#Double or Nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

icallhimjoey · 10 months

Note

Love love love your writing! I’d be so interested to see your take on a friends to lover situation where the reader and Joe are good friends and the reader constantly gets the ick so Joe sets a challenge at a party (thinking Italian summer party) for her to find someone who doesn’t give them the ick.

And she realises that Joe is the only one that has no icks 👀

okay so ive had an INTERESTING (read: 18+, v spicy) suggestion from werepartnersnow who, by the way, claims she doesn't read rpf but then found herself in my inbox asking for very specific filth 👀👀👀 but, anyway, it was good filth, and i was trying to find a way to tackle her request, and then this request really brought it all together for me, so, THANK YOU! here we GO sluts! Wordcount: 3.9K

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Double Or Nothing

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

“Did Joe say he was coming?”

“Yea, I’m surprised he’s not been spotted yet,”

Heads craned back, and you grumbled into your beer. Conversation had been flowing so nicely, and now, suddenly, everyone had to look at the pub entrance to check if there was any sign of Joe yet.

Like he was the guest of honour missing still.

Like the night hadn’t started properly yet, because Joe wasn’t there.

Ugh.

Now… listen...

By no means did you dislike Joe. He was your friend just as well as he was all of theirs. It was just that, Joe had seemingly become a lot more interesting to a lot more people in a very short amount of time. Even some of your friends sort of… fell for the sudden hype that surrounded him. Wanted it proven to the outside world that they were friends with Joe. That they knew him. Were part of his group.

And you kind of got it, or... at least a little.

Joe got to do very cool and exciting things, met very cool and exciting people, and he'd bring anyone who had the time to join. Any time he'd drop a message with the question 'who's got time off for these dates' it was really a first come, first served sort of deal.

So it kind of made sense that people wanted in with Joe. However, he couldn't pay you enough to sit next to him for a full day, or several, as he passed out autographs like boring assembly line work. To see people fawn over him. Tell him how amazing they all think he is...

Because Joe was… he was just Joe.

There was a lull in conversation, and you felt the need to remind everyone of the time Joe spent a full night ordering drinks for everyone before dipping out and leaving the last people with the bill.

He paid for his own share later, but, still. That was a shitty move.

Or when Imogen and Lawrence had gotten married, and he thought it was okay to help himself to a piece of cake before they'd done the ceremonious cutting of it.

Or when he'd invited everyone over to a party at someone's house without informing the host he was bringing seven other people. That night you'd just stood around awkwardly, all of you, knowing you weren't welcome and afraid to have any of the drinks for fear of them running out.

It felt healthy to remind everyone that Joe was just your shit friend. This guy who they’d known forever and who they also sometimes didn’t like. Because he could be a bit of a boring loser, who’d cancel on events last minute. One that you liked - he was still your friend, supported you when you needed support, made you laugh when you needed cheering up and was just... overall was a fun guy to hang out with. Despite all the shitty things.

Joe knew this is how you felt, and, not that you'd asked, but if you would have, he'd easily agree with you. Would just smile as you glared at him for forgetting someone's birthday and then pretending a gift someone else had bought was from him too.

And he got away with shit like that every single time because of that stupid smile. All charming, all endearing.

All handsome, and shit.

You felt a nudge to your knee under the table after you'd rolled your eyes at everyone looking around to find Joe. You were given a brief smirk by one of your friends before eyes turned away from you and you frowned. Idiot.

You knew what was insinuated there, and didn’t appreciate it.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been very adamant and obvious about not being impressed with Joe, and people took it to mean something else. Like you were overdoing it to hide your real feelings.

You weren’t overdoing anything, though, and you wanted to say something, wanted to argue and bite back at that stupid smug look you got, but you noticed the eyes of the people on the other side of the table focus on something over your head.

You jumped, tensed up with shock, when someone suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders. It nearly knocked over every drink on the table as your knees shot up and banged the underside of it.

“Jesus,”

“No, just me,” Joe joked, and he got heys and hellos and big smiles and even a drink handed over that someone had gotten him before he’d even arrived, and oh my fucking God, you needed more celebrities in your group because this was getting a little ridiculous.

You composed yourself fast, recollected yourself and tried your hardest to push down the blush that had crept onto your face.

Like you’d predicted, the second Joe joined the group, you suddenly all became his entourage.

Now you were all Joe's friends.

You weren’t, but, that’s what it felt like.

To Joe’s credit, he didn’t really act any different – he was still his quiet, normal self. Kind of dull, nothing crazy, just there for a laugh, comfortable with the spotlight being off of him for a little bit. That was nice, and you appreciated that.

It was just that your other friends were big dumb idiots. Not all of them, but, enough of them for it to bother you a little.

Although, Joe had changed his hair... so, he'd changed a little since Hollywood had come a-knocking.

It was all fine, though. The conversation automatically sort of continued from where it left of before Joe joined and the small bit of annoyance you felt before quickly disappeared.

You paid close attention to not paying close attention to Joe.

It wasn’t until Joe cheersed his glass with your half empty one to catch your attention that the irritation you'd felt before crept back in a little.

Not because of the focus landing on you, but because of the question he asked.

Not how are you. Not how’ve you been. But, “No David?”

You gave a little sarcastic smile, tilted your head down to look at him through your eyelashes and confirmed, “No David.”

Apparently that was enough for other people to comment on the matter as well.

“Yea, how’s that going?”

“Are you still seeing each other?”

You took too long to answer either question, and when you look a slow sip of your drink to give yourself more time to think of how you were going to frame this, you could see one of your friends groan. The lack of information said plenty.

“Oh no, here we go again,”

“Should’ve known it,”

“Did you dump him already?”

The whole table seemed to feel the same way about you and David not hanging out together anymore. Made sense though, David was the first guy in a good while you'd taken along to meet some of them. Before David, there'd just been a lot of first dates that only sometimes graduated into a second, and then, usually, contact would sort of... fizzle out.

“I didn’t dump him– there was no dumping to be done, we weren’t dating,”

You got a few scoffs.

“What was it this time?”

And, okay, so, your track record wasn't great by any means. It's just that... you were very easy to turn off, you guessed. And once you found something about someone that got under your skin, you couldn't not see it. You couldn't not hyper-focus on it, and you knew that from that moment on, whatever you and whichever guy had together was doomed to fail.

“Just... we didn't really match each other,”

That was the polite, vague way of putting it. You looked at your drink as you said it but felt Joe's eyes stare you down. It burned your cheeks a bit.

“No, be honest,” Izzy said, speaking to you as if you were a toddler before she went for a sip of her drink.

“What? That's essentially exactly why he's not here right now,”

Izzy scoffed, and you silently cursed your best friend. She was going to make you say it. The thing you told her in private. You took a mental note to never be honest with her again.

“Can I tell them the story, or are you going to do it yourself? I'd love to be the one to share it,” she sat up and leant in. Ready.

The eyes of your friends moved between her and you, like they were watching a tennis match, absolutely not sure where this was going, but very exciting to see where it was going to go.

“Well, it wasn't one specific thing,” you started, and foolishly, left too long a silence after. Izzy filled it immediately, because it very much was one specific thing and she couldn't keep the knowledge inside any longer.

“Bad sex.”

It got some hearty laughs from the group, and when you looked at Joe, you caught his narrowed eyes. He looked a bit hesitant, small smile playing his lips as he hovered his glass in front of his mouth, like was about to take a sip, but couldn't because he had to see how you were going to react to Izzy.

“Okay, no,” you fought. “It wasn't bad sex... not, like, not overall, anyway, it wasn't... it wasn't the worst by any means,” you stumbled through your words and it made Izzy shoot up her eyebrows.

“Oh, are we doing specifics?”

You groaned and saw Joe perk up a little from the corner of your eye.

Fuck.

“Absolutely not, that's not... that's not fair on David,”

What you meant was, let's not talk about my sex life in detail in the middle of this pub, thanks very much. But Izzy didn't care though. She hadn't listened to you faking your orgasms through her bedroom wall for a few weeks for fucking nothing.

“What did he claim to be good at?”

“Isabella...” using her full name did nothing, unfortunately.

“He'd boast about it so much, even I started getting a little jealous,”

“I'm going to get another drink,”

Escaping seemed a good idea. Izzy could just talk about the things she'd heard David say to you in the other room without you there. But you were kind of closed in. Couldn't just get up and make your way over to the bar without people having to move out of your way for it.

“What was it?” Joe asked carefully, voice not too loud, the question definitely only aimed for you to hear. Curious. Not that he was being any kinder towards you than any of your other friends were – you could see that cheeky smile, could see how he was ready to let laughter escape him. Plus, everyone heard him anyway.

You saw your friend open her mouth, ready to answer for you.

“Izzy, don't,” you raised a finger, and you silently cursed at yourself for not being able to keep a straight face anymore.

She was going to say it.

“Head.”

Someone snorted into their beer which splashed into their face and that made people laugh more than what Izzy'd said, but now, that information was out there. It made you slump down into your seat so far, you were practically under the table.

“You told him to fuck off for eating you out wrong? Am I hearing this right?” one of your friends asked, not even judgmentally, but more to coax you out of your hiding spot.

It worked.

“Okay, so, listen,” you sat up, ready to justify your actions. You weren't a horrible person, and you needed people to agree. “If you claim to be amazing at something like that, I would kind of expect you to then also... you know, actually know... where things, are?”

You looked around, read your friend's faces and most of them knew exactly what you meant. Didn't need to use the actual words to describe in detail what David couldn't locate.

Izzy read your friend's faces different, though. Thought they did need clarification, and she was an accommodating friend. Wanted to help out. Also enjoyed embarrassing you a little too much, the bitch.

“Kept licking her leg, sucked on everything but her clit,”

“Oh my G–” you hid your face with both your hands, elbows perched on the table.

“David, David, David,” Joe shook his head, tutted at you, seemed to feel genuinely sorry for the guy.

“To be fair, it's a good reason to stop seeing someone,” someone else said, and you quipped a quick thank you. The comment prompted people to go over all of the other reasons you'd turned men down before, and the list was... extensive, to say the least.

Chewed on his food with his mouth open. Dressed like he was colourblind. Was into weird experimental music that really got under your skin. Bit down on his fork when he ate. Held his phone only an inch away from his face when he used it. Kissed with his eyes wide open like a psychopath. Ran after a beerpong ball in a half-crouch and failed in his attempts to grab it as it bounced. Puns.

Every ick came with it's own backstory and you were shocked by how much your friends remembered - you'd forgotten half the things they were bringing up, reminiscing about the batch of men that you'd turned down for reasons they all deemed ridiculous. It was a lot of laughing at your expense. It was a good thing you were a good sport and that you genuinely liked your friends, so you just laughed along. Knew they all would've probably gotten annoyed by the same things you had. You know, eventually.

It wasn't until someone looked around and said, “There's got to be at least one person in here who doesn't scare her off immediately,” and no, no, no, no. You didn't need your friends actually getting involved in you meeting men.

Not tonight, anyway.

But heads started turning and eyes started scoping out the place, gliding across and lingering on men that maybe stood a chance.

You checked and saw that Joe didn't join in. He was looking down below the table, seemingly to check what his feet were touching, or something along those lines, anyway.

It could be a way to opt out of the game that your friends engaged in mostly to just make fun of you. It could also be that his attention span was too short and he was bored. Both options were awful. The fact that you even looked at him to check was awful in and of itself.

You were no better than your friends.

“Okay, enough,” you held up a hand, elbow in the middle of the table whilst you squeezed your eyes shut. “If you're going to make me look at people and come up with an ick, we'll be here all night. I could even go over all of you and think of several icks for each of you, so let's not,” you laughed, hoping it'd put an end to it.

It did the exact opposite.

“Not for me!” one friend argued, and the whole table laughed. Everyone could easily name multiple things, and so it kicked off.

You all went around the table, named things about each other that would drive you mad if you were to date them. It ranged from obvious things like snoring and working too much, to more niche things, like how someone would continuously pronounce a word wrong whilst insisting that they were right (they weren't) and someone else not wearing socks in certain pairs of shoes (gross).

You were the deciding factor each time. If you agreed with what someone said, there was no more arguing and you'd move on to the next person.

Until you reached Joe.

“Let's go, give me all you've got,” Joe beckoned with both hands, welcoming the criticism like a trooper. It was all innocent fun, after all.

And your friends would name things. All sorts. How he sometimes wouldn't reply to texts for days, leaving people on read for ages. How he'd cancel on people by saying wild shit like, “Oops, sorry, can't make it tonight, I'm in Tokyo rn”. The fact that he'd always hold up the last cigarette from a packet and say, “This is the last one, I'm quitting after this,” and then he'd just as easily buy another packet straight after.

But an unsettling realisation dawned on you.

You silently, almost automatically, dismissed everything that your friends mentioned, that got them laughing and got Joe to jokingly gasp and pretend offense to because... none of it turned you off per se.

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him.

Oh no.

You had to be able to come up with something...

“She fucking hates smokers anyway,” Izzy commented.

“Yea... usually, I do,”

Joe looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I don't know...”

Wide eyes looked at each other across the table, and Izzy couldn't fucking believe what she was hearing.

“That doesn't bother you?”

You laughed and gave your friend a panicked look, “It should! But... somehow it doesn't?”

You got a nudge of a knee under the table again and knew exactly what it meant. You pretended you hadn't felt it. That felt safer.

People started repeating things, waiting for you to go, “Ugh yes,” but you didn't, for none of it, and you thought of lying. Of just pretending that something did, but learning that none of Joe's personality traits actually rubbed you wrong was just as shocking to you as it was to everyone else.

Joe even joined in himself, said, “I'm always fidgetting!” but it did the fucking opposite. Made you look at his hands and notice how nice they were.

Shit.

“Is Joe ick-less?” a pair of astonished eyes asked you, and you couldn't fucking believe yourself when you slowly nodded, lips pressed together impossibly tight.

Joe was ick-less... what the actual fuck?!

“Uh oh,”

“We've found the one, guys! Game over!”

“So, when's the wedding?”

You scoffed. Loudly. Your friends were confirming they were big dumb idiots, you didn't even have to do any convincing of it yourself.

“Nah,” Joe said, and when you looked at him, you grew immediately shy. The little smirk and the mischievous eyes threatened trouble. “I can break her...”

Oh, fuck. The air between the two of you sparkled as your friends oohed, all eyes moving back and forth between the two of you. Even Izzy seemed intrigued.

“One week to give her the ick,” someone suggested.

“Easy,” Joe boasted, not breaking eye-contact.

“Why would you care abou–” you started, but were cut off by Joe who's smile got wider by the second as he challenged you, “And if I win?”

Despite the fact that his eyes were on you, the question was directed at your other friends. When they didn't answer, Joe turned to them, “What are we playing for?”

This... this wasn't happening.

“If you lose, she deserves some good head,” Izzy quipped, and you could've murdered her right then and there. Could've broken a glass on the edge of a table to slit her throat with, because what the fuck was that?

“Three days of head,”

“I said good head,”

“Guys, stop!” you tried, but you might as well not have been there.

“And if you win, she'll return the favour,”

“What?! Oh my God, fuck off, we're not doing this,” you waved both hands in a line, signaling that this was enough now. The joke was over. You weren't laughing.

“Three favours then,” someone else proposed.

“Like that's going to make a difference, he'll just ask for three days of head,”

“No, he'll make her his PA, for a con, or whatever,”

“Ooh, good one!”

“Yea, I'm not falling for that again,”

Joe snorted as your friends debated about a bet that definitely wasn't going to happen. You weren't going to shake on this, no matter how badly they wanted this free bit of entertainment for themselves.

“Okay,” Izzy said, smacking the table with a flat palm, shutting everyone up.

“Joe is going give you the ick within a week. If he does, you'll owe him three favours and if he doesn't, you'll be getting from Joe what you haven't gotten from David,”

“What if she lies?”

“She's a terrible liar, I see right through her,”

And Izzy did. Had always been able to.

“Jesus Christ, you're a bunch of delusional losers,” you laughed.

There was going to have to be a moment where Joe would side with you and you'd swipe the whole ordeal off the table together. At least, that's what you expected.

You expected wrong.

Instead of Joe telling your friends to leave you alone, to be sensible and kind, because you hadn't even gotten good sex in a little while, poor puppy... instead of all of that, you noticed how he waited for the commotion at the table to quiet down a little before he said, “Double or nothing.”

“What?”

“Double or nothing. One week of head,”

“Izzy said good hea-,”

“One week of good head, or one week of favours,”

You frowned slightly at him, dumbfounded that Joe seemed to be going with all of this.

He was actually going along with it.

Were you going to want to let Joe go down on you?

Wait.

You wrecked your brain and tried to think of everything that someone had ever done to you that had turned you off immediately. Would those same things be awful of Joe did them?

Probably not. But... maybe.

Shit, you kind of wouldn't mind a full week of Joe going down on you. Making you come on his mouth. It'd be weird, sure, but also, when was the last time someone made you orgasm with just their mouth?

Jesus, what a wild conclusion - you had no idea that Joe confused you this much. If anything, you'd learnt something about yourself today that you honestly never thought was something you were ever going to have to think about.

So the question maybe wasn't, would you let Joe go down on you... The question was, would you let Joe drag you along to be his personal assistant for a week? Because that was most definitely what he was going to ask of you. You had no interest in tagging along to watch someone do their job, and everyone knew this about you.

Fuck, were you... were you considering doing this?

Joe felt the second of hesitation and held his pinky out, hoping he'd get you to link yours with his before that window closed.

Your eyes glanced at Izzy, who somehow looked bored and giddy at the same time.

Should you do it? Joe's pinky flexed and he questioningly raised his eyebrows at you, a small smile playing underneath.

Just for shits and giggles?

What came out of your mouth next was so quiet, it was barely audible in the loud ambiance of the pub.

“Fine.”

But it was okay, people didn't need to be able to hear you. Because it was embarrassing, but also, because what happened next was one of your arms, moving from where it cupped your own face to half way across the table. Your pinky finger met Joe's and they linked.

“Deal.”

Joe's stupid face broke into a huge grin that made you instantly regret agreeing, but his pinky was stronger than yours and held you in its grip as he repeated your words back to you.

“Fine. Deal.”

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The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @frootvelvet @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @harringtonfan4 @emma77645 @tlclick73 @eddies-puppet @electricmunson @everythinghasafacee @a-time-for-wolvess @lucifers-side @barfightzanddiscolightz

(taglist currently full, sorry!)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #18+#Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #requested #double or nothing

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icallhimjoey · 9 months

Note

I’m actually on the edge of my seat waiting for some intense mlem mleming from Joe 😩 there’s no way he’d build it up this much just to be as shit as the rest.

Joe babe we’re all rooting for you ✨

ok sluts, you ready? obvious content warning for smut! if you're a minor i want you to go tell your parents about the blogs that you follow, and QUICK, before i call the coppers. all right, here we go! Wordcount: 3.7K

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Double Or Nothing

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

“There she is!”

A full table of people turned when one of your friends saw you enter the pub. Hands raised, some with and some without glasses, to catch your attention – like you weren’t always vaguely in the same spot of this place.

You smiled and rushed over when you saw Izzy holding up a full pint – yours.

“We’ve been waiting!” someone revealed, and Izzy gave you an eyebrow raise as she handed you the drink after you pulled up a chair. You knew what she meant and it was clear what the topic of discussion had been thus far.

You found Joe's eyes, and, ugh. Great. They twinkled with trouble.

Joe was sat at the other side of the table and leant back in his chair, sort of not participating in the conversation even though, you know, it was about him. He just knew all the information already and by the looks of things hadn’t revealed anything just yet.

“Is this man as irresistible as the magazines say he is?”

“Magazines? What are the magazines saying?”

“You know what I mean,”

“Clearly, we all know that magazines would be wrong regardless of who’s won this bet,”

Your friends laughed, and Joe gave them the finger as he sipped his drink, completely unbothered. Unlike you. Joe watched as you fought for a neutral expression, still leant back, all relaxed which should’ve told your friends plenty.

Maybe he’d been secretive in the braggy sense, had just given looks when they’d asked about who’d won. A smug “of course I did” face whilst saying, “I don’t know, she’ll have to tell you herself.”.

Izzy also seemed to bow out of the chat. Didn’t seem all that interested, even though she smiled knowingly. You’d already told her that he won. She had seen you glare at him on Thursday morning, had felt the tension in the room when you’d left for work late.

Izzy casually asked you if your top was new, which, it wasn’t, and for three seconds you fell into a best friend conversation about clothes. Your other friends were quick to break that up.

“Come on!”

“We want the results!”

You laughed at the impatience, and then cleared your throat.

“Yea… he um, he got me. I lost.”

A friend slapped the table with a flat hand, said, “I knew it!” and another added, “Just like the rest of us, not good enough,” whilst he grabbed Joe by the shoulder and shook him a little, making him laugh.

“Wait, so no head?” someone asked, sort of shocked.

“No head,” you confirmed, smiling.

You didn’t know if relief or disappointment took the overhand on that one. Outwardly, relief showed itself more, you thought. Which was good, you didn’t need your friends knowing that you wouldn’t kick Joe out of the bed if that was the reason he was there.

People asked what the ick had been, and you listed of eight or nine things that had annoyed you. Things Joe had done after which he immediately asked if that had been it. You’d never confirmed it then, but now, you got to use all of those things. Made all of your friends laugh, point at Joe, yell, “He does do that!”, “Yea, you do do that.”

Joe took the scrutiny like a champ and just said, “She lost the bet, full week of favours. But, please, keep going,” and so you did. Mentioned how he had changed his hair after years of having it the same, just because he was famous now. How he would use his friends as personal assistants when he took them on trips for work. How he used his industry signature for the card that came with the flowers he sent, instead of just signing his own name with all the actual letters like a normal person.

It was so easy to come up with icks, because there were so many. You mentioned fourteen, maybe fifteen of them.

You noticed Izzy was eyeing you a little weird, and it made you feel uncomfortable. Made you feel like you wanted to escape the table for a second, to let you friends fall into a different topic of conversation before you joined them again. So you did, excused yourself, and went to the toilets just to look at yourself in the mirror for a second. Check your hair and the inner corners of your eyes for mascara goop.

The second you’d walked out of earshot Izzy leant back in her seat and craned her neck to catch Joe’s attention behind two of your friends’ backs.

“She’s lying.” Izzy said to Joe, who smirked a little and nodded. Said, “I know.”

And that was that.

When you returned, you were glad to find that the conversation had moved onto another topic, and you found yourself trying to not make eye contact with Joe for the rest of the night.

He was there, though, in the corner of your eye. And sometimes, you’d laugh when he’d laugh and you’d catch that you were both laughing at the same thing, but the bet wasn’t mentioned again. Not until Joe got up to go home, said his goodbyes, and then looked at you, pointed a finger and said, “See you on Monday.”

You’d had a few, so you felt boisterous enough to say, “Beware, Quinn. Skip a day, lose a favour.”

And he’d raised his eyebrows, went, “Oh that’s how it is, is it?” and you’d just smiled. Said, “Bye Joe,” again, to which he replied, “Yea, no, I’ll remember that.”. You’d scrunched faces at each other for a second, and you’d heard one of your friends clear their throat. Snapped Joe right out of it.

After that, he’d really left. Not soon after, you and Izzy had headed home as well.

That following Monday, you’d been waiting for a text message from Joe. Or a phone call. But most of the day passed without Joe reaching out, and the nerves of what it could be that Joe was going to make you do kind of fizzled. Monday had just been a regular normal Monday, and you almost thought Joe’d forgotten about the week of favours. You definitely weren’t going to remind him – the rule “Skip a day lose a favour,” really worked to your advantage here. You were a little sad Izzy was out for some work thing that night – you would’ve loved to make fun of Joe for forgetting the bet he’d made such a big deal out of with her.

But then, after you’d showered and installed yourself on your sofa in fuzzy socks and a T-shirt you thought once belonged to your dad it was so huge, your phone chimed.

“are you home?”

Fuck. So close.

“Bit late mate”

It was nearly 9. Three more hours and he would’ve fumbled the bag.

“are you home”

You hesitated. Receiving the exact same message again didn’t feel funny. It felt... urgent. No play.

“yes”

And so, you didn’t play. Just let him know that, yes, you were.

“Izzy?”

“no”

Not much later, the doorbell rang. You paused Netflix and checked to see if the T-shirt covered enough of your legs for it to not be weird. You decided that it did and opened the door to find Joe, on his own, already making his way inside.

“For my first favour,” he didn’t even say hi. Just barged in and lost his coat whilst he walked right past you in the direction of your bedroom. “You’re going to have to admit that you didn’t lose,” Joe looked over his shoulder at you, before turning his head and finding the light switch of your room.

Your bed got a glance from him now that it was visible in the light before Joe turned around again. You were still stood there with handle to your front door in hand.

“Um... hi,” you said sarcastically, and it made Joe wave a hand, dismissing the fact that you wanted normal civil people manners. It might’ve been just you and him, but a hello would’ve been nice.

But, you see, Joe was on a mission here. Ready to get his first favour from you. To get it, he needed you in the bedroom however, and after a short stare down the hall, he beckoned you with his head. A little nod that said, come here.

“I’ve not been thinking about this for a full week only for you to decide you could just stop the bet,”

“I didn’t–” you started making your way down.

“We both know,” Joe interrupted, closed his eyes and tilted his head a little, brow furrowed, looking a little annoyed. “We both know I didn’t give you the ick.”.

You blinked at him a few times, bodies already too close now that you were both half in your doorway, no real room left for personal space.

“I didn’t turn you off. Not like that, anyway,”

Joe used the muscles of his chin to push his lips into a thin line and gave a slight nod. It said, admit it, you know I’m right, and it made you scoff.

“Joe, I lost, you made me lose. S’your own fault.”

Those were words chosen carefully and purposefully. You couldn’t get yourself to say that Joe had won, because you knew he didn’t exactly feel like a winner here. You knew how he’d smack that right into your face if you were to tell him that he’d won.

“All right, so you lost,” Joe shrugged in sarcastic acceptance, arms out wide. “So I get my week of favours, and this is the first favour: tell me you didn’t lose.”

“That’s not fair– that…” you searched Joes eyes a second, gaging how serious he was being. If you’d truly pissed him off, if he really was going to keep pushing this without bursting into laughter at the height of the joke.

Joe didn’t say anything, and his expression didn’t falter.

Oh, he was serious serious, and you swallowed the volume of voice you were going to finish that sentence with. Turned it into a whisper because that’s all your throat seemed to be able to manage.

“That doesn’t count,”

You knew exactly what he was here for. Had known from the second Joe beelined it to your bedroom upon entering your flat. Your breath held itself locked tight in your chest, hiding there in anticipation. You could see the clear path ahead but didn’t fully trust yourself – what if you were wrong? This was Joe – your flirty friend who knew where the line was and who never really crossed it.

Was he about to cross it?

You felt tension building. Thickening.

Joe was stood in your bedroom and held you close by an elbow of which the hand rested on his chest. You put it there to give yourself the option to push him away, out of your personal space, but instead, you saw how your fingers softly rubbed at the fabric. Soft, and warm underneath. Joe’s head was tilted down, just like yours, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your temple.

“Say you won the bet,” Joe whispered, and the way your body immediately leant in closer to him was awful. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a small sigh. It sounded more annoyed than anything else.

You weren’t going to say it. Joe didn’t deserve that satisfaction. What you did do, was look behind you to find the light switch to slap. It wasn’t exactly what Joe had asked of you, but turning the lights off sent a clear, silent message. It made Joe place a careful hand to your stomach, to push back a little, to guide you towards your bed. He barely had to touch you for you to lay down on top of the covers on your back.

This was so weird.

There was no kissing. No lips moving across each other, across jawlines or necks. It was just you, on top of your bed in an oversized sleep T-shirt and lace underwear that had been hidden from Joe until now.

Joe let his hips hook over the edge of the bed and used his fingertips to glide over the flesh of your thighs.

Yea, Joe was about to cross the line. Had crossed the line, already, if you really thought about it. Several lines, too.

“You understand that I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” Joe meant, I won’t force you. That wasn’t the kind of man he was, and that wasn’t how he wanted this to go down, obviously.

Joe stopped his hands, paused, and you saw his eyes try to lock onto yours in the dark.

“I’m not saying no, am I?” you replied, tugging on your T-shirt a little on your sides, making sure that Joe wasn’t getting an eyeful of flesh that he didn’t need. It was dark, but, still.

Your answer wasn’t good enough, though, and the insecure pulling down of fabric Joe just witnessed didn’t help.

“So, is that a yes?”

Bastard.

You were trying so hard to hold onto your pride, the fact that your loss meant that Joe wasn’t irresistible to you. You one, really didn’t want to inflate his ego like that and two, didn’t know how to handle the fact that you were absolutely lying to yourself.

Because Joe was right.

But, how fucked up was that? It was far easier to pretend he wasn’t.

It also felt safer not admitting that you wanted this. Sure, a week ago, you’d agreed to a bet of which you knew what the consequences would be. But it had all been jokes, sort of, and you’d been surrounded by people, by all of your friends. It hadn’t been intimate like this.

Having your wants be out there? For everyone to witness? Big nope.

You wanted to keep those wants inside, where you knew where they were. Where you could keep an eye on them as they sulked in a corner, where you could cage them up and where they could only affect you if you got close to them on your own terms. In your own time. Like, when you were alone, in the shower, or late at night in bed.

You know, how normal people dealt with these sort of things.

If those wants were to slip outside of that space, if you spoke them into existence outside of yourself, they would become unpredictable and you'd lose control of them. Couldn't have that happen, of course.

“Hey,”

A soft whisper pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked down to where Joe was still positioned between your legs. You were still in your underwear, and in the dark that your eyes had started to adjust to, you could see Joe’s knitted eyebrows, worry lines on show. He planted his chin just onto the side of your pubic bone, scratching the cheap lace of your underwear into your skin.

“Let me in,”

And piss right off, you’d never thought of inviting Joe in. That way, thoughts didn’t have to leave your brain at all. They could stay right where they were, safely tucked away in their own labeled boxes, and you could give Joe a grand tour of the place. Make him take his shoes off before he entered, and tell him that you look with your eyes, not with your hands, like he was a child in a sweet shop.

Yea.

You could let Joe in, and so you told him. You just hadn’t anticipated the constricted way it came out of your mouth, throat all tense and hoarse.

“Yea,”

Joe’s expression smoothed into a small smile, and his fingers curled around your underwear on your hips.

“Yea?”

He moved one side down a little, waited for you to confirm again, and this time, he accepted the quick little nod you gave. Pulled your knickers off entirely, and when they passed your socks, he took those off too. Good. Would’ve been silly to get eaten out whilst wearing lilac fuzzy socks.

Even though you technically knew that Joe was about to plummet right into you with his mouth wide open, you were still glad the lights had been turned off. Joe didn’t need to actually see you.

Before you felt anything else, you decided you also didn’t need to see Joe, and so you chose a spot on the ceiling, near your light, that you could stare at. Good. That felt safe.

You know what – closing your eyes was even better.

You felt Joe’s breath, followed by soft kisses nowhere near where you wanted him, but it made heat erupt in your cheeks anyway.

This was happening.

Fuck.

This was actually happening.

“Is this okay?” Joe asked in a whisper, and you felt how he used his fingers to get better access.

“Yea, no,” Jesus, that was breathy. “That's– that's fine.”

More soft kisses, placed in better spots now, but it wasn't until the wet heat of his tongue hit you that you inhaled sharply. Right on the money. Good boy.

Time for supper.

It could’ve been just under seven minutes, or over two whole hours – time sort of stopped existing whilst Joe had his arms hooked around your thighs.

Joe was good. Knew that sucking was better than licking, the combination even better, and that getting teeth involved needed careful precision. You were struggling trying to stay quiet – your breaths were quick and started to release noise on every exhale.

Reel it in, drama queen, you thought when you heard yourself. But every time you tried to bite your lips into your mouth to somewhat silence yourself, Joe would up the tempo. Add pressure. Made you forget that you were trying to be respectful towards the neighbours.

Then Joe pulled a move that zapped you right back into focus. A hand got pressed firmly into the flesh just below your bellybutton and you tensed at the touch. Joe’s throat made a noise that sounded like he was going “Ah!” at a pet when it was about to do something it wasn’t allowed to do. Your body unwillingly reacted to it and immediately relaxed, making your knees dip even closer to the mattress. You didn’t know you were this flexible, could spread quite this wide for someone, but that hand pushing down was working.

Shit.

It kind of felt like you’d just discovered sunsets. Why weren’t you outside at sundown every day to look at the sky?! If you’d have known the colours could be beautiful enough to make you weep, you fucking would be, what the fuck.

You tried to swallow whatever made your throat feel hoarse, but there was nothing there. Just emotions then, you guessed. Sure, why not?

You risked a glance down and it was just outlines of curls and humps of shoulders. This was real. That was Joe, and your skin was on fire. You were about to orgasm, felt the faintest hint of it there before it ebbed away again, and you knew you had to focus. Concentrate to pull that feeling back.

But, that was Joe.

Joe.

How long had he been down there?

You were going to have to see him again tomorrow. With Izzy there, probably. Oh, God.

Before you even really knew what you were doing, you heard yourself. Loud moans, upping in pitch as Joe sucked and licked and you knew you were going to have to be convincing enough to make Joe believe it.

You were absolutely one hundred per cent faking an orgasm. Because that was Joe, and this whole situation was wildly unhinged.

Enough now. You’d come. Joe could stop.

“Stop,”

But, wait. That wasn’t your hushed voice that said that.

“Stop it,” Joe instructed again, and like the situation wasn’t awkward enough yet, you looked down to make eye contact with him.

“Don’t do that.”

And then he kept going.

Faster now. More pressure. Tongue flicking as he sucked hard. That hand started pressing down more, and like fucking magic, you didn’t need to focus all that much for the real thing to snap. You felt your whole body flush, blood rushing, pleasure exploding and, yea all right, these noises were a lot more realistic than the pathetic ones you had whined out before.

Old habits died hard, you guessed.

You floated for a little bit. Let yourself be fully in your body for a moment.

Nice.

That was nice.

And he'd barely even used his fingers. Jesus.

It took a minute for you to realise that Joe was softly laughing. You were spent, completely out of breath and felt how two hands got you back into your underwear. Put two lilac fuzzy socks back onto your feet.

When he got up onto his feet, he looked down at you with a stupid smug little smile playing on his face.

You huffed a little laugh at him, and groaned as you brought two hands up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Say you won,” Joe challenged, and when you peeked through fingers, saw him grin widely at you. You grinned right back and said, “No.” which made him laugh.

“I’ll um... I’ll see you tomorrow,” and where Joe had been the one taking the lead regarding this favour before, he seemed to be the one that felt a bit awkward now. Like he’d only just been hit with all the things that had been going through your mind all throughout it.

You couldn’t really say anything back. Too busy staring at his shiny red lips, and then a quick glance down to check his crotch. Joe pretended he didn’t see that.

“And thank you,”

Your eyebrows quirked in question.

“For the favour.”

With a last slow smile, Joe turned and walked out of your bedroom. Closed to door behind him with care, which he didn’t need to do. Izzy wasn’t in. But still, not having to wait for Joe to shut the front door behind him until you had a bit of privacy was nice.

The second you were left alone, you flipped over in the bed and pressed your face into your pillow. You wanted to scream, because what? What?!

What the fuck?

No, but actually, what the fuck?

---

The Taglisted:

(taglist currently full, sorry!)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #18+#double or nothing #part 4

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