#Mine frankie fic

[modernperplexity]

Chapter Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI, mention of alcohol consumption and substance abuse.

Word Count: 3928

Pairing: Frankie x f!reader

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday Y'all!! Chapter 3 is here. Thank you for being so very patient with me as I learn how to navigate my new schedule, I know this chapter took foreverrr. As always, my inbox is always open to chat/ suggestions/ questions etc.. We'll see more soft and a bit of a cranky Frankie this time around that's all I'll say. I hope you enjoy!

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Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter / Chapter 4

Chapter 3: The Crush

The jingle of your keys echoed as they hit the console table tray. Your back ached for a hot bath and the events of the day called for a glass of wine. Summer was ending which meant most of your patients were transitioning back into their school schedules. This proved difficult for most typical kids and even more so for your neurodiverse patients. Some kids had meltdowns and needed extra sensory stimulation while others simply refused to engage, which meant many last-minute adjustments. You found yourself setting up swings, crash pads, and trampolines for many of the kids who needed them. Days like this made you second guess yourself and your skills as a therapist and left you wondering if you were doing enough– if you were enough. As much as you loved your job and your patients, your body and mind were exhausted. You made your way through your now fully decorated and equally solitary apartment. In these moments, you longed for someone to come home to, for strong arms to hold you.

A bath would have to do for now. The soothing warmth of the water enveloped your body as you settled in and grabbed your favorite book to read, only to be interrupted by the wandering thoughts of a brown-eyed pilot. How you felt his warm gaze linger longer than needed, how his fingers had brushed against yours when he helped you clean up Camila’s preferred toys last week. Brief as they were, these moments caused your cheeks to redden and your breath to catch. Frankie had recently gotten into the habit of bringing you coffee in the morning and on occasion a vibrant Bluey coloring page courtesy of Cami. It was out of gratitude- it had to be, at least, that was what you told yourself.

Cami had made so much progress in comparison to where her speech and language were just a few months ago. Her confidence was blooming and with it her Father’s happiness. Frankie had canceled the appointment today and you were scared to admit it but you were bummed. You wanted to see him, you missed them. And It suddenly dawned on you that you were crossing the line you had sworn to would never cross. 

“Un momento... you’re moping as if it’s illegal to like him.” Your eyes met Michele’s just as she raised her hand, stopping your protest before you breathed it out, “...and yes! I said moping. You were so in your feelings you forgot about wine night!”

Her knocking startled you out of the bath, leading Michele to find you sad and wrapped up in your favorite periwinkle bathrobe when you greeted her at the door moments earlier. 

“I know, I know… I’m sorry, Meesh. I was just so distracted today” you retorted as you brushed your wet hair and wrinkled your nose at her “...and I’m not moping!” 

She met you with challenging eyes, giggling at your wasted efforts to brush off the truth. “The man obviously likes you, by the way,” she said as she grabbed her glass of wine and plopped on the couch “he’s hardly ever showing up empty-handed to your sessions, and I’m willing to bet he’s the only parent doing so.”

You clutched your throw pillow extra tight against your chest, “Even if he does or doesn’t…what’s the point?… I-I can't like him, it couldn’t lead to anything anyway, not to mention it's completely unethical.”’

“So it’s a crush, it's not a crime!... You are allowed to have them y’know.” You gave her a blank stare in response “What? It would be different if you were acting on it… My point is, if you like him, you like him. I doubt the crush patrol will be hunting you down asking you if you have a certain fondness for him.”

You took a sip of your wine, and rolled your eyes, struggling to conceal your true feelings. “I just don’t see the point in letting myself like this guy”

 “Letting yourself? Oh honey, you are already there. Seems to me like you’re afraid to get hurt” She cocked her head in tandem with her change in intonation as she read you like a page of a book. “You can’t deny your emotions girl, you gotta own them.”

“Get out of my head!” you pushed her shoulder playfully “Ugh, he’s gorgeous Meesh! You should see how kind he is and how gentle he is with his daughter and how considerate he is and-”

“You’re fucking terrified”

“...I’m fucking terrified” you echoed. 

“I don’t think anyone’s main goal is to ruin anyone in a relationship.. and if he’s as sweet as he seems to be, I doubt that’s what he’d intend for you... He’s not Sam.”

“So now what? You threw your head back against the headrest, hand dragging against your face.

“Now… at least you are being honest with yourself.” She squeezed your shoulder in that comforting way you loved, as you lay your head on her shoulder, “That in itself is a big feat, amiga”

The screen of your phone set light to your dark bedroom, just as the buzz of the alarm jolted you half awake. Mornings were hardly your favorite unless you had time to wake up slowly. Unfortunately, today would not be one of those days. You had an 8-hour day ahead of you and none of the energy to match. With one foot dragged in front of the other, your sleepy self made it to the kitchen aching for a cup of coffee, only to search an empty box of coffee filters. In all your moodiness you had forgotten to stop by the store on the way home last night. A splash of water did half the job but enough to get ready and rush out of your apartment.

There were several people lined up to order their drinks by the time you made it to Starbucks. Your attention was drawn to your phone as you waited in line until you looked up towards the register where a stunning 20-something barista was smiling and twirling her coquettishly hair as she took a man’s order.  A man whose brown curls peeked out from under a very familiar blue hat. Suddenly your heart began to pound, hands growing more damp by the second. So much so that you couldn’t discern what emotion took over either jealousy or nervousness. There was no way you were mentally prepared to see him today, much less in the morning with your make-up half done.

Frankie ordered quickly and soon after made his way to you in the line. The air escaped your gasp for a breath just as his chocolate-brown eyes met yours, which so desperately tried to hide your internal struggle to regain composure.

“Mornin’, fancy seeing you here” He said with a warm smile that lit you up inside.

“Morning!” Your cheeks blushed pink at the sound of your overly eager greeting. He looked so effortlessly put together in a flannel and jeans. His aviators clinging to the collar of his undershirt, “Oh Frankie- you didn’t have to-”

 “Saw you standing in line. Thought I’d make up for not bringing you coffee yesterday.” He handed you a cup of what was now your favorite, “I ordered your usual, but let me know if you want something else. I can ask the barista for...”

“Mmm…” You paused to savor the warm liquid, bringing you back to life in an instant, “no need, this is perfect.” You took in the taste of the coffee and noticed that the order details were not listed on the cup,“..what is this again?” 

A playful grin appeared on Frankie’s face “Sorry to disappoint… but I can’t tell you.” 

“And why is that?” You giggled, placing your hand on your hip, “I’ll have you know I take my coffee very seriously.”

“Seriously enough to spare a few minutes?” He nodded toward the table facing the busy street.

His question was light but there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. The thought quickly interrupted by the present scenario. You knew this encounter danced over the boundaries of ethics but everything inside you begged you to stay. Bumping into him was in no way intentional and you knew that even though he bought you coffee you’d be at liberty to leave if you wanted to, it wouldn’t change a thing. There was no harm in a casual run-in, you reckoned. This morning you’d just be the girl he met at that bar months ago without the complexities of your job title. 

You watch read 8:32 am, “You’ve got 5 minutes”

Frankie smiled a little bigger at your response and pulled the counter stool for you before taking his seat “We missed you yesterday…”

You felt him looking at you, his soft eyes tracing carefully over your features, “About that…everything okay?”

He took a sip of his coffee “Oh yeah, we’re great…I have a big aviation exam comin’ up at the end of the week. So, Cami’s at her grandma’s while I study.” He took a sip of his coffee, bringing your attention to the hands that engulfed the paper cup. They were a working man’s hands, rough and strong. Suddenly you were taken with thoughts of his hands- his thumb running over the plump of your lips, his hands touching your neck.

“She was really upset we had to miss speech though” his comment interrupted your racing thoughts, prompting you to still your quickened heartbeat.

 “Awe Cami, I missed her too! I’ll see you guys next week right?”, you said as you nervously picked at the corner of the coffee cup sleeve, attempting to disguise the amount of interest in your question.

“She won’t let me miss it again. She’s been going on and on about her favorite Peech.”

“Peach?”, Your nervous picking came to a halt as you looked up at his brown eyes with a smirk.

Your puzzled expression made Frankie grin, “She started calling you Peech a few days ago… I guess it stuck after our weekly sessions”

A slight chuckle left your lips “God, that’s so sweet! I feel so special” you beamed.

“Pope and my other friend, Ben, have been bending over backward trying to get her to give them a nickname. Think they’re a little jealous, to be honest”

“Ben… Oh, that BEN!” 

“The one and only.”

“I could see that..” you chuckled “well, too bad. I’m a favorite of Cami’s now and they just gotta deal”

“Is that so?” He laughed, his gaze catching yours off guard before you savored another sip of coffee.

“So.. this exam is it for an extra certification or license? I’m sorry, I- um, don’t really know much about aviation”

“Well, not exactly” Frankie took a deep breath, his heart pounded and he couldn’t believe what he was about to disclose, “It’s to reinstate it” He paused as to read your expression for permission to continue, “I-I was suspended for some time. After being in the service for so long- I didn’t realize how unprepared I’d be to adapt to regular everyday life. Y’know, when you’re out on a mission, you are trained to be hypervigilant. Every fiber of your being is focused on your team and your targets. To get in, and get out in one piece as a team. And you’ll see things you never wish you had, lose people you’d never thought you’d lose. So, coming back to this- to everyday life, was too much on my own. I eventually fell in with the wrong crowd and got into things that I am ashamed of. Cost me my, license, my relationship.. could’ve cost me Cam.”

“Jesus, Frankie, I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you” Your hand instinctively but gently grasped his, “but I’m really glad you are okay, and have a second shot at this” Your phone quietly pinged next to you, it’s notification effectively catching neither of your attention.

“Thank you. The boys were a huge support. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Santiago and Will got me in touch with the right people to get me clean and I can’t count how many times Ben pulled me out of some really dark places.” He paused- taking in everything he had just told you, amazed once again at how much he was confiding you- your hand still touching his. “God, I’m sorry I should’ve told you that night, but I-”

“Don’t be, we were strangers then. I mean, I feel honored that you shared this with me, but this is your story to tell. You have the right to share it with whomever you choose, whenever you choose” Your smile was reassuring, the storm of his past didn’t shake you, didn’t evoke a tinge of disgust or rejection that he once believed he deserved.   

“Thank you for listening”

“Of course” Your grin quickly faded as you glanced at your watch “Crap, my time’s up.. and I still have no answer as to what I’ve been drinking” you teased.

Frankie adjusted his hat with a smirk, “Well, I wouldn’t be able to surprise you with a cup of coffee in the mornin’ If I told you, now would I?”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine” Frankie looked so amused with your playful frustration, stirring up something inside you enough to admit defeat. “You win…thanks for the mystery coffee” you breathed as you gathered your things.

“You’re welcome and I’ll see you soon then.” He said, a quiet confidence about it lingering in the look he gave you. What you didn’t realize in that moment, was that this was the first time he felt like someone outside of his circle could see him clearly without the muck and mire of his past decisions clouding their view. 

“See you then” You took a few steps when you heard a familiar voice calling your name from the entrance of the coffee shop..

“OMG!, I didn’t know this was your Starbs too!? Your co-worker, Heather, sauntered over to you, “Did you get my text? My 9 a.m. canceled so I offered to order for everyone before heading to the clinic but-” she glanced at your busy hands gripping your cup, keys, and phone, “it seems you already got your daily dose”

Shit, shit, shit!

She flashed a cheeky smile as she peeked around to see where you had been sitting, “Wait, Who’s that!? He kinda looks familiar.” 

You hid Frankie’s name on the coffee cup against your chest, your heart now pounding for a very different reason, “Hmm?” you feigned a response of confusion and glanced at your watch once more, this time noticing the date at the top, “Oh crap! Today is thursday right?”

“Um yeah”

“Shoot... I’m sorry, I gotta go have to set up for my 9 a.m, see ya later, bye!”

“Que dices pendejo…you ready for tomorrow?” Santiago leaned against the kitchen sink drinking the crisp beer he had just opened.

Frankie had spent the last eight hours studying and the several books and coffee cups sprawled over the dining table were there to show for it. “It’s only been two years but a lot of stuff has changed” The worry lines displayed the growing tension between his furrowed brows, “The practical test is no problem. Once I’m in the cockpit- it’s second nature. It’s just this damn written exam that’s got me second guessin’ myself.”

“Fish, if there’s one thing I know is that you were born to fly. It’ll come to you.” he said patting Frankie’s shoulder “but you might wanna take 5 soon? or a shower?” he chided, evoking a sidelong glance from Frankie. “What? Just sayin’, you’ve been at this for…quite a while” he said examining the handwritten numbers peeking out from under a brown coffee sleeve.

Frankie almost jumped out of the chair when he saw Pope’s eye twinkle with curiousity, “I should clean up-..” 

“Woah-ha-ho!” Santiago snatched the cup away from Frankie’s grasp with a devilish grin on full display, “keepin’ secrets Fish?” 

“What kind of secrets?” Will interrupted, a smile evident in his voice and a bag of burgers in hand “Thought we’d bring y’all some grub” He said, placing the bags on the kitchen counter.

“Seems like Frank here has finally gone fishin’“ Santiago continued.

“Jesus, Pope, you’re worse than my mother!” Frankie rolled his eyes,“And that’s not.. I wasn’t-”

“Is it Peech?! Please tell me it's Peech!” Ben’s voice echoed out from the foyer, as he made his way to join the rest of the group in the small kitchen.

“He’s right, Pope, take it down a notch will ya?” Will examined the cup, carefully removing the sleeve, “well shit..seem’s like Peech might have some competition” his eyebrow raised towards Frankie.

Ben stole a glance “-says Danielle on the cup..damn, Fish, that’s a hot girl name!”

“I appreciate the food and sudden interest in my lovel life, but can we please fucking eat!? I’m starving!”  

You took a bite of the sandwich you had ordered with sunchips to go along. Unlike your first month here you were not eating luch alone. You and Lindsay had become quite close over the last couple months. She had been so easy to talk to and you found yourself spending your lunch time in her company more often than not. It was so nice to finally feel like you were creating new friendships. This time was different thought. Lindsay being her sweet self had invited two other co-workers, Heather and Bree to join you at the local cafe down the street from the clinic.

“How’ve you been feeling at work? Feeling more comfortable with your caseload?” Lindsay asked with a sweetness and genuine concern in her voice.

“Definitely, I feel like I’ve finally caught on to a rhythm. The families and patients I’ve been working with have been great too” you smiled, careful to hide your excitement to see one Francisco Morales every Monday, “I bet your kiddo’s parents love you, you’ve been working here for a while right?”

Lindsay smiled “I’ve got no complaints, honestly I-”

“Of course you don’t. You have Sarah Miller’s dad coming in every Friday-” Joy interrupted “Ugh, I love a man in workboots” she swooned into her sandwich. 

“He is handsome, but Sarah’s uncle Tommy… now that man oof” Lindsay added.

You bit your lip subconsciously, as the thud in your chest became faster. Hoping you didn’t soon become the topic of conversation. The straw of your smoothie offering you an easy out from speaking.

“Speaking of,” Heather’s eyes now on you, your throat now suddenly dry, “your Monday 9am’s dad.. is just.. wow, I walked past him in the hall last week. Ugh, soo fine. 

You weren’t a praying person but in this very moment you prayed whatever god there is for Heather to suddenly acquire some sort of amnesia where she could forget who she saw you with that morning at the coffee shop, or at least that she would be kind enough to keep that interaction to herself.

“I think It’s so sweet how he actually goes in to each session.” A smug look took shape across her face, the kind that left you shifting in your seat a little.

“Yeah.. I mean, he’s very involved in his daughter’s well being and it’s great.. it’s paying off.” You managed to breathe out in defense.

“No, I mean, like he totally has a thing for you hun…and it makes sense, he’s got no ring on” 

Heather’s comment prompted Lindsay to look over at you, noticing how you kept your shaking hands moving in attempt to keep them from giving you away.

“By the way, his hands are soo big...” Heather continued, rolling her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

“Jesus, Heather!” Lindsay giggled uncomfortably.

“What!? I have eyes, I just happened to notice one day” 

“Wait, no, I doubt that. I’m sure he’s just happy about his daughter’s progress.” You responded.

“Ugh, you’re so lucky. I need a hot single dad on my caseload!” Joy whined.

“Y’all need a cold ass bath is what you need” Lindsay remarked, the group breaking out into laughter.

The girls finished their meals and rushed back to the clinic to set up for thier 1pm appointments. Yours and Lindsay’s 1pm patients who were siblings cancelled, sparing you both an extra hour. 

“So.. I didn’t want to say anything infront of Heather, but I don’t think she is wrong, I mean Mr. Morales is always bringing you something now that I think of it and the way he looks at you…well, it’s definitely different.”

You breathed in sharply, not sure if you could handle any more anxiety for the day “Thanks for not confirming Heather’s suspicions. I got the feeling she wanted me to gush about him to her”

“I got that feeling too. I really think you need to be careful what you say around her. Heather is sweet and all but she’s set to be a lead therapist soon and... I just wouldn’t share anything too personal with her, if you know what I mean.”

The air was sticky outside. The were roads damp with Florida rain when Frankie’s green jeep pulled in to the testing center parking lot. Exactly one hour before his exam time. A grumpy but supportive Santiago volunteered to drive with him to the flight center in Tampa. Frankie rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

“You have some time.. is there anything else you want to go over?”

Frankie sat in silence for a minute before answering, the weight of this exam bearing down on him, “I can’t fuck this up Pope, and I’m  terrified about what this will do to me if I don’t pass. I-I can’t go there again”

“Hey.. look at me, the boys and I got you. We won’t let you get wrapped up in that shit again. But you have to take this chance, it’s all I’ve heard you talk about these past few years. It’s part of the reason you’ve stayed sober right?” Frankie nodded, “Just think of what this will mean for your future..for Cami’s future.”

Frankie took a long drag on his cigarette. He rarely smoked now, save for particularly exasperating instances such as these. A determined look on his face began to slowly emerge. His shoulders a little less tight.

You know your shit…your the best fucking pilot I know. Now get in there and pass this damn exam. I’m tired of seeing you being so cranky all the damn time!” 

“Alright, alright. Here..,” Frankie fished his phone out of his back pocket and placed in on the cup holder, “can you please answer if you get a call from my mom? In case Cami needs anything?” He stepped out of the car and crossed himself as he made his way to the entrance.  

It had not been two minutes since Frankie had left when two pings and a six letter name displayed on Frankie’s cracked screen caught Santiago’s immediate attention, “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Previous Chapter / Chapter 4

Taglist:

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#frankie morales x you #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #mine chapter 3 #Mine frankie fic

[joelsgreys]

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her. 

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I’m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up. 

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#fic: more hearts than mine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales drabble #frankie morales fluff #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

[alwaysbethewest]

#curious about this because i have a whole playlist for clare’s don’t look and it won’t hurt #and i also dmed megan at one point to share a song that reminded me of her frankie fic #and fleetwood and i collaborated on a ghost playlist but it was probably more hers than mine #idk i just think it’s cool when someone else’s fic can hook into you so that you think about it even when it’s not in front of you #and to want to explore that further via music #polls #fandom #music

[sanaserena]

The door swung open then, and Eustass Kid walked in with Killer and two of the other guys.  Seeing Luffy, and catching Nami’s comment, Kid smirked.  “Shedding tears on almost losing?”

“You were the one who lost,” said Robin, walking in behind him, startling the bigger man.  She sat next to Usopp. 

“I wasn’t talking to you!” retorted Kid, dropping into the seat next to Killer, the table over.  “Oi, cook.  Your Captain promised dango.”

“You disappeared this morning,” said Chopper.  Of all the Strawhats, he was the smallest and the youngest, still in highschool (if Ace’s maths was correct).  He had a habit of wearing this hat with reindeer ears attached.  Ace chose not to question it.  Luffy’s friends were all…odd.  Endearing to Luffy, but just plain odd.

“I woke up on the Hill, how did I get there?” said Luffy.

“You don’t remember waking up and just running out of the apartment?”  Usopp exclaimed.

“Nope.”  Luffy rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Could have sworn I don’t sleepwalk.”

“You don’t!”  Ace wasn’t sure who said this, but it sounded at least four of them did.  Sorry Luffy, he apologised silently. That was Ace’s fault too.

“Oi, idiot, where’s my drink?” Zoro said to Ace.

“Sanji, you’re acting odd,” said Nami, looking at Ace.

“Odd?” Ace said.

“You got kicked out of the kitchen,” said Luffy.  This was either odd or not, Ace wasn’t sure.  He assumed it wasn’t that odd.  But these were Sanji’s friends, and Ace hadn’t realised they’d all be spilling in here now.

“You’re polite,” said Robin.

“You didn’t react to Zoro,” said Nami.

“You didn’t react to Nami!” exclaimed Usopp.

Double shit!  Ace had forgotten about that.  They were all so preoccupied by Sanji’s apparently odd behaviour that no one heard the door open one more time.  No one except the Kid Crew had seen you and Franky arrive. 

Before Ace realised, you were standing in front of him, pressing a cold hand to Ace’s forehead.

“You feel hot, Sanji, are you well?” you asked, frowning in concern.

Startled by your arrival, overwhelmed by the evident fact he’d be found out, and the fact that you were touching his forehead, it was too much for Ace.

He combusted.

“Oh look, see?  He’s fine,” said Franky.  It was Franky who moved Ace away to the office.  Ace, who knew little about how restaurants worked, was just glad it was a little too early for the usual Baratie crowd.

~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~♥~♦~♠~♣~

"Ghost Ace is in Sanji's body scene" from my modern (sports - lacrosse) au fic, A Pair of Reds, over on AO3 (former Portgas D. Ace X reader pairing; Eustass Kid X reader endgame)

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #portgas d ace x reader #modern au #lacrosse au #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #portgas d ace #x reader #sanji #nami #luffy #eustass kid #zoro #nico robin #franky #feeling nostalgic over this fic of mine #sometimes i'm still thinking what to post on tumblr about #this isn't really a snippet oops

[gothkrislemcheslut]

nearly all of my bandom cowriters and roleplay friends have deactivated or left bandom as of recently, and i would love to make more!

please like or rb this if you’re interested in writing or rping with me! i’m xxxbornsickxxx on ao3 if you want a sense of what i like to write!

#kittyposting #mine #bandom #my chem #patd #fob #petekey #frerard #gabilliam #frikey #marilyn manson #nin #manznor #rycer #cobra starship #wentzporta #tai #our lady of sorrows #frankie #petey <3 #all of warped half of jersey #wyan :3 #marilyn manson tw #bilvy :3 #bandom rpf #rpf #fic #rpf fic #fanfiction #roleplay

[its-storminghere]

A Long Two Minutes

From Chapter 3 on ao3

"I’m sorry,” Alex’s words break in, keeping his eyes focused on Axel’s antics, “For just barging in here. Just, since Portimao, I felt like I needed to see you.” He looks up at Franky from where he’s crouched on the ground. Whatever he sees on Franky’s face makes him blush and look down again. Lidia struts over, apparently having decided that Alex is not a threat and that is it her turn for some attention.

“I was really worried about you when you weren’t waking up.” Alex strokes Lidia’s head, directly between her ears. She closes her eyes in contentment. Alex keeps his eyes trained on her; his face is grave. “Your team gave me an update once you got to the hospital, but I just - needed to see you.” Franky watches Alex try to crack a wry grin, “And of course, I know a lot about nursing someone through crash injuries.”

Franky’s heart clenches. Alex should never have to be scared; he should never have to worry. Not about Franky. He never wants to be the cause of the anxious lines on Alex’s forehead.

“Thank you, Alex.” Franky says softly, “That means a lot.” Franky doesn’t know what to say next. The only noise is Axel’s whining as he tries to get Alex’s attention. Well, the dog can wait. “It’s really good to see you.”

Alex smiles, clearly pleased. “It’s good to see you too,” he replies softly. 

#mine #fic #franky/alex #a long two minutes

[ugh-yoongi]

a word from our sponsors | knj

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s cute.”

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

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

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

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

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

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

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And second of all?”

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

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

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

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

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

“—one should we start with?”

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

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

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

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

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

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

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

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

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

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

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

“No it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

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

Namjoon rattles off a time.

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

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

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

“Haaa, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

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

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

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

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

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

It’s just—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You going out of town again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

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

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

“What?”

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

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

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

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

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

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

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

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

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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

“I can see that, but… why?”

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

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

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

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About us.

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

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

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

“Can you not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

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

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

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

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

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a completely normal question.

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

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

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

You swallow. Hard.

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

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

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

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

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

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

Showtime.

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

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

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

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like a challenge.

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

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

“Gummy bear?”

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

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

He continues:

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

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

It works. “No,” he scowls.

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

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

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

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

Then he reads—

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

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

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

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

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

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

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

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

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

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

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

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

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

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is very, very bad.

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

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

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

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

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

You do not get through recording unscathed.

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

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

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

The two of you had sex.

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

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

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

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

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

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

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

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

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

Today, he wears none of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t get any better.

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

Thirty-five minutes back home.

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

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

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

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

That’ll cure you.

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

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

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

Except—you’re not.

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

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are fucked beyond belief.

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

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

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

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

“I forgot them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

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

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

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

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

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

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

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

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

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

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

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

“Not with you, preferably.”

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

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

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

“How weird?”

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

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

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

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god—”

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

“Oh my god?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

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

You want to fuck Namjoon.

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

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

And then someone knocks on your door.

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

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

“Uh, hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you’re the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

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

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

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

It’s seamless.

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

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

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

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

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

[joelscruff]

one of your girls (frankie morales x triple frontier boys) 18+

a/n it's @swiftiscruff friendship exchange time!!! i'm so beyond excited to share this piece i've been working on, dedicated to my incredible friend han @swiftispunk 🌙 we brainstormed the idea for this fic months ago and it's finally somehow become something tangible - but han, if i've learned anything from writing this fic, it's how much i depend on you when it comes to so many aspects of my writing. whether it be workshopping ideas, input on characterization & dialogue, sharing snippets, etc, you are always there to lend a hand, listen, and advise. not having that this time around (because this fic has been a secret ofc!) just further proved to me what an incredibly patient, giving, caring, kind, & beautiful friend you are. i love you so much & i'm so grateful you slid in my dms one whole year ago today 💕 summary: unpacking some of frankie's old things leads to a revelation about his past. (OR to put it simply: frankie morales x triple frontier boys circle jerk 🙌) rating: 18+ explicit warnings: circle jerk (frankie/benny/santiago/will), sub!frankie, bukkake, facials, cumplay, cum swallowing, frankie is literally a cum dumpster (and loves it), praise kink galore, pet names (good boy, baby boy), dirty talk, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cock worship, use of restraints, sexy photographs, sharing, mentions of frankie x all the boys individually (this includes tom but he's not involved in the circle jerk - sorry tom), brief mentions of anal sex (m/m), for story purposes you are frankie's current gf but it's not really the main focus...for now anyway, all of this takes place before the events of triple frontier word count: 12.2k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💙

You've been moving boxes for what feels like forever, arms aching and the sun beating hot against the back of your neck as you swipe sweat from your brow and head back into the aging, disintegrating storage unit. When Frankie had first told you about it you'd been adamant that he move his old things - locked away for almost ten years now - out of the unit and into the new house. "We don't need to be paying for storage when we have a garage", you'd said confidently, "we have a house now, Frankie. What's yours is mine."

If only you'd believed him when he'd told you it wouldn't be that easy.

"I told y-" he begins for the fourth time as you lean down to grab another box, but you snap up immediately with a finger to your lips. "Why don't I just do the rest from here?" He offers fruitlessly, "You take a break, relax in the truck for a little while."

You're already shaking your head before he's finished talking, resuming your retrieval of the large box at your feet, "No, Frankie. We do this together."

You don't have to look at him to know that he's rolling his eyes. All the same, you hear him clamoring after you with another box as he follows you from the unit and back to the truck. The sun hangs high overhead and you squint uncomfortably against it, piling the box alongside the others in the truck bed. Frankie does the same.

"I mean, what's even in all of these?" you ask exasperatedly, shoving one of the many boxes with your hand and leaning backwards against the truck, "How did you accumulate this much shit in the military? I thought minimalism was all the rage over there."

"I told you, it's not just mine," he reaches forward to brush some sweaty tendrils of hair out of your eyes, "It's the whole team's shit. Well, mostly Ben and Pope's, the others were uh-" he winches, "a little more organized, I guess."

"You guess?" you push up on your hands and seat yourself precariously on the edge of the truck bed, catching your breath. Frankie watches as you tear open the nearest box, biting down on his lip to stifle a laugh when he sees your eyes widen at what's inside.

"Paperwork?" you breathe, mouth agape, "Paperwork? That's what in all these? Fucking forms?"

"Something they don't tell you when you first join," he shrugs, "But no, that's not all that's in these. There's souvenirs, journals, photos, mission plans-" he cuts himself off and stops speaking altogether, lips clamping shut. Your brow furrows as you watch him assess the open box beside you, then the others strewn haphazardly here and there inside the truck bed, as if he's only just realized something he hadn't considered before.

"What?"

He seems to shake himself from whatever stopped him, eyes still settled on the open box as he murmurs, "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."

You raise an eyebrow, "Why not?"

"Just, uh... don't."

"Well that's not ominous in the slightest."

He laughs but something about it seems off, almost forced as he reaches forward with both hands to help you down from the truck. You follow his lead, peering up at him curiously and hoping maybe he'll elaborate, explain, but instead he turns on the spot and heads back toward the storage unit, pulling you along in tow.

You decide not to press him about it for the time being. Right now, all you can think about is finishing hauling these ridiculous boxes and devouring an iced coffee on the way home.

A week passes before you even think about the boxes again.

By that time they've been taking up residence in the garage, haphazardly placed along the concrete in unorganized disarray, exactly where you'd both left them the day you unloaded the unit. You'd been too exhausted to start unpacking and had instead collapsed on the couch, laying there with aching limbs as Frankie discarded your empty iced coffee and poured you a tall glass of water.

"Your job is done now, querida," he'd murmured softly, stroking your cheek, "I'll do the rest."

Except he hadn't. He'd pulled your feet into his lap and settled comfortably beside you on the couch, just for a moment - and then it was lights out for the both of you, boxes be damned.

Now you find yourself the following Saturday perched precariously atop your counter, fingers smeared a soft fern green as you paint the walls of your new kitchen. You only moved into this house a month ago - your first real house together; shared, owned, all that jazz. Most of that time has already been entirely dedicated to making it your own space; unpacking, decorating, furnishing, rearranging - you've been more than busy with curating this new step in both your lives.

Which is why it's not surprising that you forget about the storage unit boxes and their scatteredness in the garage, too distracted by your current ongoing tasks. You hum along to the radio as you carefully attend to the smallest crevices and spaces between the cupboards, above the stove, under the window sill. You need it to be perfect, have gone far too long living in a less than adequate apartment without much creative freedom for this house to suffer the same fate.

Of course, just as you acknowledge the desire for perfection, your hand slips. A splash of green suddenly paints the pure white window sill and your heart sinks.

"Frankie!" you call out with a groan, reaching forward to wipe the mess away and only making it worse, "Where's the white paint?"

"Should be in the garage, I think," you hear him call back from the living room, busy with his own task of painting the walls a deep maroon, "Need me to get it for you?"

"No, I got it," you slide off the counter, careful to avoid the can of green paint at your feet as you make your way to the garage. It's only when you pass the threshold off the laundry room that you finally remember the forgotten boxes, faced with them for the first time since you dropped them off.

"Dammit, Francisco," you mutter, "You said you'd take care of it."

You can't really blame him though. It really is an undertaking; you'd known that from the moment he told you about the unit to begin with. He'd wanted to keep them there, would rather continue paying the monthly fee than deal with the enormous amount of unpacking he'd have to do, but you'd pushed. Now, as you grimace at the pile of heavy boxes, you wonder if maybe he'd been right.

For now, you turn your attention to the task at hand - finding white paint. You scan the storage shelves along the walls and spot the can you're looking for on a high shelf, out of reach.

Maybe those boxes can serve a purpose today.

You shove one toward the shelf and heave another one on top, making quick work of it despite the effort. Climbing onto your makeshift stepladder, you reach for the white paint and successfully pull it to your chest, but the added weight causes your feet to dig into the box below, exposing its contents as you carefully pull yourself back down. Your eyes can't help but dart to the crushed opening, spotting what looks like a photo album peeking through.

Setting the paint down, you lower yourself onto the concrete and cross your legs, biting your lip and reaching inside the box to grab the album. It's navy blue, relatively small, lightweight. A little skim couldn't hurt.

As soon as you open the photo album you can't help but smile, met immediately with a photo of Frankie and Santiago with their arms around each other - fifteen years younger. Their eyes are alight with excitement, Frankie's cap askew and Santi's expression caught in a permanent laugh. Before, you think to yourself, this was before shit got real. You flip the page and smile wider when you see a photo of Benny and Will, caught in what must be a playful brawl with Benny's hand grabbing at Will's leg as he tries to get away. Will is grinning from ear to ear, a genuine smile you've only seen a handful of times. Yep, definitely before.

You flip through the rest of the photos with a heaviness in your heart you can't describe. You've known these boys for a handful of years, have only heard fragments of the shit they've been through together, but you know it wasn't easy, know it affected them in ways you'll never even begin to understand. Being able to see them before all that, before they became hardened and molded by pain and trauma, you can't deny the emotions that bubble in your throat.

The last page contains a group photo; Frankie is in the center, surrounded by his friends on all sides, Will and Benny turned towards him with a fond smile and a grin, Santiago with an arm around him again and his head tilted to brush against Frankie's cap, and Tom on the edge - looking a little out of place, you must admit. But then, you suppose, things haven't really changed.

You're about to close the album and return to your painting when you notice a little pocket built into the backing, hidden out of sight with a hint of white poking through. Not wanting to miss out on another good photo, you slip your finger inside and happily tug out what looks to be a polaroid, different than the others. Curiously, you flip it over.

And immediately drop it to the floor.

Suddenly you can hear Frankie's words from last week, thrumming in your mind on repeat: "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."

You hadn't understood. But now you think you do.

With slightly shaky fingers you reach down and pick up the polaroid, taking a breath before slowly flipping it over again. Lips parted, eyes wide, heart pounding, you peer down at the little photograph and try to understand what you're seeing.

A much younger Frankie - naked, save for the cap on his head and the pants around his ankles. On his knees, peering up at the camera with hooded eyes and a fucked-out expression you've become more than familiar with at this point in your relationship. But that's not what made you drop the photo, no.

His face is covered in cum. You know that's what it is, know there's nothing else it could possibly be. Thick trails of it paint his face like abstract art, dripping down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his chin. It's all over him, smeared along his neck and chest bloomed red with heat and arousal. His cap is askew, cheeks flushed, and - most notable of all - he's smiling. Looking up at the camera, drenched in cum, smiling.

Frankie is bisexual; you've known this since your first date, remember how shy he'd been as he'd softly murmured, "Just so you know, I like girls and guys." It hadn't bothered you at all to know that he'd been with men in the past - in fact, you'd kind of liked that about him.

So this - this doesn't bother you. You're not bothered. You're... you don't know what you are, can't seem to pinpoint exactly how you're feeling right now as peer down at the polaroid that you were probably never supposed to find. You're not bothered, you're just... surprised. And confused. What is this doing here? Why is it hidden in an album of Frankie and his friends?

....Oh.

"Find it?" you suddenly hear Frankie call from the living room, and your stomach drops. You hastily stand and slip the polaroid into your back pocket, then close the album and toss it back into the box.

"Y-yeah," you call back, "I got it!"

You try not to mention it. Try, being the operative word.

But it's all you can think about. It's all you see when you reunite with Frankie in the kitchen later that afternoon, staring at the flecks of maroon paint scattered across his face and being unable to not see smears of splattered white. It's all you see that evening as you dig into your leftover Chinese food, eyes constantly flickering across the table to watch Frankie bite and chew, lips soft and wet and definitely not leaking cum at the corners.

It's all you see that night when you settle in bed and watch as he comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, water dripping down his neck and chest not unlike the thick drops of release in the photo. You watch with hooded eyes, lips parted, heart thrumming, as he tugs the towel off and walks to the dresser with his pert ass on full display. You can't help but wonder if there'd been cum there too, leaking and dripping, hidden away because of the angle of the photo.

"I can feel you staring at me," he suddenly says with a chuckle, "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer." He says it in jest but you feel your face bloom with heat, immediately averting your eyes and burying yourself beneath the sheets.

"I was not," you lie, "Get over yourself."

He laughs again and you hear him shut the dresser, probably tugging on a pair of briefs, "You've been looking at me weird all day, it's kind of freaking me out."

You want to point out that "all day" is an exaggeration, but then you'd have to admit that you have been looking at him strangely for at least a portion of it, and you really don't want to do that. Instead, you reach over and turn off the lamp on your bedside table, then nuzzle into your pillow and close your eyes, ignoring him.

"Is something wrong, baby?" you hear him ask, humor slowly dissipating from his voice, "You need to talk about anything?"

"No," you lie, your own voice betraying you immediately, "I'm fine."

You feel the bed dip beside you, feel the warmth of his palm come down to gently caress your upper arm, "You sure? Did I do something to upset you?" You can practically hear him wince as soon as he says the words, "I know, I should already know if I did. But today's been busy and-"

"You didn't do anything, Frankie," you tell him softly, "I promise."

"Then what is it?" you can hear the concern, the gentle worry as he strokes your arm up and down, "Talk to me." He sounds so kind, so tender, as always. It's so damn hard to keep anything from him. You sigh.

"I feel..." you grimace, eyes still closed, "I just feel..."

He waits for you to continue, in the meantime settling into bed beside you and tugging the sheets up over himself. You feel his warmth against your body and it immediately fills you with a sense of calm, comfort. Your heart slows a bit, breaths coming a little easier as he brings his arm down to wrap around you and pull you in close.

"How do you feel, querida?" he murmurs, "Tell me."

"Guilty," you finally breathe, and you're surprised to feel tears pricking in your eyes, "I feel guilty."

You can hear the confusion in his voice, "For what?"

"I...I saw something I shouldn't have," you admit quietly, "In one of your boxes. Something really private that you probably never ever wanted me to see and I'm so sorry." You feel his arm freeze at your side and you take a shaky breath, "And now I can't stop thinking about it even though it's absolutely none of my damn business. And I wanna ask you about it but I really have no right to, not when I wasn't even supposed to know about it in the first place, and-"

"Mierda," he groans - shit.

"I'm so sorry, Frankie" you whisper pathetically, still facing away from him, "It's all my fault and if you need me to just forget about it, I will. I promise that I will."

"Fuck," he murmurs, "No no, baby, it's not your fault, it's mine. I should have unpacked all of it myself. I knew there was shit in there you might not wanna see."

"Y-you're not mad at me?"

He buries his face in your hair, nose nuzzling against your neck, "Of course I'm not mad at you - could never be mad at you for that. What's mine is yours, remember?"

You pull away to turn and face him, expression pensive. He's looking at you with earnest eyes, no anger or betrayal to be seen, and it almost makes it worse. Because does he know? Does he realize what exactly it is that you found?

"You have um..." you bite your lip, "You have pictures, in a photo album."

He stares at you, brow furrowing. "What?"

Fuck.

"There was... there was a photo album in one of the boxes. And I figured I'd just flip through it, just to have a look at you when you were younger, you know? Thought it'd be nice, that there might be something we could frame for the house."

He's looking at you like you're speaking another language, confusion lining his features, "....So?"

"So... so I found..." you wince, the image flashing behind your lids again as you try to figure out how to word it, "I found a picture that I don't think you would have wanted me to see."

He's still staring at you, the cogs turning in his head but seemingly no closer to an answer. You picture him flipping through an invisible rolodex, trying to pinpoint exactly what picture you could be talking about. You're starting to realize that maybe when he'd told you to stop looking in the boxes he'd been talking about something else.

"Honestly baby, I thought you meant you looked at some of my paperwork," he admits. Bingo. "Saw some stuff we did for a mission or something. There's plans in those boxes, strategy stuff, and you know how intense some of those were, some of the..." he takes a beat, biting his lip, "some of the things we had to do."

You shake your head quickly, "It wasn't anything like that. It wasn't...it wasn't something serious, really. It was..." you take a deep breath, still unable to say the words. Instead, you reach over into your nightstand and grab the polaroid, sitting up in bed and waiting for him to join you.

"What is it?" he asks, gentle and kind as he sits up beside you, "You can tell me, baby. We can talk about it."

Your heart races but you figure there's no going back from it now, and you're not sure you'd want to keep it from him anyway. Up until this point you and Frankie have always made communication an important part of your relationship. It's been necessary considering what he's been through, what he still deals with, and it's something that you're proud of. You're just gonna have to grin and bear it.

With a sigh, you shakily hand him the polaroid.

He flips it.

And drops it.

"Oh," he gasps, hand coming up to cover his mouth, "Oh, fuck."

"It's not- I'm not-" you stutter, fumbling over your words, "It's not a big deal, really. Like, it's whatever. I know you're bi, I know you've probably sucked your fair share of dicks-"

"Oh god," Frankie moans, his hands coming up to cover his eyes, "Oh my god."

"Hey, hey, no," you reach up and try to pull his hands away from his face, desperation in your voice, "Do not hide from me, you did nothing wrong. You hear me? There's nothing wrong with this." He groans again, shaking his head, but you just keep on talking, "I'm not mad about it or anything, it'd be pretty fucked up for me to mad about it actually. I'm just- hey," you continue to pry at his fingers, "Francisco, look at me."

Slowly, hesitantly, he finally removes his hands from his eyes to peer at you. You can see the embarrassment there, the humiliation - and not the good kind, not the kind he likes.

"Hey," you whisper, "You don't have to talk about this. We can pretend I never even saw it if that's what you want," you bring his hands down and hold them tightly, squeeze them in your own, "I just... I just wanted you to know that I saw it. And that I was just a little curious about why it was in an album from your military days. That's it. That's all."

His eyes fall back to the flipped polaroid on the bed, the back of it facing the both of you. You watch as he slowly reaches forward to pick it up again with his index and middle finger, pulls it upwards and turns it around to see it again.

Out of respect for him, you don't look at it. You just watch his face, his expression. He looks.... thoughtful.

"Talk to me," you whisper, voice breaking, "Please."

He looks from the polaroid to you, then back to the polaroid. After taking a steadying breath, he places it back down onto the bed between the two of you, face up. Your eyes spot his cum-covered face again, frozen forever in time, and you quickly avert your gaze.

He notices, and gives you a small half smile. You return it tenfold.

"Well, it.." he starts, taking another breath, "It was just something that.. we just started-" he cuts himself off, smile turning to a frown as he formulates his words. "It started..."

"Hey," you breathe, reaching down to squeeze his hands again, "Take your time."

It started as a way to blow off steam - that's it. Simple, easy.

They'd all gotten to know one another during training, spent time shooting the shit and building friendships with each other. There had been such a sense of belonging, of fortified brotherhood, a pull toward one another that none of them could deny. So it was unsurprising when their teamwork and comradery resulted in their placement into a special task force, just the five of them against the world - or, rather, the enemy.

But it was stressful. Going from basic military training to special ops added a new layer of pressure and competence that they hadn't experienced before, and it was no walk in the park. Things got harder, more pressing, more important. And all they had, like always, was each other.

So it made sense one night, for Frankie anyway, to offer Santiago a blowjob.

He'd heard the stiff grunts from the bed beside him, the dry - too dry - slap of skin as Santi worked at himself beneath the thin sheet of his bunk. It wasn't abnormal for Frankie to overhear one of his buddies masturbating; in fact it would have been abnormal to not hear it. He'd gotten used to the different sounds they'd each make as they gripped their cocks, hidden away in the dark, and pumped themselves to completion. He had memorized the sounds of their breathing, the grunts and the whines, the soft moans of their orgasms.

But it was never something that was discussed. It was an unspoken rule, almost: what happens in the bunks stays in the bunks. So Frankie had never even considered crossing that line, especially because he was pretty sure he was the only one in the group who liked dudes - something everyone was only vaguely aware of.

There was something about the desperation in Santi's movements that night, in the sweat on his brow and the pained expression on his face. He'd gotten reprimanded earlier that day for failing a training mission, been yelled at by two commanding officers while the rest of the boys looked on with regret in their hearts. If one of them failed, they all felt as if they'd failed too. Santi hadn't spoken to anyone for the rest of the day, had eaten in silence and then retired to his bunk much too early. And now, hours later here he was, hand around his cock, trying to forget.

And Frankie wanted to help.

"Pope," he'd whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Santiago to hear. Santi had turned his head slightly, eyebrows raising when he realized he'd been caught in the act. He'd been about to say something, defend himself maybe, but Frankie had shook his head and continued, "Need some help?"

A look of confusion. "Help?"

Frankie's eyes had wandered to the shape of Santi's lower half beneath the sheet, then back up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he'd murmured earnestly, "Help."

Santi had stared at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed, chest heaving. His hand was frozen under the sheet, gripping firmly to his hard cock as he'd considered Frankie's offer. Someone else might have hurled hurtful words, another might have ignored him completely.

But Santi took a deep breath and leaned back, closed his eyes and breathed, "Go ahead."

Frankie had been under the sheet in minutes.

Tucked away, hidden in case any of the other guys woke up, Frankie sucked slowly on his friend's cock. He wasn't sure how much Santi wanted to see of him, figured maybe he'd have his eyes closed as he pictured someone else, maybe that girl he liked from back home, but it didn't matter to Frankie - what mattered most was helping his friend forget about the shitty day he'd had. He treated Santi's cock like something to be worshipped, swallowing and licking around the big shape of him, warm and thick in his mouth. And when Santi came, it was only moments after Frankie had started.

His hands came down to grip Frankie's curls, tugging and pulling as he'd groaned and spilled down his friend's throat. And Frankie had swallowed every drop.

"Francisco," Santi had murmured when Frankie pulled off his cock with a pop, a drop of cum leaking from the corner of his mouth as he peered up at Santi from beneath the sheet, "You've been holding out on me."

With a smile, Frankie had licked the cum away and placed a gentle, reverent kiss to the wet head of Santi's cock. Santi had watched with hooded eyes, let Frankie kiss him there a few more times, let him trail his nose along his thick shaft and inhale deeply at the base. Hands still carding through his hair, Santi had let him mouth at his cock for a few more minutes before softly telling him he should get back in his bunk.

"Just trying to savor it," Frankie had whispered, voice a little sad, a little broken.

"You'll do it again," Santi had replied, reveling in the way Frankie's eyes widened, a smile lighting up his face.

And he did do it again - the following night. He'd been a little hesitant, unsure if Santiago had really meant what he said. But after the others had fallen asleep and Frankie was still just lying there, waiting, he'd heard a soft pssst sound. He'd looked over to see Santi sitting up in bed with a smirk on his face and one hand already beneath the sheet, tugging at his dick.

He stuffed his mouth with Santi's cock every night that week. It was almost feral the way he drank him down, eyes rolling as his lips kissed Santi's pubic hair and his tongue laved the shaft of his cock up and down, up and down. Drool cascaded from his lips all over his friend's belly, and he whined softly over and over whenever his curls were tugged, his temples stroked. Santi would talk to him softly, murmur the quietest little praises that made Frankie insane with need. That's it, there you go. You take what you need, Francisco. And then he'd come down his throat, fill his stomach with it, and whisper, "Good boy."

It was filthy, but it wasn't wrong. Not one part of it felt wrong. And Santiago never once made him feel like it was a shameful secret they were keeping, like the others finding out would be the end of the world. And it's good that he'd maintained that stance, because soon enough, Benny was in on it too. They should have seen it coming, considering his bunk was directly above Santi's.

"Can you give me one, maybe?" he'd asked Frankie awkwardly one night, voice quiet and slightly nervous as he leaned over the bars of the bunk bed, "I've been... I've been listening to it every night and it's driving me fuckin' crazy that I don't know what it feels like."

"Are you saying you've never had a blowjob, Ben?"

Benny had rolled his eyes, "Of course I've had a fuckin' blowjob, idiot. I've just never had a... a you know..." he'd shrugged, "A Frankie blowjob."

"It's good," Santi had said nonchalantly, tugging off his shirt and climbing into his bunk, "He's fucking incredible, actually."

Frankie had preened at the praise, cheeks reddening. An hour later he'd climbed up into Benny's bunk and deepthroated his cock for a solid fifteen minutes. Benny was breathless, chest blooming with heat as he watched Frankie suck and drool, gagging every so often but immediately resuming his sloppy ministrations as soon as he'd caught his breath.

"Look at that," Benny had marveled softly, "Look at that."

"I told you," they'd both heard Santi whisper from below, "He's a fucking godsend."

"I'm gonna cum down your fuckin' throat, Frankie," Benny had groaned, and no sooner were the words out that he was following through, spurting slow and steady into Frankie's mouth. He gripped the back of his head, watched Frankie swallow, and then whispered, "Good boy". Oh, he really had been listening.

Sated and warm with wet and sticky briefs, Frankie had climbed back into bed with a new appreciation for Benny.

As if two wasn't enough, Will got involved shortly after that. Of course Benny had unsurprisingly spilled the beans to his brother, which lead to Frankie climbing atop his own bunk one night to join Will, who'd been a bit unsure. It was as if he thought a prank was being pulled on him, like it was all bullshit, but he didn't say no.

"Been wonderin' what you three were gettin' up to," he'd muttered, watching Frankie a bit dubiously, brow furrowed, arms crossed, "Ben says you're, uh... good."

"I'm good," Frankie had promised softly, bringing his hands down to tug at Will's boxers, "Promise."

Will had watched as Frankie brought his already hardening cock out of his underwear, kissed the tip gently and then brought it into his mouth. "Oh fuck," he'd heard Will gasp out, immediately reaching up to cup the back of Frankie's head. And then there were three.

But three stayed three. Tom did find out about it, considering every single night somebody seemed to be getting their dick sucked. Any discreetness had gone out the window, especially when two of them would jack themselves off to the sounds of Frankie slurping and sucking, groans and the heavy slap of skin echoing throughout the large room. But despite the knowledge of what his friends were doing, the leader of the group was seemingly disinterested in having a go with Frankie.

There was one disastrous evening wherein the others managed to convince Tom to give it a shot. But Frankie bobbed on his cock for a solid five minutes before realizing he just wasn't getting him hard, and Tom had pushed him away and turned in bed with a low sigh.

"It's just not for me, Fish," he'd muttered, "Pretend it never happened."

"He doesn't know what he's missing," Santi had murmured ten minutes later as he watched Frankie suckle on the leaking tip of his cock, "Huh, Francisco? Doesn't know you've got the mouth of an angel, huh?"

Frankie had continued to suck, eyes closed, breathing deeply in and out as Santi stroked his hair.

Things were easier for a while after that. The training was strenuous, oftentimes near impossible, but there was always pleasure at the end of it, always something to look forward to. Every night Frankie would take up residence in someone's bunk, usually after a quick game of rock paper scissors or a straw draw. Each of his friends were different in their own way, and Frankie took a lot of joy in being able to have those moments with them, be what they needed. It felt like he was floating, dreaming; he'd never realized how badly he wanted to be submissive like this until it actually happened. Being their shared prize, their plaything, it was fucking incredible.

Sometimes he'd have all three in one night. He'd deepthroat Benny's cock and swallow him down, then stagger to Will's bunk and do the same. With his own erection aching in his underwear he'd finally crawl in with Santi and allow his closest friend to pull down his briefs and notch the head of his cock into his ass. Santi was the only one who fucked him, the only one who held him close afterwards and sometimes fell asleep with him.

"You my good boy, Francisco?" he'd murmur in Frankie's ear as he fucked him slow and deep, fingers digging into his hips beneath the sheets, "You like feelin' that cock in your ass?"

And god, did he ever.

The first real mission was brutal.

It was tame compared to the things they'd eventually do, but for what it was, they were stressed out of their minds. They spent weeks planning, training, preparing. They'd find themselves so tired at the end of the day that their nighttime habits became a thing of the past, if not something that only happened once in a blue moon. And in its own way the lack of it had begun to affect everything else, their comradery, their abilities, their drive. The day before the mission was set to begin, Benny stood up at dinner and proclaimed, "We've gotta get our shit together."

"Sit down, our shit is together," Tom grumbled, "We're gonna be fine."

"We are not gonna be fine," Benny argued, expression genuinely fearful, "We're gonna fail the whole fuckin' thing and then we're out on our asses."

"There's truth to that, you know there is," Will pointed out as he pulled Benny back down, "There's somethin' missing here. We're not on our A game."

"What, 'cause Morales isn't getting sucked and fucked?"

Frankie's head had gone up, ears tinging pink as he looked over at Tom along with everybody else. There had been a beat of silence, and then-

"Nobody said that," Santi had stated calmly, "And don't be a dick."

"I'm not being a dick. It's fine what you all get up to in your own time, whatever. But it's not the be-all and end-all of our fucking team," he'd shrugged and looked at Santi with a frown, "I mean, come on, Pope. We're prepared, with or without the extracurriculars."

"We are," Santiago had agreed with a nod, turning to Benny, "It's gonna be fine, man. The nerves are just kicking in now but that's normal. We've trained for this, we're ready."

But Frankie could tell he wasn't being entirely truthful.

That night, despite the tiredness of the last day of training and the anxiety of what was to come - Frankie found a solution. He told Santi first, whispered it to him in his bunk and grinned at the expression on his friend's face, awestruck and aroused all at once.

"You're sure?" Santi asked him quietly.

"I'm sure. I think it'll help us de-stress."

Santi had leaned forward and tilted Frankie's cap up, pressed a firm kiss to his forehead and murmured, "Me sigues sorprendiendo, Francisco." You continue to surprise me.

A moment later he was climbing the ladder of Santi's bunk, coming face to face with Benny. "You wanna do something kinky?"

The younger man's eyebrow raised, "Kinkier than usual?"

"A blowjob is not kinky, Ben."

"Getting one from a guy is."

Frankie rolled his eyes and went to pull himself back down the ladder but Benny stopped him, reaching out to touch his wrist.

"What'd you have in mind?"

And that's how he'd ended up on his knees.

Will and Benny stood on either side of Santiago, all three men looking down at their submissive friend with unbridled arousal in their expressions, dark and anticipatory. There was silence at first, not necessarily awkward but full of a definite tension that was more than palpable.

Until-

"Tie him up," Santi murmured to Benny. Frankie's eyes went hooded almost immediately, lips parting as he peered up at his friends and felt his heart pound at the thought of what Santi was asking.

"How so?"

"His hands," Santi clarified, "There's some string in the first aid kit, tie his hands behind his back so he can't touch himself."

Benny followed his orders without question, heading toward the bathroom to grab the kit while Will gave Santiago a confused look. "Why can't he touch himself?"

Santi smiled, tilting his head a bit and peering down at Frankie's already debauched form. He walked forward and kneeled down in front of him, levelling with him as he reached for his waistband.

"'Cause he likes it," Santi murmured, "Haven't you noticed something about Frankie in all the months we've been doing this?" As he spoke he pulled down Frankie's pants to his knees, exposing his bare thighs to the room. He was already hard, the long shape of his cock protruding from his black briefs. "He doesn't touch himself," he continued softly, stroking his thumb gently against the V of Frankie's hips, "He always comes in his pants when he sucks our dicks."

Hearing the words aloud, stated so matter-of-factly, Frankie realized in that moment how fucking well Santiago had come to know him. Not once had Frankie voiced this, told him anything about what he really liked, what he craved. And yet here he was, having his desires told directly to him, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"And when he gets fucked," Santi continued, fingers trailing downward to ever so gently cup Frankie's cock, "He only lets me touch it. Ain't that right, Francisco?"

Frankie nodded slowly, a lump forming in his throat.

"Why?" Will asked again - always wanting clarification, an explanation.

"'Cause it feels good, doesn't it, Frankie?" Santi cooed, releasing Frankie's bulge and bringing his hand up to place a finger under his chin, "Feels so good to come untouched, huh? Feels good to let go when you've got a dick in your mouth, to fall asleep with your underwear all wet and your cock all sticky?"

Frankie nodded again, cheeks blooming pink. He felt someone behind him pick up his hands, start tying them together - Benny.

"Come to think of it, I've never seen his cock," Benny admitted, voice already rough with anticipation, "I mean... I guess I had other things on my mind."

"He's got a fucking great cock," Santi murmured, "Why don't you show 'em, Francisco? Let 'em see what you've been hiding under here, huh?" His finger dug into the band of Frankie's briefs, and all Frankie could do was nod again, unable to speak with the way his thoughts had begun to melt away, brain going fuzzy.

Benny finished tying his hands and walked in front of him again to stand alongside Santi, eyebrows going up when he watched Frankie's cock be freed from the confines of his underwear. It stood at attention immediately, long and hard, pink and flushed at the tip. It smacked wetly against his belly, balls hanging heavy and full as Santi pulled his briefs down entirely.

"Now look at that pretty cock," Santi breathed, almost just for Frankie alone, "Look how it's dripping."

And it was dripping, already pulsing and bobbing against his belly button with every rise and fall of his chest. The three men watched in silence for a moment as Frankie took deep breaths, his cock twitching and stuttering in front of them without being touched, simply exposed to the cool air of the room and their interested gazes.

"I kinda wanna...." Benny started to say, but trailed off, blushing a bit as he took a step away from his brother.

"I'll stay between you," Santi offered quickly, "Pull 'em out, it's fine."

There was no more hesitation after that. Frankie watched under his lashes as his three friends reached into their pajama pants and pulled out their cocks. Will was still mostly soft, though you could tell he was starting to harden with the sudden gravity of the situation. Benny was already stiff and leaking as he fisted his own, and Santiago's hung heavy and thick between his legs as he carefully circled the head with his thumb.

"We're gonna come all over your face, Frank," Benny told him quietly as he jerked his cock slowly up and down, "You know that, right? You're sure you're cool with that?"

It was like he was underwater, still unable to speak; he hadn't said one word since he'd gotten on his knees. It was as if the submissive part of him had taken over completely, mind going blank.

"Say yes or no, Fish," Will said, voice strained as he squeezed himself gently, "Wanna hear it."

"Yes," Frankie had finally managed to whimper, knees trembling against the cold floor, "Yes, please."

Santi grinned, "Well boys, I think we got our answer," He tilted his head again to eye Frankie from where he stood, "Let's get a little closer, shall we? I think he wants us up close and personal."

Within a few seconds Frankie was suddenly face to face with three cocks - it was like fucking Christmas morning. His mouth popped open and drool immediately began to collect in the corners of his mouth, eyes trailing back and forth to look at absolutely everything he could. He stared at the weeping tips, the fat heads, the thick shafts where his friends pumped and fisted. Without any thoughts in his brain he opened his mouth and laid his tongue flat against his lower lip, staring at Benny's cock - arguably the biggest - with pleading eyes.

"Yeah, you wanna suck on it, don't you?" Benny asked, a smile in his voice, "You go ahead, Fish. Suck that cock."

He did not need telling twice. His lips wrapped around the pink mushroom head of Benny's cock and his eyes rolled back as he began to suck, tongue lapping at the tip and devouring everything it had to offer. God he loved having his mouth full, loved hearing Benny's groans as he pushed his head forward and enveloped more and more of the cock in front of him, began to slide his lips up and down the shaft and cover it in his saliva.

"So pretty with a cock in your throat, Francisco," Santi told him, voice full of praise as he watched Frankie sink down even further on Benny's cock, 'til his nose was buried in his pubic hair. "Tell him how pretty he is, Benny. He wants to hear it."

Frankie anticipated some hesitance, maybe even a sarcastic comment, but Benny did no such thing. Instead, Benny's hand came up to cup the back of Frankie's head, holding him still on his cock as he breathed, "You're so pretty, Frankie."

A high keen of a whine made it's way from Frankie's throat, vibrated around the cock in his mouth. Benny trembled a bit, tangling his fingers in his hair and helping him bob a few more times before pulling him off completely. Frankie gasped for breath, tears in his eyes as he stared up at his friends.

"Your turn," Santi murmured quietly to Will, "Stuff him full."

"He fuckin' loves being stuffed," Will replied with a low chuckle, yanking Frankie forward by his hair and shoving his now fully hard cock into his mouth. It was the kind of rough Frankie was already well acquainted with when it came to Will, and he welcomed it with gratitude. He closed his eyes and allowed Will's cock to sink into his mouth like Benny's had, then swallowed around it, tightening the walls of his throat and gagging around the large intrusion.

"Yeah, choke on it, baby," Will muttered, gripping both sides of Frankie's head with a groan, "Baby boy."

Baby boy. That was a new one, especially from Will, but Frankie certainly wasn't complaining. He swallowed around him again, feeling his own cock bob against his stomach as he continued to worship Will's dick. There was only so much of the sensation that Will could take, and before long he too was pulling out of Frankie's mouth and resuming his slow strokes, breathing heavily.

"M'your baby boy," Frankie murmured to the three of them, Will's words still echoing in his mind. His voice was already completely shot, rough and scratchy from the two large cocks that had invaded his throat.

"You are," Santiago cooed, leaning forward to gently tap the head of his own cock against Frankie's bottom lip, "You're our baby boy, Frankie. Our good, pretty, perfect boy, huh?"

Yes, Frankie wanted to whisper, it's all I am. It's all I wanna be. But his mouth was already being filled a third time, this time by Santi's cock - the thickest of the three. His vision blurred with tears as it stretched his lips, the masculine taste dripping on the back of his tongue and down his throat. He'd had Santi's cock in his mouth the most out of everyone's; had fallen asleep a few times suckling on the tip of it while Santi murmured praise, like a comfort, a constant.

He knew exactly what Santi liked, what he didn't, how to tease him, how to get him there. Immediately, Frankie curled his tongue around the wide head, dipped the tip of it into Santi's slit and carefully fucked it in and out while suctioning the rest. He kept his eyes open this time even though they burned with tears, allowing himself to meet Santiago's gaze just how he knew he liked it.

"Oh, good boy," Santi praised softly, thumbing Frankie's cheeks and letting the head of his cock sit just inside the wet heat of his mouth, "Suckin' on that cock like it's my thumb, huh? Just how you like it?"

Now that was something unbeknownst to Benny and Will. They knew Santi liked to fuck Frankie sometimes, but they didn't know much about the logistics, the positioning, the way it worked. More often than not, Frankie would suck on Santi's thumb when he was being fucked, liked the feeling of having both his holes full at the same time. It felt complete somehow, safe. God, what would it feel like now if Santi were to fuck him and let Benny or Will fuck his throat? What would it feel like to be truly filled up like that, the way he'd always imagined? His cock twitched against his belly again, still untouched, still pulsing, and he moaned around Santi's cock.

"I think our baby boy needs a little break," Santi murmured softly, "Shh, it's okay, Frankie, it's alright," he slowly pulled his cock from Frankie's lips and allowed him to catch his breath, chest heaving. He felt multiple hands petting his hair, stroking his cheeks, thumbing his temples. Someone brushed one of his nipples, pinched it ever so gently and then did the same to the other one.

"Sweet little things," Will murmured, and that answered that.

"He really is a fucking godsend, Pope," Benny breathed, disbelief and awe playing at the edge of his voice, "Softest mouth I've ever felt."

"His eyes are what get me," Santi replied, and Frankie felt him take his cap off and toss it to the side, then a pair of lips kiss his forehead, "He's got the prettiest brown eyes, look so beautiful when he's got that wet mouth all full."

The way they talked about him, like he wasn't even there, like he was just a toy, something to play with, an object - it was so much. It was too much. He leaned back on his haunches and whimpered, eyes fluttering open as he looked up at his friends, still standing in front of him with their now very wet cocks in their hands.

"Put them on my face," he begged, voice broken and haggard, "All of them, please."

"Fuck," Benny gasped out, and without hesitation he placed the entire length of his cock along Frankie's cheek and forehead, tapping it a few times and hissing, "There you go. There it is, baby boy."

"You go around the other side," Santi told Will, knowing he wouldn't want to touch Benny's cock, "Put yours upside down on his other cheek, I'll go middle."

Benny was still slapping Frankie's face gently with his cock, hissing and groaning out words of praise. Santi slapped his own down across the center of his face, along his nose and lips. His cock settled up against Benny's, and for the shortest of seconds Frankie noted that they rubbed them together without speaking, without looking at each other. Will joined them on the other side, his balls hanging low on Frankie's forehead and his tip jutting out near his chin. Three cocks, side by side, covering their friend's entire face.

"Slap him with them, he likes that," Benny said through gritted teeth, doing it again and again and reveling in the whimpers and whines Frankie was making below them, "Ohhh, he fuckin' loves that."

"I don't think I can last," Will spit, voice more strained than it had been before, "This is too much, I'm gonna blow my whole fuckin' load any minute now."

"No one's stopping you," Santi encouraged, "Doesn't matter when we come, what matters is we do it all over his face. Cover him with it."

"Oh, he's gonna be fuckin' drenched," Benny groaned, eyes closing as he stilled his slapping movements to hold back his own orgasm. His voice was wild now, desperate, "I wanna come in his mouth, I call dibs."

"You hear that, Frankie, baby?" Santi murmured with a sly smile, "Benny called dibs on filling your mouth."

Frankie wouldn't have responded even if he could, just let out another whimpering moan and dropped his jaw, lolled his tongue out so his friends could take turns tapping the heads of their cocks against it. He was covered in precum, felt it dribbling down his chin and forehead, collecting behind his teeth and dripping down the back of his throat.

"Let him suck," Will hissed, "Let him suck mine one more time." At his words, Benny and Santi moved out of the way as best they could, Santi tapping Frankie's eyelid with his cock while Benny smeared more precum into his forehead. They watched as Frankie carefully suckled Will's tip into his mouth, closed his lips around him and hummed.

"Put it in your throat, baby boy," Will told him firmly, "Swallow around it, there you go. Thaaat's a good boy."

Gurgling sounds were coming from Frankie's gag reflex but he didn't stop or pull away, kept doing exactly what he knew Will needed as he swallowed him down. It took barely any time at all for it to be too much for Will to handle, and before any of them knew it he was pulling out and pumping his cock furiously over Frankie's face. Benny and Santi stepped back - they all knew what was coming.

"Don't come in his mouth, I called dibs," Benny warned, and Frankie could have sworn he heard Santiago chuckle.

"Keep your eyes closed, Fish," Will muttered, directly in front of him now as the wet sounds of his fist slipping up and down his cock filled the room, "Gonna paint that pretty little face and those sweet little nipples."

Franke whimpered, keeping his eyes closed as he continued to listen to what was going on around him. He could hear Santi and Benny still jerking themselves a few steps away, but Will's grunts and groans were the most prominent, the most present. And only a few seconds later he felt the first splash of cum hit his face - his left cheek.

"There it is," Santi egged Will on, "There he goes."

Another rope of cum landed on his forehead, dripped down onto his eyebrow. Then another on his chin. He listened as Will let out one more groan, still pumping his cock as he aimed at Frankie's bare chest. He felt two more spurts trickle down both of his nipples, sensitive and hard, and that was it.

"Fuck," Will groaned, satisfaction plain as day in his voice, "Fuck, Frankie."

He opened his eyes and was met with Will's cock, tight in his fist. Without hesitation he leaned forward and brought the tip gently into his mouth, licking off the excess cum as Will brought his hand down to play with Frankie's curls. He sucked for a few seconds, placed a soft kiss to the tip - his favorite spot - and then looked up to meet Will's gaze, a dazed little smile playing on his lips.

"Give it one more little kiss, baby boy," Will murmured, "Just one more." Frankie did as he was told, eyelashes fluttering as he kissed the sticky tip once more, and then Will was backing up to let Santi and Benny back into their spots.

"You're a good boy, Fish," he murmured, tucking himself back into his pants. "Mind if I watch the rest?"

"Please stay," Frankie managed to breathe, and the movement of his face caused some of the cum in his eyebrow to trickle downwards, dipping into the crevice of his nose. Will smiled and nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to observe.

"Won't be much longer now, Francisco," Santi told him softly, shuffling forward to carefully fill Frankie's mouth again with his dick. He watched with fascination as Frankie slowly bobbed on it, like muscle memory as he breathed evenly through his nose. "M'close. I think Benny's close too."

"You look so fuckin' good with all that cum on your face," Benny told him, voice almost pained, "Gonna look even better with more."

Surprisingly, Frankie pulled off Santi's dick without being told to do so and peered over at Benny with hunger in his eyes, "Can you... can I..." he cut himself off, going bright red as he looked back to Santi for reassurance.

"What is it, baby?" Santi asked softly, brow furrowing, "You good? You need to take a break?"

Frankie shook his head quickly, "N-no, I just...I..." he bit his lip and hoped his sudden idea wasn't about to be shot down, "Can you put them both in at the same time?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Fuck," Benny groaned, "Fuck, that's hot." There was no doubt in Frankie's mind now that Benny had quite liked having his dick so close to Santi's, so it made him grin when Benny moved forward to stand beside his friend and jut his cock out toward Frankie's mouth.

"Open up, Fish."

Dropping his jaw once again and staring wide eyed up at his teammates, cum still fresh and sticky all over his face, Frankie allowed Benny and Santi to slide both their cocks into his waiting mouth. The feeling was insane. The taste was insane. All masculine and heady and musky and wet, the smell of sweat and raw sex invading his nostrils as they both pushed their dicks further in alongside each other. Frankie felt two hands in his hair, one of Santi's and one of Benny's, holding him still.

"Oh fuck, I need a picture of this," Benny groaned, blinking furiously as he peered down at where he and Santi's dicks jutted out from Frankie's mouth. "Will, grab Pope's camera, I'm serious. I need to remember this."

As Will made his way to the bunks, Frankie continued to blink slowly and languidly, tongue almost lazily swirling along the fat heads of the two big cocks in his mouth. They were dripping everywhere, warm and sticky, layering the back of his tongue with all of their arousal. And he was so fucking overwhelmed.

"Two cocks," Santi breathed, thumbing a bit of Will's cum that had begun to dry on Frankie's cheek, "Two fat cocks for Frankie, huh?"

"Look at how his lips stretch," Benny added, pushing his cock in the tiniest bit further to watch how Frankie's mouth adjusted to the size, "S'like he was made for it."

"He was made for it," Santi agreed softly, pushing some hair out of Frankie's face and tucking it behind his ear, "Huh, Francisco? Were you made for this?"

Another slow blink and an even slower nod, careful not to dislodge the appendages in his mouth. Benny assessed the door Will had left through and then hesitated for a moment before turning to Santi and whispering, "You feel good, Pope," under his breath.

"So do you," Santi replied with a smile, "Y'got a nice dick."

Benny seemed a bit flustered, avoiding Santiago's gaze as he muttered, "Thanks."

Will rejoined them a few seconds later, Santiago's polaroid camera in hand. Frankie watched with pleasure as Will brought the camera over his head and faced it downwards, preparing the shot.

"Chipmunk cheeks," Will murmured fondly, snapping the picture with a smile, "This'll do great for the annual Christmas card, huh boys?" It was a joke of course; they all knew that what was happening right would more than likely never leave the base, but Santi and Benny laughed nonetheless, pushing their cocks just a little bit more into Frankie's mouth.

"He's full," Benny murmured, "All filled up."

"Not entirely," Santi chuckled, "But close enough."

Their teasing words, their smiles and their laughs, it was making Frankie crazy. His untouched cock was still bobbing on its own accord, twitching and dripping as they talked about him like he wasn't even there. He was going to come soon, he just knew it, and the thought alone made him whine around his friend's dicks, his eyes rolling back.

"Shh, it's okay, Francisco," Santi reassured him softly, "Just give us one more minute to enjoy this, okay? Will's gonna take a few more pictures. You just stay still and keep suckin' on those cocks."

"You got this, Fish," Benny murmured, "You can do it, you're a good boy."

I am, Frankie thought to himself as he closed his eyes and heard the snap of another photo, I am a good boy.

Will took two more pictures with the camera so they'd each have one, tugging the polaroids out as they developed and waving them in the air. This was better than any porno magazine they'd ever be able to stow away, something real and raw, perfect spank bank material.

"I want the first one, where his eyes are open," Santi told Will when he was done, "Calling dibs."

"You got it."

Finally, Benny and Santi pulled themselves slowly out of Frankie's mouth, leaving him nothing but a drooling, lightheaded mess on his knees in front of them. He gasped for breath, head going down as he coughed and spluttered. He felt Will's hands patting his back, helping him through it as his chest heaved.

"Gonna come all over that pretty face, Fish," he heard Benny groan, "Open that mouth again, gonna fill it up."

With all the strength he could muster, Frankie tilted his head up and shakily opened his mouth again. His jaw was sore and aching but he knew he could last a little longer, knew he could give his friends what they needed before he collapsed in a heap on the floor. He watched as Benny jerked his cock in front of his face, watched the way his precum bubbled and spilled at the tip before being replaced with ropes and ropes of hot cum. If Benny was known for anything when it came to their little extracurriculars, it was certainly the ridiculous amount of spend he was able to produce.

"Right in the back of his fuckin' throat," he groaned, watching as it spurted into Frankie's open mouth, "Knew I had perfect aim." He redirected the head of his cock to further paint more of Frankie's face, covering him with thick white all over his cheeks and lips. "Don't swallow it, Fish," he managed to moan out, "Keep aaaall of it in there for me like the good boy you are."

A few more spurts along his neck and chest, one more in his mouth, and then Benny was tapping the head of his cock against Frankie's tongue again, watching as the last few drops spilled out onto it. Frankie peered up at him with heavy lids, a low moan emitting from the back of his throat.

"Yeah," Benny breathed, tapping his tongue again, "That's for you, s'all for you." He pulled his cock out and took a step back, nodding toward Santi, "Go ahead, man. I think he's spent."

"He'll be okay," Santi said softly, shuffling in front of Frankie again and pressing the sticky tip of his cock to the corner of his cum-filled mouth, "Huh, baby? Can you last a little longer? Just a few more minutes for me?" Frankie nodded and he smiled, "Open wide, baby boy."

"Come on, I don't want him to swallow it yet," Benny said a little exasperatedly as Santi slipped the head of his cock past Frankie's lips, the tiniest bit of Benny's cum dribbling from the left corner of his mouth.

"He won't swallow," Santi murmured, "He's just gonna get my dick a little wet." He looked up to share a knowing look with Benny, like a little secret between them, and Benny turned bright red.

At his words, Frankie swirled Benny's cum around the head of Santi's cock, coating it in the salty substance. He gazed up into Santi's eyes as he did it, almost like he was silently whispering to him, pleading; I'm ready now, I'm ready for you to give it to me.

"Okay, Francisco," Santi whispered, just for him, "Lo has hecho tan bien." You've done so well.

He pulled out of Frankie with a pornographic squelching sound and began to work Benny's cum and Frankie's saliva up and down the length of his cock, still staring directly into Frankie's deep brown eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip, brows furrowing as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.

"Ask for it," he said quietly, edged with something unhinged.

"Please," Frankie breathed, voice garbled and muffled by the cum in his mouth and the ache in his throat, "Please come on me, Santi."

And that was enough.

"Mierda," Santi groaned out, stomach tensing as his thick cock twitched in his grasp. Frankie didn't close his eyes this time, kept them locked onto Santi's as cum drenched his face. It splashed along his cheek and nose in short bursts, dripped down his neck and collected in the corners of his mouth. Without being able to help it, he popped his mouth open one final time to allow Santi to add more cum to the cocktail on his tongue.

"Christ," Will muttered a few steps away, "Would ya look at that?"

"This," Benny sighed, a smile in his voice, "This is what we needed. Fuck Redfly, man."

In any other circumstance Santiago probably would have smacked Benny on the back of the head for disrespecting the team leader, but he was a little more than preoccupied at the moment. He was still staring down into Frankie's eyes, lost in a daze as Frankie tugged him back into his mouth with his tongue and sucked the last remaining spurt of cum from the tip of his cock.

"C'mere, watch him swallow," Santi gestured for the others to join him, and they all resumed their positions in front of Frankie with heavy lidded eyes as they watched him suck.

"Show us first," Benny murmured, "Come on, Fish, show us what's in your mouth, huh?"

Releasing Santi's cock with a pop, Frankie carefully opened his mouth to show his friends the pool of cum swirling on his tongue, dripping down into the soft pockets of his cheeks. Practically in awe, they all stared as he played with it, twisted his tongue back and forth and moving the thick globs of cum from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Swallow," Santi whispered, and Frankie obeyed.

It felt like heaven going down his throat, thick and warm. His eyes rolled a little, tongue darting behind his teeth to lick any that he'd missed, swallowing again and then dropping his jaw to show them his clean tongue, mouth empty.

"Good boy."

They stood there in silence for a moment, almost in reverence. Frankie was a mess, covered in three thick loads of spend and still on his knees with his cock bobbing against his stomach. He was so aroused it was almost painful, the head of his cock pulsing along with his heartbeat as he waited for an order, a command. He whined a little, waiting for someone to do something.

"Untie him," Santi finally told Benny with a smirk, "I think he's ready now."

Ready was an understatement. So much of an understatement in fact that Benny had barely brushed against Frankie's hands to untie the string when Frankie was suddenly letting out the loudest moan of the night, high and unbridled and full of pleasured desperation. Benny practically ripped the string from his hands to turn around and get a better look, watching with wide eyes as Frankie started to come with his cock completely untouched.

It was truly a sight to behold. His three friends stood frozen with their eyes glued to Frankie's cock as it bobbed and twitched of it's own accord, slapped repeatedly against his own stomach and dipped into his belly button. They watched as thick ropes of cum began to spill from his weeping tip, painting his stomach and chest, his chin, the floor. His balls shivered and tightened, more spurting out again and again as he writhed and shook on his knees, making the most pathetic little sounds as his eyes rolled.

Four loads now.

They were all in shock. They'd known he could do it, had felt him come in his pants untouched more than enough times at that point to know it was possible for him. But Christ, they'd never seen anything like it.

The room went silent as Frankie caught his breath, as he came down from his untouched orgasm and his loud outburst. They all watched as his cock continued to twitch with aftershocks, Benny letting out a soft groan when a little more cum dribbled from the tip. And then it was over.

More silence, save for Frankie's gasps and whimpers. And then Will took a step forward.

"Thank you, Fish," he told him earnestly, patting him on the shoulder and squeezing it gently, "That was... fuck. Thank you. You're fuckin' incredible."

Frankie looked up at him through fluttering lashes and nodded with a small smile, and then Will disappeared back to the bunks.

Benny was next. He got down on Frankie's level and came face to face with him, a grin on his face, "You're so pretty, Frank," he told him softly, "And you did so good. S'at what you needed?" Frankie nodded and Benny ruffled his hair a little bit, "Thanks, man. Thank you. We're gonna kill it tomorrow."

He followed his brother back to the bunks, leaving just Frankie and Santi alone together. Just like Benny had, Santi kneeled down to meet Frankie at eye level, picking up his cap along the way and carefully placing it on top of Frankie's head with a smile.

"Did I do good?" Frankie asked him softly, voice hoarse.

Santiago smiled even wider, pulled the cap down a bit further and murmured, "Si, Francisco. Perfecto."

A sleepy and sated grin lit up Frankie's cum-coated face. He could still feel everything, the thick layer of spend on his cheeks and chest, his slowly softening cock, the ache in his jaw - and he loved all of it. It felt right. So fucking right.

"Can you take a picture?" he suddenly asked, eyes alight, "Of me? Like this? I wanna... I wanna keep it. To remember it."

Santi's eyes softened even more, hand coming up to gently stroke Frankie's bare shoulder, "I can do that."

Santi grabbed the polaroid camera, held it front of his face and peered down at Frankie with a fond smile as his friend looked up at him softly, tiredly. "Show me those eyes, Francisco," he murmured, and Frankie halted the fluttering of his lashes to give the camera his ultimate fucked-out expression, a smile playing at his lips. The camera flashed and Santi pulled out the developed picture, waving it in the air as he settled back down in front of Frankie.

"Look at all this," he murmured softly, reaching up to gently thumb a bit of the cum on Frankie's face and scoop it carefully into his friend's mouth. Frankie sucked Santi's thumb with ease, sleepy and docile.

"S'yours," Frankie breathed when Santi pulled it back out.

Santi raised an eyebrow, "Mine?"

"What you just put in my mouth," Frankie clarified with a flush to his cheeks, "That was yours."

"You can tell?"

Frankie nodded with a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I can tell you all apart."

And if that wasn't the hottest thing Santiago had ever heard in his life.

Getting up from the floor was a bit of a task, but Santi helped him every step of the way. He lead Frankie to the showers where he let him lean against the wall, let him bask in the warmth of the hot water and the feeling of soap and shampoo as Santi worshipped him in a different way, a new way. Pressed kisses to his temples and his forehead, took his time lathering Frankie's arms and legs, gently cleaned his coated face and spent cock. And when he was done, Santi wrapped him in a towel and brought him back to his bunk, laid beside him and kissed him slow and deep until it felt like all that existed was just the two of them, nobody else.

He'd placed the polaroid in Frankie's bedside table and stroked his hair, murmured those familiar soft and gentle praises as he drifted to sleep.

Needless to say, their first mission was a success.

You're lying down with him now. It's well past midnight, moonlight streaming in through your bare-bones new bedroom as you peer at him quietly from under your lashes. He looks tired - he's been talking for over an hour now.

"There's more," he murmurs, eyes drooping, "More happened after that, a lot more, but I-"

"You've told me more than enough," you whisper, "You've been so honest, Frankie." Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek, your mouth turning up slightly at the corners when his eyes start to close, "Thank you for telling me about that."

He hums, breathes deeply as sleep slowly starts to find him. You can't help but stare at him, watch his face turn peaceful, the lines in the corners of his eyes smoothing out, his full lips relaxing into a natural frown. He's so beautiful. He's so.... good.

You think of him back then, the way he probably used to be. So unsure, so new to the real world and so close to facing things he'd never anticipated. You picture him lying in his bunk with Will above him, Santi and Benny beside him, Tom somewhere else, somewhere distant - it makes sense now. It all makes sense.

And now he's lying in his own bed, in his own house, years later - with you. You, the only thing you think has really made sense to him for a long time, the only thing that's helped him overcome some of life's worst obstacles, the pain and the trauma from the shit he's dealt with throughout his life.

But despite all of this, despite the past few years you've spent together, you suddenly can't help but wonder where he'd be right now if you hadn't met.

Would he be in Santiago's bed?

You slip out from under the blankets and grab your phone from your nightstand, making sure to turn out the light before heading to the kitchen. Your nostrils are met with the smell of fresh paint and leftover chow mein as you flick on the overhead and settle yourself on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

Unsure exactly why, you unlock your phone and scroll through your contacts, biting your lip as you search for Santiago's name. When you finally find it, you tap on it, feeling something odd sink in your heart when you see the lack of messages. You've never texted him? Not even once? You lean back and try to think of the last time you even had a conversation alone with him without Frankie or the others there, just a one-on-one interaction... and you come up blank.

He'd been such a huge part of Frankie's life. And still is now - still sees him on weekends, goes to games and bars, came over to the old apartment for drinks and dinner pretty regularly. He's been there for Frankie in ways you never could have imagined or guessed, took care of him and comforted him, would probably take a bullet for him - hell, he actually might've for all you know.

You look back down at your phone and stare at the blank space where words should be, feel that guilt from earlier rise in your chest and make a home in the form of a lump in your throat.

You start typing out a message.

#frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x triple frontier boys #PPCUGiftExchange2024 #frankie morales x reader #*

[pedge-page]

Pedge-Page MASTERLIST

All fics are explicit content: 18 + ONLY, MINORS DNI

🔸️- indicates new

Joel Miller

Rough Day tags: freeuse, rough to soft Joel

Swim Lessons tags: friends to lovers, teasing, shower sex

There's Only One Joel Miller tags: posessive, dubcon, slight breeding

Mother who Provides tags: sub!Joel, breastfeeding, mommy kink

You Please, My Pleasure tags: Sub!Joel, Mommy Kink

Pregnancy Ft Tommy, Breakfast Bunch tags: pregnancy, sharing, cucking, breastfeeding, breeding

Bloodkink!Joel tags: fear, blood licking, toxic

Discipline tags: sub!Joel, ball torture, hands free orgasm

Live a Little, Give a Little, More [part 2] public sex, exhibitionist, strangers

lactation tags: preganncy, breastfeeding

belly bump tags: pregnancy, cumplay

featuring Tess tags: pregnancy, forced breeding

Lactation 2 tags: breastfeeding, hands free orgasm, breeding

Sub/Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , Statement, Mine is Mine, Over the Edge, Humpty Dumpty tags: sub!Joel, breeding, Mommy kink

Piss Kink : piss kink 1, piss kink 2, piss kink 3, foot job drabble , Thirsty! , piss kink 4, PlushiesxPK Crossover, Shared Room, Puppy Lessons, PlushiesxPKxPregnant Crossover, The Garden of Peeden, 🔸️Don't Be Shy🔸️ tags: piss kink, occasional sub!Joel

Adventures in "Joel Dealing with his Preggo Wife" masterlist - (updated 5/15)

Plushies Series Masterlist - (updated 3/2)

Best Man Series Masterlist - (updated 4/19)

Other drabbles: horse, reversal, lap, training, slaver, hard to get, little pill, dreams

Extras: babee, soccer mom, Sarah's crush, helper, butter, ring, pickup lines, seahorse

Din Djarin / The Mandalorian

Partners tags: fwb, breeding kink, dub con to non con

Drabbles : riding, feeling, Lothal Cat, hunt

Frankie Morales

Cravings Series (complete)

Sharing is Caring Series - (updated 12/12)

Drables: suffocate, tied, patch, taste, Thanksgiving, kiss

Javi Peña

One Last Time

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #javi pena fanfiction #javi pena smut #narcos smut #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedge-page masterlist #masterlist

[macfrog]

masterlist

[artwork & moodboards are included purely for aesthetic purposes. any particular body types/skin colors/features are not representative of the mcs in my fics. reader is always a faceless girlie. she is yours to picture however you like!]

joel miller

series

cowboy like me (dbf!joel x reader) | completed series

back home in austin after five years away, you're looking for something to do with your summer. what you don't expect, is to find that something in the form of joel miller. quietly charming, ruggedly handsome, flannel-donned joel. you know. your dad's best friend.

sex on fire (ceo!joel x reader) | ongoing series

you've worked for joel miller for three years now, as his personal assistant. answering calls, organizing his schedule, fulfilling every request he could dream of. it pays well, you know you're good at it, and you get along with all of your coworkers. there's just one you get along with...a little too well.

sweet child o' mine (neighbor!joel x reader) | completed mini-series

joel miller has lived next door - since forever. you’ve been a pain in his ass - since forever. one drunken night changes everything - forever.

one shots

➵ jet (post-outbreak!joel) - you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

➵ ghost (post-outbreak!joel) - your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk.

➵ call me (joel x phone sex operator!reader) - you moonlight as a call girl, receiving mediocre call after mediocre call. one night, one joel miller dials in, and grants you the most exciting ten minutes of your career.

➵ soaked (boston qz!joel) - joel jacks off in the shower. that's p much it.

➵ all three dogs (gen fic) - “dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted.”

➵ wish you were here (jackson!joel) - you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time.

➵ psyche and cupid (jackson!joel) - valentine’s day with joel doesn’t go to plan.

➵ san angelo - it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you.

➵ birds of a feather (gen fic) - joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday.

frankie morales

one shots

➵ rack 'em (bbf!frankie) - when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend.

➵ backspin (bbf!frankie) - you try to get even with frankie. it works.

#masterlist #frog do admin #macfrog

[modernperplexity]

Chapter Rating: E (18+) Minors DNI, mention of alcohol consumption and substance abuse, fluff, angst, sexual tension.

Word Count: 5,634

Pairing: Frankie x f!reader

Chapter summary: A glimpse into Francisco's past, You meet the guys, and Santiago (that meddling little shit) gets his way you'll see ;). This time we'll see soft and sexy Frankie, that's all I'll say for now.

A/N: Hey y'all! Chapter 4 is finally here! As always, my inbox is always open to chat/suggestions/ questions etc. Please feel free to comment/reblog. I love hearing from you! Also, please excuse any typos you may encounter.

If you'd like to join the tag list click here :) or let me know in the comments.

Happy reading loves!💜

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Whiskey Sours & Sweet Confessions

“Are you shitting me!?” Ashley's eyes glazed over with pain and rage, “Are you fucking shitting me, Francisco!?” She slammed the mini zip lock bag on the dining table, her rage hung heavily in the air between them. 

Frankie’s silence was deafening as he stared at the bag in defeat unable to tear away his gaze from the evidence Ashley had discovered. His mouth went dry, his voice caught somewhere between self-loathing and guilt of the choices that led him to that very moment.

“OH!.. So you have nothing to say?!” Again, there were no words in response to her confrontation, “God, you are so.. so-” She stammered, her voice quivering with indignation.

“Just say it.” Frankie surrendered, one hand covering his eyes, seeking brief solace from the heat of her anger. 

“-Pathetic! I don’t know why I am even surprised anymore! This is so like you!”

The words stung as they reached Frankie who was sitting at the small dining table. Ashley’s yelling had prompted a sharp cry from Camilla who was only 8 months old. The guilt of losing Tom, the money, and the casualties of that mission haunted Francisco. He hated who he became but couldn’t fight the shadow that loomed over him. Ben had his boxing gig, Will went into overdrive at the VA, Santiago up and left for months at a time, and Frankie, well, he’d come back and dove head first into his only escape; the only thing that kept his body from feeling heavy.

“Ash, I’m s-” He could barely get a word out.

Ashley raised her finger to his face, the anger burned brighter in her eyes, her words laced with pain. "You promised!! Frankie!! You promised that things would be different. That we’d have a better life! But instead, you left me alone, responsible for everything, to care after your fucking kid..”

“Look, you can insult me all you want. I know I’m a piece of shit and I deserve it, okay!?” Frankie’s hands raised in defeat, “I deserve it, but don’t talk about Camila like that ..she’s your daughter too!”

“Well!” A slow clap accompanied her judgemental scoff, “look who finally decide to act like a father that actually gives a damn!”

"I... I never meant for it to come to this, Ash," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling. "I know I've fucked up- repeatedly. But please, believe me when I say that I never stopped caring about you or Camila."

Ashley turned away, her tears flowing freely now. "You have a shit way of showing you care, Frank. Time and time again you prove me right, I can't trust you. I can't keep playing this game."

She ran her fingers through her hair as she stared out the kitchen window “This isn’t what I wanted, Frank. I didn’t want this life, You left me alone in this, meanwhile you’re out there spendng the little money we have just to feel whatever the fuck it is you need” she paused, no longer being able to hold back tears, before she let out what she had wanted to say for the past few months, “I’m done... I’m done with you! We both know none of this is gonna change.”

“Ash, I’m sorry..I’ll get help this time, I promise.”He reached out a hand, desperate to bridge the evergrowing chasm between them.

“Don’t. touch. me.” she pinched the bridge of her nose, and drew a sharp breath “Get the fuck out”

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his words failing him once more.

“GET OUT!!” Ashley managed through her anger, tears now streaming down her face as she threw out a bag of his things and slammed the door. 

Frankie dusted off the steel green amo box he had stored on his top closet shelf. His hands hesitated to reach the latch. It wasn’t often that the box saw the light of day. In it, Frankie held pictures he didn’t want around the house but that he knew someday Camila would ask for. Pictures of him and Ashley from the night they met, of Ashley’s pregnancy which Frankie begged to take- Ashley who always begrudgingly complied. 

He looked through the old mementos and photos as his hands began to shake. One of Ashley and Cami at the hospital, Camilla’s newborn hat, and the tiny plastic medical ID bracelet among other things. He hesitated knowing what lay at the very bottom of the box. A dainty silver ring that he had bought a few weeks after he found out Ashley was pregnant but could never bring himself to give to her. It seemed like the obvious next step after having a baby.

Frankie always wanted to be a father. When he found out about Ashley’s pregnancy he was terrified but excited nonetheless. Reality hit him hard when the hospital bills came in, one after another. Money was tight and tensions were high between them before he lost his license and only became worse afterwards. Pope’s offer for the Lorea mission was insane but it offered him a chance to provide for his struggling family. A way to prove that all that time in the army and special ops wasn’t wasted. It was a weapon to fight back the voice inside his head that deemed him useless.

It had been a couple of days since Ashley had reached out. Should he respond? Did he even want to? The memories of seeing Camila for the first time, wrapped in a hospital blanket, so tiny and fragile, flooded his mind. The promise he made to himself to protect his little girl at all costs lingered. Now, he faced the difficult question: should he allow the woman who had abandoned him, who had heartlessly left Cami, back into their lives? Would he be selfish as a father if he refused to let Cami see her mom? Ashley had the potential to trigger him, but perhaps she had changed... or had she? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door, breaking the cycle of contemplation that had consumed him since he opened the box.

“Texted the boys, they’ll meet us at the bar in an hour” Pope pried the door open a bit more when he saw the pictures scattered on Frankie's bed, giving Frankie a knowing glance while he leaned on the door frame, “You good?”

Frankie paused, that period of his life brought on a plague of complicated emotions, “Yeah...I uh- I’m fine”

“What are you going to do?” Santiago glanced over to the phone beside the box on Frankie’s bed.

Frankie dragged his hands over his patchy beard, “I.. don’t want to think about that right now”

“Good. Drinks on me, we’re celebrating tonight!” 

“We got our pilot back boys!” Ben cheered from the corner of the bar. The “unhappy hour” neon sign provided a dim blue light over the booth where they sat.

“It’s been a long winding road, man. We’re proud of you, Fish!” Will clapped Frankie on the shoulder and handed him a glass

“Never met anyone more deserving..You belong in the sky” Ben added with a genuine smile, glad to see his brother happy again.

Frankie chuckled, “I still can’t fucking believe it. I get to have my wings back!” He sighed with deep relief “In all seriousness, I can’t thank y’all enough. You all had my back when I lost sight of everything that mattered”

“Hey, that’s in the past. You’re our brother, we’d do it all over again- no questions asked” Santiago replied.

Ben nodded in agreement and took a sip of his beer, “So, how does it feel to be back up there?”  

“It's like nothing else, the freedom, the rush, the sense of control... It's fucking indescribable” He grinned, “I’ll take ya next time” I don’t mind the extra flight hours.

“Sign me up, but please, Fish, no more near-death experiences, alright? I had enough of that last time.” 

The men all burst into laughter and clink their glasses together, “to Catfish!”

Michele practically dragged you out of your apartment. She had agreed to meet a few of her coworkers at a divey bar in town and insisted that you meet them. The night was slightly cooler than most Florida nights but not drastically colder- it is Florida after all, prompting you to wear a thin green cardigan paired with a black mini skirt that highlighted your curves, sheer black tights, and your comfy black combat boots.

She gently clasped your hand, leading you through the bustling crowd, the melody of The Smiths' "This Charming Man" filling the air around you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as your eyes locked onto Frankie, a beer in hand, making his way towards the illuminated jukebox.

The sight of him left you momentarily breathless. "Everything alright?" Michele's concerned voice breaking through to you.

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on the present moment. "Yeah, umm... Frankie's here," you managed to reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Michele's eyes widened in surprise. "He's here?" she echoed, her gaze darting around the bar.

"Over at the jukebox," you informed her with a subtle nod in Frankie's direction.

Her eyebrows raised in approval “Damn, he is fine, but you better go over there before blondie wins him over.”

“Wait, what?” Heat surged in your chest, a stark reminder of the truth you could no longer hide. The thought of someone else with him sent a pang of jealousy coursing through you. Oh no, is that the barista from the coffee shop?

Your eyes were locked in, unable tear away from the scene unfolding before your eyes. When it dawned on you, Frankie was no longer looking at her, he was now looking at you. A subtle spark of recognition and excitement flashed across his eyes, fleeting but unmistakable. Frankie briefly introduced her to Ben, who immediately wore a bright smile, before heading toward you.

“Talk to him!” Michele urged with encouragement, “Have some fun.. And PLEASE have something good to tell me afterward!” She squeezed you tight and handed you her shot of whiskey, “I’ll find you later... if you want me to find you.” She added with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

As Frankie drew nearer, a surge of anticipation swept over you. With Michele's words echoing in your mind, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. With a quick flick of your wrist, you downed the whiskey Michele had given you, its fiery warmth spreading through your veins, emboldening you for the encounter ahead. You turned around and nearly collided with Frankie, “Oh, Jesus!” You blurted, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumbled back a step, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.

Frankie smiled, appearing amused and slightly concerned, ”Everything alright?” the genuine concern in his voice already putting you at ease.

“Just needed a little liquid courage, I guess” A nervous laugh escaped you.

Frankie chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Well it looks like you can’t go a week without running into me” He teased, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I seem to have that effect on people” You chuckled, grasping the silver chain of the clutch you selected for the evening, “What are you doing here?”

“The boys brought me out to celebrate” He paused and leaned in closer, taking in the warm cherry scent of your perfume on the crook of your neck, his voice a hushed whisper, “I passed my pilot exam.”

“You passed the exam!!” Your eyes widened with excitement as you cheered, unable to contain the joy bubbling up within you. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around Frankie's neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. “Frankie, this is such great news! I’m so proud of you!” 

Frankie’s grin widened his arms wrapping around you in return, the warmth of your body against his causing his heart to race even faster. “Thank you” he said, his voice tinged with sincere gratitude, “It’s been a long time coming” His eyes lingered over you as he pulled away, your face mere inches away, "You know, I couldn't have done it without your encouragement. Our conversation at the coffee shop meant a lot to me"

Your cheeks flushed pink at Frankie's heartfelt words, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well, I'm glad I could help in some way," you replied, your heart swelling with pride and admiration for the man in front of you.

"What are you drinking?" Frankie asked, his eyes sparkling.

"You're here to celebrate you, but you want to buy me a drink?" you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Just think of it as another coffee," he winked, his playful demeanor displaying no signs of surrender.

"A whiskey sour, please," you smiled, unable to resist his charm as you watched him effortlessly command the attention of the bartender. His presence seemed to fill the room, making everything else fade into the background.

As you observed him, a smile emerged from the corner of your lips, his hands made your glass seem three times smaller. "He buys me coffee and my drinks," you remarked with a playful sigh, adding a hint of dramatic flair. "A true American hero."

The widest grin spread across Frankie's face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this at ease. Despite the complexities that could arise in whatever was happening between you both, he pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to dwell on them, not tonight at least.

"Here," he said, handing you your drink, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. Without hesitation, he casually took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours "Come on, I want you to meet the guys." 

“Well, well, well- would you look what the cat dragged back in” Pope revealed a mischievous grin after taking a sip of his beer, his gaze shifting between you and Frankie.

You smiled, “Nice to see you again too, Santiago” 

“I’m just messing, Hermosa” Santiago chuckled, getting up to hug you. “That was meant for Fish.”

“So this is Peech!” Ben exclaimed with a grin, pulling you into a strong and warm embrace, “I know the speech sessions are for our lil Camcam but I can tell you’re great! Fish hasn’t shut up about you since day one!” 

Your cheeks flushed pink, Frankie too smitten by your nervous laughter to pay Ben any mind, aside from a brief sidelong glance in his direction.

“You’re kind of a celebrity ‘round these parts, darlin” Will added sweetly, “It’s good to put a face to the name finally.” 

“Likewise!” you agreed, “Well since we’re all here to celebrate our pilot,” you lightly nudged Frankie, “Why don’t I get us the next round?

 Ben sipped the last of his beer, and set down his glass, “OH I like her!” 

The atmosphere was filled with laughter and positive energy. The men bantered and shared stories of their early days in the military with you. It came to you as a surprise to feel so effortlessly at home with the group. You would have never pictured feeling so at ease while surrounded by men. Your quick wit and charm drew them in. As the night wore on and drinks flowed, Frankie found himself becoming even more infatuated with you, displaying the palpable string of tension that existed between you both. It hung in the air, creating an undercurrent of anticipation and curiosity. The subtle stolen glances, lingering touches, traces of smiles. It all prompted knowing looks from those around the table. Santiago who of course, was the first to notice, wore a mischievous grin, earning him a swift kick under the table. 

“So” Santiago interrupted Ben who had been bragging to you about all the fights he’d won recently, “has Catfish ever told you about Truth or Spare?” Santiago’s eyes eager for your response.

Ben whistled, “oh, here we fucking go”

“Oh come on..its just a game” Santiago hissed.

“What is this? Highschool?” Ben shook his head 

“WhAt Is tHiS HiGhScHoOl?” Santiago mocked in return.

A hesitant look flashed across Frankie’s face,“I don’t know Pope” 

“It’s okay, I want to hear about this.” You chimed.

“He’s trying to get you to play this drinking game we all played when we enlisted in the army.” Will explained, directing a knowing look in Santiago’s direction, “But there’s no pressure.” 

“We all played when we joined the squad” Ben said with a reassuring smile “some supposed way to build trust but really it was our excuse to get drunk on our days off” 

You nodded, curious to learn more, "Hmm.. How do you play?" you looked at Santiago waiting for an explanation. 

"You have to choose between answering a personal question with complete honesty or taking a shot. It's all about testing your limits."

Frankie's hesitant expression didn't ease, but he spoke up nonetheless. "Yeah, but it can get intense. Some questions really push your boundaries, and the drinks add up quickly."

Will half smiled "Shit’s about to get real, but seeing that your drink of choice is whiskey, I take it you can hold your own" He added with a wink.

A mix of excitement and apprehension settled in your chest. "Alright, I’m in."

“Atta girl!” Santiago nodded approvingly. "Welcome to our circle of trust. Just remember, once you start playing, there's no turning back."

You nodded, and met Frankie’s eyes with a playful smirk, "Okay, but Frankie goes first."

As the game kicked off, the group went easy on you. They couldn't help but laugh as you shared stories of your younger self sneaking out on summer nights and the satisfying moment when you finally stood up to your childhood bully after being pushed off your bike countless times. They absolutely loved that one. But as the game progressed, things got more intense. The questions became more personal, pushing boundaries and leading to more serious unearthing. You spilled the beans about that time you accidentally sent a sext to your grandma consequently making her blood pressure drop, sending her to the hospital earning “oohs” and laughs from the group. Pope begrungingly admitted to having a crush on one of Ben's exes. Ben got caught in the act during a threesome by one of the girl's ex-boyfriends, Will confessed to hooking up with the same flight attendant multiple times on different flights, and then there was Frankie, who got stuck in a janitor's closet for four and a half hours after hooking up with a girl at a concert and had to resort to peeing in a bucket (Yep, that was the last time he ever saw her). 

Then Santiago’s question changed the air around you, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No” Your response quick and easy, too easy to satisfy Santiago’s agenda.

“Do you currently have feelings for someone?” He prodded.

A fiery warmth spread across your chest at his second question, rendering you to an absolute halt. His words seemed to pierce through the din of the crowded bar, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Um, well, I... I mean, you know, it's complicated," you stammered, your words slurring slightly as you struggled to form a coherent response. Frankie's presence heighten your flustered state, making you feel more unsettled than usual. The alcohol coursing through your veins seemed to amplify your nerves, leaving you feeling jittery and out of sorts.

Desperate for a moment of reprieve, you took another sip of your water, hoping it would help to calm your frazzled nerves. But instead, it only seemed to exacerbate your unease. "I, uh, I just...I do," you blurted out, your eyes widening in alarm as the words escaped your lips. With a sudden rush of embarrassment, you instinctively covered your mouth, as if trying to snatch back the breath you had just spoken.

Ben whistled in response, “Whoever he is, he is a godamn lucky guy” his eyes flickering briefly towards Frankie who held back a smile and preferred to fidget with the corner of his napkin than to look up at you.

You stole a quick glance at Frankie, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he kept his eyes fixed on the table, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant, you couldn't shake the feeling that he could see right through you. Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, a buzzing at your hip provided a welcome interruption, breaking the tension that had settled over the table. Grateful for the distraction, you quickly reached for your phone, hoping to find solace in the familiar glow of the screen.

"S-sorry, I gotta take this," you stammered, your voice trembling slightly as you hurriedly scooted out of the booth and made your way to the patio area.

Once outside, you fumbled for your phone, your heart racing with anxiety. With trembling fingers, you answered the call. "Michele... Jesus Christ, I-I've never loved you more," you breathed into the phone.

“Hey, I just wanted to check in, you doing alright?” Her voice tinged with genuine concern.

You breathed in, composing yourself, “Yeah, I’ve been having a great time.” The alcohol coursing through your veins making you increasingly aware of your intoxicated state

“Of course you are chica! you’ve been surrounded by four smoking hot guys practically all night!” she quipped with a sassy tone, “That’s right, I saw them!” 

You couldn't help but giggle at her playful remark as you swayed your way to the balcony.“Where are youu?” You asked, struggling to keep your balance.

“I’m out by the exit, heading out in a few but I wanted to make sure you’re good.” She giggled but not at anything you said. You thought you heard a male voice in the background, murmuring something and calling her "baby."

“Call me if you need anything, yeah? Except for condoms, I only have one of those in my purse” You could practically hear her mischievous smile over the phone.

“OH MY GOD!” You burst into laughter, “love you, I’ll text you when I get home”.

“Love you, bye!” Michele responded, her voice warm with affection before the line went silent. You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your purse, not yet ready to return to the company of your friends inside.

Just as you were about to gather your thoughts, a gentle hand landed on your shoulder, causing you to startle.You spun around faster than you realized you could handle in your current state, only to find Frankie standing there, his hands held out in a gesture of apology.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you”. He said softly, his eyes filled with concern as he steadied you with his touch.

You responded with a shy smile, mesmerized by the way his deep brown eyes sparked, even in the dim twinkling lights of the patio. “It’s okay” 

“I, uh, I wanted apologize about Pope.” His hands lingered on your arms, and you couldn't help but notice the way your heart fluttered at his proximity. “He can get intense”.

“Oh F-frankie, you don’t have to do that, itss all fun and games”. Despite your attempt to remain composed, you found yourself increasingly aware of the effect the game had on you, the warm, fuzzy effect of the drinks settling over your body. So much so that you nearly tripped on your own feet. "Oops!" you giggled, feeling the edges of your cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“I think it’s time to get you home” Frankie smiled sweetly at your clumsiness before realizing the implication of his own words, “I uh, I mean, not like that. I just–”.

You placed a finger on his lips “Shhh..” quickly stealing a glance of his eyes and back to your finger, your voice soft but insistent “Jussst take me home”, Frankie’s gaze made you nervous “....there’s no way I can drive like this” 

The bar pulsed with excitement, even though it was well past midnight. Frankie's touch was like a gentle yet firm anchor as he guided you through the sea of people, his presence stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you. You'd often fantasized about what it would be like to spend a night out with him, but never did you think of a moment like this. Frankie opened the car door for you, his eyes filled with a subtle tenderness as he helped you settle into the passenger seat. His caring nature was warm and reassuring. As you glanced around the interior of his car, you couldn't help but notice how spotless it was. Of course, you thought. He did have a military background afterall.

The engine roared to life, the sound blending seamlessly with the melody of Gerry Rafferty's "Right Down the Line" playing softly in the foreground. It was a song you knew well, its familiar notes adding to the magic of the moment. Frankie loved night drives, particularly on nights like tonight when the air carried a hint of coolness. He couldn't help but steal glances at you, as the wind played with your hair, brushing it across your cheeks. He watched with a smile as you sang along to every word of the song without a care in the world. It was as though each lyric held a piece of your soul, released into the air with each heartfelt note. In that moment, under the starlit sky, Frankie found himself captivated by the raw beauty of your uninhibited joy, feeling a warmth spread through him at the sight of your carefree spirit. It was a moment he wished he could freeze in time, etching it into his memory as a reminder of the magic that existed in the simplest of moments spent with you.

Your hand reached for his, reminding him that this, whatever this was, was actually happening. There was this air of trust between you.

"Still feeling okay?" Frankie asked, his voice soft as he glanced at you, his eyes reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights nearby as the car came to a stop.

You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I'm okay. Thank you for driving me home"

Frankie squeezed your hand gently. "Anytime. I want to make sure you’re safe, Hermosa."

A soft blush tinted your cheeks at his words, and you looked out the window, trying to hide your smile. 

Frankie stepped out of the car, and opened the door for you. He offered his hand, assisting you up the stairs that led to your front door. The yellow glow of the overhead bulb cast a warm hue over his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the curls in his hair.

As you climbed the steps, lost in thought of his features, you stumbled, your foot catching on the edge. With a surprised yelp, you began to fall forward, but Frankie was quick to react, reaching out to steady you, once again.

"Whoa there clumsy," he chuckled, a smile playing on his lips. "wouldn't want you taking a tumble."

You both couldn't help but laugh at your own tipsy clumsiness, the tension of the moment dissolving into shared amusement. "Thanks," you said, flashing him a grateful smile. "Guess drinks and stairs don’t mix."

Frankie grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor. "No problem, but you know, I've never seen anyone trip going up stairs before. You've got talent!” He chuckled

Your laughter only grew louder at his quip, and after a moment of catching your breath, his eyes met yours and you decided to take a chance. 

You paused, liquid courage spurring you on. "Can I tell you somethin?" you asked, your voice tentative.

"Of course, Hermosa," Frankie replied, his expression curious.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before confessing, "I really should have kissed you that first night we met."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Frankie's smile widened, a warmth filling his gaze as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

"Then why don't you?" he murmured softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Your heart skipped a beat as Frankie's words hung in the air, sending a thrill coursing through your veins. His touch was electrifying, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as you drowned in the intensity of his gaze.

"Maybe… I will," your voice barely above a whisper, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart.

Frankie's smile widened, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "I dare you."

With a surge of boldness, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting his in a sweet, exhilarating kiss. It was everything you had imagined and more, a perfect fusion of passion and tenderness that left you breathless and craving more.

As you pulled away, a grin spread across Frankie's face, his eyes sparkling with joy and affection."Looks like dreams really do come true," he murmured, his voice filled with desire.

Your heart raced as he leaned in for another kiss, his lips crashing into yours. This time with an intensity that sent sparks flying, fueled by hunger and desire.

You melted into him, tangling your fingers in his curls as his kiss deepened, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. Frankie's hands reached for your thighs, wrapping you around him, as he carried you up the stairs and into your apartment with ease.

“Bedroom” you managed to breath out in between kisses “Mmm…to the…left”

You collapsed onto the cool sheets of your duvet when Frankie paused “Wait..” his chest rising and falling as he leveled his breath, his tone suddenly serious “let's…let’s slow down a bit”

“Yeah” you responded, a confused look flickered across your face, “Okay, you’re right. We probably should”.

"I like you, a lot," Frankie admitted, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "But I want to do this the right way and–“ He stopped mid thought glancing over at your open bathroom door  “I also couldn’t help but notice that annoying leaky faucet!” 

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, you breathed in still catching your breath “I’ve been bugging the landlord about that for months!”

Frankie grinned, his eyes lighting up. "That's an easy fix! I can come by sometime and help you out with that."

A warmth spread through your chest at his offer, and you couldn't help but smile. "Oh really?” Your voice offering a tone of mischief ,”I'd like that," you replied, feeling a sense of anticipation building between you “I’d like that a lot actually”

Without hesitation Frankie leaned in and planted a quick tender kiss on your forehead before settling beside you. The warmth of his presence beside you filled you with a sense of comfort and contentment, and you couldn't help but snuggle closer, savoring the closeness between you as a comfortable silence enveloped you both. But soon, conversation resumed, flowing effortlessly between you as you discussed your favorite movies, swapping recommendations and sharing anecdotes about awkward date experiences.

Frankie's laughter filled the room as he recounted a particularly embarrassing moment from his past, and you couldn't help but join in, sharing your own humorous stories in return. The more you talked, the more you realized just how much you had in common, and each revelation brought you closer together.

At one point, Frankie leaned in close, his voice low with mock solemnity. "Well, now that we've shared all our embarrassing stories and secrets, what are we going to talk about on our first date?"

A blush crept up your cheeks at his teasing remark, but you couldn't help but laugh. "Guess we'll just have to come up with some new material," you replied playfully.

As the conversation lulled, Frankie glanced at the clock and sighed. "I should probably head home," he said reluctantly.

But before he could move, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please stay," you pleaded quietly, "For me."

For a moment, Frankie's expression softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. And without another word, he nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he settled back into bed beside you. 

But before sleep claimed you, Frankie's quiet voice broke the silence. "You know, you're half right about that first night we met."

"What do you mean?" you responded, now propping yourself up to look at him.

"I should've kissed you," he admitted, a hint of regret in his tone. "I should've made you put your number in my phone or something." He chuckled softly, his fingers gently playing with strands of your hair.

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, "Well, lucky for you, it's not too late," you replied, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, a smile tugging at your lips.

And as you melted into each other's embrace, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night. With the gentle patter of rain as your lullaby, you drifted off to sleep. 

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

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#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #mine series #modernperplexity #fankie morales fan fiction #mine fic #mine chapter 4 #whiskey sours and sweet confessions

[badgerbl00d]

hey I've fallen down a rabbit hole of reading your fics and it's 3am here but they're so good!!! I'm in love ✨✨✨💕💕 i was wondering if I could request a story with Zoro but the reader's ex is there and she doesn't miss him but she runs into him for the first time and she's hurt after he disappeared on her, maybe he's with a bunch of his friends. Zoro comforts her, maybe even embarrasses the ex while they fight off some enemies and stuff. Sorry i know I'm rambling on, but ahhhh i would love to see this come to life! thanks again! :)

hands off

☆ characters: roronoa zoro

☆ up next: captain's girl; shanks x reader

☆ summary: you have an unexpected run-in with your no good ex boyfriend but unfortunately for him, you have zoro with you

☆ a/n: lovedddd writing this! i love writing protective zo :3 thank u for this ask! requests are still open

☆ key: e/n = ex's name

It was a busier night than you and the crew had seen in a while. You were all desperate for a day off of chores and the open ocean so Nami suggested a brief stop at the closest island. 

You’d broken off in groups to spend some time on land and you Zoro and Robin had made your way to a dive bar in town. 

It was a welcome stop– the ship only had sake on it. Franky and Brook had finished the gin during a card game and Sanji had finished off the bourbon in a recipe. 

The three of you found a seat and you took a moment to sink into the torn leather cushion, breathing in the smell of old cigarettes in ashtrays and beer. The neon lights washed you in a warm hue and Zoro couldn’t help but stare at how the blinking lights shifted on your face, changing the shadows of your eyelashes danced on your cheeks. 

He got up, realizing Robin had taken note of his staring and made his way to the bar ordering a drink for himself. 

You and Robin were talking, he could hear your giggling and tried to drown the warmth that erupted in his tummy by downing the drink.

You walked up behind him and hugged him from behind, “Zo-ro!”

He loved the way you said his name, stretching out the first syllable and emphasizing the second. Zou– ro!

“Hey, Y/n,” he said, biting back a smile.

“What’d you order?”

“Sake.”

“Shocking! Gimme a sip.”

He handed you the small bowl, his heart beating faster when your fingers touched.

He watched you sip it and wince as it went down.

“Still gross.”

It was too much to be around you, you were intoxicating and he knew if he spent too much time around you after having had a few drinks he’d most likely say something stupid and embarrass himself. 

He started getting up, awkwardly trying to get you off of his shoulders. 

You let go and took his seat. 

“Here,” he dug around in his pockets and handed you a few bills and several coins.

You shot him a puzzled look.

“Get yourself a drink, since you didn’t like mine.”

“With…” you paused and counted the money, “Three berries and sixty-four.. no, sixty-five cents?”

He shot you a look and snatched the money up, grumbling as he went back to the table. 

A man in the bar quickly took Zoro’s place once he’d walked away and started up a conversation with you, much to Zoro’s irritation. He went and sat with Robin, sipping his drink and playing a game of checkers with her. 

An hour or so had passed and you, sociable as ever, had talked to almost everyone in the bar. 

Robin playfully nudged Zoro in your direction, who was absorbed almost entirely in his sixth cup of sake of the night. 

You were sitting alone at the bar now, ordering yourself a drink. 

Zoro furrowed his brow and took another big sip of his drink, pretending not to understand what Robin was hinting at. 

“Hmph,” he muttered, still not wanting to admit to Robin that his crush had been found out. 

A sudden impulse to go to you and declare his feelings bubbled up in his chest and against his better judgment, he stood up trying to gather the courage to go up and sit with you. It’s not like it would have been weird–he was closer with you than the rest of the crew and he knew you better than anyone (at least that’s what he let himself believe). But tonight, for some reason, he had been feeling nervous around you. He told himself that maybe it was your new perfume, floral and saccharine, and dizzying every time he caught your intoxicating scent or the dress you were wearing that hugged your body in all his favorite places, not that he looked, of course, or maybe it was your hair which was framing your face, now glowing in the soft light of the bar and pink with the warmth of alcohol that was driving him absolutely mad at the thought and sight of you. 

“Better hurry,” she said, getting up to leave, “Looks like a few other people already want to take the open seat next to her.”

A group of younger boys in the corner pushed one of their group toward where you were sitting, sending flirty remarks your way. 

“I’ll see you two back on the ship tonight.” 

You ignored the boys behind you, rolling your eyes at their antics. 

“Mint gimlet, miss,” the bartender said, handing you a drink, winking, “The gentleman over there sent it.”

“Oh? Well, thanks,” you said, looking to see who had guessed your favorite drink. 

Your heartbeat picked up, thumping with a quick, erratic beat against your chest. You felt goosebumps cover your skin and your stomach churned. 

Him. 

It had been two, or was it three?, years. God knows you’d tried contacting him; dozens of letters, calls, messages, just wanting to know what happened. Had you done something? Was he in trouble? Did a year of your life mean nothing to him? All that time, all those kisses and conversations and messy beds and lazy mornings. All the petty arguments and fights and the tears you’d cried in front of him. You had told yourself that there was no way he’d have thrown it all away. But six months after you’d last seen him, leaving your bed in the early hours of the morning, kissing your forehead and promising you dinner that night, he’d responded to one of your letters. 

It was some shitty, half-assed excuse—something about new opportunities and not wanting to tie you down, being your own person. 

A lump in your throat began forming at just the thought of it. 

You looked away from him, blinking back tears, but it was too late. He was headed your way. 

Well, you thought, the least you could do was ignore him. 

He sat one seat away from you, smiling at you like a schoolboy in love. You wanted to break your glass over his head. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, placing his hand over yours, “How are ya?”

He was halfway through a beer, a drink that you now associated with his memory. 

You clenched your jaw and looked straight ahead, ignoring him entirely. 

“At least taste the drink, I know they’re your favorite.”

Zoro, who had been closely watching this entire interaction noted how you tensed up the moment he sat down and placed a steady hand on the handle of his sword. He paused for a moment, closely observing the scene that was playing out before him. He watched you push the drink in front of you away and your soft smile fall into a frown. 

“Leave me alone.”

The man reached over and placed his hand on your thigh and gently squeezed, eliciting visible disgust from you. 

Pushing his hand off you repeated yourself, “Leave me a-lone.”

Zoro was already making his way toward you from the other side of the room, his blood starting to simmer at the sight of your unwanted visitor. 

He stopped at a table about twenty feet away from you, deciding he would wait a bit more before taking any action– he was, after all, somewhat intrigued. 

The man was laughing, but you had never looked so angry.

“I am sorry, sweetheart,” he heard him say, “Let me explain what happened, just hear me out.”

“I don’t care what happened, and I will not hear anything out so long as it’s you speaking,” you responded.

“Did ya miss me? At least answer me that.”

Your hands were balled up into shaky fists, “No.”

The man laughed again, grabbing your drink from in front of you and taking a sip, “Yes, you did. Look how worked up you are! Don’t know how to respond to the sight of me, huh? Am I as handsome as you remember?”

You suddenly felt a large hand on your shoulder and turned to look up and see Zoro, relief sweeping through your body. 

“Hey, Zo,” you said, smiling at him.

“Mind getting me a beer?”

“Not sake?” you asked. He laughed, a lot more than normal, but insisted it was the beer he wanted. 

Tension between you and your ex was already at an all-time high, and your apparent closeness with Zoro wasn’t helping.

The bartender placed the beer in front of you and you pushed it over to Zoro who grabbed it and sat in the empty seat between you and your ex. 

“You know him?” Zoro asked, taking a generous sip of beer. 

You didn’t respond for a second, but eventually nodded, “Yeah.”

“Want me to move?” 

You could see E/n glaring at Zoro. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked up at Zoro who had an unreadable sort of expression on his face, something between irritation and apathy. He looked straight ahead and didn’t look at either you or the man to his right. 

Several moments passed without an answer and he turned to look at you, “Didn’t think so.”

“We were having a conversation,” your ex nudged Zoro’s arm. 

You knew the look on Zoro’s face, it was that sort of glazy-eyed focus he fell into before fighting. 

“E/n, we’re done talking.” 

“Are you sure this guy isn’t bothering you, Y/n? I felt like we were close to… reconnecting.”

Ugh, go away.

“Well, we weren’t,” you said.

Zoro stayed silent, sipping his beer, but you could tell he was very aware of everything going on around him. 

“Alright,” he said, getting up. He grabbed his coat and walked over to you, leaning over your shoulder, his chest to your back, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You watched Zoro’s fist clench out of the side of your eye.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, “Get off.”

As much as you hated the man, you knew Zoro was very capable of escalating things very quickly and you wanted to avoid causing a scene. 

You felt a small rush of wind on the back of your neck and the cool edge of a blade settle there. 

Uh-oh.

So much for staying calm. 

“Step away from her,” Zoro snarled, “Now.” His sword was extended behind your head and the point was resting on E/n’s chest. 

He put his hands up and smirked at Zoro, “Let’s not get too confident here, buddy.”

He pushed his jacket to the side and rested his hand on the gun that sat on his hip. He drew it slowly and dragged his finger to rest on the trigger.

You remembered that stupid gun and the fight that had ensued when you’d accidentally touched it.

Zoro laughed, loud and bold.

“I’ll have your hands cut off and skinned before you can pull the trigger. Make this a lot easier for yourself and leave.” 

Zoro didn’t look anywhere other than his face. His arm was steady and the sword didn’t waver even an inch. Confident and unwavering, he resembled a tiger before it kills. 

Your ex placed the gun back in its holster and turned to shoot you a pathetic smile, “Are you sure you want me to leave? You won’t see me again.”

You won’t see me again.

For a moment, all that hurt resurfaced. The striking realization that this was it. Your relationship was done and would never be what it had been again. This moment, right now, was truly it. You prepared yourself to say something, anything. But there was a growing lump in your throat so you stopped yourself from answering. You’d never forgive yourself if your voice broke now. 

Zoro moved in front of you, blocking you from his view, “You’re conversation with her is done. You can talk to me and lose your life in the process or you can leave.”

“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, still looking at you and turning to leave. 

Before he’d even finished saying the word you watched Zoro’s sword cut through the air quicker than you could process, leaving him standing over your ex-boyfriend who was now clutching his bleeding chest on the floor. 

You shot up, suddenly nauseated by the exchange and the unnerving satisfaction you felt. 

Blood was soaking through his shirt and puddling in his palm, his breathing heavy and ragged. 

You grabbed Zoro’s arm and he turned to look at you. His complexion completely changed the moment he looked down at you, concern pouring from all of his features. 

Are you okay? he asked, his eyes speaking for him. 

“Let’s go, Zo,” you said, tugging on his arm, “There’re marines in town.”

He nodded, lowering his sword but he didn’t sheath it. 

“Just give me one more second.”

Zoro crouched down and nudged him with the handle of his sword like a cat playing with its prey. 

“I know you’re alive, so listen ‘cause I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he drew his sword and brought it up next to his ear. You watched silently as he visibly flinched. Zoro brought the blade down to rest on his shoulder, and slid it toward himself, wiping the blood off of the sword and onto his shirt. 

“If I ever see you again. Any time, any place- I guarantee that I will be the last thing you see on Earth. Understood?”

Zoro didn’t move at all, not a muscle, not an inch. He stayed watching the man like a hawk, clutching his bleeding chest until he gave a slight nod. Had you blinked you would’ve missed it. 

Zoro stood up, dusting off his knees and sheathing his sword. 

He turned toward the door and grabbed your hand on his way out taking you with him. 

The urge to turn around and look bubbled up inside you—to see him as devastated as you had been, to see him experience the pain you had felt. 

And as though he had read your mind Zoro gave your hand a squeeze.

Keep walking, he told you. 

You steeled yourself and walked out hand in hand with Zoro, whose hand was warm with speckled blood. 

He led you around the side of the bar, stopping only when you were tucked away in the alley. 

It was silent, neither of you saying anything. 

You looked up at him, making eye contact finally. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, his cheeks were fairly pink. 

You figured maybe he was regretting his rash actions but he was only really freaking out about having held your hand for so long. 

“Zoro…” 

“It’s nothing, really. He was a dick. Ex-boyfriend?” he said, trying badly to hide his jealousy.

It was funny– how he could go from quasi-murderer to shy schoolboy in minutes.

“Something like that,” you replied, looking away from his face, messing around with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes were starting to water again. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, leaning down to take your face between his thumb and forefinger, “What did he do? I’ll go back and kill him.”

You laughed, sniffling in between, “He just… He left me with no explanation and showed up out of nowhere today. It was so long ago I shouldn’t care. I don’t! But seeing him all of a sudden was just-”

Zoro wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest where you let several more tears flow, staining his shirt.

He petted your head, holding you close to him with his free arm unsure of what to say. 

“‘m sorry, Y/n,” he muttered, shuffling his feet, “I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“It’s okay!” you insisted, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hand. 

Zoro, who’d only known you for a few months, had defended you and your honor without a second thought. And though he’d probably been a little excessive your heart swelled at the thought of how he’d stood up for you. 

““Sorry about your shirt,” you muttered, patting the stains on his chest where you’d soaked his shirt with tears, 

He looked down and smiled, “It’s ok. It’s an old shirt anyway.”

You laughed, “Yeah and it’s not super clean either.”

His cheeks grew pink and he lightly punched your arm.

You suddenly grabbed his hands in yours, surprising him.

You squeezed his hands extra tight and looked up at him, “Thank you, Zoro. Seriously. I don’t know why I didn’t knock him out myself and I never shut down like that but I– Thank you.”

Zoro nodded, giving you a small squeeze back. 

“I would do anything for you,” he admitted. More to himself than you. 

Warmth crept up your neck and into your face. 

“I mean– ‘Cause you’re my crewmate! I’d do anything for any of you guys, obviously. Maybe not Sanji but, well, yes him too just don’t tell him I said that.. But I meant, as in, like,” he rambled suddenly realizing what he’d said. 

His hands still in yours you pulled him down, crashing your lips into his. The sudden addition of his full body weight on top of yours sent you both falling backward, stumbling until your back hit the brick wall behind you. 

“Oh, shit– sorry! Sorry,” he said, pulling away from you.

“No, don’t be! I shouldn’t have….”

“Kissed me?”

“Pulled you so hard,” you responded, your hands still holding the other’s, “Thank you. I hope that shows I really mean it.”

His eyes were looking anywhere but yours and his cheeks were a furious shade of pink. 

His hands were still in yours and he gently shook yours off.

“Zoro?”

He stayed silent, embarrassed and unbelievably happy, and wrapped his arms around you again. You were pulled into his chest and he stayed quiet, hugging you tight. 

Ah, you understood, he didn’t want you seeing him so vulnerable. 

“You know,” you said, your voice muffled by his chest, “I can’t kiss you again if you hold me down here.”

You felt him tense up and his arms stiffen around you. 

“Fine with me,” he grumbled.

“You’re blushing, huh?”

“.........No.”

“Then let me out.”

“Will I get a kiss?”

“Thought you didn’t want one.”

He pushed you off his chest and started marching back in the general direction of the Thousand Sunny, grabbing his bandana and wrapping it around the lower half of his face, leaving you behind.

You laughed and ran behind him trying to grab the bandana away from his face which he was holding out of your reach. 

You could see the ship in the distance and Zoro had started laughing too, getting more and more comfortable with the pink hue of his face. 

Sanji and Nami were a little further down the way yelling at Luffy who’d ran off with a bag of groceries. 

You paused for a moment, looking at all these people who loved you and, all of the sudden, the past wasn’t all that important. 

Zoro turned, noticing your absence. Nami had spotted the two of you and was waving. 

“Coming?”

#zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro fluff #zoro smut #zoro romance #zoro fanfic #roronoa zoro one piece #zoro roronoa #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece

[tommysversion]

Request Status: Open (Selective)

Pedro Pascal Characters I Write: Din Djarin , Joel Miller, Javier Peña, Oberyn Martell, Javi Gutierrez, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Comandante Veracruz, Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels.

Gabriel Luna Characters I Write: Tommy Miller, Boro Polonia.

Be My Future - Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Possessive!Din

Touch Starved Din

Teaching Din To Eat You Out

Take It - Dom! Din x Reader (Breeding Kink)

Over Eager, Inexperienced Din

Din Spanks You With His Belt

Din When You're Pregnant

What's In A Name? - Din Djarin x Named OC (SFW)

Din As A Girl Dad (SFW)

Domestic!Din x Teacher!Reader (SFW)

"I'm Not Wearing Underwear" - Prompt

Headcanons

Jealousy, Jealousy - Jealous!Reader x Joel / Jealous!Reader x Tommy (Most Popular Fic!)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Part Two) - Jealous!Reader x Joel

Joel's Kinks

That's My Girl - Jealous, Possessive Joel x Reader

Differences Between Game!Joel & Show!Joel

Playing Rough - Joel x Reader (ft spanking & the knife handle).

Mine - Possessive!Reader x Joel

DBF! Joel Catching You Staring At His Arms

'Accidentally' Getting Joel A Shirt That's Too Small

DBF! Joel Has Enough Of Your Teasing

DBF! Joel With A Bratty Reader

Joel Sees Your Scars (SFW)

Seducing Joel

Joel Wants You In Sub Space

Oblivion - Joel x Reader (Established Consent / DubCon CW)

Breathe Through It - Joel x Anxious!Reader (SFW)

Pre Game - DBF!Joel x Confident!Reader

Plus Size Reader Is Reassured By Joel (SFW)

“We Have To Make This Quick” - Prompt

Joel When You’re Sick (Headcanons)

Curls - Jackson!Joel x AFAB!Reader

Honeypot - Joel “kisses it better”,

Heat - Ezra x F!Reader

Taste - Ezra x F!Reader, short continuation of Heat

Ache - Ezra x AFAB Reader (Sex Pollen Fic)

Jealousy, Jealousy (Alt Version)

Bedside Manner (TLOU2 Spoilers!)

Taboo

Part One (SFW)

Part Two (SFW)

Tennessee Nights (Part One)

Tennessee Nights (Part Two)

Fall In Love In A Single Touch - modern!Oberyn (fluff & hurt/comfort)

A Breath Of Fresh Air - (Dubcon Smut)

#masterlist #my writing #rues fics #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tommy miller #din djarin #din djarin smut #javier pena #the last of us #the mandalorian #ko fi link #ezra prospect #comandante veracruz #Frankie Morales #fic requests #Oberyn Martell #Jack Whiskey Daniels #gabriel luna #tommy miller x reader #boro polonia #tommy miller smut

[kedsandtubesocks]

SEASONS OF YOU : a stardew valley AU

After moving into your grandfather’s farm, you discover what awaits in the valley is more than you expected…

I can’t thank everyone enough for cheering me on & showing so much love for this strange AU of mine & feeding my Stardew obsession lol you don’t necessarily have to know/even play to read, there will be references to the game but all will be explained!

So this series will work as two different worlds / universes - one where you romance Joel & the other where you romance Frankie

You get to pick which boy & their fic you want to explore!

✧ These two will stay separate and operate independently in their own fics (think of them as two different game files) - so sorry to my babes hoping for a crossover/poly fic… maybe someday!

✧ Also, mirroring the eased & relaxed spirit of the gameplay itself, this series will be updated without a firmly set schedule and I appreciate your understanding!

I am hope we can all enjoy romancing some cute farm boys ♡

-

1st Year:

Joel - Spring 🌱

1st Year:

Frankie - Winter ❄️

-

special thanks to these special farmers for the most beautiful guidance & support: @lowlights @swiftispunk @burntheedges @ahauntedcowboy @tightjeansjavi @perotovar @chronically-ghosted @nothoughtsjustmeds

#idk what to tag this ass but yeah…stardew #farmer!joel #Joel 🤎 #Joel miller fic #blacksmith!frankie #Frankie 🤎 #Frankie morales fic #seasons of you fic series #pedrostories

[minniiaa]

LawLu hc - Franky built Luffy captain's quarters that he only uses when Law stays over.

YES. Any in-universe OP fic of mine (and a lot of other fic writers) will most definitely have a captain's quarters that Luffy reserves just for his tired emo babygirl (Law).

Ever since they set sail on the Merry, Luffy has slept in the men's quarters. They didn't have a Captain's Quarters back then because there wasn't enough space but Luffy never cared because he hates sleeping alone.

When he was a kid, he always had Ace and Sabo to sleep with but after Ace left on his journey, Luffy had to sleep by himself and he hated how quiet and cold it was without them. Once he was finally able to travel with his crew, nothing made Luffy happier than being able to sleep with his friends again. Sometimes they even let him cuddle with them at night which is Luffy's favorite thing to do with the people he cares about. When Franky was building the Merry, he offered to build Luffy a captain's quarters but he denied saying that he'd rather sleep with his friends.

Then Law comes aboard after Punk Hazard and Luffy couldn't understand why he would never sleep in the men's quarters with him and instead chose to sleep on the deck in the cold. Law refuses to tell him and it drives Luffy crazy because he wants to cuddle with Law so bad. He tries to go on the deck and snuggle with Law but everytime he does, Law shambles him halfway across the ship with no explanation.

Their relationship progresses into something much different than what Luffy has with his crewmates and after much pestering, he finally gets Law to admit that the two-fold reason why he won't sleep with the rest of the men is that he often has nightmares from his dark past which embarrasses him and he also isn't part of their crew so sleeping with them would make it seem like he's accepting that he's no longer captain of his own ship and just one of their nakama like Luffy claims he us.

Luffy thinks this is ridiculous so he secretly has Franky build him that Captain's Quarters he offered before. Franky does, repurposing a random closet of junk into a small but perfect Captain's Quarters. On the night it's done, Luffy drags Law through the new door that suddenly appeared, shoving him on the bed, crawling in next to him, and wrapping his arms around him so tight that Law can't escape.

Law is not sure if he's most confused as to how this new bedroom just materialized seemingly out of thin air on the day they stopped at a supply island or why Strawhat is now alone in bed with him, nuzzling against his neck and holding him against his body. Luffy declares that it's the Captain's Quarters and he had Franky build it so they could have a room for just the two of them. That way Law doesn't have to worry about his nightmares or what anyone else thinks.

Law points out that it's still the Captain's Quarters and Luffy is the Captain and Luffy snaps back with "Well you're a Captain so that makes it your quarters too. It doesn't say which Captain it belongs to," and Law can't argue with that ridiculous but sound logic that only Luffy could come up with.

Law accepts his fate, relaxing in Luffy's arms, realizing that it's been so long since he was able to just curl up under the blankets with someone else. He feels all warm and fuzzy, not only because Luffy is like a space heater, but also because he realizes his alliance mate did all this just so he could have a space he feels comfortable at night. From that day on, he sleeps with Luffy in their room. It does mortify him when Strawhat tells other people that they sleep together every night but at that point, Luffy's already decided that they're dating and he knows there's nothing he can do.

After Law leaves the crew, the room remains and Luffy only uses it when Law comes to visit him, never allowing anyone else to sleep in 'Him and Torao's room'.

or

Luffy just wanted a room where he could fuck Law nasty so he has Franky build one and suddenly the Captain of the Thousand Sunny has his own personal sex dungeon for him and his boyfriend.

#LMAO the end i couldn't help myself #lawlu #lulaw #one piece lawlu #lawluffy #trafalgar law #monkey d luffy #one piece #law #luffy #lawlu headcanon #lawlu hc #asks #minni headcanons

[cozage]

Masterlist💕

Search by Popular Character

Luffy | Zoro | Sanji | Ace | Law | Shanks

Headcanons/Small Stories (oldest writing is first!)

Boyfriends and Birthdays (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) OP Boys and a Sick S/O (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Law) Captured By Marines (Luffy, Ace, Law) Truth or Dare (Ace, Shanks, Luffy, Law) Taking a hit for them in battle (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Festivals with the OP Boys (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace) A Plushie Substitute (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace, Law) I like the way your hand fits in mine (Luffy, Zoro, Kid, Shanks) A New Home (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Forgotten (Zoro, Luffy, Law) The Pain of Healing (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Pain of Healing Part Two (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Pain of Healing Part Three (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Rich S/O HCs (Law) Oblivious Flirting (Law, Luffy, Ace) Flustered HCs (Buggy, Law) Flustered Situations (Sanji, Zoro, Ace) Sleepy Afternoons (Strawhats) Fever Pains (Law and Chopper) Pampering the Prince (Sanji) "I'm Late" (Luffy, Sanji, Shanks, Law) Beauty Scars (Kid, Law) Hate is Such a Strong Word (Luffy, Sanji, Law, Zoro) Rescued by Pirates (Luffy, Law, Ace) Kabedon (Robin, Vivi, Boa, Zoro, Law, Shanks) Silent Treatment (Shanks, Zoro, Sanji) Silent Treatment Pt. 2 (Sabo, Law, Ace) Over-affectionate Love HCs (Law, Zoro) Graffiti on His Heart (Sanji, Zoro, Law) Baking for the Boys (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Old Wounds (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Enemy Control (Zoro, Ace, Law) Extra Clingy HCs (Luffy, Law, Kidd, Shanks) Prank Text (Luffy, Ace, Shanks, Sabo) Don't Leave (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) (Not) Just a Boyfriend (Law, Luffy, Zoro) Karaoke Night (Strawhats) True Love's Kiss (Law, Luffy, Zoro) Panic Attacks (Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law) Intimidating Nerd (Sanji, Zoro, Usopp) New Perfume (Shanks, Sanji, Ace) Helping them Through Panic Attacks (Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law) Indirect Kisses (Zoro, Luffy, Law) Bratty Consequences (Shanks, Ace, Kid)

She's Kind of Stupid, but... (Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy) Fire and Water (Ace, Sabo) Kinks-NSFW (Ace, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law, Kid) Teaching Moments (Ace, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy) Children Crushes (Zoro, Sanji, Shanks) Confession (Zoro, Sanji) From Friends to Lovers (Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Shanks) A Hand to Hold (Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law) Scandalous Reading-NSFWish (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Law)

One Shots

The Language of Love (Ace x m reader) Push and Pull (Law x gn reader) Five Stages of Grief (Ace x gn reader) A Life of Adventure (Beckman x gn reader) Transmission (Law x female reader) Settling Down (Shanks x female reader) A Painted Dream (Sanji x gn reader) A Lifetime Promise (Law x female reader) Home is Where the Heart is (Luffy x gn reader) There When You Need Us (ASL family x female reader) Wings of the Pirate King (Luffy x female reader) Dreamland (Sabo x female reader) Comic Books (Law x gn reader) Love Marks (Zoro x female reader + familial ASL) Red Nose (Buggy x gn reader) A Cold Cola (Franky, Sanji) Fairytale (Sanji x gn reader) How to Save a Life (Luffy x gn reader) Winter Island Blues (Law x gn reader) Leaving (Law x gn reader) Missing Ingredient (Sanji x fem reader)

Made for Two fic (Sanji x gn reader) completed :)

Prologue: Sunset for One Set for Two Recipe for Two Dance for Two Dessert for Two

The Moss that Grew in Gloom (Zoro x female reader) (ongoing)

The Fall of a Swordsman Honor in Asking for Help Training and Teaching Celebrating the Little Things A Secret Code

The Daughter's Return (Ace x female reader) (ongoing)

On Tumblr On AO3

The Meaning of Justice: A short fic (ongoing)

Chapter One: Loguetown Chapter Two: Nanohana Chapter Three: Alabasta Desert Chapter Four: Yuba

#masterlist #cozage