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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~ ♡
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"Give Me Five" - Choso Kamo
4,591 words.
₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw (18+), ice-hockey player! choso, bestfriend's brother trope, p in v, resolved sexual tensions, foreplay, fingering, titty sucking, choso fucks you in his jersey, orgasm denial, praising, hair pulling, rough play, nsfw links (underlined), spitting kink, mirror play, feral choso
₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I absolutely enjoyed making this special request for @moonriseoverkyoto! thank you all so much for 700 followers ^^ included a link for you lovelies as a gift, hehe I hope to send more work your way soon :) thank you for the love and support this whole month!
rightful art credits to @/kmskc_f, @/yume041624, @/elcheggen, @/uoru1_juju (all on twt)!
(russian translation) - creds to @juliabelll 🩷
Goosebumps formed all over your skin as you were met with the coldness of the rink. Bits of regret filled you for being stubborn this morning, choosing to not wear extra layers. Squinting, you look around to find a close friend of yours, not too far a figure jumping up and down catches your eye.
"Hey! Over here- I'm here!" Yuji called to you in his typical, chirpy voice. Multiple heads turned to the sudden commotion, followed by another look to your direction. Embarrassed, you facepalm; whispering quiet apologies to others as you squeeze past the row of seats, making your way over.
"Yuji!- I got caught in traffic. Did I miss anything?" You fold down the seat next to him, the excited Yuji passing you another one of those generic team jerseys that he also had on. You take a good look at it before putting the garment over your head, the team colours being black and yellow.
Beside you, the boy rummages through a large plastic bag of popcorn. "Mmph- No- My brother would be happy if he knew- You were here." His eyes were wide open and alert, observing the game like a hawk.
"..Ah, it's nothing. If I didn't go, I would have been rotting at home." You giggled, knowing the real answer. As soon as Yuji sent the text, 'wanna go to my brother's game next weekend?'. You had to go. You've been dying to go. Ever since you met Choso for the first time, you made good use of every opportunity you had to see him.
He had an unforgettable face, and a dreamy body you'd sometimes, and shamelessly catch a glimpse of from time to time. But you were doubting, and unsure if the feeling was mutual. The man was busy, which drove you to think he had no time for a woman in his life.
You fixate your head to the rink in front of you. Of course, you got a hold of the best seats. Yuji being the brother of a world renowned hockey player had it’s benefits.
The same bag of popcorn lands firmly onto your lap, Yuji reaching for the soda cup underneath his foot. "Hmm, he looks pissed though. I think I know why." He leans back, index finger scratching at his head.
You furrow your brows, taking several glances around the ice. A familiar back faced you, 'Kamo' and '12' plastered onto the behind of his jersey. Dark hair effortlessly left down, not too much going on. A couple loose strands falling onto his face, Choso looked like a dream. Yuji beside you shrieks for his name, cheering his brother on.
Choso spins around, glaring at the audience. He was outraged, and you weren't sure why. He didn't dare smile, or wave. Yuji grunts at his brothers reaction, smile fading and slouching back down onto the seat.
"..Oh, I get what you mean now." It was undeniable that Choso was a different person behind his helmet, and that he took the sport seriously. He always wanted to make everyone proud. As one of the best players on his team, everyone counted on him, so there was a generous amount of pressure on his shoulders.
The screeching blow of a whistle shrills throughout the arena for half time, Choso violently shoving his hockey stick onto the ice. Plenty of teammates approach him, others choose to not get involved. Either way, he shoves past them. Everyone around you seemed confused, wondering what made him so agitated. You watched as he cursed to his higher-ups, hands strongly gripping onto the side wall.
"Every day, I fucking hate this sport more and more." Choso speaks through gritted teeth, angrily ripping off his helmet. "Piece of shit."
The staff team stands aside, ushering him out of the rink. His coach guides him over to the side bench, crouching down to give him a typical, motivational chat. Choso only puts his head down and into his gloved hands, becoming more and more annoyed by the second.
"Kamo- you know what? Bring your ass back to the locker room and give yourself five." Not knowing what to do, his coach decides it was best for him to blow off some steam. Not letting out another word, he storms off back into the locker rooms, the crowds groaning as he does so; the privacy invading camera focusing on him.
Chatter filled the air between the crowds around you. “..What happened to him? Your brother just stormed off.” You turn to Yuji, confused and filled with millions of questions.
"No clue, but I'm still a bit hungry." Yuji sighs, looking at the now empty plastic bag of popcorn. He takes a sip of what's left in his soda cup.
"..What? You are?" You look through your purse for some money. More than enough, that's for sure. A wrinkled twenty bill was tucked away inside. "Here- I'll go and get you something. It's on me."
You could've sworn that you had seen happiness twinkle in his eyes. This boy certainly loves to eat. "..Really?" He smiles, in response you nod your head up and down.
"Yeah! Just give me five, I'll be back as soon as possible." You warmly confirm the offer and he nods, shortly before you had to endure the entire process squeezing your way back out of the row.
You walk off into the tunnel leading to the outside of the arena. So many halls, and I’m not even familiar with this place. The two minute stroll led you to nowhere anyways, resulting in you doubting yourself. “…Where’s the food court?” You pout, coming to the conclusion you had probably been walking in circles this whole time.
The next long corridor you were met with was filled with doors everywhere. Loads of them. “..Ah.. have I been here before?”
Walking past each door, you look around for anybody nearby who was able to provide some sort of guidance. Hopeless, there was no one at all. Until one door you had walked past was slightly open, the light on. Maybe someone was in there? You genuinely just wanted to get your hot dogs.
You retrace your steps backwards, the faint sound of two voices coming from the room. Curious, you peeked your head through the slight gap.
"I don't think I did my best out there." It was Choso, elbows on knees on a padded seat. Heaving heavily, pulling the last strings of himself together. His coach with arms crossed in front of him. The conversation was hard to make out, but you were still able to put together some bits of it.
Clutching tightly onto your necklace, you couldn't help but feel concerned. Choso adored this sport with his entire heart, but so much he didn't have time to do anything else. Yuji always talked about how distant he could be when preparing for the new season.
The cursing stops, and before you know it, the door in front of you was wide open; framing you to look like an absolute snoop. You howl, instantly stepping back from the door frame. The same coach stood in front of you, an appalling look on his face. "Who the hell are you?! A money hungry reporter? Guards!-"
You nervously laugh, "Oh- No, no- I'm not a-", endless words were coming out of your mouth in a complete babble.
"..I know her." Choso who was watching everything unfold, tilted his head to the side, looking to see who was at the door.
The coach looks at you with an unamused expression, giving Choso a double look. His voice grows low, speaking in a discreet manner. "How about you talk it out with him. He needs it." He says before walking away from the frame, giving you a stare down as he does so.
Dumbfounded, a string of words only come out in a disoriented patter, "..I was just, looking for the.. concession stand.."
Choso on the other hand, keeps quiet. Blankly staring at the carpeted floor. His gloves and skates were off, but his jersey still on. You gulp, considering if you should speak anymore; scared that you'll only tick him off further.
Your hands rested in each of your palms, unsure whether you should step inside. "..I'm here with your brother, actually- cause he invited me to-"
"I know. I wanted you to come. I invited you, I told him to ask you." Choso speaks lowly, his tone different from when he was talking to the coach. He lets out a labored sigh, mumbling. "..Only for me to play like absolute shit,"
Processing what he had just said, it still changed your entire perspective. You didn't know how to think of it though, so you simply looked over it.
Deciding to approach him rather than standing at the door like some stranger, you close the door behind you. Recalling the coach talking about 'money hungry reporters', you didn't want to take any chances. "..I don't mean to pry, but do you want to talk about.. this?" Sitting down on the free seat beside Choso, you were careful with your choice of words. You didn't want to dig the hole any deeper. Making yourself comfortable, you set your bag away to the side and faced him.
Choso's voice was more soft, and it wasn't as stern to when he was talking to his coach. "..I just don't approve of how I'm performing lately."
Personally, you didn't know much about ice hockey. Nor did you store any valuable advice for it in your brain. It pained you to think that if you were to give him advice, you'd sound like a typical high school guidance counselor.
"Oh, well um.." You purse your lips, trying to come up with something to say. "Is it because you're.. stressed?" Still unsure of what to do, your hand slowly makes its way onto the flat of his back; slowly rubbing shapes all over to comfort him.
"Probably." Although his voice was now mellow, Choso's replies were becoming short and quick. You were afraid that this talking out was of no use to him.
Your hand stops its movements, "..Should you do something about it? Like let it out?", Choso lifts his head up, turning to you. A gulp forces down your throat at how intense he was eyeing you, your own eyes unable to hold contact.
Choso blinks, head turning away once again to rest his chin on his palm. "..I don't know how." That was his problem, Choso wasn't good at letting out his emotions. He usually bottled them up, and solved his personal problems on his own— you could almost refer to him as a stoic being.
Clearing your throat, you bite your lower lip to try and think of something. You gave him the advice, but you didn't know the method yourself. This is why I could never be a therapist.
You mentally curse at yourself, trying to come up with a suggestion that isn't so cheesy like, do what you love to do!
"..I don't know either.. Me- I guess?" A worried expression washes over your face, a mazed Choso turning his head to you for the second time.
A perplexed, questioning noise came stirred up in him. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Eyes fluttering, you were unable to provide him with another answer. What did you mean by, 'me'? Was it just another one of those moments where you let your mouth speak before you think? "..You could let it out.. on me?"
Chosos demeanor had altered, his chin peeling away from the warmth of his palm. His body sat upright as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if he was mortified or enthralled; and you were almost begging for him to say something.
He closes his mouth and swallows some spit to nourish his dried out throat, before standing up in front of you. You feel as if your beating heart were to take over your entire body and head any second now. A lingering tension in the air so thick— not even a lumberjack could saw through it.
Choso's eyes surveying you from top to bottom, studying the features on your face— his thumb swipes across your cheek in a tender, reassuring matter. He was grateful of your offer, but he just couldn't bring himself to directly accept it.
Choso's hand slowly moves down your face, the tip of his thumb gently pressing down on your lower lip. "..You look good in our jersey," His thumb forces the rest of its way into your mouth, "..but even better if it was my own." Was this a code phrase for, 'I need to fuck you, and I need to fuck you now?' His thoughts drifted off to filthy things—like imagining himself rutting into you in his own, bespoke jersey, 'Kamo' in a dirty gold written on your back as you take him whole like a good girl.
Your breath hitches, his finger gliding over the surface of your tongue before he decides to pull it back out. Choso starts to take off the gear on his upper half, both the body pads and jersey.
It was difficult enough to keep your eyes off the now, half naked Choso in front of you. His body muscular and perfectly carved from all of the work he's been putting in for preparation, Choso was more than pleasing to look at. He tosses his jersey and gear beside you, his hands grabbing onto the flesh of your waist.
Lifting you from the seat, you wrap your legs around his torso, lips desperately locking onto each other as he switched positions. The two of you now sitting back down on the seat.
Short mewls and gasps for air leave your mouth as you started to pull your top over your head; Choso's hands roaming all over the surface of your ass. Your hands travel down his chest, your finger tips tracing over his abs painfully slow. Tongues tangling, Choso swallowing any moan he could get from you, especially after the distressingly slow period of yearning for one another. It felt like a reward.
Being the skilled man he is, his fingertips undo the clasp of your bra effortlessly. Groaning in satisfaction, eyes closed and sucking; a free hand fondling with the other.
You claw your fingers through his hair, quietly moaning as he hungrily latched onto your nipple. Arching against his bare skin, you ached to keep him close, and possibly closer. Amidst the sucking, Choso reaches for his jersey beside him, gesturing you to put it over your head. He fulfilled his wish. You proudly raise your arms up, feeling the fabric graze against your skin. It was quite massive on you, hence himself being twice your size.
Impatient, your curious hands wander off to the waistband of his pants; his safety gear already being off had made it easier. Reaching down and past his skin tight shorts, a thought evoking in you causing your hand to withdraw.
"..W-wait," You pant, "What about everyone out there?" You couldn't help but worry about those outside who would start to get suspicious. You knew how much this mattered to him.
Choso rolls his eyes. "I don't really care, they're assholes anyway. Let them wait." His lips only make its way back onto the skin of your neck, warm breath fanning down your sternum. He didn't care if everyone else were to wait outside. He had been waiting for this moment, dreaming about it - and would do anything to not miss it.
Using two hands, you possessively grab onto his jaw to keep him closer, Choso's hands cheekily moving up inside the jersey and cupping onto both of your tits. He really loves them, doesn't he?
Pulling away for another breath your lips miss his already. You hop off his lap, hastily unbuttoning and kicking off your jeans. They fly away to the other side of the locker room, Choso pulling you back into his embarace. But this time, you were facing the other way.
His fingers tug onto the hem of your panties, pulling them back until they snapped against your skin; the stinging sound echoing throughout the room.
You intently watch yourself in the full length mirror across from you two, Choso using his hands to guide your legs open; his head falling onto the crook of your neck.
Choso's hand slowly made its way down to the your panties, his fingertips moving the fabric to the side. Toying with your folds, taking his sweet time. His delicate, addicting touch giving you shivers all over. You close your eyes to indulge in the ecstasy of this moment; scolding yourself for not doing this with him any sooner.
His same fingertips circle your clit, the speed of his movements fluctuating; which resulted in you grabbing onto his bicep, your body sinking down into his lap. Choso watches you break into pieces under his touch, how you repeatedly tap on his arm- asking for leniency.
Choso leans down to your ear, his throaty voice almost sounding like he's purring. “Just relax for me, I can feel you’re too tensed up.” Wasn’t it supposed to be me who gives him advice? Why is it that the roles have reversed?
The back of your head presses deeply into his chest, Choso bringing retrieving fingers give them a generous suck before pushing them into you. His fingers curl up inside, working them in a motion that emits a squelching noise.
“C-Choso, it’s too much- please,” A whimper crawls out of your throat, the man above you cooing and hushing you.
Your hair raising pleas being the catalyst for him only wanting to do more than he already is. His middle finger taps and teases and your bundle of nerves, his strength making your tug on his wrist pointless. “..Shh, you don’t want them to hear, do you?”
You frantically shake your head from side to side, Choso grinning against the top of your head as he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock straining against his shorts, he would take a photo to make this memory last.
His gestures come to a halt and you whine, Choso had forbidden you from orgasming. "Choso!" You hiss as he glues his hands to your hips, twirling you around against the seat.
Mindfully pressing onto the flat of your lower back, he bends you forward; in need of support, your hands reached for the wooden slabs that divided the seats. His strong hands rip your underwear into fragments off your body, Choso sneering at you nagging him.
His actions in no rush, the same hands that were cupping your pussy now feeling down your back, Choso sheepishly grinning at this fresh new view, a degree of gratification fills him for the hundredth time at the sight of 'Kamo' and '12' plastered on your back.
You reach behind you, barely tapping your fingers on Choso's pelvis to grab his attention. He leans down to hear what you had to say, the imprint of his cock imprisoned by his shorts pressed against your bare pussy.
“..Let it all out, I promise I’ll be okay.” Your hand snaked behind his head, fingers combing through his hair one last time. His body heat glossed over your behind, a position so intimate.“Just tell me if I’m hurting you, alright?”
Nodding in approval, Choso withdraws into his old position. Grabbing for his girthy cock out of his shorts, he groans as he jerks it ever so slightly. Forming an orb of spit on his tongue, letting it fall directly onto his length. He doesn't waste anymore time to slide it in, the objective of not hurting you still at the back of his mind.
You let out a long, awaited whimper that broke out into a pained sniffle, his entire length stretching you out. Your anchoring onto the wooden panels only grew stronger, Choso stilling in you for a few moments. The two of you create a symphony of guilty satisfaction, Choso himself unable to process that you let him inside of you; luckiest man in the world, he thought.
His grip on the plush of your waist transition into a soothing massage, “..Are you okay?” Concerned, he regards your strained noises.
Tears well up in your eyes, Choso rubbing his hands up and down your back. “..I-I’m fine.” You replied, managing to form some words. Even though it hurts, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this as much as he did. He inhales deeply, grunting as his hips stroked into you slow and deep. He took you in like a work of art, savoring every minute, second with you.
“Fuck, Choso- just go faster will you? I know you want to.” You choke out, words dying in your throat. Choso obeying the green llight, you felt him grab and twist onto the fabric of the jersey behind you, his hips snapping into you at a faster pace.
A cacophony of skin slapping and moaning echoed throughout the room, Choso brings his hand down to toy with your clit; heightening your stimulation. Your entire body jolting with each of his thrusts, his little praises like 'good girl', and 'you're taking me so well' making your sex pool like mad.
Broken and choppy curses slip past your wet llips, Choso letting go of the jersey and fixing his grip on your scalp, pulling your head back towards him.
His hand sneaks underneath your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you furrow your brows up at him. Your mouth stays wide open, moans no longer heard coming out from it. "Look at me baby," lids shut at the colossal pleasure, Choso needs not to repeat himself; but he does. "I said, look at me," Hauling your eyelids up, a vision of Choso glaring down at you from above— he wasn't the same person as the one half an hour ago.
Choso drops yet another ball of spit into your mouth, patting on the bottom of your chin telling you to shut and swallow, letting out a throaty sound in approval.
Clawing his fingers back into your scalp, he pushes your head back down. His leg lands onto the seat beside you, his thrusts brutally drilling into you deeper than before; Choso definitely rearranging your guts. You let him use you, so he did exactly that. Hell- if you two had a bed, just make sure you have enough saved for a new one the next day.
Makeup was unfortunately ruined from tears and spit, your hair no longer in perfect style from all the grabbing. His heavy balls relentlessly slapped against your clit, Choso huffing quietly.
He takes a hold of your two wrists, prying you from the comfort of the seat and commanding you to stand. Hypnotised, you watched everything unfold; Choso still holding onto your arms behind you as he continued to rut into your hole like a mad man.
Your cheeks were stained with tears, all sorts of unimaginable feelings stirring in the pool of your stomach; Choso already grows bored of the position. He swiftly lides you off his cock, turning you around for the fifth time today so he could see your beautiful face one more time.
Unsure of what was to happen next, you tiringly wrap both of your hands around his neck as he cupped onto the surface of your ass, lifting you up and sinking you down onto his cock. Your head rests against his chest in exhaustion, Choso’s anchored grip slowly loosening, choosing to move into the inside of your legs. Short paced breaths and eyes shutting at the new sensation of him fucking up into you. It was light work to him, carrying you was no problem at all.
Pushing both of you against a nearby wall, your back almost slid up and down the cold panels as Choso grew feral, his cock bullying but thoughtfully kissing your cervix at this unforgiving pace.
You fail to keep your eyes open, body taken over by bliss as he bottoms into you, convinced you had lost your voice. Choso could feel your silky juices move down his shaft, walls constantly clenching around around him.
“Don’t you dare close those eyes,” Choso orders, your hands hysterically tapping onto his shoulders to let him know you were going to snap. Your face winced in pain, you knew that you were going to have a hard time walking for the next week or two.
“..C-Choso,” you choke out, a threshold about to be met as the unfamiliar coil in your stomach urges to let loose.
His thrusts deepening to push you over the edge, cock sloppily moving in and out of your hole; his entire length coated with you.
“Just let it out— let it out.” he desperately whimpered, your mouth forming an ‘o’. His words like a spell, something that will haunt you for days coming. Choso’s eyes faux-sympathetically looking into yours that were blinking like mad as he felt your legs shiver in his grasp.
You shatter and cry at the orgasm that washed over you, bringing yourself to look at his cock withdrawing from your puffy, used cunt. Choso's jaw clenched, beads of white endlessly form at his tip, his balls twitching at the same time your gummy walls pulsed and throbbed around him.
He doesn’t let go of you, bodies still overheating and glistening from sweat. Instead he carries you back to the seats, sitting you down like a fragile porcelain doll. “My legs,” your voice raspy from the endless moaning, “..they’re so sore.”
Choso leans in for a meaningful kiss, your cock-dazed smile forming against his lips. His hands kneading your thighs. The locker room smelled of filthy, sinful sex—but that will just air out in no time. “..You need me to walk you out?”
“Choso, you can’t. There are cameras everywhere.” You grab your purse off the ground, in search of your phone. Almost forty five minutes have passed, your eyes widening. “Huh?! How long have I been gone for?"
He attempts to wipe the stained carpets, a faint white still engraved. Atleast he tried. “Pussy too good I forgot where I was, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Not funny, Choso. I need to get back to your brother!” Scurrying around the room, you pick your jeans off the ground, Choso whistling behind you causing you to turn your head,
“..Guess these aren’t of use to you anymore?” He holds the fragments of your panties up, torn to pieces, the dismaying mempry angering you as you were reminded of it for the second time.
You snap at him, Choso not taking any inch of you seriously. I mean, he literally had you whimpering, fucked you in his jersey and melting under his touch less than five minutes ago. “You fucking owe me a new pair.”
“I’ll buy you a hundred.”
You hurry out into the lobby, looking around for Yuji. Not having time to fix your hair, you almost scream as you walked past a reflection of yourself, mortified at how you looked. It’s okay… he wouldn’t suspect anything, right?
A familiar coral haired person was lounging at the sofas down the end, of course that had to be him. “Y-Yuji? is that you?” The head turning to your direction, it definitely was him; his eyes were shocked to still see you alive and standing before him.
You sit on the free armchair beside him, “..I’m so sorry, something just.. happened.” Nervously smiling, you wipe the residues of dried spit off your chin, your head stuck in one direction to avoid looking at Yuji in the face. Airing yourself with an invisible fan, you look away in all sorts of directions.
“It’s cool, the game got cancelled anyways- and I got my hotdogs.” He points to the four empty wrappers on the table in front of him. Yuji leans back against the sofa.
“..Uh— ..Is that, Choso's jersey?"
Fuck.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me, ily guys sm!!🎀🩷
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