms and shoving his tongue into your mouth as he came inside, pumping your womb with that warm cream; with at least two loads worth and he didn’t let up until it was leaking out and the two of you glared at it together. With faint streams of tears spilling down both of your faces, he’d clasp his fingers with yours and join together. In that moment, nothing else mattered…you were his diamond, his star and the brightest light in his life and nothing would ever dim that for him. With sharp gasps, attempting to regain your breaths, he’d swipe the side of your face and hold you once more. you couldn’t believe how blessed you were to have such a wonderful man. One who was night and day..as tough and stonewalled as he could be..he was even more gentle and caring. Letting that guard down day by day to prove that you were the reason behind his transformation and he was forever grateful to have you in his corner. They could talk on the internet all they pleased, ran with whatever narrative they needed to but the only that existed..in his eyes? Was his princess..his reina

“Till death do us part, right? Well they’d have to kill me to keep me from loving you, mi amor..even then, I’d still find my way back to you in a million lives over.”

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@mxnst3rz @spaceforher @2-c4ndy @l0vr-girl @queendijaaaa @jadasworldpress @ashleemxrie @diorlov3er @tojisblondebimbo @mrssano04 @lostgxrlblog @yungirl-900 @tiazs @intergalactic1thoughts @shamelesshoefairy @sincerlycas

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saturnville · 6 months

Text

40 days n 40 nights.

pairing; shuri udaku x black!fem!reader (kalila)

warning; toxicity. language. emotional manipulation. allusions to smut. descriptions of smut 18+ content.

reference; 40 days n 40 nights — mariah the scientist, vory

overview; in which two exes reunite briefly after ending their toxic relationship.

tags (people who recently interacted with my shuri fics): @neeville @pocketsizedpanther @l-o-v-e-galore @cosmic-parker

Toxicity used to be as foreign concept. At one point, healthy was all she knew. Open, honest, respectful communication and treatment from her partner to herself. It was easily acceptable. It was what she needed to thrive; it was what she required.

Kalila felt like a fool when she lowered the walls that guarded her soft heart. The sweet nothings and gentle kisses that the lips of the Queen shared, altered her brain chemistry in a way she couldn’t explain.

No longer was she headstrong and adamant about what she deserved. She didn’t stand on business. No, she was weak in the knees for the Queen, the Panther, for her. Whatever to keep her majesty satisfied, she was prepared to give it all.

Naivety was her downfall.

What she failed to understand, was that the deep desire to please her at any cause, stripped her of her dignity, honor, and self-respect. Subject to mistreatment as a result, Kalila’s eyes began to open. The rose-colored glasses fell and reality sunk in. Her loyalty was taken advantage of. Her kindness was laughed at. The love she gave was not enough. She was not enough. She came to be nothing but a body to keep the bed warm while the Queen did what a Queen had the pleasure of doing; whatever she wanted.

It took months to build the courage to end the relationship. How easy could it be to remove oneself from the most intense union they’d found themselves in? The one where while the pros were numerous, the cons extended themselves past the acceptable limit.

The worst part was; she didn’t care. She had no interest in fighting to keep her, working to change. Kalila’s world crumbled. Her heart tore in two, her lungs constricted, and her mind fogged. Suddenly, substances were her lover and they fucked her good; to the point where she’d be in an orgasmic haze from the strategic stroking of her brain.

She mentally smacked herself each time she thought or her. The Queen, the Panther, Shuri. The best and worst thing to ever happen to her. Kalila wondered what she was up to. Probably living her life; on a flight to a new country where she’d serenade a woman into being her lover for the night before retreating the following morning, intrigued when the women followed her like a lost child. Kalila knew it all too well—it was once her.

The room spun. Substances and lack of sleep were a deadly combination. Kalila shook her head. 40 days and 40 nights of endless bullshit. All she had to do was let go. Could it be so hard?

Her music paused briefly at the indication of a text.

S. Udaku. Open the door.

Apparently so.

Kalila’s knees were weak as she stood in front of her. Her knees were weak, her heart pounding, and her most intimate parts jolted at the sight of her. She looked much different than she had a year ago. Her curls were much shorter—she’d cut them—now small tendrils on her head. She retired her tracksuit for a black suit with accompanying loafers. Kalila glanced at the wall clock. It was 9:41pm. Where’d she come from?

Shuri stepped into the apartment with an indescribable dominance that shifted the atmosphere. She was taller in stature, so her neck was lowered to glare into the eyes of Kalila. Both sets of brown eyes were deep and rich, but told different stories.

“What are you doing here?” Kalila’s voice was slow. The door closed behind her and and Kalila’s eyes followed Shuri as she stood in the middle of her apartment. Her long arms were crossed just underneath her belt, and her rings shone under the dim lights.

“Why’d you let me in?” Was the Queen’s response.

Because I missed you. Kalila’s eyes told it all before her mouth did. Shuri gave a humored chuckle, but the stoic look on her face didn’t change. Tight-lipped and unamused.

“Why are you here?” Kalila pressed once more. Shuri was now on the couch. Her long fingers flipped through the magazine on the coffee table. Essence. Then, they ghosted over the lit candle aside it. She didn’t flinch when the flame kissed her fingertips. Slowly, she leaned back against the couch, arm thrown over the back.

Shuri shrugged. “Was in the area. Wanted to say hello. Sit.” As if she was trained, Kalila sat beside her. This was what she wanted; to be next to her, in her presence once again. Why act shy now?

“I see you’re doing well. Business flourishing and all.”Kalila’s eyes snapped up. She started a marketing and consulting agency shortly after her college graduation. It was a rocky start, and Shuri had been there to connect her to the best in the business to assist in its development. Little did Kalila know, her efforts never ceased even once they split.

Kalila, however, was confused as to how she knew the way she was flourishing. At least on the outside. Then she had to remember, Shuri had every resource at her fingertips. Hell, she probably had someone keeping tabs on her at one point. She chose not to think about it further.

“Yeah, things are well.” Her answer was short. “Can you just…why are you here, Udaku? We are--there is no us anymore. You made it clear what you wanted five months ago, and it wasn't me. So, why are you here?" Her voice shook as she spoke, but she spoke with intention.

Shuri's chin raised and her eyebrow quipped. "I had a revelation. You didn't deserve what I put you through, and I'm aware of that. So, simply here to take accountability. That's it."

It was Kalila's turn to raise her eyebrow. It seemed too good to be true. Shuri sighed deeply and turned to face Kalila, whose distrust was written on her face.

"Do you trust me?" Shuri asked. Kalila's response was delayed. Did she? To protect her life, sure. But to protect and honor her emotions, her mental wellbeing, her heart? No, no she didn't.

"In some ways, yes. In others, no. And that's not my fault. It's yours/"

Ouch. Shuri nodded once. "Okay. Let me make it up to you." Those words were dangerous. They were the entryway back into the world of Shuri Udaku, and she wondered if she'd be able to take it.

Kalila spent time contemplating, and it did not go unseen by Shuri. So, the Queen asked her, "What are you thinking about?"

"How I don't want to be hurt by you again."

"I love you too much to hurt you again."

"That's what you said last time."

Silence.

"Let me prove it to you, yeah?" Her slender fingers danced across the roundness of Kalila's face. Fingertips grazed her lips until they fell down her neck. She gave it a soft squeeze. Kalila's eyes fluttered and she leaned into Shrui's body. Shuri took it as an opportunity to graze her lips over Kalila's, whose fell slack and a quiet whimper fell from them. Exactly where she wanted her.

Soon, clothes decorated the floor and their songs of pleasure were on repeat. High and low shifts in pitch and octave. Whistle register with voice cracks when it became too much. Sweaty bodies slipped and slid against one another. A glorious event.

"I love you," the Queen whispered breathlessly in Kalila's ear as she brought her to the edge. "I love you, I love you...it's just us. Always."

If only she stayed true to her word. Kalila woke up by herself. Every remainder of Shuri was eradicated. The only trace of her was the scent of her perfume; strong and dominant, just like her.

Her phone buzzed against the coffee table.

S. Udaku. I'll see you soon.

She knew what that meant. She'd return when she felt like it. That could be days or weeks. Kalila's eyes welled with tears. Another 40 days and 40 nights were wasted, just to start the process all over again.

#saturnville #original writing #original content #original story #black!reader #black love #fic inspo #black reader #queen shuri #shuri udaku #princess shuri #shuri x reader #black panther #shuri x afab!reader #shuri x woc!reader #shuri x black!reader #fic inspired by a song #fic inspired by music #40 days and 40 nights by saturnville

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livelovecaliforniadreams · 2 years

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Chuck + Sarah + Kisses 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1: The Awakening

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Summary:

Doctor Steven Grant accepted a job as a professor at a prestigious college in New England. While you're on your way to your first history class in your second semester of your junior year, you run into an attractive English man at the coffee shop. The two of you hit it off, and since you're both headed in the same direction upon leaving, you decide to walk together. You're both excited to have met someone you have clear chemistry with right off the bat until...you realize that you both were headed to the same building, and that he's your new history professor.

When you discover that there's even more to this man than meets the eye, things get even more complicated than you could've imagined. Loving one man who's almost twice your age in a place where your relationship is forbidden is hard enough, nevermind three.

Chapter Summary:

It's your first day of class, and you meet a nice guy at the coffee shop on your way in. Too bad when you find out he's just out of reach.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was the first day of the semester and you were already looking forward to it being over. With the holidays out of the way, you should be feeling refreshed and ready for the second half of your junior year, but when the sun beat through your dorm room and directly into your eyes, in combination with your screeching alarm, you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Your roommate was stirring on the other side of the room in her own bed, and you were sure she felt the same.

Coming back from winter break was never easy. You had to get used to a new schedule, and leave behind the laziness of gorging on food and festivities with your family. You picked up your phone and turned off the alarm with a groan before flopping back over on the mattress. It was only 7:15am.

Layla grumbled into her pillow. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You agreed, throwing your blanket off in a huff.

“What class do you have first?”

“History with… Dr. Grant, I think.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, he’s the new professor who came over from England I think.” She sighed and got out of bed.

Her dark curls were a mess and bouncing all around her as she walked over to the small mirror in the wardrobe and picked something out of her teeth. You remembered hearing there was a new professor for this history course after the last one got kicked out for having inappropriate relations with a student, but you had forgotten the name of the replacement until now. History wasn’t really your strong suit anyway.

“My parents told me I have to ask him for tutoring.” You said, picking some clothes out of your drawer. “I flunked last year.”

“I remember.” She said with a hair elastic in her teeth while she pulled her curls back into a messy bun.

You got yourself dressed, put a little makeup on and finished getting ready. The air outside was chilly, and you pulled your coat tightly over yourself. You stopped in at Moonbean Coffee to get your usual pick-me-up before your first class. One of the perks of an open campus was the luxury of grabbing a real coffee before spending hours in a lecture.

The line in front of you was fortunately short, only one person stood between you and the barista. You noticed the man in front of you fumbling around in the pockets of his gray jacket. He let out a sound in frustration.

“Bollocks.” He said under his breath, patting himself down. “I think I left my wallet…”

He looked panicked, and you felt bad, having been in that position before. You decided it was time to do your good samaritan act of the day and you pulled your own wallet out of your bag.

“Here.” You reached around the man and handed the woman at the register a bill.

The man turned to you and his lips curled into a big smile. His tired eyes looked you up and down. You took note of his disheveled appearance. He clearly needed his drink as badly as you did.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that, I’m just-erm…I don’t have to have it.” He said, clearly anxious from your kind gesture. You took note of his thick English accent.

You shrugged and smiled at him comfortingly, “I’d die without my morning coffee. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good morning…” the barista said your name.

“Morning, T.” You said as she got started on your usual drink.

The man still stood there to the side. “That really was very kind of you. Very sweet.” He sipped the cup. “Oh bugger.” He cursed. “That’s hot.” A small chuckle escaped him.

You giggled. “Don’t mention it. I’ve been there, done that.”

His gaze lingered on you, lips still curled in a cheeky grin. He gasped when his wrist buzzed. He looked at it quickly.

“Oh, I really have to get goin’. You come here often, yeah?” He asked, looking at you eagerly.

“Y-yeah, I do.” T handed you your coffee as you handed her another bill and told her to keep the change.

Following him to the door, he opened it for you, letting you out first before exiting as well.

“Good, maybe I’ll catch you another time then, I’ll getcha back.” He nodded. “Alright then. Bye!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” You smiled foolishly at him, “bye.” You waved before realizing he was walking the same direction you were going.

He let out a laugh as you kept pace with him. “Well of course we’re walkin’ the same way. That’s not awkward at all.”

You chuckled, “Well, you can make it up to me now then, walking alone can be boring.”

When you saw the way he looked at you, your stomach fluttered. You’d seen that look before. He was interested in you. The man was clearly older than you, but you didn’t care. He was good looking, and judging by his messy curls, gentle gaze and overall demeanor, he was just your type.

“Alright sure, yeah, I can do that.” He said eagerly.

You introduced yourself. “…what’s your name?”

“Oh, name’s Steven, with a V.”

The two of you started walking in the direction of the building your class would be held in.

“So, Steven, clearly you’re not from around here, what brings you to a small college city like this?” You sipped your warm drink while the two of you walked through the chilly September air, not wanting to rush.

“Well, a job, actually.” He sipped from his cup, too, this time not flinching at the temperature.

“Oh, what do you do for work?” You asked, realizing you were approaching the brick building where your class was held all too quickly. You wished it was just a little further so you could get just another moment with Steven.

He stopped in front of the building, as if he knew you were stopping there before you told him your destination.

“I’m a history professor. This is my stop actually! Sorry, not a long walking partner.” His friendly and naive smile was about to fade when he realized the awful irony of the situation you were both in.

It hit you like a truck, “a-are you…Dr. Grant?” You asked, brows stitched together as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It made sense now: the English accent, out of place in a New England college city, the messy hair, the messenger bag and binder of notes that you just then took notice of. It should’ve been obvious from the moment you met him, everything about his appearance screamed ‘college professor’.

For some reason, this felt awkward. It was obvious just in the short time you’d known this man that you both were somewhat attracted to one another. Not that it was serious, of course, but there was an undeniable flirtatious air surrounding the whole encounter. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him, sharing timid smiles between promises of coffee, it was plain as day.

Now, he was shifting awkwardly in front of you as you were tapping the paper cup in your hand deep in thought. There was nothing wrong with buying your new professor a cup of coffee when he forgot his wallet, and there was nothing wrong with your new professor walking his student to class. You were both walking the same way anyway.

“Erm…yeah, yup.” You could see him trying to shake off the fog, the fantasy you both had entertained for the two minute walk.

“Well, that’s so ironic.” You tried to push past it, hoping it would help diffuse the new tension. “I’m in your class.”

He nodded despondently, his dark circled eyes looking to the ground to avoid your gaze. He hastily opened the door for you, and you thanked him as you walked in. You were stiff as a board as you made your way inside the classroom. Even though there was really nothing wrong with the interaction you’d had, something felt maddeningly nerve wracking about the whole situation.

You took a seat somewhere in the middle next to someone you remembered seeing around in other classes last semester, but never remembered her name. You hoped Dr. Grant would take you sitting in the middle table as a way of saying, “that whole interaction was totally normal, not awkward at all, see? I’m sitting in the middle instead of all the way in the back corner to avoid you.” You silently hoped the message translated.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag. You opened it and peered over the top. Dr. Grant’s eyes were stuck on you for a second while he shuffled the papers on his desk before he nervously looked away and sat down.

You tried to look at anything other than him, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at him over the top of your screen. He put his laptop on his desk and opened it. You watched him inconspicuously as he put his jacket around the back of his chair and he pulled out a pair of glasses, placing them on his face. They made him look older, but you didn’t think it made him any less attractive. In fact, you liked the way they looked. You quickly shook the thought from your head.

You need to stop this, you’re acting ridiculous, you told yourself.

“Alright, well.” He stood up, let out a deep exhale, and put the glasses back on the table. The final students were trickling in. “I’m Dr. Grant, but you can all call me Steven. Dr. Grant is a bit formal, innit?” He chuckled, but the rest of the class remained silent. “Alright.” He rubbed his hands together nervously.

You felt bad, seeing him clearly trying to connect with the uncaring class. He messed idly with his dark blue tie before patting it down and clearing his throat.

“Well, I won’t start us off with anything too flashy today. It is the first day after all.” He began.

The lecture was a couple of hours, but Dr. Grant made it feel like it was much shorter than that. He was like a completely different person than the anxious man you’d met at the cafe. He was excited, smiling and full of energy while he taught the first lesson. To see someone so passionate about something sparked excitement and admiration inside you, even if the subject itself wasn’t your strong suit.

The amount of times he said, ‘I mean, wow’, was surprising and more than a little endearing. He certainly had a way of making a topic that you weren’t very adept in much more interesting just from his own enthusiasm. As he was wrapping up the lecture, you checked the clock. 10:20am. Your next class wasn’t until 1:00pm, leaving you plenty of time to talk to him about tutoring. Only tutoring, you reminded yourself.

You felt anxious though, standing there after the last student left. You clutched your satchel to your side like your life depended on it. He didn’t notice you at first, because you’d started to walk away with the crowd, trying to decide if you were even going to ask him to tutor you or not, but then you remembered your father’s words. I’m not paying for you to waste your time in school, you already picked a meaningless major, the least you can do is get decent grades.

You stepped up to his desk and cleared your throat. He peered up over his reading glasses and jumped when he saw you.

“Oh, erm, hi, class is dismissed.” He said anxiously, so different from the person speaking with utmost confidence to fifty or more students just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you started, “I know, I just needed to talk to you about something.”

He started getting nervous, you could see sweat beading on his forehead above his strong eyebrows. If someone asked you why you were so anxious about asking your new history professor to tutor you, you’d tell them you had no idea, but deep down you knew it was because the two of you definitely had a weird connection at the coffee shop.

“Oh, is this about…it’s about the coffee, yeah? I really-”

“N-no, Dr. Grant-“

“Steven.” He corrected you.

“S-Steven.” You cleared your throat once again. “No, I’m, uh, I’m not worried about the coffee. I need to ask for tutoring.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in relief, “Oh, heh, right, yeah, ‘course.” A large smile on his face.

He felt the connection, too, you thought, and he’s relieved you didn’t bring it up.

“Well, there’s plenty of other students around who do that, yeah? Maybe go to the library, I think that’s where you sign up for something like that.” You didn’t know what it was about this man that captivated you, but when his eyes locked on to yours you felt your stomach twist in yearning.

“Um…yeah.” You were wearing a faint smile while accepting his rejection. “Yeah, I guess I can try that. They didn’t have anyone last semester, but maybe they will this time. Thanks.”

It was probably for the best that he didn’t tutor you, judging by his reaction, and that’s not even considering if the connection was real and you hadn’t just made it up. You gave him a friendly nod and turned on your heel toward the exit. Just as you were grabbing the door handle, Steven spoke up.

“Wait, hold on.” He said, standing up. You turned to him. “They probably aren’t very good anyway, the students they have tutoring. Why don’t you come by after your last class on Wednesday? Not sure why time you get finished, but I can make something work.”

“M-my last class on Wednesday gets over at like seven.” You explained.

He shrugged, “M’sure my goldfish will be alright if I get home a bit later than usual.”

“Wow, okay, brilliant, yes Dr. G-uh-Steven!” You couldn’t contain your toothy grin as you thanked him profusely and left.

You felt like you were in a trance for the rest of the day. You’d thought that by not having Steven in your direct line of sight you’d be able to move on from the feeling in your gut, but it only festered. He was occupying your mind. The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way he looked at you, it was maddening.

You kept thinking about his messy hair, wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers through it. When he got nervous just from looking at you, straightening his tie, you wondered what it would look like to have him loosening it, maybe unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes are what really captivated you, he looked exhausted, but they still shined so brightly when he looked at you, before he’d realized that you were his student.

When you got back to your dorm and turned in for the night, you took it upon yourself to look up your college’s specific rules around student and teacher relationships. Even though the last history professor got fired, you were trying to convince yourself now that there had to be a different reason. There just had to be.

There wasn’t a different reason though. The rules were plain as day: student and professor relationships were a no go. No one seemed to care what happened when you graduated, but until then, it was strictly forbidden. There was even talk in some resources you found about the student being expelled since they are, after all, a consenting adult who knew the consequences of their actions.

With that, it was time to lay your growing need to put yourself in Steven’s presence as much as possible to rest. At least, you wanted to. You couldn’t though, while you lay there in the dark, with Layla snoring on the other side of the room. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked you up and down, his hooded eyes drinking you in, the way he exuded confidence to the class, and then became shy around you immediately after.

Your hand trailed down under your pajama bottoms to your already soaking folds, slick with your desire to know what else Steven was proficient in. You thought about his hands around the coffee cup earlier, how big they looked, veins rippling under the skin when he brought the cup to his lips. You wondered what they felt like, what one of his thick fingers would feel like inside of you. Slipping one of your own fingers inside wasn’t enough, you wanted more, you wanted to feel him.

You wished that you could fit a second finger inside, but it was too tight. You felt hot with need as you pumped in and out of your slick hole, imagining Steven hovering over you. He would tell you how wrong it was to be doing what you were doing as he trailed his hands up your ribcage and to your breasts. Would he moan loudly when he came, or would he be quiet but breathy, pressing his face into the nape of your neck to muffle his sound?

You didn’t know much about sex, not outside of porn that is. You’d done other things before. You’d tried going down on someone, but had a hard time figuring out how to do it right, at least according to the guy you were with. He had tried eating you out, but you found it was either very overrated, or he was really bad at it.

Thinking about those things made you wonder what Dr. Grant’s cock tasted like, or what it felt like. If you couldn’t even fit two fingers, you weren’t sure how you were going to manage to take him. Just thinking about it was making your arousal become unbearable. You needed him, badly, no matter how wrong you knew it was.

You could hardly take it, feeling your orgasm approaching as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your history professor. You decided you didn’t really care what he sounded like when he came, you just ached to hear him. It almost hurt how hard you bit your lip when your cunt clamped in waves over your lone digit. Your breathing was heavy, and when you felt clarity once more, you fell back onto your pillow. You had to let it go, you had to get over him somehow.

But Steven had to get over you, too.

When he got home that night after a long day of classes, he found himself standing in front of his mirror. It had been so long since he’d heard their voices. At least a couple of months. They said they wouldn’t come back, they said they would stay in the headspace, and that they wouldn’t say a word. They hadn’t said anything specific yet, but he could hear them becoming more active since that morning.

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him, the thought of you danced in his mind. You were there, causing his heart to race; causing him to feel a pang of guilt that was vastly outweighed by the arousal building behind his zipper. He had been fighting the pressure all day, fighting the heady thoughts. Steven liked to think he was mentally stronger than the primal desires that came with sex, but just seeing you in that coffee shop that morning, and the way you looked at him, it kept playing in his head over and over again like a movie.

It got to a point that he couldn’t bear the ache any longer. He took off his pants and boxer-briefs, freeing his weeping erection. He crawled into bed, not even bothering to remove his jacket or shirt, as he was too eager. Nothing had inspired him to relieve himself like this in a long, long time. He crawled into bed and laid down on his back, taking his cock into his closed fist.

Dry…s’dry, need some…

He leaned up, spitting a glob of saliva into his palm before going back to work on himself. He gripped his length, sliding over it with his fist much easier now, tossing his head back as he reached the tip. He ran his hand through his curls to get them out of his face, looking down at his cock while he thrust upward into his fingers.

“F-fu…” He said, trembling slightly.

He kept thinking about you, your hair, your sweet lips, the way you giggled when he burned himself on his hot coffee that morning. He whined, reaching down to grab the sheet at his side. He exhaled sharply, continuing to glide into his palm smoothly, increasing speed as he got even closer. The way your face lit up when he agreed to tutor you was etched into his memory.

So young, though…he thought, too young…

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand back to his mouth, adding more saliva to continue jerking his length. He was putting his hips into it now, imagining what it would be like to have you, just for a second he let himself go there in his mind. He thought about having you on top of him, legs on either side of his hips. You, lowering yourself over his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt. Another whine escaped him. You were so pretty, he imagined looking up at you, maybe you’d bite your lip and throw your head back with a moan. Maybe you’d grab your breast, pinching the nipple, maybe you’d tell him how good he felt inside of you. That’s all it took. He filled the apartment with his moans as he coated his fingers and abdomen in hot sticky cum.

Steven’s brain was empty, other than thoughts of you that still plagued him. He’d hoped that by doing this, it would help him let it go, but now he wished you were there for different reasons. You were so bubbly and full of energy. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to learn more about you, get to know what else makes you laugh.

With a heavy sigh, Steven slid off the bed, careful to keep his cum coated fingers from touching anything. He turned on the light in the bathroom and started rinsing his hands in the sink, finishing and grabbing a towel. When he started drying his hands, his eyes looked up into the mirror again.

His heart stopped. He waved at himself, checking to make sure his reflection kept up. They said they weren’t coming back…

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