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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 3 months

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Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 5

Episode 23: Sister Twister Part 1

Season 5 Masterlist

~In the Man Cave~

Friends. You can't beat them. But, sometimes, it's so very tempting.

That's what Charlotte thought. She, (y/n), and Henry were in the Man Cave, chilling and hanging in out as they waited for the next disaster to happen, which was nice--for some.

The heroine was sitting on the couch, some cheesy romance novel in her hand, so she occasionally let out a squeal when she reached a good part. As if her life wasn't filled with romance already, what with Casanova Ray swanning around the place or wherever he was. Before he left, he'd gone off someone for something supposedly essential but didn't neglect to give her a parting kiss.

At least it made her happy, something which the girl sitting at the computer desperately hoped for. Not an icky boyfriend, no, but some peace as she read off one of the monitors. Well, she said she was reading, but nothing was sticking in her brain, possibly because of her oh-so-lovely friend poking his head over her shoulder.

Henry - did he know how annoying he was being?

"So, whatcha reading?" he asked as she flicked from webpage to webpage, hoping he'd get the hint from her frosty aura, but, as ever, Henry couldn't read body language or pick up a hint from a girl.

"It's this really interesting article about how annoying it is when someone reads over your shoulder," Charlotte replied sarcastically, assuming something would finally cement in that thick skull of his, but clearly, Henry was just dumb.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Hate those people--oh, real quick! Click on that link right there! Ten Celebrities You Didn't Know Were Double-Jointed? What? How'd they know that?" the boy gasped, the only laughter in the room coming from him. Charlotte rolled her eyes as (y/n) chuckled, amused by the situation as she turned a page and kept reading about a woman torn between seven lovers.

Talking about lovers, the secret door opened without warning, causing everyone to glance over and see Ray frantically run out from behind it. He wasn't running back due to a (y/n)-attention deficiency since it'd only been half an hour since he'd wandered off, but whatever it was, it had sure excited him.

"Henry! Sweet girl! Swellview needs us!" He exclaimed as he skidded across the room, stopping only to throw them their gum tubes.

The sidekicks reacted immediately, knowing they had to get ready first and ask questions later, so novels and online reading were abandoned for action, but it would be nice to know what they were doing a little bit. After all, it's not like they didn't have their own gum tubes stuffed in their pockets.

"What's going on?" The kid asked as he caught his tube and took out a ball anyway. (y/n) sidled over to her doofus and lovingly pressed a kiss to his cheek after not seeing him for ages, mimicking his actions of necking some gum.

"No time to explain! Let's chew with urgency!" The hero growled, spurring his sidekicks into moving faster since it sounded like something serious was going down.

"We don't know the emergency..." (y/n) retorted as she swallowed some gum, ready to follow her handsome hero anyway, even if they knew nothing. She was sure he'd explain before they got there - it's not like Ray was full of bad ideas.

"Good one!"

"Thanks!" She smiled when Charlotte recognised her talent for coming up with a quip in no time, and they shared a brief, friendly smile before things got serious. Standing in a line, the trio chewed their gum thoroughly before blubbing three luminescent bubbles, snapping into their super-suits as usual--only nothing was ordinary about the little or big additions they seemed to be sporting.

"Dear god, what is that Raymond?" (y/n) was the first to spot it. As always, they each shook out after transforming to get used to the new fabric, but when she then looked at her doofus, too in love to look at anyone else's face first, her bright smile fell into a deep frown - because of what was strapped to his collar.

A cape - the one thing she refused to let him wear as a superhero.

It was long, a deep scarlet colour, lined with gold thread, and trailed down his back until it reached his ankles in a swoop of majesty. Well, that's how he'd describe it; to his sweet girl, the cape was a waste of her best bulletproof material and a damn tripping hazard if she'd ever seen one. What was he thinking?

"Oh, noooo..." Charlotte, too, wasn't inspired and instantly bit her lip before she got herself fired, not that (y/n) would stand for that. Everyone knew how she felt about cloaks, capes and ponchos since she made no secret of her dislike for the useless, big-headed morons who swanned around wearing them, laughing when they fell over or sniggering when they befell unfortunate ends because they got snagged.

Capes were trouble—the end.

"Is this the emergency? You wanted to show us your new cape?" Henry sighed, seeing how the woman next to him was growing agitated, a state he found growing in him too. It wasn't like he'd been busy before, but he didn't get much time to himself either, so he hated Ray crying wolf--especially for something he knew would set fire to or shred in the end.

"No...I wanted to show you our new capes," Ray smirked, causing his precious girl's face to darken even more as Henry's brows twitched.

"What?" He gasped, wondering what he was talking about. He wasn't perverse to capes, per se, unlike (y/n), so he felt a glimmer of curiosity in his tummy before extinguishing it. He couldn't let himself think things like that, not when he already felt sorry for the poor soul who thought capes were a good idea in the first place.

"Yeah!" Ray exclaimed, thinking they'd be thrilled, but there was a big difference between his cape and theirs. A huge difference.

"What?! Wait--what--what is this? Doofus? These aren't capes! Are you kidding me right now?" (y/n) growled as she and the teen twisted in circles to try and find out what he'd sneakily done to their uniforms with his stupid new gum. In the end, they had to use each other to grab hold of them because all they had were small, square flaps of red silk stitched onto their shoulders - hardly a quarter of what Ray boasted.

"I am one hundred per cent serious, darlin'," her lover replied throatily, facing her with a smouldering look born from the confidence he oozed in his majestic cape. His hands gently settled on her face, thinking he'd be able to appease her about the shortness of their capes since he'd long since mastered the art of making his precious girl weak at the knees.

If only he remembered the first rule about superheroes.

"Why? You know how I feel about these--these death traps!" she spat, feeling like a fool as she tried to angrily gesture with her cape in hand, only to discover she could do that without looking like she was having a stroke. So, in the end, she settled for grasping the red material of his, yanking at it as she pushed away his tender touch.

"Sweet girl..." Ray whimpered and launched his not-so-secret weapon. Fluttering his eyelashes, he gave her his best puppy eyes, hoping they'd be enough to subdue her since they made him look all stupid and adorable - like a doofus - which usually melted her heart into forgiving him. Usually.

"Don't sweet girl me, Raymond! No capes!" (y/n) huffed, prodding his chest with an angry finger as her lips pursed. Did she need to remind him of all the great heroes who'd met with sticky ends because the capes they loved to show off with got stuck or sucked into something? Or should she mention Henry's first day and uniform fitting when she put her foot down about a caped costume?

If this was how he was going to be, then it was going to be a very long, challenging day.

"I've made up my mind on this, sweetheart," Ray told her tiredly, walking off as though he didn't want to argue anymore, but it would simply end there. Just because he swished his cape around and felt all cool didn't mean they were done; even if capes were allowed, why was his so grand and theirs so puny?

"You don't need a cape if you don't fly!" Henry exclaimed, reaching around his neck to try and rip the offending square from his back, but like his fellow sidekick, he couldn't reach.

"You don't have to fly to have a cape. You just need to own it," the hero scoffed as he climbed onto the back of the couch, where he thought his cape would look the most beautiful. Why he got these silly ideas in his head was anyone's guess, and as he stood up there in all his pompousness, (y/n) tried her best to be stern...and not check out his hulking body.

"Doofus, every superhero who's ever had a cape ended up getting caught, killed, or looking stupid!" She snapped at him, looking up with her arms folded as her eyes dragged across his broad chest, down his trim waist, to his beefy thighs. Under any other circumstances, she'd be melting, but all the red ruined it.

"And why are ours so much smaller than yours?!"

"Yours and Henry's are smaller because you're the sidekicks...and I'm the hero," he replied in a low, gravelly voice, crouching down to her level to give her his smoulder again. It worked--it so very nearly worked as he tilted her chin up at him and used his Captain Man charm to steal her breath and make her heart quicken, but then, she remembered what she was fighting for.

"I don't want a stupid, tiny cape, doofus, and neither does Henry!"

"Yeah, dude!" The boy joined in with her protest, glaring at his boss as he spun around in circles like a puppy trying to catch its tail, only he was trying to grab a corner of the dishcloth stuck to his back.

Ray was sympathetic to their disposition; he figured that his sweet girl would come around to the idea of wearing them - something else to highlight her beauty - so he came up with a compromise, which went well.

"Well, maybe we can come up with a system where you could earn extra inches for your cape by doing things like being a good listener...or giving me a kiss and making me a nice pie," he suggested, sounding as if he genuinely believed the utter drivel falling from his lips as their faces became stony.

"Do we look like girl scouts, Raymond? Or better yet, do I look like a nineteen-fifties housewife to you?" (y/n) asked in a sweetly sarcastic voice, watching with narrowed eyes as he sat on the table, thighs deliciously spread far apart - perfect for her to stand in between as the pie baked and she kissed h--no. No, no, no, he was doing it again - he was being too perfect for his own good.

"Ooh, you'd look all cute as a girl scout, sweet girl. I wonder if they do sweet girl sizes..." the man mused, a broad smile spreading as he took everything as a joke. It planted a seed of irritation in her stomach, which would undoubtedly begin to grow hideous roots if he continued to be annoyingly rude, but she ignored him and his poor, smutty flirting for now.

"Well, you won't be getting any of my cookies tonight if you don't drop this thing," they bantered back and forth, growing increasingly icky with their clever comments, which always hid subtle flirting no matter what, and Henry and Charlotte wished they had no ears.

She was meant to be annoyed with him, but even so, the heroine couldn't help but tug the cape before stroking Ray's cheek, meaning she wasn't so stern after all.

"Just get these things off us before I puke, dude!" Henry interjected, his lips twisted into a sneer as his boss angled to sneak a kiss. His charms were working, and he smiled at his sweet girl as she stood there, pouting and puffing in protest - did she know how she had him wrapped around her finger?

"I found the fan you wanted!" She would if he wasn't such a show-off today. Everyone turned to the secret door again as it opened, and this time, it was Schwoz. As usual, he was in high spirits and doing some menial task set by Ray, wheeling a large fan across the tiles typically used to circulate air in the seldom-visited rooms.

Only now, Ray wanted a slight breeze to emphasise his cape, which endeared him to his family even more.

"AH! Prepare to be blown away!" The man giggled at his pun and clapped his hands as the genius pushed the fan in front of him, meaning it captured his attention and not his precious fiancée. (y/n) huffed and pouted some more as he stepped past her, whipping the right side of her body with that glorified towel and leaving any girl scout-related flirting as he did.

"Aw, this is going to be good. You're going to want to get your phones out," he said to Kid and Miss Danger, who didn't look impressed at the command.

"I'm not doing that."

"Yeah, I'll pass on that, doof," they scoffed and shared a dry look as Ray quickly faced Schwoz again, eager to look at his glorious machine whilst they fanned his vanity.

"Oh, do you have a slow-mo setting?"

"No."

"You're going to want to take a picture of this. It's going to be the best thing ever!" Ray insisted as they stood there, half-amused, half-irritated by his whining for a photo. Neither moved to take out their PearPhones and waited for the so-called "best thing ever" to start.

With crossed arms, (y/n) watched as her lover posed in front of the fan like a model, body tensed to bulge his muscles whilst Schwoz flipped the on-switch.

The fan roared to life and steadily increased its wind power from a slight breeze to a wind strong enough to make Ray's silken cape dance in the air behind him. In the name of fairness, one might say it gave him a mighty, perhaps even impressive air, given how he placed his hands on his hips and became a figure of all things manly, but Henry and (y/n) wouldn't know. They could see anything but red silk lined with gold thread.

"Do you love it?" The arrogant hero shouted above the fan's racket, hoping his pretty girl swooned over how good he looked since she looked extra beautiful today. He didn't know what it was, but he wanted to take her into his arms and have her all to himself - much like every day, so he was eager to get her approval, even if it would never come.

"No!" The boy and woman replied together, faces screwed up as the cape tickled their skin. Perhaps she'd have a change of heart if she saw how epic it made him look; after all, it was no secret that she, the Swellview Tech graduate, qualified engineer and kicker of evil ass, could become a babbling idiot if he looked hot enough.

"I am currently loving it!" Charlotte butted in as she reclined on the supercomputer's chair and observed the whole thing. It was all right for her; she had a good view and could appreciate how the cape complimented Ray like a rippling red sea spread out behind him. He looked good, so it was probably good that her friend couldn't see him - they'd have to pick her tongue up from the floor.

"Charlotte loves it!"

"Don't encourage him, Char!" (y/n) shouted as she battled with the flapping cape, spewing and spluttering when it whacked her in the mouth. Honestly, she didn't need to see the front to know he looked hot - she knew that from both experience and how his biceps looked from behind, but she wouldn't cave. No capes!

"She can have mine!" Henry joked, causing his friend to raise an eyebrow at the thought. She'd seen those handkerchiefs when they turned around and snorted at how ridiculous they looked. So, on this occasion, the boy was more than welcome to keep his kindness to himself.

"I'm good!" she quickly replied, just as an emergency call flashed on the monitor behind her, ending Ray's fun since he had to knuckle down and focus on something severe. However, he didn't deflate; instead, he saw it as an opportunity to look fabulous in front of the paparazzi and his adoring fans.

"Emergency call!" He shouted, only to fall over when the breeze became too strong and the red silk too heavy. He would look fabulous if he didn't get twisted up in his cape and fall over like a nincompoop.

"That's why I don't like capes..." (y/n) giggled, watching with little sympathy as he plopped onto his butt, face smothered by the thick material as he clawed to peel it from his eyes, which was no mean feat when Schwoz still had the fan blasting him with air.

"Schwoz, turn it off!" With no further dallying, the genius hit the button to save himself from the hero's wrath and swiftly skedaddled with Charlotte behind the secret door so whoever was calling didn't see their identities. Meanwhile, the pompous hero and his sidekicks gathered around the computer, some straightening their fancy capes whilst others rolled their eyes at his fussing- no guessing needed.

"Hey, Vice-Mayor! What's up?" Henry answered politely as the sulking man appeared on the screen like a grumpy bulldog. He hadn't been overly fond of the heroes since their fuck-up with Mob Boss Rob Moss, but he was learning to put it behind them since the city had no other heroes. If only he'd take the time to learn Miss Danger's name--or at least properly acknowledge her role within the troupe.

"I need you at City Hall right now!" The politician demanded, leaving no room for arguing as Ray comfortably slipped an arm around his sweet girl.

The movement coated her in his cape and cologne, which always seemed to permeate through all fabrics, even if he'd only worn them for five seconds. It made her feel warm and safe - knowing he was standing right next to her - and she rested her head on his shoulder as she thought about how capes had one positive. Only one.

"Uh, could you ask politely? Manners cost nothing, y'know..." (y/n) frowned, crossing her arms in defiance of Vice-Mayor Willard and all his moodiness. He might've been the guy who ran the place and paid their paychecks, but she hated being manhandled--unless Ray was doing the manhandling.

"Or maybe notice my cape?" Speaking of Ray, he still obsessed over his new garment and tugged it over his girl's form until it nearly covered her entirely, highlighting the rich material and quality stitching.

"Oh, it looks great!" Willard exclaimed, a little smile stretching across his features as he analysed the cape covering the hero and...uh, Miss Danger, ma'am. Of course, he was nice to Captain Man; he was the muscle; the other two were like mere decorations - backup, at the very least.

"Thank you."

"Good for you, dude," Henry sneered to his boss, who gazed at him with a shit-eating grin as he basked in the Vice-Mayor's praise. Finally, someone liked his cape, and in his excitement, he pulled his sweet girl closer, turning her around so he could scatter tiny, affectionate kisses across her cheeks.

And as he met her lips, it gave the politician a great view of what she and the kid had pinned to their backs, which was humiliating.

"And your tiny cape is adorable, Kid Danger!... And, uh...yours too, Miss Danger, ma'am."

"It's not--I don't want to be adorable, okay? I'm a man," Henry told the statesman, growing agitated at the thought of being bundled up like some baby. He could tolerate his mom and even (y/n), who still saw him as that cute little blondie, but he'd grown since then. He'd grown a lot.

"Well..." Captain Man and Miss Danger, however, disagreed. He'd grown, definitely, and perhaps he wasn't a child yet, but saying he was a man pushed it. He was too gangly for that, couldn't grow a beard, couldn't drive a car, lived off instant noodles on his own, and still squealed at the first snow of the year. Man? No. One of (y/n)'s little babies? Just about.

"You're still adorable, sweet girl. So cute and soft...so precious," Ray murmured in the woman's ear as Henry sulked, too caught up in his pubescent mood swing to become too nauseated over the sight of his boss nuzzling his nose behind his friend's ear.

The hero practically purred as he did, inhaling deeply to take in her floral scents as she giggled and writhed in his arms - ticklish and highly aware of how the Voce-Mayor glared at such frivolous behaviour. Y'know, Captain Man used to be much more attentive before she came along, but he went on strike whenever the City Council complained.

"Captain Man, I ask that you put your lady friend down and get your butts down to City Hall! I'm the Vice-Mayor, not the say-it-thrice-mayor. So, that's the last time I'm going to say it!" Willard snapped before clicking off the video call angrily.

"Jeez, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," (y/n) muttered as the trio were left in silence, Ray's embrace awkwardly loose around her after getting told off by the Vice-Mayor of all people. He didn't care, and even if Willard had threatened him, he'd continue to pack on the PDA whenever, wherever.

"Whatever. You heard what he said we should do with our butts. Let's go!" The large man exclaimed, patting his sweet girl's ass once as a silent, secret fuck you to the Vice-Mayor. He'd never see it or know about it, but they would, and as he ran toward the tubes, cape fanning out behind him, mischievous smirks spread across their faces.

"All right, just give us a second!" Henry called out, and it was only when he was loitering on the right tube pad that Ray realised his sidekicks were lagging. He watched in horror as they took their laser controllers from their belts and helped zap the pathetic flaps from their backs in a coordinated pincer movement.

"What are you doin'? Those capes were gifts!" He hissed as the squares fluttered the floor, singed, unwanted and left behind.

"Relax, we're coming with you," Henry said cooly as they trotted up to the tubes and took their respective positions. To calm him down, the boy ushered (y/n) into his arms, and Ray gratefully received her as always, bringing her in close so they could both fit--and so he could enjoy the proximity.

Tapping their belts, the glass lowered around them, cramming the couple into the cylinder with seemingly less room than usual, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing in their case, but (y/n) still blamed his cape. Not only was it getting stuck under their feet and the tube's metal rim, but it made his shoulders feel too padded - as if there was hardly any muscle there.

"But what about your capes?"

"No capes!" She repeated firmly as he held her figure to his and rested his chin on her head, glum at the thought of his kindness being rejected. He took it way too personally, even though it wasn't like that at all - she would always love him, even when he looked like a moron.

"Up the tubes!" Henry quickly shouted before any arguing could ensue, and they shot off at the speed of light. However, a minor factor that Ray hadn't taken into his calculations was that his cape was so grand and weighty that under the tube's suction, it was like a parachute.

As he and his darling girl took off, the material pulled back against the whoosh until the vacuum became too much, and the stitching gave way. Ray cried in anguish as he felt the warmth quilting his back pull away, leaving a puddle of scarlet satin under them and him as dull as he was before. Still, some minor losses can be victories for others.

"Awww, m'cape!"

"HA!" (y/n) cackled as she felt the cape swish around their legs and then disappear. He'd sulk when they got to the top, but she could work with that; the only thing that mattered was that her lover was now a lot safer and, in her humble opinion, even more handsome, if that were possible.

He didn't need ornaments or clutter to make him mighty - his actions had already proved something he should've remembered.

And if he wanted to find a new way to Miss Danger's heart, then spending hours at her sewing machine, using her best threads and materials to embellish himself, wasn't going to help either.

(y/n) fell in love with the man, what he did, what he fought for and what he believed in, not what he wore or what others thought of him. But, for the love of god, if he only ever remembered one thing from their relationship, whether long or short, she wanted it to be this.

No capes.

~Some dirty, backstreet alley, Stank Street~

"God, this is disgusting..." (y/n) grumbled to herself as she shimmied through the end of the tube, stuck behind her doofus and Henry.

In fairness to the boys, they'd done the decent thing and let her go last; after all, those in skirts... But no one could save her from the grime that coated the tube inside - one of the oldest and least used in the system. It wasn't visited regularly for a good reason; Captain Man wanted some secret exits to be genuinely secure, so this tube end came out in the middle of a back alley, strewn with garbage, discarded food and a broken-down car.

That was the disguise. Schwoz had managed to dump the car and fit a hole through its hood, creating the perfect illusion and cover for the heroes to come and go as they pleased--except they weren't.

Henry hated being in the middle, especially since he had to follow Ray's butt once the suction pushed them into the final stretch and left them to do the last climb.

Ray hated it because of his dilemma. On the one hand, he sorely wanted his sweet girl to go in front since he'd never complain about getting to stare at her butt for a duration, but that would mean putting her in the firing line should there be an ambush waiting. There wasn't; no one ever used the alleyway, given how grotty it was, but he refused to take the chance, so he went first—no butt-staring for him.

And (y/n) hated the smell. And the dirt. And the crawling. And the idea that someone might see them sneaking out of the car and get curious. According to Ray, that was highly unlikely, but she didn't like taking chances, so she grumbled the whole way there about the dirt, smell, crawling and so on.

"Don't worry, darlin'. We're here," Ray chirped, throwing a grin over his shoulder even though only Henry could catch a glimpse of it. There was no way he'd pass on the message; he'd probably have to throw in a kiss or something too, and he was above that, but at least they'd finally be able to breathe fresh air.

"Coast is clear!" The hero announced as he lifted the car's hood and looked briefly to see if any hoodlums or bums were loitering. Nope, not a soul, just as he thought, so he wasted no time stepping out into the open, relieved to be out of the confined space with no fiancée near him.

"Did you actually check to make sure the coast is clear, or did you just say that?" Henry asked as he poked his head out, albeit with a little more caution than his boss had. Ray was impatient, but even in a shitty alley like this, the kid hated the idea of someone discovering a way into the Man Cave.

"It's Stank Street, man. No one's ever here," Ray replied, watching as his overly way sidekick clambered out of the car. Then, to his instant joy, (y/n) looked over the top, looking as cute as a little meerkat as she thoroughly checked from left to right before slowly emerging.

"You can't be too careful though, doofus," she said, stumbling as her heels wobbled upon breaching the hole's lip, so Ray leaned forward to hook his hands under her arms. Carefully, he lifted her up and out, bringing his darling girl to his chest, so her feet touched the ground gently, and they stayed that way even when it was time to pull away.

"Sweet girl, coast is clear is just one of those things that people say like, look both ways or stay in school," he told her as they gazed at each other, noses rubbing as he refused to stop cradling her small form against his massive one.

Henry sighed at the sight they made and wasted a few seconds by closing the hatch, so their secret tube was hidden again, but when his eyes returned to them, they were still at it.

"You're such a doofus, doofus," (y/n) giggled, the cutesy sounds stifled when Ray placed his lips on hers, too entranced by the warmth and comfort she provided to let go. Her arms looped around his neck to pull them closer together - if that were even possible - and they sighed as they melted into the kiss, oblivious to the impatient boy and chaos around them.

"Dude? Dud--hey, by the way, dude, why'd you tube us out at Stank Street?" Henry butted in, raising his voice when his initial attempts didn't cut through the love haze. Ray didn't look happy when his lover pulled back, and he soured even more when she rubbed the cherry lipstick from his mouth, but Henry didn't care.

"There's tons of other exits in Swellview that don't stank."

They were needed at City Hall, and he'd hate to think of the shitstorm the press would create if they saw Captain Man wearing Miss Danger's smeared lipstick, even if he wore it with a smirk. God, the embarrassment...

"It's the one closest to City Hall," the large man told him frostily, feeling a little miffed that his girl wiped all the evidence from his face, but he quickly got over it, "Besides, it's near the store that sells...things."

"Do you mean capes?" (y/n) asked, folding her arms as Ray stared at her boots and shuffled his feet. A smarmy expression crossed his face as if he was fighting a smile, which ultimately failed when he glanced up and saw her pretty eyes.

"I dunno..."

"What's the place called?" Henry asked, curious to see if they could drag it from the man's lips, although he wouldn't go crazy like the woman once they did.

"Nothing But Capes!" Ray revealed excitedly, grinning like a kid at Christmas as he thought about running down the cape-filled aisles with his credit card raring to go in his wallet. (y/n) sighed tiredly, feeling the same old annoyance creeping up within her again at the thought of such reckless spending on something so...stupid, ruining the sacred moment.

It wasn't like they were saving for a wedding, and it wasn't like weddings weren't expensive. It wasn't like she'd sworn the whole cape thing was over once they'd left the Man Cave. And it certainly wasn't like she wanted to be in a relationship with a grown-up, just one time.

"You're a child," she told him flatly, crossing her arms to show that she wasn't in the mood anymore, not when he seemed more interested in running around, pretending he could fly than discussing wedding details.

They still hadn't picked the flowers. He hadn't given her the cheque for the third payment chunk for her dress. They hadn't worked out a colour scheme. None of the invitations had been written. He still hadn't told her who he wanted to invite from his family. They didn't have a venue, a date, a hope in hell.

And yet he was smiling in her face like the happiest day of their lives wasn't in tatters at their feet.

"Who will soon have a cape!"

"An enormous child!" She growled and stormed past him, enjoying the mad click-click of her heels against the concrete as she headed for City Hall. Ray gleefully followed her, ignorant to her darkening mood as he let out a childish "wheeee!" and skipped behind his darling girl, dreaming about how he'd soon be splashing their cash on matching capes.

"We're not wearing capes!" Henry called out behind the couple, hoping to mediate between them. Just because Ray couldn't read women didn't mean Henry couldn't--well, he could read (y/n) and hear the anger in her every footstep. So, he ran after them, praying they'd behave in the Vice-Mayor's office and save whatever was brewing for home.

But things wouldn't be all too peachy there.

Another lesson for Ray to learn; always check if the coast is clear. Like Piper, you never know who might have fallen over behind parked cars. She didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, really she didn't, but it's hard to switch off when you hear the unmistakable voices of Captain Man, Miss Danger and Kid Danger.

It wasn't her fault she was in Stank Street, either. The stupid judge just had to give her community service in the grossest alley in the city, and she just had to fall over after taking off her gross orange jumpsuit too.

If anything, her hearing and seeing where they'd come from was Captain Man's fault - he should've looked instead of making out and bickering with Miss Danger, who wore her hair in a very familiar style today, although the girl couldn't work out where she'd seen it before for the life of her.

She didn't dwell on the fact or how her red lipstick reminded her of someone else, and instead, she tiptoed out from her hiding place, peeking down the alleyway to see the heroes retreating toward the city.

It wouldn't hurt to take a peek at the car, right? She rattled her knuckles against the hood in a few experimental knocks, finding it as hollow as she thought. They'd climbed out of it. Therefore, there had to be something inside, so to satisfy her curiosity, she lifted the lid, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Captain Man wouldn't shout at her for snooping through his secrets.

A gasp tore from her throat as she saw the tunnel, expertly hidden within the car where the engine should be. She shouldn't snoop; her mom taught her better than that, and from the looks of things, it was impossible to tell how deep the fucking thing went.

"Hello?" She called down the hole, hearing it echo through the tunnel until it travelled too far for her to hear. Miles and miles of blue plastic-lined walls and not knowing where she'd end up.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she thought to herself, pausing when she truly realised how deep the tunnel was and something in her mind told her it would be safest to pull back now that she'd stuck her nose in.

"But satisfaction brought it back," another voice whispered, egging her on to look closer. It was nothing major; stick her head in and shout to see if someone called back—no harm in that.

Deciding to go with the latter, Piper leaned in, wrinkling her nose when the contained smell of Stank Street wafted up from the tube, but in some ways, that was a good thing. A draught meant something was on the other side, so she leaned in more, hoping to find some more clues as to what the mysterious hole was - but then, she went too far.

Her hand slipped as it rested against the propped-up hood, and she fell forwards. With nothing but smooth plastic suddenly around her, the girl had nothing to grab onto as she slithered face-first down the tube, hearing nothing but her scream and the slam of the heavy metal falling shut behind her as she zoomed down.

She learned her lesson: never be curious.

The satisfaction wasn't worth the trip down...or so she thought.

A couple of hours later, the trio were finished at City Hall. The Vice-Mayor had told them some convoluted story about a porch package thief and how he wanted them to do something about it, but it was as Ray said.

They were superheroes. They dealt with a severe crime. The petty, run-of-the-mill stuff could be left to the cops so that they did something worth the taxpayer's money. It didn't make Willard happy, but that was a him-problem, so they strolled out of his office with confident smirks, glad that they'd stood their ground and refused to cave for one common misdemeanour.

A quick stop at the local fried chicken place made the trip worth it, and then, it was back to Junk-N-Stuff, where they could wait for a real emergency to come in. Henry wasn't complaining; Ray graciously bought him a mini bucket, so he couldn't, but he swore he only went to get the food so he could feed (y/n) and see her bright smile when he dabbed the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. All annoyance over the capes was forgotten, and their roaming hands proved all was right in the world again.

It was almost enough to put him off his fried chicken, but then he remembered this was his doing, and he had to admit he wouldn't have it any other way grudgingly. They'd stay in love forever if it were up to him; he just wished that Ray watched his damn mouth sometimes. He really knew how to screw things up.

"Ahhhh, my face!" Jasper yelled as they chatted and walked in - before all the upset. It was all right for Charlotte, who stood at the cash register with electric hair clippers in one hand and a comb in the other as she trimmed a funky plant. It looked like a man with a busy, green afro and eyebrows, and it was her job to neaten it up whilst Jasper cleaned the soot and grime from the dinosaur head's teeth. Very different tasks, very different danger levels.

"Oooh, whoopsies."

"Sorry, dude."

"Curly, are you okay?" the three heroes cringed as they froze in the doorway, instantly feeling guilty as the T-Rex breathed fire like it always did, but this time, Jasper was in the way. The right side of his poor face took the full brunt of the flames, singing the hair there until his eyebrow looked cleanly shaven, not that he knew.

"Is it bad?" he asked innocently, looking at his friends with a hopeful expression like he was praying the scorching temperature made his skin sore and left everything else all right.

"Nah..."

"Well..." At least Henry and (y/n) were subtle and considerate, reluctant to tell the boy he looked weird with just one eyebrow, but as always, Ray didn't pick up on their cue and reverted to his typically blunt manner.

"Did you use to have two eyebrows?"

"I think so..." Jasper replied pensively, looking as though he was deep in thought over such a trivial thing. Meanwhile, Charlotte took her hair clipper and carefully removed her clay head's right eyebrow, trimming the delicate leaves until it bore a remarkable resemblance to her clueless friend, who could be left in ignorant bliss as the weary heroes came in to eat their chicken.

"So, why'd the Vice-Mayor need you guys at City Hall?" The girl asked as the boys took seats on two wooden stools, eager to sit down after such a pointless trek. (y/n) predictably sat on Ray's knee, snuggling into his side as she took another leg and began munching on it, softly smiling when Ray's arm curled around her waist to keep her steady.

"Somebody stole a package off his front porch," she told her friend through a mouthful of chicken as she squirmed from the feeling of Ray dotting kisses down her shoulder line. He smirked against her skin, triumphant that he could evoke such a reaction from her, although he had to stop when she offered him a bite of chicken. How could he refuse that?

"Yeah, a box full of neckties with his face on it or something," Henry shrugged as he snacked on his own food, ignoring how affectionate the couple were so he didn't barf before he could enjoy it.

"Anyray, we told him we'd get riiiiight on it," Ray nodded, acting as though he was bothered by his promise to Willard, but he didn't seem too eager as he languished kisses from his sweet girl's cheek, down to her jaw, down her neck, and to her shoulder. Anyone would think he had all the time in the world, something that made Charlotte wonder since (y/n) didn't make a move, either.

"Doesn't sound like you're gettin' right on it. And you won't find the thief inside (y/n)'s mouth," she retorted, eyeing how her boss pecked at her friend's lips a few times before lingering. She could make out the movement of his tongue against the woman's lip, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust, wishing they'd give it a rest.

"It's not worth our time. We're superheroes. We don't care about some package thief," Ray told her once he pulled back, with an enchanted smile at having the best girl in the world all to himself. He couldn't be happier or more chill at that moment, feeling on top of the world as his fiancée leaned into him and relaxed.

"Yeah, the police can get off their butts and sort it out. We're happy waiting here for something serious," (y/n) added, leaning in to kiss her lover again as if to confirm her words. They'd move when a real job came in, but for now, it was just them, their chicken and plenty of sweet kisses with nothing to ruin it.

But goddamn, they wouldn't order from that fried chicken place again. Her tummy was feeling all weird - woozy and topsy-turvy like there was a washing machine inside, and even though it fried her nerves, she did nothing about it. After all, no one saw it coming when Henry's phone beeped.

"Whatcha got there, fella? Little text?" Ray asked casually after pulling back his sweet girl, intrigued by the kid knitting his eyebrows together in thought. He had that blank stare that all kids have when texting, and when Henry went to reply, he didn't even think about his answer, speaking robotically despite the touchy subject.

"Yeah, it's from my mom," he replied and (y/n) tensed instantly. It was reflexive, a natural defensive for when anyone mentioned that woman because she was...floozy material. She didn't have proof, she didn't have witnesses, and she didn't have any leads, but there was history and her gut to tell her that Mrs Hart consorted with her doofus. She'd seen them whispering, and no one could forget Ray's endless flirting both before and after they got together, so the woman practically brought her out in a rash. If only she would do something to tarnish her perfect reputation, so she didn't feel horrible when deeming Henry's lovely mother a bitch.

"Nice..." she held her tongue and punched out the acid-coated word as she deposited the stripped bone back into the bucket. Her appetite wasn't what it was all of a sudden, her stomach lurching at having to cross paths with Mrs Hart again, even if Ray remained perfectly calm behind her and gave her no reason to worry.

"Yeah...she says that, uh, her new hairdryer was supposed to get delivered today, but it got stolen off the front porch," Henry explained, briefly glancing over the text and thinking nothing of it, despite the connection to Vice Mayor Willard's request. It should've been no big deal; after all, they didn't deal with that shit as superheroes, but you'd think the end of the world had come if you saw Ray's reaction.

"Saddle up and ride, Henry! There's a thief needs killing!" The hero spat, abruptly standing up, so the bucket of chicken and (y/n) tumbled from his lap. At least the woman managed to save herself, unlike the food scattered across the floor for either Charlotte or Jasper to clean up, but she wasn't concerned about that. She couldn't care about anything when her heart lurched from her fiancé's telling reaction to a crime against the beautiful blonde.

It was one rule for one and one rule for hot moms - and that broke her heart.

"What the fuck, Raymond? The chicken! Me! What?!" She spat, and Jasper and Charlotte joined her protests about the wastage, but they weren't focusing on the bigger picture - like he was obsessing over Henry's mom again and adding colour to her nightmares.

"This is no time for greasy, delicious chicken, (y/n)! There's a crime wave, and it just hit Henry's mom!" Ray growled, not realising he said her real name or how that wounded her even further since she turned her back on him to hide the tears pooling in her eyes.

Henry's mom, arguably one of the biggest yet most unlikely supporters of their relationship, a genuinely lovely lady who gave him sound advice when he still didn't know how to approach a meaningful relationship, had been targeted by some scumbag. And she was family to his family; it made sense to help out now it was personal.

"Now, we're gonna find this package thief, and we're gonna ruin his life," the doofus went on, unaware that (y/n) was spirally further and further into self-doubt and betrayal. She trusted him with her life and heart, but she wouldn't trust that woman as far as she could spit, and rested her arm on the cash register's edge as she held her nerve and gritted her teeth, knuckles turning white from how tightly she clenched the wood.

"Okay, just relax, dude—" Henry, bless his heart, tried to calm his boss as he saw his friend work herself into a frenzy over what might be or have been and how Charlotte placed a hand on her arm to try and ease her mind. Anyone would swear Ray would never betray her like that - the guy was too in love - but it was hard to tell when he clenched his perfect jaw and muscles for someone else's problem.

"I'm going to hurt him until he cries, and then, I'm going to collect his tears, boil them down and use their essence to make a high-end cologne called Not On My Watch!"

"Whoa!" "A little too far!" The teens said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to shake some sense into the man as the tears finally rolled down (y/n)'s face. She wiped them away even faster, panting to stem the flow since she didn't want him to see her cry or anyone else. It was just a damn pity the kids of all people saw them as they were the last ones she sympathy from, knowing that Henry and Jasper didn't deserve to have her issues dumped on them and that Charlotte swore that no guy was worth crying over.

But Ray was.

"What's our first move?" She asked in a voice that was far too put together for how torn-up she was feeling inside, but Ray was too entangled with revenge to see her red, watery eyes when she quickly turned around like all was okay in the world. Everything was fine; if he wanted to use an Uno reverse card and care about the package thefts, then that was fine - she just wasn't sure if she wanted to be there when Kris threw her arms around him in thanks.

"I'm not done." Oh, good - what piece of her heart hadn't he stomped on?

"Then, I'm gonna cover him in honey, roll him down a hill of fire ants—fire ants that shoot lasers out of their butts—that's when things get real crazy—"

"Orrrr...Orrrr.. or we put a fake package on my front porch as bait. We wait in the surveillance van until the thief steals it, and once he does, we grab him, and we take him to jail," Henry suggested, thinking as rationally as possible in the hopes that they could smooth the situation over without damaging the star-crossed relationship they secretly cherished. It didn't bear thinking about what would happen in the Man Cave if Captain Man and Miss Danger should go pear-shaped in whatever way.

"Okay, love that—you just earned two inches on your cape, buddy!" Ray grinned, chipping another fragment from (y/n)'s heart at how he jumped to help Mrs Hart and showed more enthusiasm for her damn delivery than he'd ever done when planning their ceremony. All those times, it felt as if she was tying him down when clearly, he was meant to fly - probably with a cape.

"Wait, what? I don't want—"

"Two inches to Kid Danger's cape!" Henry tried to get him to quit it or to be serious for once, but it was no good. Annoyance surged alongside the heartbreak, and as her lover turned to march out the door, (y/n) firmly planted her feet on the ground, knowing that if she had to listen to him sing capes' and Kris' praises in an hours-long stakeout, she might go insane.

"Ugh, y'know what? Let's go—you coming, (y/n/n)?" The kid asked, looking at her with a kind, understanding smile since he had to handle the man-child too, but he could see it in her eyes. All the money in the world wouldn't convince her to help his mom, whether she was technically duty-bound.

"Uh, no, I'll sit this one out. Gotta find some burn lotion for Jasper," she lied and gave him the glimmer of a sickly sweet yet half-assed smile. It wasn't meant to convince, just put him off, and Henry didn't push her any further; he could try and tell her Ray was just excited, a people pleaser, and in one of his funny moods, but devoted to her.

It wouldn't change anything, so he nodded and left, hot on Ray's heels as the man yanked the door open and bolted to the garage where the manky, old surveillance van was. Seeing him go was never pleasant, especially when he went to that woman's house, but the time apart would do her good. At least she had something to distract her when the T-Rex breathed fire again, burning the other side of Jasper's face and his other eyebrow.

"Is it bad?" He never had much luck, and the girls winced as Charlotte remained silent and shaved the other eyebrow off her plant head. Her silence spoke volumes, and the teen grimaced at the thought of looking like a mole rat and, from how sore his skin was, secretly thankful that the Man Cave's nurse decided to stay behind.

"I'm gonna need a bigger bottle of lotion...and possibly a stiff drink," (y/n) sighed, dipping her head to them before slinking off into the back room, where it was safe to shed some more tears and curse herself for being so damn jealous.

It wasn't right; Kris was kind, pretty, generous, a good mom and wife, and she'd never done anything wrong, save for the egg incident - hardly worth eternal damnation. Ray was funny, gentle, adorable, a brave man, a good mentor, an even better fiancé, and he'd never crossed any line, save for the odd comment here and there - hardly worth her blazing wrath and fury.

So, Miss Danger swallowed the lump in her throat and skipped off to go and root through her medical supplies, determined not to let the worst side of herself show. She treated Jasper's sizzled skin like a professional before going downstairs to help Schwoz with some repairs like an angel, and to someone who didn't know her, she seemed all right.

But they knew her better than that. In the ten hours Ray and Henry were gone, Jasper, Charlotte and Schwoz saw the doubt in her eyes, the pain behind every smile, and how she checked her phone every five minutes to see if "Doofus ❤️" had texted something mushy to ease her worries. He hadn't, for reasons that wouldn't become clear until later, but she insisted that was fine, just like everything else was.

Everything was fine, but Charlotte sure wished they could return to when fine meant she gagged and retched at the sight of the couple kissing, snuggling and holding hands, back to when she swore she'd trade anything if it made them quit all that icky stuff.

Now, she would trade anything to bring it back if it meant everything would return to being fine.

~Ten hours later~

"Where the fuck are those morons?" Yeah, things weren't fine anymore.

Charlotte cringed as she heard her friend mouthing off while she paced back and forth behind her. The girl stood by the supercomputer, with Schwoz in the seat, hoping to make contact with the idiotic boys who'd gone on a stakeout and then gave them nothing but radio silence for hours after. It made the heroine sick with worry to know that her beloved doofus and fellow sidekick were out there, doing god knows what with god knows who, but every time they tried to call them, there was no answer.

Gone was the sadness; in its place was pure fury, and (y/n) swore she'd relieve Ray of something when she got hold of him. Charlotte wasn't too sure what that something was, but before she could ask, the woman always moved on to another topic to rant about. She was pissed off - obvious - but what was less pronounced, except to her nearest and dearest, was how torn she was, bottling everything up because she could decide whether she was the bad guy here. Ray was in the wrong too, no doubt there, but she was the green-eyed monster.

"I can try them again," the girl told her with an understanding smile, and for a split second, (y/n) smiled at her helpfulness. She hated being like this; mean, rude, bossy and spiteful, especially with her family, but she had to know what was going on in that van and whether they'd found the package thief or not. Whether they'd recovered the hairdryer or not. Whether Mrs Hart had slipped in to reward their valiant mission or not. It was eating her up - not knowing a thing.

What had they been doing? Whilst she tossed and turned in bed, arm stretched across the cold chasm where her fiancé usually slept, rife with the cruel imaginings from the darkest parts of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder - had he thought about her as much as she did about him?

"Man Cave to surveillance van, Man Cave to surveillance van...Ray? Henry? Can you hear me?" Charlotte spoke into the radio, growing increasingly impatient with each passing moment since they should be able to hear her. She turned to (y/n) with an apologetic wince, cringing again when she pinched her nose and released a tired sigh - exhausted from an entire night of little-to-no, nightmare-filled sleep. But then, everything became apparent, and the clouds grew darker still.

"Five more minutes, mom..."

"Thank you...Henry's mom." With the speakers raised to full volume so they could catch the slightest peep, the small group huddled around the computer heard the boys' sleep talk as clearly as if they were in the room, and Jasper, Schwoz and Charlotte could pinpoint the exact moment (y/n) saw red.

Not only was it an insult to them that they'd fallen asleep on the job, which was why it was always best to take Miss Danger with them to avoid such things, but it appeared like they were dreaming of a certain blonde. And that was fine for Henry, but when Ray muttered those four heartbreaking words, it was like the world stopped.

She wasn't a dream-reader; (y/n) had no way of knowing what her doofus was thanking Mrs Hart for, but she doubted it was for anything fucking good. Of all the men she'd ever felt something for, she would never have guessed he'd be the one too...she really hoped he hadn't—wasn't—whatever.

"Hello?! We haven't heard from you in ten hours!" Charlotte snapped into the speaker microphone, seeing how her friend twisted her engagement ring with a stony face that also reflected a million emotions. She felt for her, aware that Ray would never look at, consider, dream, or imagine someone else now that he'd found her, but (y/n) didn't see it that way. She wasn't aware that his eyes were on her at all times, that he smiled when she came into the room, frowned when she left, pined every waking second until she came back - that she was the centre of his universe.

"Dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, dude!" Henry groaned as he slowly woke up and realised the time. He shoved Ray in the chest, which eventually woke him up, too, spluttering and moaning because he didn't remember his darling girl's hands being so rough. And since when did their bed feel so lumpy and uncomfortable? He cracked open his eyes to see the blinking lights of the surveillance van's computer screens, servers and endless cords of worm-like wires, and then, he remembered.

This was stakeout territory, not the cotton-down heaven with the soft-skinned angel he'd been dreaming about.

"I think we fell asleep," the kid grumbled, recalling how he'd only closed his eyes for a second - just to let them rest - and then accidentally let ten hours slip by.

"You fell asleep?!" Ray spat accusingly, whipping his eyes to scan his slacking sidekick. He'd given up a night between the sheets with his sweet girl for this—to help his mom as thanks for giving him so much advice on married life. And he took a nap? Utterly shameful.

"So did you!" Henry quickly responded, glaring at the hypocrite, who snuffled and rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his eyes to clear the sleep from them. They were in this together, and if he felt so strongly about it, Ray was more than welcome to go back to the Man Cave and crawl into bed with (y/n). Hell, he'd do more good there than he was doing here, so very close to his mom.

"Prove it..."

"I just woke you up!" They bickered, the boy too tired for his boss' games, what with his ruffled hair and blurred vision. He couldn't believe they'd slept through the night after preparing so well, but now that he thought about it, warm milk and ocean sounds weren't exactly meant to keep people awake. Oops.

"You know, I was having such a good dream. Your mom was there at my wed—"

"What?!" Henry baulked at the news, not wanting to hear the story's end since it creeped him out to think that Ray thought about his mother in his sleep. Not like that, of course, no way. No, Ray still smiled about it now, recalling how Dream Mrs Hart patted him warmly on the back as she kissed his cheek and congratulated him on his marriage to that lovely girl (y/n). She fondly remembered her wedding and told him there was nothing more beautiful than a bride on her big day and that he shouldn't keep her waiting before the first dance.

Such a shame it had to be cut short.

"Man Cave to the surveillance van, Man Cave to the surveillance van... Can you hear me?" Charlotte repeated impatiently, and finally, Henry picked up the other microphone. It was too late; the damage was already done. (y/n) heard every word uttered by the boys, including about her lover's dream, and felt her insides clench as they turned green - the ugliest colour, making her want to puke.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we hear you loud and clear."

"Did you two fall asleep?" The woman asked as she took the radio from Charlotte's and mashed the button so hard, it nearly broke. Her tone was curt and frosty, indicative to Henry that she was in no mood for playing games, but to Ray, her dulcet voice was music to his ears just like any other day. It brought a dopey grin to his face.

"No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, we did not."

"Good morning, darlin'!" The doofus interrupted in his cheeriest voice, snatching the mic as she had with Charlotte, only when her tummy tingled with butterflies, her heart stopped, and the butterflies fell dead. It always came back to this, does he or doesn't he bullshit. She wasn't one for going in circles, but she'd always return to him, her fatal flaw.

"Yeah, hi, doof. And, yes, you did, Hen. Don't lie to me," she returned his affection half-heartedly, scared to show her love again for fear of getting it wounded again, but he made it show easy. She'd always fall for his unending, adorable charm - that was the problem.

"We didn't fall asleep, sweet girl. We were just resting our eyes," Ray replied smarmily, perhaps in a brattish manner. He recognised her subdued response and felt his heart deflate a little at the lack of warmth in her nickname, but he didn't dwell on it. The clock had barely struck eight, and he was in a crabby mood from the early start away from her; maybe she was tired too.

"Okay, well, if you didn't fall asleep, then what's the status of Henry's lovely mom's lovely package?" she questioned bitingly, her voice light and sweet as she pictured Mrs Hart smiling and glowing in her mind. On the other end, Henry snatched the microphone back, glaring at Ray as the man slumped into his chair - dejected that his lover wouldn't flirt back.

"Uh, the package...yup. Let me see," the kid mumbled as he grabbed a pair of binoculars and glanced across the street. He zoomed in on his porch and the spot where Ray had left the box in plain view, only to come across a slight problem.

"The package is...gone." Schwoz chuckled at that whilst the girls rolled their eyes and groaned. They had one task and nothing but a simple solo mission, but it seemed even that it was easy to screw up for the hero and sidekick, who didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"Shut up, Schwoz!" Ray snapped and tossed the microphone down, so he didn't have to hear the taunting noise. However, Schwoz wasn't so dumb and quickly dialled his boss on his private PearPhone, which Ray was dumb enough to answer.

The embarrassment was real, and there was no escaping it, but Ray didn't care about that. He was more concerned, dare he say irritated, by his fiancée's crabby mood. When she was angry, he was furious. When she was sad, he was miserable and strived to cheer her up to be his happy, smiley girl again.

But for his life, he couldn't work out what was wrong.

~In the Man Cave~

Needless to say, the embarrassment had stewed when the boys made it home. The journey to Junk-N-Stuff was brief but painful, especially with Schwoz cackling for the entire five-minute drive, so Henry and Ray were steaming by the time they got down to the main room.

Things only worsened when Ray walked up to his sweet girl, wanting some affection to perk up his mood. As always, he leaned in for a kiss, badly needed fortification after going ten hours without one, only to feel his stomach plummet when his lips met her cheek and nowhere else.

He despised the cold shoulder - hated it with every fibre of his being, but he couldn't even call this that. She didn't avoid him, didn't ignore him or walk out of the room; instead, she clung to his side like she always did, allowed him to hold her hand and gave brief, gentle smiles when he looked down at her.

She was his sweet girl, as always, but she was holding out on him, curled up, protecting herself in her shell as she did all those years ago. She didn't want to talk, and he hated that even more.

A storm was coming.

"Ahhhh! How could we fall asleep?!" The man bellowed from up on high, near the sprocket. If he couldn't relax in her arms and melt his anger with her kisses, then he figured shouting it out was the best alternative. Henry copied his actions, spurred on by his boss' pettiness and foot stamping and the tension between the couple.

"How could we let that guy take the package right from under us?!" he asked, pulling a growl from Ray's throat. Meanwhile, (y/n) and Charlotte were being clever - as usual - taping a box shut since it was part of their foolproof master plan. And it gave the woman a distraction from her grief, which she didn't want to unleash on her doofus if he pushed her away.

"I am so angry!"

"So am I!" They yelled, pacing back and forth in some weird competition on who could become the angriest in the room.

"I'm angrier!"

"That is a lie! Because I am the angriest!" Henry argued as Ray stomped, torn between his rampaging and pulling his sweet girl to the couch. Maybe if he did that, she'd smile and tell him to let it be because where would being angry get him? But then again, she could also frown, thump his chest for being so rough and march away, offended. Angry it was, then...

"No, I am King Andor! Ruler of Mount Furious!" Now, it was just getting strange. Ray seethed as he looked down upon his kingdom, neck pulled so tight, the veins and tendons there pulsated through his skin - pining for his queen.

"Yeah? Well, I am Rage! Vengeful God of Anger!"

"Well, I am (y/n), queen of are you guys done being angry? Because you're giving me a headache!" The heroine interrupted, shouting over their nonsense since she could feel the pressure mounting between her temples.

"Does it sound like we are?! Does it sound like we are (y/n/n)?!" Henry growled and held his ground, refusing to come down when he was enjoying acting like a five-year-old. People should shout and scream and complain like this more; he loved it.

"Can't you see us stomping?!" Ray snapped, too and shuffled over to the couch where she was standing so she could hear his sneakers drag across the floor. And just for good measure, he kicked the spongy back a few times as he showed his pouty face to her amused one, hoping his tantrum would earn him a scrap of the attention he so desperately craved.

"Yes, I can see that, but you look like a constipated chicken, Raymond," (y/n) told him flatly, crossing her arms as she waited for him to finish. He held eye contact with her, refusing to break it since she'd been avoiding his eyes since they came back, but Ray was disappointed to see nothing in those pretty peepers - not even a smidge of sympathy and comfort for the man-child within.

"Well, she only asks because we're done making another bait package to put on Henry's porch," Charlotte piped up, drawing the two out of their trance, so they looked away.

People always say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and (y/n) prayed that wasn't true because if it were, her doofus would've been able to see the envy, insecurity and despair rise behind her (y/e/c) pools upon the mention of sending him back to the lioness' den.

"What?"

"Well, THANK YOU!"

"That's actually incredibly helpful!" They replied haughtily, too stubborn to drop the angry façade but not rude enough not to give them credit where credit was due. Suddenly, the red haze fell, and the boys didn't need to shout so much, making them feel pretty stupid after all that mouthing off, so to save their blushes, Ray stomped over to collect what they'd so lovingly prepared.

However, when he wrapped his beefy arms around the box...it wouldn't budge. Not even Captain Man,, with all his super strength, could lift it without doing something serious to his back, so after a few seconds of straining and grunting, he pulled away and looked at his precious girl with a baffled expression.

"This package is too heavy, sweetheart!" He whined, trying to come across as all tough and moody still, but he was more like a puppy as he whimpered and growled, too soft for her to ever use any malice.

"Why's it so heavy, swee--I mean, (y/n)?!" Henry quickly asked and corrected himself even quicker when he copied his boss' gross nickname in his grumpiness.

"Because we put Jasper inside," she replied, giving them a courteous smile as her tummy fluttered from her fiancée's attention. She wished he wasn't going back out there since everything was terrific until Henry's mom came into the picture.

"Hey, guys! I've got a taser in here!" Henry and Ray stared at the box in shock as they heard Jasper's muffled voice coming from inside--and then the unmistakable buzzing hisses of him messing about with the taser. Yeah, giving it to him in such a tight space wasn't a good idea, but it was too late now.

"Ow!... It works!"

"That way, he can jump out and tase the package thief in case you two fall asleep again," Charlotte explained when Ray gave her a dirty look for involving that moron. It was a great plan, but they didn't take too well to her accusations; they didn't know the meaning of sleep; how dare she?

"Fall asleep? Fall asleep?"

"Oh yeah, we're going to fall asleep two times, Charlotte! King Andor does not sleep! He stomps!" They shouted as Ray jumped in front of the girls and started thumping his feet against the floor in a mad display of his petulant stomping and arm-waving.

"Yeah, I'm just getting chicken vibes again, doof," (y/n) giggled, feeling her heart grow lighter than it had since yesterday, and for a brief moment, Ray gazed at her with hope in his eyes. Oh, how he'd longed to hear that giggle when the van got cold at night.

"How could we possibly fall asleep when we are this angry?!" But Henry came in and ruined the moment, yelling until his throat was sore, and when he stomped, so did Ray. Watching with unamused faces, the girls stood and waited for them to calm down with folded arms.

They left eventually, roaring about victory and drinking their enemy's blood or something as they hauled the Jasper Package into the elevator. He warned them not to be so rough with his delicate little body, but Ray hurled him in any way.

He had more important things to do, like sidling up to his sweet girl and promising he would return soon. (y/n) tried to give him her most convincing smile and pulled him into a tight hug before Henry groaned and called for Ray to step into the elevator.

"Time to go, darlin'," he murmured as he reluctantly pulled away from her arms with his same-old cocksure smirk and leaned to peck at her lips. She sighed into the agonisingly brief kiss, wishing she could freeze time and keep him there forever when he loved her and didn't think about anyone else.

Kris Hart didn't know how lucky she was - that she had such a brave man wanting to give everything to help her out...and that she hadn't had her face ripped off for straying too close to the green-eyed monster.

~Later that night~

"Where are they?" (y/n) grumbled as she strolled around Junk-N-Stuff, hands wedged deep in her pockets to look casual. It wasn't working; three times she'd circled the centre display, five times she'd sat down on the manky, old couch to stand up again, and seven times she'd counted the money in the cash register.

She couldn't sit still, not the sunset, and the darkness fell. Ray and Henry had been gone all night and day, camped out in that stupid van, but they weren't answering the radio. The last she'd heard was a goodnight text from "Doofus ❤️", but that was hours ago. Many hours ago, enough to make her go grey and become so worried that Charlotte caught her nerves.

And she was usually the level-headed, unflappable one.

"I'm trying to call them," she told her friend, tapping Henry's contact again, only for it to immediately go to voicemail. His phone was turned off - the same for Ray's - and whenever they tried to call, no one would answer. It drove them insane not knowing, but then, Schwoz came in, looking all innocent and friendly like he always did as he came up to "see how they were doing".

"Oh, Schwoz, have you heard from Ray and Henry? We've not had a single message from them, and I'm getting wor--" the heroine explained, not looking up from her cell as the genius approached, so neither of them saw his mischievous smirk until it was too late.

"No greenie, yes peenchie!" he squealed in his funny voice and reached out with both hands to pinch them on the arm. They gasped from the brief yet excruciating pain and glared as they rubbed the sore patches he'd given them for seemingly no reason.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Ow! What the heck, Schwoz?!" They yelped. It wasn't so bad for (y/n) since the pain and subsequent bruise healed almost instantly, but Charlotte would feel it for the next ten minutes. What was wrong with that fuzzy coconut?

"It's Avocado Day!" He told them happily as if it was apparent, something everyone knew, and they were being dumb.

"Eh?

"Avocado Day!" he told (y/n) with a gentle eye roll as she frowned in confusion, "If you're not wearing green, you get pinched on your skin!"

"No, that's St. Patrick's Day!" Charlotte corrected him as she quickly swatted his hand when he went in for round two. Yeah, he didn't like it when they returned the pain...or when they pointed out that he had his green-based holidays mixed up.

"What the heck is Saaaaaaynt Paaaaaaytreeeeck's Daaaay?" The genius asked, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to pronounce the funny words, but (y/n) wasn't playing ball. He could say 'day' at least - he wasn't that bad.

"Saint Patrick's Day is the day when Saint Patrick died. Y'know, the patron saint of Ireland? It's a big thing, Schwoz. I'm surprised you haven't--" she began to explain after carefully enunciating the name for him, but she was cut off when something alarming stepped through the door.

At the tinkle of the bell and the breathing fire of the T-Rex, everyone looked at the door, expecting a customer or, y'know, something normal. What they didn't expect to see what Ray and Henry were stomping into the shop, covered from head to toe in glitter.

From their hair to their faces to their shirts, they were doused in glitter - the fine, annoying, powdery stuff that clung to everything it touched and refused to come off. Only, it did come off sometimes - onto whatever they felt. A sparkling trail followed behind them as they entered swiftly, giving a unicorn a run for its money at the stardust left in the air whilst (y/n) stared at them in shock.

What the hell had happened?

"You will never guess what happened to us!" That's what she said. Ray growled as he came to stand in front of her, sprinkling her jeans and sweater with glitter as he got so close their chests bumped together. She didn't mind the proximity - welcomed it - but when he stepped back, and she was left coated in silver specks, too, she wasn't too happy.

"You fell asleep again, then the package thief delivered the glitter bomb to the surveillance van, and you opened it without realising what it was, and now you look like a unicorn pooped on you?" Charlotte suggested, taking a step back and analysing the situation briefly before coming to a sound and uncanny conclusion.

"No..."

"Maybe...why'd you have to be so smart all the time?" The boy replied coyly, scuffing their feet against the ground, so it too became glittery, and upon clocking what he dusted her with, (y/n) jerked away from her lover with a gasp.

"Oh, doofus! This stuff doesn't come off, and you've got it all over me!" She whined as her hands frantically brushed her sweater to no avail. Despite only touching him for a second, the glitter found its way between the fibres and, once there, refused to move even when she plucked and flickered and prayed for it to go away.

"Oh, sweet girl, let me--" Ray gasped, seeing the mess he'd made across her chest and immediately reached out to help clean it up. The problem, however, came when he failed to remember what was on his hands until it was too late and an even bigger streak of shining glitz stretched across her clothes.

"Thanks," (y/n) said dryly, sighing in defeat as his hands stilled on her ruined sweater, meaning she had to swat them away because whilst he had no issues standing with his hands on her boobs, she did - especially when others were in the room. She loved that sweater, and now it would have to be tossed out, which stoked the fires of fury within her even as her lover sheepishly apologised.

The clouds were growing darker.

"No greenie, yes peenchie!" And, in the worst possible moment, Schwoz snuck in between the hero and sidekick and pulled the same mean trick he'd done with the girls. As if Ray wasn't in a steadily declining mood, he nipped his skin between his forefinger and thumb - hard - drawing a sharp "ow!" from the man before the pain faded. It hurt like hell but then he remembered... "Is it Avocado Day?"

"Yeah!" The genius replied with a playful grin.

"Man, I forget every year!" He grinned, seeing the fun side of the situation, even though it trickled into his growing pool of annoyance. He didn't show it, but that pinch would fester, as would the glitter in his hair, shirt, and pants. Hell yeah, it was in his pants; glitter was coarse, rough, irritating, and it got everywhere, but worse was he'd have no one to help him wash it out later if his sweet girl kept giving him that scolding expression.

"Okay, what is Avocado Day?" Henry asked, perplexed by their bizarre interaction.

"No greeny, yes pinchy!" Ray squealed, imitating Schwoz's voice, though it would never be precisely the same. Although the pain Henry felt when his boss leaned forward and pinched him roughly on the arm was the same - mean-spirited, excruciating, perhaps even a bit cruel.

"Ow! What the heck, Ray?!" He whimpered as the man retreated, appealing to (y/n) for help with his best "I'm one of your babies. Please come help me against your doofus" looks, but she merely shrugged. There was no way she would get any more glitter on herself, not after a couple of days she'd had.

"It's Avocado Day. You're not wearing green, so you get pinched."

"But that's St. Patrick's Day," the kid disagreed, giving the large man a skeptical look at how he'd hurt him for a misunderstanding, which was more common than it seemed. Well, common between repairmen and doofuses.

"Stop making up fake holidays!" Ray shouted back, disliking all the sudden insubordination going on around him. The atmosphere felt mutinous, and made him uneasy, not that he'd ever suspect anyone in his family of betraying him. His mind told him theoretically everything was safe, but his heart and gut were saying something else, and it led back to...

"Stop shouting at Henry, Ray! It's not his fault you mixed up your holidays!" (y/n) bit back, jumping to the side of her blondest baby since she didn't like the accusatory of her beloved. She didn't know why but it was one of those days, having finally figured out where she was so furious.

It was just a day out of three-six-five when he pushed her buttons more than usual, not for any reason, but things had pooled together and stretched her thin as not enough jelly spread across too much toast. She couldn't be everywhere, do everything, and please everyone, but in the Man Cave, that was her job, and some days, she was sick of it.

"We gotta find a way to stop this package thief, (y/n)!" Ray hissed, looking down on her, not at her, for the first time in a long while. Every couple hit rough patches every once in a while, and they were no different since they drove each other crazy by being crazy for one another. They were opposites, too so both hindered and helped to push them together, even when circumstances conspired against them.

"You're right. You're right..." Henry nodded, patting the woman on the shoulder to say thanks and call her off. He loved her mother bear instincts but not when they led to bickering, so she stepped away and left it for the sake of him and Charlotte. But that didn't mean she was finished.

"Well, step one, stop falling asleep!" She told them sternly, pointing a finger straight at their faces as if to say, "I mean it". And that was fine; Henry knew they couldn't nap through another package thievery, or this would never be put to bed, but Ray, suddenly finding himself in an accusatory mood, fought back with the dirtiest of tactics.

"A—a—choo!" He sneezed violently, feeling it creep up his spine with no warning - that bit wasn't his fault; after all, Mother Nature moves in mysterious ways. However, he wasn't faultless when he pointed his snot rockets in his sweet girl's direction, not to mention poor Charlotte - the victim of circumstance - and, contrary to how his mother brought him up, sprayed her in his droplets and snotlets.

His head shook from the force, meaning not only was she showered in his saliva, but a fine dusting of glitter settled over her and Charlotte like the first snow falling. If she thought the sweater incident was terrible, then this was horrific. Glitter on their bodies, hair, and shoes - it was like they'd been victims of the bomb too, except they were merely victims of a doofus who fought like a child when he wasn't happy.

"No—Raymond Manchester! That was deliberate, you...you...god! I cannot believe you!" She growled as her chest heaved and her hands froze in mid-air - useless in their attempt to shield her body. Upon hearing her friend's drawn-out "ewwwww!", the girls retreated to the counter, where they stored some alcohol wipes and tissues, grumbling about how stupid boys stupidly spray it and don't say it.

"Now, to catch a package thief, you got to think like a package thief," Ray smirked at Henry once they were somewhat alone, despite his heart roaring at him to shift his ass and apologise. There was no need for that, and honestly, he had no idea why he'd done it after feeling the powdery glitter tickle his nose, but it was too little too late. He hoped flowers and a box of chocolates would make up for it.

"We start stealing packages ourselves!" Henry suggested, thinking like his boss and not his usual, rational self. Jeez, he had to stop hanging out with Ray; he was starting to rub off on him.

"Okay, love that! Gas up the van, warm up some milk and let's roll!" And Ray being Ray, he loved that idea, so they shared a grin, a high-five, and made for strolling out of Junk-N-Stuff, leaving nothing but a trail of magic and a wounded sweet girl behind them.

"Uh, guys," Charlotte butted in, having something much more straightforward in mind, which she thought would work out in their favour since the lovers could stick together. Sure, they were going at it like a cat and dog today, but they always faired worse when separated and even if they wouldn't sit down and talk it through, at least they could be near each other and feed off that. "I have an idea."

"Wait!"

"What's up, big dog?" Henry was there immediately, halting when Ray called for it since he was a good, obedient sidekick expecting to hear his friend out. But no...

"I got a better idea!"

"Listening..." he nodded, all his attention on the leader, despite his brain telling him that history had taught him Charlotte's ideas were nearly always better than Ray's. The girl rolled her eyes as he completely blew her off and shared an exasperated look with (y/n), who, for once, was powerless to help since she wasn't exactly feeling peachy with her doofus either.

"We go down to the Man Cave. We get Schwoz's pot of gold—"

"I'm sorry, what?" Henry frowned the minute said that features contorting in bafflement since it sounded so strange. Schwoz, who incidentally was wearing green for "Avocado Day", owned a pot of gold like some literal leprechaun at the end of the rainbow. This he had to see.

"We get Schwoz's pot of gold. We leave it outside the store as bait—"

"Schwoz has a pot of gold?" The kid asked, too shocked to care about Ray's plan now that he'd received the news. He knew the guy was weird, but riches beyond belief were far out there - perhaps a little too far out there.

"Pfft! A pot of gold! I'm not a leprechaun! Why would I have a pot of gold?" The genius scoffed, playing coy, so they didn't suspect him, but he wasn't a brilliant actor. Henry could smell a liar a mile away after being Kid Danger for so long, and it seemed like something Schwoz would have, from whichever land he hailed from.

"He does, though...fiddly-diddly-dee," (y/n) smirked, staying quiet at the cash register, but she couldn't help but sprag on her friend. Not in a mean way, that wasn't like her, but Schwoz was a liar and loved to show off his pot whenever he could. It was only when someone wanted it that it suddenly went missing, and the fear of Ray getting ahold of it was enough to make him bolt.

"You can't have my pot of gold!" He exclaimed angrily and like an angry little leprechaun, skipped off to hide it away from prying eyes and grabbing hands. He looked so funny as he scampered through the beaded curtain, causing (y/n) to giggle silently and shake her head - he was never good at hiding things.

"We'll get it," Ray hissed to the blond boy, proving her point, although she refrained from smiling at him. Her heart said yes, yes, yes, smile at soulmate now, but her brain said no, no, no, we're supposed to be mad at him, you can't have it both ways.

"Uh, I said I have an idea!" Charlotte called to them, trying her luck again once the genius disappeared, but like every time before, it seemed she was invisible or they were rude. No, they were rude.

"Okay, so we get Schwoz's pot of gold, maybe run some electrical wires through it..."

"We warm up some milk, and wait for the package thief to show up!" Ray grinned at his young sidekick, who seemed to be full of unique ideas today,. The girls looked on, exasperated at how life had landed them working/loving such morons and why they hadn't yet received a medal.

"Do some meditation, get in that zone, you know what I mean?"

"Listen to songs of the humpback whale?" The hero suggested, sounding like he was in severe pain as he imitated the whales and their lonely song. Henry was the only person who liked it, unaware that outside their little bubble, they looked and sounded ridiculous with their oo'ing and awwing.

"You guys!" (y/n) snapped abruptly, slicing through their conversation with pure frustration at how her poor friend hadn't gotten a word in edgewise, and all they wanted to do was make whale noises. Instantly, they looked at her, taken aback by her sharp, uncharacteristic tone because she never yelled like that and certainly not at one of her babies or her beloved doofus.

"Charlotte has a plan that doesn't involve whales or milk or Schwoz's pot of damn gold!"

"Thank you, (y/n/n)," the girl inhaled calmly, bowing her head at her friend as she massaged her temples before carrying on with her explanation, "I put an ad online yesterday that says Junk-N-Stuff buys things now."

"So?" Henry asked, confused at what she meant by that. So what if they bought crap now? Didn't matter to him.

"So, the ad said we'll buy stuff, pay cash, and not ask where they got it from," she smirked with a mischievous glint in her eye, feeling so intelligent and smug for the trap they were leaving. It was all legit and the perfect way to lure in the thief, who had to be one clever bastard if he knew where to return the glitter bomb package after noticing he was being watched. Now, if only Ray could understand that...

"Uh, I did not authorise that, so I will subtract the cost of the ad from your paycheck," he told the girl with an air of authority that didn't wash with his sweet girl. Usually, she loved it when he played the big, strong, hot leader as it reminded her of his strength and extermination, but now he was coming across as arrogant and dictatorial. Plus, she supervised Charlotte all day, said she could publish the ad and even called it a great plan. What about her authority?

"Yeah, well, I authorised it, so I will add the cost back into her paycheck for doing our job for us," (y/n) folded her arms as Ray stood in front of the cash register. Now they were getting into the ridiculous part of the argument, where they questioned each other on stupid stuff, and as she gave him a complex, challenging look that no one else would ever get away with, he found himself biting his lip and glaring back.

"You didn't ask me first?"

"I didn't think I needed to ask for permission for a stupid online advert." The hairs on the back of her neck bristled at his cold voice, and she huffed at the insinuation that he'd suddenly changed his mind about how everything was run. What was he was hers - that's how things were, and she'd never assumed she could cross any line, but it was plain to see he was being stubborn. As was she.

"Check next time."

"Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir," she scoffed, unafraid to mock him since he wounded her pride with his haughty instructions, despite telling her numerous occasions that he didn't give a rat's ass about Junk-N-Stuff. She cared more about it. Therefore, he left most of it to her, saying she'd have half of everything when he finally got to call his wife, which would be in a million, billion years if he was planning the wedding.

"Don't be a child, sweetheart," he sneered as he turned away, done with the conversation, but he couldn't help when the nickname slipped from his tongue. He could never use it with malice, even if he were being hypocritical, stupid, and stubborn, so he wasn't ashamed about it as he looked at Henry, just about their poor handling of the situation.

"Me?! A child?! Have you heard yourself? That's rich com—"

"Come on, kid. Let's towel off this glitter, take a quick power nap and steal Schwoz's pot of gold," he grinned at the kid as he cut her off. How they were tired after so much sleep was anyone's guess, but it was probably something to do with the fact they slept in a van; for all his pouting and foot-stamping, Ray could never deny he slept better in his bed, with his precious girl, after tiring themselves out. Maybe it was that that made him so crabby.

"Good call; I am so tired..."

"I know, right? Must be from all that sleeping," they shrugged and grabbed some towels from one of the shelves just as Schwoz dashed through the store with a small cauldron suspiciously full of gold coins. He ran so fast that he spilt a few as he zipped out of the store, practically hissing at anyone who looked at him or his treasure, whether they were a friend...or foe.

"You'll never get my pot of gold!" Ignoring Ray and Henry's promises that they'd get that pot eventually, he bounced out of the store, proving to be a peculiar sight for the guy who walked in as he left. At first glance, he was like any other customer, just a guy with a box of junk under his arm, so the heroes didn't stop towelling as he walked up to the counter.

"Hi, can we help you?" (y/n) asked politely, switching to her demure, perpetually smiling mode as she did for every customer she served. A quick rake of her eyes over the young man and his demeanour made her tummy feel funny, not in that way, he was far too young for her, and as much as he pissed her off, she was a taken girl, but this guy seemed shady - jumpy, maybe. Highly suspicious.

"Yeah, I saw your ad online," the guy replied as he walked up to them and placed his box on the counter. Huh, a glance inside told (y/n) everything she needed to know, recognising the contents instantly, but they pretended to be innocent. No point going in for the kill before getting a confession.

"Oh, did you?" Charlotte asked loudly, hoping the boys were still paying attention, even with the towels over their heads.

"Yeah. Said you'll buy stuff, pay cash, not ask where it came from?"

"You know, that is what the ad said. I bet you came top of the class for your reading skills," (y/n) smiled brightly and ignored when the guy noticed and frowned at the glitter coating her and her helper. She really hoped he wasn't intelligent enough to put two-and-two together, and thankfully, he didn't say anything despite seeing the sparkles, preferring to get in and out with the hot goods.

"Whatcha lookin' to sell?"

"Uhh...I got a bunch of neckties with the Vice Mayor's face on them. You interested?" He told them, holding up the hideous, bright blue ties with Willard's face splashed all over them. The girls hated to think what they'd been ordered for but pushed the thought to the backs of their minds as Henry and Ray slowly stopped rubbing their hair. Neckties? With Vice Mayor Willard's face? Now that caught their attention.

"We are very interested in those. Got anything else?" Charlotte asked, seeing her friends turn around in the corner of her eye as the thief rummaged through his box again.

"I've got season two of Will and Grace on Blu-Ray!" He told them, holding up the DVD so they could see it. It wasn't on their list, but it was stolen. The guy didn't have many morals in that box of his.

"That's a good season!"

"It's a great season!" (y/n) recoiled when the shady guy snapped at her, causing Ray to put his hands on his hips as his anger rose. Whether they were in the middle of an argument or not was beside the point; no one, and he meant no one, yelled at, intimidated or was rude to his sweet girl. She was the loveliest, kindest, gentlest soul he'd ever encountered, and he loved her more than life itself - this guy would pay.

"I've also got this hairdryer specially made for hot moms," he moved on and lifted the hairdryer so they could see it. (y/n) clenched her jaw at the description, wondering why on Earth the hot mom bit was so important and why salt seemed to pour into her wounds every time she turned a corner. Kris Hart this, hot mom that, was there any wonder she hated that she hated that woman?

"That—that is fantastic stuff. Where'd you get it?" Charlotte questioned as the hero and sidekick pulled the towels from their heads. They were dense but not that dense and suddenly aware that Charlotte's plan had worked - the guy came straight to them. Who was dense now?

"The ad said you wouldn't ask where it came from," the thief replied frostily, unaware that Captain Man and Kid Danger were now stalking his ass right as he copped to the entire job. "But whatever. I stole it."

"Oh, wow, and nobody tried to stop you?" Miss Danger raised an eyebrow, curious about what he'd say and her doofus' reaction. The poor guy didn't know he was signing his death sentence as he and Henry loomed over him from behind, jaws clenched as he started insulting them freely.

"Well, there was this old guy and his son in a van trying to catch me."

"Old guy?!" Ray spluttered as he heard the terrible insult. Henry let it go like water rolling off a duck's back, but he knew how touchy his boss was about his age - forever strung up about how he would someday lose his fresh-faced, boyish youth and be forced into retirement. It didn't matter if it happened to everyone; he hated how it was happening to him, and he hated that he already had six years on his future wife when he wanted to spend every second of her life with her, worshipping everything she did.

"Oh, yeah! There you are," the guy laughed breathily as he turned around to see the numskulls he tricked, unaware that the girl and hot lady at the counter were cringing at how he was the numskull, "you like that glitter bomb, old man? EUhhhhhhh!"

As he laughed at his mischief, the others joined in, cackling like he was the best comedian in the world for pulling such a good prank on those trying to hunt him. Whilst they laughed, (y/n) nudged Charlotte, telling her it was time to make herself scarce as Henry went over to the door, intending to lock it so the three heroes could take their revenge on such a gunch.

"What's going on?" The thief queried as the shopkeepers and numskulls kept laughing to the point where it was getting creepy. He didn't understand why the old dude was slowly creeping towards him and twisting the red towel in his hands into what looked like a rope.

"Why's she heading toward the back?" He asked, feeling the joy leave his voice as a shiver ran down his spine. Things didn't seem so funny as he took in the situation and suddenly felt like an animal getting cornered, his instincts telling him to run even when all the exits were covered.

"Why's he locking the door? And why's she coming over here?" He asked again as the fake laughter died down into chuckling and then into silence. The thief found himself staring down Captain Man of all people, with Miss Danger breathing down his neck and Kid Danger looking down on him, but it would be okay, right? They were just three weirdos in a junk store - nothing scary there.

"...Say, friend, I couldn't help but notice..." Ray whispered to him in a husky voice that had (y/n) shivering from how undeniably hot he sounded, even though it wasn't the time or place to go all gooey, "you're not wearing green."

"And it's Avocado Day," Henry hissed, too, staring at the man as he stood in the doorway.

"Sort of..." (y/n)'s hot breath rolled down the man's neck as she leaned in to murmur in his ear, and he jolted at having her so close. Never in his life had he felt so caged, and the thief hated how they all glared at him like that, especially when the old guy with the...huge muscles growled from the lady getting so near and when he realised what Avocado Day meant.

"Oh, god..." he gulped, fearing what they'd do to him as Ray tightly gripped the towel. Oh, he didn't have to worry that much. He wouldn't pinch too hard.

At first.

~A while later~

There was nothing like job satisfaction at the end of a long day. Being able to say that the packages of Swellview were a little safer, thanks to them, made the job worth it for the Man Cave crew, and now that the asshole thief was in a police car on his way to the jailhouse, they could rest easy.

Well, some found it more straightforward than others.

Against her better judgement, (y/n) agreed when Charlotte asked if she wanted to help get the glitter out of Ray and Henry's hair, saying that the man wouldn't let anyone but her touch his. Then, she did some very well-played grovelling, saying all sorts of stuff like how she loved to touch her fiancé's hair, how no one could remove glitter as she could and how she, her poor helpless baby, needed some help from mama bear.

That tugged at her heartstrings, and the woman caved, tearing up at the thought of the girl struggling against two boys and their beloved hair, so they got to work. Saying nothing, (y/n) picked up a hairdryer and began blowing Ray's hair, using her famous patience and perseverance to get down to the root where the glitter caked every strand. They were still arguing, at least in her head because Ray could joke, grin, purr and smirk at her all he wanted, but she was at the end of her rope.

The storm was nearly here.

"Man! How crazy was it that that package thief guy just happened to walk into Junk-N-Stuff, right?" The doofus shouted over the noise from the hairdryer, feeling cocky and victorious after pinching the hell out of that lowlife as his sidekicks held him down. Now, he got to lie back and think of honey-laced lips and soft hands that stroked through his hair so graciously, which was all down to luck. Nothing else. Definitely just luck.

"Uh, he walked in because Charlotte put an ad online," she told him, prodding his head to ensure he was listening, but Ray didn't reply. He stared off into nothingness with a dopey grin because the work and stress were done now, which meant he could quickly patch it up with his precious fiancée. Oh, it was tragic how he didn't feel himself falling until he hit rock bottom.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again, dude. Luck is a skill," Henry shouted, ignoring the outrage stewing behind him. Neither recognised how arrogant and conceited they were or how cruelly unfair to Charlotte as they sat back and enjoyed the spoils of war whilst those who did the actual work paid them a kindness.

"Yeah, well, lucky for us, we got that skill!" Ray smiled and bumped fists with his youngest sidekick as they boasted about how amazing they were - and that was the last straw for poor Charlotte.

"Well, good luck getting the glitter out of your own hair," she told them in a sugary voice before slamming the dryer down and briskly walking to the secret door. She ignored (y/n)'s calls for her to come back, knowing that she'd end up ripping their heads off if she stayed any longer, wondering how her friend hadn't already.

She didn't care at that moment; she didn't care what was said or done between the boys or between the couple; she just needed some air, so she left them to it. And that didn't go down very well with (y/n), who huffed and death-glared the giggling children on the couch as she too, approached the end of her rope.

"What's her deal?" Henry asked blankly, wondering why his friend stormed off like that, but as a male running off cocky endorphins, he couldn't work it out, and neither could Ray.

"Uh, she gets like this every Avocado Day," he replied with a shrug, not realising he was digging his hole deeper, even when (y/n) copied the girl and turned her hairdryer off. Sometimes, it baffled her how he could be so dense, emotionally stupid and inconsiderate. It made her wonder why she had to go and fall for him all those years ago because, certainly, there were easier men out there.

"Well, who's gonna blow the glitter out of my hair now?" Henry questioned, glancing around the room with a vacant, almost expectant expression. Okay, (y/n) would have to remember to stop waiting on him hand and foot because this was ridiculous. She thought it was bad when her lover sat there with his mouth open and hands out, expecting everything to be given to him, but she wouldn't do it for both of them. Hell, she didn't want to do it for anyone right now.

"Nah, it's all right. (y/n) can do both of us, right, sweet girl?" Ray suggested, tilting his head back so he could smile at her as she stared at him in disbelief. Since when had she turned into the Man Cave's maid?

"Raymond, I am also covered in this fucking glitter. If you think I'm going to run around after you two, then—"

"Ooh, I got an idea!" He cut her off with a high-pitched gasp, causing the heroine to bite her tongue until it risked bleeding. It was like he was using every trick in the book to try her patience, toeing and crossing every line, so she had to reign in her temper before she said something awful, but he was making it so damn difficult.

"Sweet, dude. I'll warm up some milk," Henry grinned and went to stand up. She couldn't blame him when he was feeding off the boss' energy - Ray was the ringleader, the one barking orders and Henry, bless his heart, wasn't one for being so...fucking annoying. And he'd never intentionally jeopardise their relationship by encouraging his friend's pigheaded behaviour - he'd invested too much time and effort in it.

"No, no, no, no, no, we can't nap our way out of this one, pal," Ray stopped him before he reached the auto-snacker, standing up to take his gum tube from his back pocket. His sidekicks eyed him curiously, wondering what he was thinking as (y/n) impatiently tapped her foot against the tiles.

"Check it out. Pop a gumball, transform into Captain Man, Kid Danger and Miss Danger, and poof! All the glitter is gone!" He grinned as if he'd just solved world hunger, looking from the kid to his sweet girl, who scoffed at the notion of him finally acknowledging her. She'd been invisible all day, or he'd ignored everything she'd said, so now he was including her made her even angrier because it played into his ego.

"Ah, question—do you ever get tired of being so awesome?"

"Don't encourage him, Henry. You'll make his head even bigger than it already is," she told the boy bitterly, causing him to freeze as she glared at Ray, whose entire body tensed up at the ice in her voice. What was her deal?

"Uh, well, actually, I've been tired the past couple of days, so I don't know why you're getting so moody," he scoffed, turning his back on Henry so he could fully face her, which used to make mousy (y/n) (y/l/n) back down instantly, but now, she was ready for an argument - gloves on, fury boiling over, venom prepared to spit.

"Oh, you're tired? Are you tired after sleeping on the job for two days straight? I've been worried sick, running round, and cleaning up all your crap, Raymond, and you dare to call me moody?" She hissed, jabbing the space between his pecs with her finger, and he grabbed it in a tight, rough grip, ready to fight if ,that's what she wanted.

"Yeah, I'll call you moody 'cause my fiancée can't seem to let me do anything without getting her panties in a twist. Don't shout, Ray! Don't eat with your mouth open, Ray! Don't talk to Henry's mom in case she flashes you, Ray!" He growled at her, riling her up with a mocking tone that was supposed to be her, although, in sane minds, neither of them would say she ever sounded that shrill and bossy.

"I don't see why you have to bring her into this!" (y/n) whispered harshly, glancing over her shoulder to see Henry scuffing his foot against the tiles awkwardly. It was like getting caught between his mom and dad fighting, even if that was part of the problem. He could pinpoint the moment the woman internally panicked at being called out, recoiling into her best defences rather than admitting she was nothing short of jealous.

"Oh, please. Do you know how difficult this mission has been, knowing you're at home sulking?"

"Difficult? Try twelve years loving you, and then you'll know the meaning of difficult, Raymond. I've put up with so much shit from you and never complained about it!" She shouted, growing increasingly frustrated and upset as she did her best to hurt him, and he did his best to hurt her. Tears sprang in her eyes at the scowl on his face, knowing it was directed at her as he fought them back, too, knowing he was making her cry.

"Well, why don't you just leave if I'm such a bastard?" He asked cruelly, hating the question the moment he asked it because he didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want her to take it as rhetorical either since that would mean he'd have to stomach everything being over, and he couldn't do that. This would blow over like always, right?

"Because everyone knows you would fall apart without me! This place barely ran before I got here!" It was her turn to brag, gathering what was left of her pride and using it to batter him - a terrible, cruel way of showing him that she wanted to stay because her place was in the Man Cave, as part of his family. She wouldn't leave, even if the shouting match implied otherwise.

"Well, there you go, then. Stop shouting, and you can stay as long as you want, darlin'. I'm sure I can make us forget all about this..." Ray replied with a smirk, feeling his anger melt into cockiness as he interpreted her words as a desperate cry for affection and validation. So, in a terrible misjudgement, he stepped forward and placed his large, warm hands on her upper arms, the smirk never leaving his face as he wiggled his eyebrows at her in the suggestion that they could fuck and this would all go away.

And then the first stab of lightning struck.

"What? For God's sake, Raymond, why do you always have to be so cocky, smug, and annoying?!" She cried, exasperatedly hitting her fists against his chest as his attempts to calm her down made her heart bleed even more. What should've made the tears stop and her words dry up made her feel trapped like she had nowhere to go, but into his arms and for once, she didn't want to be there, not when she felt like this, so she lashed out. And wounded them both.

"God, Ray, I just—-I—fuck, sometimes, I—I hate you!" She screamed as her fist connected with his chest for the final time, and as it did, it was like the world stopped. Ray felt his heart stop as she hit him like she took what she held and crushed it in one simple squeeze.

All the joking died within him, his smirk falling as she held her glare and breathed raggedly, hoping in her anger she'd done enough to be set free, but as his face drained of colour, she knew what damage she'd done.

His fingers became loose and shaky on her shoulders, allowing her to wrench free from his grip so she could turn away from him and walk around the couch to stand alone for a moment. She cut a lonely figure, arms curled around herself to provide comfort as she cooled down and reeled from the argument, where she'd said and done things she didn't mean - but she'd said and done them anyway.

Ray blinked a few times, surprised and expecting at the same time to feel tears in his eyes, and he tried to process those three ugly words.

Only in his nightmares had he heard them, the darkest, cruellest ones that could never be real when he woke up in the morning to find his beloved still in his arms, smiling and in love with him. It didn't feel real, and in another moment, he would've worked out that she said it out of spite and anger, not from her heart, but he didn't want to listen to reason. He wanted his sweet girl, but she didn't want him.

He always knew this would happen.

"Um, let's just pop some gum and get this glitter outta my bum," Henry piped up in a small voice, not knowing what else to do. It was an awkward and clumsy attempt to break the ice, but no one could blame him for trying, not when he'd had to endure seeing that between the strongest couple he'd ever known. They'd never fought this bad, and a part of him was genuinely worried that things had been said and done that couldn't be taken back.

"Y-yeah, popping, kid," Ray replied breathlessly, his hands shaking as he titled his tube until a glowing orb landed in his palm. He shoved it past his teeth quicker than Henry could ask if he was all right—he obviously wasn't, but he didn't know what else to say other than he'd bet his left kidney that (y/n) would rather die than end up hating him.

He wanted to tell him everything as an outside observer, but he couldn't because his dad had an uncanny knack for calling at precisely the wrong moment.

"Sup, pop-pop?" He answered the call as (y/n) begrudgingly trudged over and swallowed a gumball too. In the five seconds, she'd had to think, she knew that this was the lowest point in her life and possibly the one where her future self would look back and curse her for being so careless and cruel. That wasn't who she was; she was (y/n), the girl people went to for her kindness and caution, but in a split-second, she forgot herself and made the biggest mistake of her life.

Telling the man she adored that she hated his guts - how could she ever forgive herself? Would he ever forgive her?

"Hey, happy Avocado Day. I'm looking for Piper." Mr Hart told his son, chirping before growing more serious since he hadn't seen his youngest in days. He couldn't think where she could've got to, but then again, she never told him of her movements or business.

"Uh, when was the last time you saw her?" Henry asked, wishing this could wait until later since he had two broken lovers chewing gum, but he perked up in concern at the news about his sister.

"Been a couple of days, and according to this parenting book I've been reading, I should be worried!" Well, duh, his daughter was missing. Why wouldn't he be worried?

"Wasn't she picking up trash for community service?" Henry suggested, vaguely remembering the screaming match between Piper and their mom about something involving a stolen elephant. He'd had enough of those for a lifetime and felt antsy to get off the line so he could get the morons standing on either side of him to apologise and go back to being soulmates, but it seemed a good enough excuse for his dad.

"Ah! We'll go with that!"

"Yeah, anything else? I gotta go," he told him quietly, glancing up to see the lovers standing uncharacteristically three feet apart and looking anywhere but at each other. That was not how it was supposed to be; they were supposed to be three millimetres apart and looking at nothing but each other, preferably with their eyes shut and their lips touching. Not that Henry would ever confess to thinking the icky sight was cute.

"Yeah. There's a really big package on the front porch. Did you order something?" Mr Hart asked as he circled the mysterious box, which appeared out of nowhere, and his wife swore she hadn't ordered. She was too busy mailing out wedding invites and writing a list of good florists on behalf of her son's nice boss to order anything.

"Um, I don't think soooo—-oh, no, we forgot about Jasper, dude! He's still in the box on my porch!" Henry cringed as he remembered their second failed stakeout and how his poor best friend had sat throughout the night just to be forgotten on his doorstep.

He covered the receiver so his dad couldn't hear anything and looked to Ray for help, but he didn't feel like helping anyone when he pictured telling everyone he'd bragged to that he was no longer marrying the hottest, loveliest, sweetest girl on the planet, all because he pushed her to the brink.

"I'll just open it..." Mr Hart shrugged as the line went quiet and figured that if someone had left it on their porch for so long and not come looking for it, then it was his to explore. Sort of.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, don't open it!" Henry told his dad quickly, keenly aware that Jasper was lurking in the box with a goddamn taser in his hand, but it was too late. Mr Hart pulled his PearPhone away from his ear and reached down to remove the tape from the cardboard. All Henry heard in the final seconds what sounded like Jasper yelling, and the sound of a grown man suffering one hundred thousand volts of electricity before a thud, and the line went dead.

Oh well, hopefully, that problem would sort itself out.

"How—how's your dad? Say anything i-important?" (y/n) asked wearily, her voice shaky and scratchy like she was trying not to cry again because who was she to be upset? She'd done this, no one else; if anything, her doofus should be the one crying because he made the mistake of falling for the biggest bitch ever. She made Kris seem like an angel, and she selfishly felt her heart crack when she dared to glance up and see her steeled gaze - so strong even when she ripped holes in him.

"Not really. Jasper tased him. Piper's missing. Let's get this glitter off," Henry told them, bringing them up to speed so they could finally remove the offending glitz. It would be the first of many remedies, and the kid planned on the second being shoving them in a room until they came out all lovey-dovey again, so even though the melon holy woman looked concerned at the mention of the missing girl, they took their places and began to blow.

The bubbles pushed past their lips as the lovers awkwardly stood next to each other, closer than either would've liked since they were sure the other was wildly uncomfortable. Still, they ignored the tension and behaved like adults, steadily blowing the bubbles until they were nearly ready to pop.

And that's when everything went wrong.

In a shocking, bizarre twist of fate; a sharp squeal came from behind them as a small, dazed figure dropped from the tubes and luckily landed on its feet. Piper.

She'd crawled through those goddamn tubes for days, taking every twist and turn in good humour until her stomach growled for food and her brain melted into mush from how far they went. She was sure she'd never find her way out after two days of crawling from Stank Street and that stupid car (looking inside was a massive mistake), but then, there was a sudden drop, and she had no choice but to go down.

She landed on hard, solid ground - a relief after crawling on her knees for so long and she breathed a sigh of relief as she'd finally made it to the other side, wherever the other was. But then, her breath was stolen as she peered up through her messy hair and took in the bright, wacky room she'd landed in—and that's when she saw them.

Her brother, Henry Hart, standing next to one of her best friends, (y/n) (y/l/n), standing next to her dumb fiancée and his boss, Ray Manchester, each of them blowing a luminescent bubble, and then, they popped.

"Henry? (y/n)?" She asked in confusion, wondering what the hell they were doing down here and what that stuff was they were blowing, but it was too late for excuses. There was no time to run, and there was nowhere to hide. In a flash of light, Piper witnessed it all as the trio stood there in shock, powerless to stop the red and blue uniforms materialising around their bodies as they became those unmistakable figures.

In front of her stood Captain Man, Miss Danger and Kid Danger, in the flesh, in their masks and shock. And she knew who they were. And they knew she knew; there was no denying it as she screamed at the top of her lungs from the pure shock.

Her brother was Kid Danger.

One of her best friends was Miss Danger.

She was getting married to Captain Man - possibly.

And now, the shitstorm was here.

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ugh-yoongi · 5 months

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a word from our sponsors | knj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s cute.”

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

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

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

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

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

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

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And second of all?”

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

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

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

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

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“—one should we start with?”

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

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

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

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

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

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

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

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

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

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

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

“No it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

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

Namjoon rattles off a time.

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

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

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

“Haaa, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

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

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

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

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

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

It’s just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You going out of town again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

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

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

“What?”

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

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

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

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

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

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

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

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

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

“I can see that, but… why?”

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

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

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

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About us.

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

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

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

“Can you not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

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

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

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

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

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a completely normal question.

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

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

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

You swallow. Hard.

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

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

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

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

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

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

Showtime.

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

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

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

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like a challenge.

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

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

“Gummy bear?”

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

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

He continues:

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

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

It works. “No,” he scowls.

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

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

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

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

Then he reads—

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

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

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

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

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

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

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

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

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

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

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

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

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

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is very, very bad.

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

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

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

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

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

You do not get through recording unscathed.

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

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

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

The two of you had sex.

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

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

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

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

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

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

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

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

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

Today, he wears none of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t get any better.

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

Thirty-five minutes back home.

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

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

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

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

That’ll cure you.

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

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

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

Except—you’re not.

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

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are fucked beyond belief.

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

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

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

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

“I forgot them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

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

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

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

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

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

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

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

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

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

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

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

“Not with you, preferably.”

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

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

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

“How weird?”

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

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

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

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

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

You want to fuck Namjoon.

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

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

And then someone knocks on your door.

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

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

“Uh, hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you’re the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

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

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

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

It’s seamless.

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

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

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

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

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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