#dom frankie

[prettygreenpills]

PILLS CELEB Prompt: 1. “Okay bye! I love you!” “What did you just say?” Character: Frankie (Helen McCrory) x fem reader Smuuuuuut

hi! thank you for requesting, here you go!

characters: Frankie (Helen McCrory) x fem!reader

warnings: smut(?), reading, one night stand, teacherxstudent relationship, etc.

“I- Oh my god,” you moaned loudly and held the woman’s head between your thighs as she was eating you out. “Please more- please-“

Frankie listened to you and she became more rough. Her fingers were sliding in and out of you faster than before and you curled your hips up to her face. She was sucking on your clit and you could feel your stomach clenching from the pleasure you were getting from the woman.

“Yes- yes Frankie, just like that,” you moaned out and couldn’t stay still. And it didn’t really bother Frankie. You started taking deeper breaths and letting out quiet whines as she sucked on your clit harder. Your hand was in her hair and you were playing with it. Once she wanted to pull away from you, you didn’t let her and pulled her back to your naked core to make her continue in her unfinished work she had started.

You opened your legs for her even more. Pushing your knees out of her way, you made more space for Frankie. She kept sucking on your clit and with a first bite of hers, you arched in your back. She always knew what to do. Just like that months before when she fucked you against the window. Or in her living room. Or on the kitchen counter. But there had never been feelings. You came to hers, she fucked you and then you left. And sometimes you pleasured her.

“Oh Frankie,” you moaned as she slipped her tongue inside of you and her fingers went up to pleasure your clit. You tilted your head to the side and kept taking in what she was giving you. But her tongue somehow wasn’t enough. “Please fingers- please- fuck me hard with them-“ you begged and Frankie pulled away.

“Is that what do you want? Being fucked dumb with my fingers?”

“Yes please- please professor,” you moaned softly and it seemed like you just pushed a button. Frankie smirked and she prepared three of her fingers to your cunt, while leaning down to your chest to suck on your nipples. When she attacked them with her mouth, she pushed in her fingers, stretching you out to the maximum.

“Oh my god- yes- yes- yes-“ you kept moaning and Frankie kept pumping her fingers in and out of you. She started slowly, but when she picked up her pace, you became a whimpering mess.

“Take it. You asked for it,” Frankie reminded you and you just nodded your head. When she bit on your nipple, you accidentally clenched your walls around her fingers, bringing yourself even more pleasure than you were getting at the moment. You moaned loudly and then Frankie pulled away. She focused on her hand between your thighs and then she started pumping her fingers into you more harshly, watching your face.

“Oh- please- please Frankie-“

“What is it? Hm? Wanna cum?” She asked you, her voice teasing.

“Yes- yes please-“ you begged her, your voice in a whimper. Frankie smiled softly, what you couldn’t see since you had your eyes closed. She pushed her fingers deeper and curled them up, making you scream. “Please!”

“Cum,” she finally allowed you to and you screamed even louder than before. You were arched in your back, your head being pressed into the pillows, your hips were pushed into the mattress and you tried to turn around, but she wouldn’t let you. The little ball which Frankie had built was already exploding and your toes curled.

“Frankie!” You screamed as she kept fingering you while you were still cuming. Your head started spinning and you felt like your whole body was floating in the air few inches above the bed. You kept taking deep breaths and you didn’t even realize when did Frankie disappear from you. You held your eyes closed and just kept resting on the bed, waiting for the woman to arrive to you.

“Thank you,” you breathed out when the woman reached you and then you swallowed. All of your muscles were relaxed and Frankie chuckled. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure,” you answered her with a little smile on your lips.

You spent the following half an hour in the bed while Frankie showered. Then you forced all of your strength in your muscles and sat up. When you did so, Frankie was already out of the shower and you were relaxed.

“How are you feeling?”

“I have some strength now,” you admitted with a smile as you were sitting, your back was leant against the headboard.

Maybe an hour later, you collected your things and were ready to leave her house. With your hand on the door handle, you smiled as the woman talked to you.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you too,” you said only and then looked at the woman. She was standing really close to you, dangerously close. When you realized that she was about to kiss you, you turned around.

“Okay, bye! I love you-“ you said, realizing what did just slip out of your mouth. You opened the doors, being a blushing mess.

“What did you just say?”

[nishikiace]

second half of the sub!strawhats hcs 😩 no chopper for obvious reasons, brook is written for his living body

sub! strawhats

[grand line crew, spoilers up to ch.1051]

Warnings: dom!reader, gn!reader, allusions to amab anatomy (can be read as strap)

[p1] p2

[masterlist]

♀️

Vivi

(inexperience, intimacy, dirty talk)

being as driven by emotion and morality as her, its unlikely she has experienced herself, especially given the expectations placed on her as a princess

start slow because she wouldn't be able to handle much yet. she wants to understand what she needs at her own pace

lay between her thighs! she will moan with every inexperienced convulsion of her hips - you don't have to move, just press her down, because she just can't control how her body is wanting to feel more. let her grind against you

lean down and whisper dirty talk into her ear when she's under you like this. tell her how deep you'll fuck her and the noises you'll force her to make, only for you. the closeness of your bodies lets you feel her nipples stiffen against you and her cunt heat up and soak through her clothes

please just completely consume her and make her feel safe. she wants to be enveloped by you, pressed down deep into a mattress with your arms and legs locking her own. naked, clothed, it doesn't matter when you can feel every moan and scream she makes as you push deep inside

she can never hide her reactions - she's too open about herself, too vocal to hide from you

Robin

(seduction, shower sex, edging, guided masturbation)

this woman knows what she's doing to you, and she knows what to do with herself. she did not climb ranks by being naive, and she's learned a lot about her tastes along the way

robin loves flirting with you and setting the stage. she's all about delayed gratification and spends her time using her devil fruit to brush against you with a secretive smile, and let your eyes follow the smooth curve of her hips pressing against yours

tempting you gets her impossibly hot and dripping all day because she knows the payoff will be twice as messy

her favourite time of the day is when she showers with you, with one leg over you and arms around your neck. grip the skin of her wet, shining hip and slick inner thigh, real tight - and pull her spread pussy onto your sex. she makes the prettiest moans in your ear when you don't let her close your legs and rub into her in firm circles, under the shower spray

if i mentioned all the uses she finds for her devil fruit, it would be a thesis

but robin especially enjoys when she's exposed and spread out in front of you while you command her to edge herself. masturbation becomes much more intense for her when you guide her to pinch at her own clit and fingerfuck herself with the angle your hand would reach, by her own ability

control when she gets to cum with your voice and words alone. she loves the sound of her own pussy reacting to that dominance

♂️

Franky

(toys, transhumanism, blowjobs)

he's an inventor and he often creates untested toys. the testing is when you volunteer to help him out and use him as the experiment

somehow he's always so surprised when his creations make him cry when they're held tight to his reddened cock. but maybe thats because you're the one who applies the pressure

to the surprise of absolutely no one, this man is incredibly loud, and something about the touch of your skin against him makes him shaky at every thrust. the thought of him, a man built by his own design, reduced to so animalistic and human always makes him whine and flush to dizziness

don't get it wrong though - he's confident in the body he has created, and not inexperienced either. franky can prove that by taking you impossibly deep in his mouth and looking up at you through those teary long lashes

slide your hands into his speedos in a not-so-private place and he combusts. he's built for this, though. literally

Brook

(manhandling, flexibility, exhibitionism)

when still alive in his prime, brook definitely got fucked like he was paid for it - he was a skinny twink with a guitar and a sense of humor

and when you get your hands on him, please manhandle him into any position you want. push those thin limbs in contortions that leave him unable to clamp shut at your staring and touching

brook loves having this weakness for you, and getting taken advantage of in a way that leaves him used, sore and shaking. the way you bend his body in half just to hit deeper inside makes him want to cry

he knows he'll feel every stretch the next morning

he's definitely a showman and loves the attention he gets, in every way. he would really enjoy sexual pda with you and feeling your hands explore every crease between his thighs and ass and he isn't embarassed to show that love with his voice in your ear

did he wear panties when he was alive?

Jinbei

(handjobs, fishman anatomy, intimacy)

a seasoned man who has lived through a lot, jinbei is still very traditional. he's all about honour and respectability in his personal moral code, which definitely bends a little when he's ambushed by you

he has a very big heart and would not be cut out for something casual. he seeks out loyalty in his life so only then will he allow any intimacy to blossom

which is somewhat funny in retrospect, when you listen to his gasps and grunts and watch his thick build shake as you jerk off both of his hard cocks at different speeds. he is traditional - new to the contrasting madness you introduce his body to

he's so pretty too. purple blush high on his cheeks and completely soft in your hands. he loves when you take it slow and passionate and gives out the most gorgeous vocal gasps when he's about to cum

trad wife jinbei

Yamato

(praise kink, anal, hairpulling)

yamato is still discovering a lot about himself in canon, and around you. like zoro, he is too focused on his goals and self aspirations to indulge in the things that make him feel so... heated, when he's near you

you have to praise him like a little puppy between every kiss because he's out of his depth with how good this feels, and can only confess so many times before he needs to hear you acknowledge his efforts and validate him

he'll grind on your lap and move things too fast and try pulling on your clothes, but you don't have to take it slow with him - teach him

one thing yamato definitely learns, you find, is the sensitivity of his rim. his trembling moans and babbling only increase with your fingers teasing his hole and he arches his back so beautifully, fat ass raised like an animal when he wants to push your fingers deeper

he loves when you pull at his hair and fuck into him from behind. he wails and rolls back his eyes if you grab him by the horns and fuck his body at a punishing pace, hips loudly slapping into his red ass

he's addicted to the feeling of his own slick dripping down to his stretched hole, and he thanks you for it in dazed mutters and weak whines

[pedroshotwifey]

Hello lovely. Can I request #36 and Frankie please?

Thank you thank you

Hey, babe!! So I did something a bit different since I had two requests with the same number, and ended up making Frankie a sub in this one! If it’s not your thing or you simply don’t like it, there are absolutely no hard feelings and I would be glad to rewrite it with a sub reader ❤️

Pairing: Sub!Frankie Morales x Dom!F!reader

Tags/warnings: toys (dildo, cockring), anal sex (m), piv sex, dom reader, orgasm denial, top reader, sweet nicknames, fluff, smut, degrading names (once), probably overstimulation, double penetration (not rly lol i just think im funny)

W/C: 1.6k

Summary: Frankie gives you control for the night and you make sure he gets the most out of it.

Needy

“Oh, what a good boy,” you coo as you walk into your bedroom, peeling off your coat as you go. The sight that greets you is indeed worthy of your praise.

Frankie is sitting naked on the bed, his chest flushed where he’s leaned up against the headboard. His cock is in one hand, red and swollen from the multiple orgasms you already know he’s denied himself of—just as you’d instructed in the text you sent him when you left your work an hour before. He’s even put a cock ring at the base to make sure he follows your rules.

You made sure to be specific. It’s not often that Frankie requests for you to be in charge, but when he does, it’s usually because he’s trying to get his mind off of something. So you always do the best you can to completely take on the part and distract him. You love it when he’s in the more dominant spot, but you also love getting to be in control every once in a while. And you know Frankie does, too.

You pass him without a second glance and walk to the desk to drape your coat over the chair. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

You huff a small laugh through your nose when you get no response. “You can talk, baby boy,” you tell him. You do take note of his good behavior, though. He waited for you to give him permission, just as he should have.

“Yes, I’m enjoying myself,” he breathes, and you can hear the eager truth in it.

You turn back around and smile at him. “I’m glad.” You start to strip out of your clothes, thinking about how you want tonight to go. A grin spreads across your face as you kick your shoes off, but you keep it out of sight of Frankie for now. “Go get one of your toys. Let’s make this even better,” you instruct.

Frankie tries to hide his own excited smile as he slips from the bed, but you see it. “What kind?” he asks.

“Any one you want, baby.”

You’re stripped down to your bra and panties by the time Frankie returns with a smallish dildo and a bottle of lube. He brings them both to you and you reach up to plant a small kiss to his lips. “Perfect. Go get back on the bed for me.”

He watches you for a moment, letting his gaze linger on yours for a moment before nodding and walking back to the bed. You swat his ass as he goes, which makes him shoot you a glare, and you raise an eyebrow in playful warning. You strip the rest of the way before you join him, toy in hand.

“Alright, show me,” you tell him as you climb onto the bed in front of him. His cheeks flush a bit, but he does as you say and parts his thighs, lifting them up and apart enough with his hands to reveal his asshole to you. You smile and lick your lips. He looks gorgeous, his weeping cock resting against the rolls of his stomach as it gets scrunched from his positioning.

“Ask me to open you up, sweetheart.”

His throat bobs before he indulges you. “P-please open me up,” he obeys quietly. His poor cock twitches as the words leave his mouth, betraying how aroused he is despite the sliver of embarrassment he’s showcasing.

“What’s that, honey?” you taunt. “Speak up for me.”

“Please open me up,” he looks into your eyes as he begs, letting you see the desperation there.

“Okay, I’ve got you, sweet boy.”

You pop open the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto your fingers before using your other hand to warm it. Frankie’s breathing picks up as you trail one hand down his cock and all the way down to his tight hole, where you insert your middle finger. He bites his lip at the intrusion, his face already contorting with the relief of having something inside of him. A few pumps, and you let a second one join, making him moan and squeeze around you.

“There we go,” you coo proudly. “Doing so good for me.”

He keens at your praise, eyebrows knotting together even as he does his best to keep his brown eyes open and pleading. You start to scissor your fingers, and his legs slip as his hips buck, trying to get you deeper. You laugh and slip him another finger.

“Needy boy.”

You finger him faster, crooking your fingers and finding that spot that makes him whine so prettily. You wait until he’s panting and starting to sweat before you remove your fingers, smiling wickedly as he protests. “N-no, please!”

“Just wait, honey, you’ll like this better,” you assure him as you reach behind you for the dildo. You coat it generously with lube and bring it to his hole, watching his eyes roll back as you start to slip it in. It’s not very big, but you know it’s his favorite because it always settles against his prostate and makes him see stars. He has bigger ones, but they just don’t hit the spot like this one does.

You slip it all the way to the base, listening to Frankie’s sweet moans tumble from his lips. When it’s in all the way, you don’t pull it out, but instead take your hands away and help him lay his legs back down comfortably. You can tell he’s questioning you, but he doesn’t voice it. You can see the exact moment it hits him right because he lets out a strangled yelp as his weight pulls him down on it.

He’s almost too distracted in trying not to drool to notice you taking his cockring off. You lean over him and set it on the nightstand, and then climb onto his lap and line the tip of his cock up with your already soaked cunt.

You love the way his eyes widen when he realizes what you’re doing, the panic that flashes through them as he realizes that he’s not going to be able to handle it all. You’re slipping down onto him before he can say anything, however, already moaning at the familiar stretch.

“Oh you feel soo good, Frankie,” you purr. Frankie just whines and grips the sheets, dueling his composure as he focuses on not coming the second you’re fully seated. Your toes curl at the feeling of him so deep inside of you, and you smirk upon knowing how he must feel right now.

You put your hands on his shoulders and use your knees to lift up slightly, and when you bounce back down, Frankie moans in a way that you swear should be fake. But it’s not. Because you know that as soon as you pushed back down, that toy he’s seated on slammed into his prostate.

It’s genius, honestly, and you’re not exactly sure how you haven’t thought of this before, keeping him sandwiched and forcing every thought from his pretty head. You moan when you look back down at his face. He looks thoroughly fucked, and you haven’t even started. His body is covered in sweat already, revealing his struggle.

You don’t show any mercy as you start to bounce atop him, focusing on getting his cockhead to slam into you just right. The sounds that he makes are filthy and unlike anything you’ve heard before. He’s whining and groaning and panting and moaning and you can’t get enough. Trapped between two sources of pleasure, you don’t think he can get enough, either.

“Oh, there you go, baby. You moan like such a pretty little whore for me,” you paint the words onto his lips, and he seals them with a sloppy kiss. You slip your tongue into his hot mouth, and you devour him as you start to feel your high approaching. His whines turn even more high pitched, and you know he’s there with you. Your fingers find your clit, and you start to rub tight circles to get you closer.

You quicken your pace, tightening that coil in your abdomen until it snaps and you squeeze like a vice around Frankie. His entire body jolts as he comes with you, moaning wildly and trembling the entire way through. His arms come up to wrap around you, his hips buck repeatedly—though you’re not sure whether he’s trying to get away from the senses, or get more.

You moan right along with him as you ride out your orgasm. Tears are streaming down his face, and you can’t help but lean forward and lick up one of the trails through your pleasured state. He feels so fucking good pulsing inside of you and filling you with his seed, even after you come down from your high.

You wait until his body stops shaking before you reluctantly slip off of him and scoot back to pull the dildo out. A string of warm lube comes with it, and the sight is almost enough to make you want to do it all over again. But you don’t, you instead toss the toy carelessly off the edge of the bed and lean forward again to gently kiss Frankie, who’s finally settling down a bit.

You’re glad the fan is on above you, cooling your bare skin as you lay down with Frankie, who has a massive, blissed-out grin on his face. You cuddle up with him, just as he likes to do right after sex.

“How was that, baby?” you ask, a little nervous since you went a bit harder this time.

“Fucking perfect,” he laughs quietly. “Thank you.” He moves over you and kisses you softly, cradling your cheek with one of his large palms. You smile into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and basking in the bliss of simply holding him.

******

Look here if you would like to read more requested fics or request one of your own!

[odetodilfs]

okay okay i would love a drabble of the pedro boys getting fucked and overstimmed and crying i feel like there aint enough sub! pp characters written, thanks!

heres the req again!

Oooo I like this! I made 4 Dif characters that are pretty different from one another! Enjoy! male!reader and bondage mentioned, overstimulation (duh)

Javier Peña…

Javier would be so unused to being like this, submissive, legs open with your dick inside him, he’s already came but your cum soaked hand keeps rubbing on his sensitive cock. That's without talking about his extremely sensitive prostate.. his prostate is already sensitive normally so overstimulating it is the way to get him to cry as he tip-toes the line between pain and pleasure.

He keeps trying to fight back though.. he tries to prove to you that he's strong enough to take it but it only makes things worse for him. You're gonna try harder and harder for him to tumble down to your control, no matter how many hours you have to spend pounding away at his ass for it.

Marcus Moreno...

Marcus would be so keen to hold up for you, to try and take the pain of overstimulation. But it wouldn't be with the same motif as Javier, Marcus would try and do it for you because he loves you that much. Given to his tendency to comply, you praise him for taking the feeling, he's so overstimulated he can barely speak, and hearing "Shh, it's okay darling, you're doing so good" while your hand wipes his tears is so soothing to him.

His legs are wide open as he takes the overstimulation like such a good boy, resisting the urge to beg you to stop because he knows he doesn't really want you to stop. When you finally retreat from his hole once you cum inside him, he's completely breathless. You do feel some pity for him and kiss him passionately and all over his body, to reward him for doing so good.

Oberyn Martell...

Oberyn is a bit like Javier, but instead of fighting back by just taking it, he writhes and tries to get out of your grasp. He rarely ever gets treated like this, he's used to be the one doing the overstimulating.

He also weakly threatens you "If you don't stop..." but he can't do anything about it and he knows, his hands are tied and the power is all yours. He can do nothing but hope you have mercy on his ass.

Frankie Morales...

Frankie would try to be good for you, he'd really try to take it but he's writhing because the pain is almost to much for him, his prostate is getting brutally pounded and there's tears running down his cheeks, trying to be good for you, trying to give you what you want in return for being such a good lover.

And with the fact that Frankie's probably already pretty sensitive when you least expect it his ass clenches on your cock and he spills his seed all over himself once again while you hungrily lick off what got on his chest. You keep this up until you've came.

[thatredheadwriter]

New Suit

frankie morales x reader [3.3k]

Frankie needs a confidence boost after trying on clothes {I’ve certainly been there). You’re more than happy to help.

-

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

pet names (baby, pup, etc)

body insecurity (Frankie, not reader)

f!dom

m!sub

teasing

lots of dirty talk

oral (m receiving)

Frankie pulls a brat card

hair pulling

hickeys/marking

stoplight system/scene check-in

thigh riding

saying nice things about your partner during sex (I guess this counts as praise?)

unprotected PIV sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

riding (receiver on top) position

allusions to the elusive A-spot

aftercare (that goes both ways!)

Please read at your own discretion and remember to consume your fanfiction responsibly.

-

“I look like an idiot!” Frankie calls from the bathroom, amongst a string of curses and odd noises you hope to god aren’t the destruction of anything too expensive.

“I know that’s not true. Do you want my help?” you start to rise from your spot on the bed but a quick, grumpy ‘no’ glues you to your spot.

Frankie Morales loves his friends. He’d do anything for them. Apparently, that includes wearing a suit, which is the one thing he’s been dreading like hell since Will asked him to be in the wedding party.

As curious as you are to see your diamond in the rough a little polished up, you haven’t enjoyed the anxiety the fitting process has caused him. It was Emily’s idea to use an online service, she knew there was no chance in hell to get all the guys in a tailor shop at one time.

“You can’t laugh, okay?” Frankie says from somewhere just his side of the door.

“Baby, I promise I won’t laugh.”

Frankie emerges from the bathroom looking like a kicked puppy, head hung low. It doesn’t match the sight before you.

A white button-down stretched across his chest serves as the perfect base for the dark blue suit that covers the rest of him. The crisp lines and structure of the jacket highlight all your favorite things about his physicality–the height, his broad shoulders, the little belly he despises that you absolutely love.

The pants are even better. While you can tell the waistband is a little snug, his thighs are skimmed just right in a way that makes you drool. You just know that if he turned a little you’d be treated to the sight of his ass draped in the same gorgeous fabric.

“How bad is it?”

Frankie’s question shocks you from your daze and you look at him like he’s grown a third head.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you unfold yourself from the bed as your partner starts to protest. “You look fine. Better than fine, actually. Baby you look fine.

“I’m not…don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

Frankie doesn’t want your words? Fine. You’ll just show him how you feel.

He hasn’t met your eyes since he stepped out of the bathroom with that damned suit on. And he doesn’t. Until you take his jacket lapels in your fists and use the grip to pull his body against yours.

“Look at me, baby,” you purr, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He meets your gaze with a mix of confusion and self-loathing. “You look absolutely stunning in that suit. And if it wasn’t a rental, I’d tell you to leave it on for what I’m about to do next.”

You steer him back towards the bed, your favorite man instantly turned to putty in your hands.

“What are you going to do?”

A wicked smirk curls across your face as you sink to your knees in front of him. “I’m going to remind you just how fucking gorgeous you are.” You don’t miss the way his nostrils flare when your rub your nose along the line of his thigh, dangerously close to the growing bulge just a few inches away. “Is that okay with you?”

“Fuck, yes,” Frankie grunts above you, hands balled in fists at his side.

“The blue really suits you, Frankie. Pardon the pun.” Your fingers trace absent patterns from the sides of his thigh to the edge of his waistband where his tummy presses against the fabric. “Such a shame to take it off, but if you really hate this suit there’s no point in buying it.”

“Nope.” There’s a tension to his voice, and his knuckles have gone white at his side. The amount of power, the amount of restraint before you, it has you dripping into your jeans.

“Strip then,” you order, sitting back on your heels.

It’s an excellent view as he slides the jacket down his arms, tugging a little harder as it gets caught on his biceps. His deft fingers make quick work of the pants. He unbuttons and zips them and in one quick motion you nearly miss they’re in a crumpled pile in the corner of the room.

You’re torn on where to look. On one hand, Frankie’s impressive cock is just inches away from your face, barely contained by the charcoal gray boxer briefs that are sporting the tiniest spot of precum. But above you is the embodiment of delayed gratification. You watch as pearl colored buttons are undone one at a time by fingers so large yet so nimble. Each one reveals more and more of his broad chest. Until finally it falls open to the trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers.

He tugs on the sleeves a couple times each before tossing it in a ball to join the jacket and trousers. His thumbs just hook into the waistband of his underwear when you stop him, hands over his.

“Allow me, baby,” you grin, saccharine sweet and deadly.

Slowly, like you’re taking apart a bomb, you slip an index finger into each side of his waistband before hooking your fingers and tugging ever so gently. The hiss of breath above you is telling of Frankie’s patience, and you look up at him with your most innocent pout.

“Don’t want to damage the merchandise.”

Once his impressive cock springs free, you tug them the rest of the way down and pull gently until Frankie’s stepped out of them. They unceremoniously join the growing pile of clothes.

“Such a handsome cock,” you say to no one in particular. Your hand slips around the base of him and he lets out half a sigh.

You can feel his eyes on you as you lean in slow and kiss the tip. You kiss him again, and again. But that first lick, oh it gets him every time. Just a small thing right under the tip, but it has his head dropped back and his ears turning bright red.

There’s no hurry in the way you enjoy Frankie’s cock. Whenever he takes control, which is more often than you do, you don’t get to take your time with him like this. To really relish every little catch of breath and muffled curse coming from above you. Slowly you begin to work him into your mouth���taking part of him, and then more.

When you bottom out at the base of his cock, nose pressed to his pelvis, a strangled moan leaves his throat. Almost involuntarily his fingers begin to card through your hair, scratching at your scalp in the way that sends tingles down your spine. You pull off almost immediately, an obscene amount of saliva dripping down your chin and off his cock.

“Ah, ah,” your hands slip up over his wrists and tug them away from your head and pin them gently to the bed by his thighs. “Did I say you could touch?”

“You’re killing me, pup,” Franke grits his teeth above you.

Your voice and gaze are sharp, “Hands off or I stop. Tell me who runs this show, flyboy?” While you wait for his response, your hand returns to his throbbing cock where you stroke him almost absentmindedly, if it weren’t for the way you were absolutely torturing him. Meanwhile, your eyes stayed fixed on his, a teacher waiting on the answer of her pupil.

“You. Fuck, you’re in charge,” he snarls behind gritted teeth.

That earns him a smile. He’s being so good after all.

In bed, Frankie usually takes and gives what he wants, and you’re happy to let him. But in times like these, both of you know who needs to take the reigns.

“Sit back on the bed for me, Francisco.” Your hand slows to a stop and you stand from the floor. “I want to show you something.

He does as you ask without hesitation and watches enraptured as you strip off your saliva spotted t-shirt and shimmy out of your jeans. His cock stands proudly at attention, glistening in the early afternoon light as he takes in your lace clad form.

It’s not a fancy set, a cotton bralette and matching thong. However it just so happens to be his favorite. You had a feeling suit fitting would at least warrant a little treat.

But Frankie doesn’t get to enjoy it all yet.

“Do you want to see me cum?”

You’re facing the wall, and from the mirror in the corner you see the way his cock twitches at the thought. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he fights the urge to relieve himself in the slightest and instead answers with a breathy, “Yes.”

“Francisco, do you deserve to see me come?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

His words hit you like cold water, and you turn with fire in your eyes.

Slowly and deliberately you come to stand before him before straddling one of his thighs and lowering yourself down. Your eyes stay locked with his the entire time.

In a quick move--that you learned from him--your hand jets up his back to grab a fistful of luscious curls. Using the leverage you yank his head back, exposing the column of his neck and earning yourself a needy whine from the large man beneath you.

“No, you fucking don’t,” you whisper in his ear. And then you’re devouring him, holding him in place by the thinnest tether. Your lips and teeth move down the prominent muscles and tendons of his neck, memorizing every groan and whimper along the way until you’re nipping at his collarbone and you feel precum start to drip on your thigh.

When you finally pull away, the both of you are panting, and need wells deep within his eyes.

“Color?” you breathe, dropping the persona for just a moment and releasing your hold on his hair to sweep a stray curl away from his brow.

“Green.”

You give him a soft smile and a deeper kiss than you intended before pushing him away, hands flat on his chest. From there they travel, caressing down his arms until you find his wrists. From thumb to middle finger, your hand doesn’t even come close to reaching.

Frankie watches silently as you guide his wrists behind him, a stifled moan when your tits press against him. You settle them behind his ass.

“Leave them there or I’ll get the cuffs.”

You kiss him again, and allow yourself to get lost in the usual rhythm of Frankie. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as you begin to move your body against his, moving your clothed cunt against his thigh.

“Do you want to know how this is going to work, baby?” you croon lowly, just for the two of you to hear.

He nods silently, brow knit with the effort it’s taking him to keep his hands where they are without restraints.

“I’m going to hump your gorgeous fucking thigh here,” you giggle when he blushes ever so slightly, “And say all sorts of lovely things about you.”

“Yeah?”

The word is dripping in lust.

“Yes, baby. I’m gonna cum all over your thigh. And if you’re a good boy for me, I’m going to ride that pretty cock of yours until you fill me up, just like you like.”

“Shit.”

Despite the way you’re rocking your hips against him, you have to focus on your purpose with this exercise.

One of your hands slips its way back up into the base of Frankie’s thick hair. You run your fingers through his curls.

“I love these curls, you know. They drive me wild. You drive me wild, the way you’re always wearing that damn hat.”

His eyes are transfixed on the place where your core is rubbing against him, mouth parted as his breath comes in heavy pants.

“You’ve got this gray coming in, just here,” your other hand snakes up Frankie’s torso, cradling his tense jaw in your palm. “It makes you even sexier, you know. Eventually you’ll be my silver fox.”

Underneath you, Frankie harrumphs and looks away, but you’re quick to redirect his attention when you grab his chin.

“Uh-uh, baby, let me see those pretty eyes. I need you to hear me,” you tap the side of his face with your fingers, and grin wildly at the way he bares his teeth.

“God, this perfect fucking thigh. I could do this for ages. Get to watch you lose your mind while I use you like a toy.”

The hand around his back makes its way around to rest on the small swell of his belly. “This little belly you hate so much, I go feral for it. Love seeing you get soft for me. No one knows how deep you fuck me into the mattress at night.”

A familiar sensation is building at the base of your spine, and you bite back a moan that threatens to escape.

“Your friends are so lucky to have you. You’re brave, loyal, kind.” You nearly lose your rythm at the look of absolute anguish on Frankie’s face, but then your clit catches fabric and muscle just right, making your hips stutter as you cry out.

“You’re so strong and powerful and so fucking gentle,” you ramble, racing towards your high. “Fuck, Frankie. You can touch me. Hands on my hips, baby. I need to feel you.”

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. You can see the instant relief when his hands land on your heated skin, his forehead coming to press against yours.

“You-you’re a good man, Frankie. I mean that. You deserve so, so much,” you pant. When your eyes find his face again you notice a single tear has escaped down the side of his cheek.

“And I’m gonna cum for you.”

His hands help guide you through it, helping you stay balanced even as your toes curl and your fingernails dig into the meat of his shoulders. And when you’re finished, he waits for you to call the next move as you catch your breath.

“Good fucking boy,” you praise, reaching for his hand. Entwining your fingers, you bring his wrist to your mouth so you can kiss and bite at the pulse point there. “The best, my Francisco.”

WIth one last nip, you stand on shaky legs and push Frankie back onto the mattress. He knows what’s coming—and so does his cock. Poor thing is practically purple, dripping precum left and right.

He repositions himself up the bed, sitting up on his elbows to watch as you strip off your soaked thong and bralette. His tongue traces his lip and you know he’s just dying to get his mouth on your chest.

“You ready for me?” you ask as you swing your leg over him, settling over his delightfully plush belly. He doesn’t answer at first, too enamored by the swell of your breasts right in his line of sight. “You can touch ‘em once you’re inside me, sweetheart.” You chuckle at his distraction.

“Fuck, I’m ready.”

You lift yourself up and hover for a moment as you line his aching shaft up with your cunt. There’s plenty of slick leftover from your orgasm, but it’s still a tight fit as you sink on top of him. Twin moans fill the room as you’re slowly filled to the hilt.

“Shit, pup, you’re so tight,” his face is pinched in concentration as he tries not to rut into you right away.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” you rub a hand down his chest, chuckling only a little when he settles one hand on your tit and the other on your hip. “You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. That’s my boy.”

A few deep breaths in and out and you finally begin to roll your hips. Grinding at first until you find your rythm, then you start to really ride him, pushing yourself up and down on his aching shaft.

You’ll have bruises tomorrow the way Frankie’s gripping you, but you always do. Not that you’d ever mind. He sits up a little so he can suck a nipple into his mouth. Frankie’s always thorough, he takes his time lavishing each side with tongue and teeth. By the time he’s had his fill of your tits, both of you are so close to that carnal precipice you can nearly taste it.

You feel everything start to tighten with the promise of your orgasm and suddenly it’s a lot harder to keep a steady pace. Planting your hands firmly on Frankie’s chest, you lean down just the slightest bit and growl, “Why don’t you help me a little here, big boy?”

That’s all it takes. You’re still in control, but Frankie is eager to please and he knows exactly what you—and he—want. Finally allowed to chase his pleasure, and actively contribute to yours, you’re ready when he plants his heels on the bed and begins thrusting up into you so hard you’re bouncing from the force of it alone.

He’s practically incoherent beneath you. Declarations of love and strings of endearment are cut off by primal sounds as he determinedly fucks you to your high. At this angle, the friction of his skin against your clit is just enough to push you over that edge, and when he hits a spot you’ve never felt before you think you’re going to explode with pleasure.

“Fuck, Frankie, don’t stop! Right there!” Your eyes are screwed tight and you’re not hardly recovered from your second orgasm when he finds the spot again. And again and again. Until you collapse sobbing onto Frankie’s chest in one of the most intense orgasms of your life as he ruts up into you two, three more times before he cums deep and hot inside of you.

“Shit, pup, are you alright?” He’s careful as he sits up, unsure of what just happened other than that you’ve gone completely boneless on top of him.

You’re trying to move but it’s like your nervous system is still rebooting.

“I’m fine, just need a sec,” you try to laugh but it comes out more of a breathy chuckle. It’s not too long before you can sit up again. When you do, Frankie’s eyes are studying you with deep concern.

“You good?”

“I’m good, Frankie. I think you just learned a new trick.”

The two of you soon realize that the bed is wet. Your eyes meet Frankie’s and the two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“Go start the shower,” you kiss him deeply, “I’ll change the sheets.”

He holds you long enough to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. As chaste as a kiss can be when his half-hard cock is still inside you.

You part from him with a groan and begin your task--not without sneaking a peak at his wide, tight ass--as Frankie struts off to the bathroom.

-

You hold him from behind, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as the water cascades down the front of him.

“How was it?” you murmur into the cool skin of his back.

“Mi tesoro, it was everything. Thank you.”

“I didn’t go too far?”

Frankie breaks free of your hold and turns to face you, one hand falling to rub a familiar pattern on your hip, the other cradling your jaw.

“Never, pup. I loved every minute of it. And you.” He seals his words with a kiss that has your hands slipping up to hook around his neck, afraid he’ll pull away before you’re properly drunk on him.

You’re breathless when he breaks away, tugging at your lower lip between his teeth as you part. A wicked smirk pulls at his lips.

“And I’m keeping the suit.”

[inlovewithgreta]

oooh noo….my clothes….they’re ✨gone✨

looks like I need a 6ft tall closeted gay governor with black and grey hair to help me 🥺

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price, Frankie Avalon, and Dwayne Hickman -

Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine (1965)

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Who is your favorite Pedro character?

This is just a general poll cause I am curious and I wanna know everyone else's preferences!! I am a Din gal through and through, there is nothing I do not love about that bucket head bitch and his green son, but Frankie Morales and Joel Miller are a close second (thanks to the beautiful fic that is out there for them)

[pimosworld]

Coming soon

The countdown begins for…

Cupids arrow

Here’s some inspiration for the upcoming fic brought to you by @for-a-longlongtime

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || A.U ||Frankie Morales

Chapter 12: Closing Night

F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: p in v sex (not wrapped up), clit play, cock warming, riding, love with sex, subspace, shower play?

Authors Note: so i’m 🍃🍃🍃, but this chapter was so much fun to write and i love writing for you all, light of my day❤️❤️ tell me what you thought about the chapter! guys i fucking love tumblr and i love you. writing always makes me happy.

Chapter Playlist

No-One in the world- Locust

Doses and Mimosa- Cherub

Cheari- Magdelena Bay

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

The last thing you remember was Frankie putting you in bed, with nothing but a smile and a mindshattering orgasm lingering through your body.

He said I love you.

Warm dim side lights were on when you woke up, laying on top of Frankies chest as he traces shapes on your back, playing with your hair. Nothing but freedom consumed you whole. You looked up to him, a sunken smile filling his entire face.

“How long have you been awake?” You shift, nuzzling into him further.

“10 minutes, you’ve been out for some time, pretty girl.” He rasps, “You were awake when I put you in bed but I couldn’t get any words out of you, I was scared you weren’t okay?”

“I promise you,” You smirk, “I was okay. It was like I was in another world. I can't explain it.” You close your eyes, “ I looked it up the other night because fuck… every time you make me cum I genuinely can’t think for seconds and it said it’s like a ‘subspace’.”

“A sub-wha?”

“Sub-space, it’s like I feel so comfortable with you and taken care of with you, Google says it’s the ultimate goal for a submissive.”

“Hmmm for a submissive, you like that?”

“Well I like it enough to go into a full body shock.” He rumbles under you, his skin against yours was beautiful. The lights reflecting off his glow made you want to fuck him all over again.

You look over at his side clock, 3 am.

“Fuck I need to pee, can’t get a UTI.” You move the blanket off of you, goosebumps rapturing your arms from leaving his warmth.

He quickly jumps from the bed, you had a minor limp. Reminiscing from the feeling of his cock stuffing you full.

He holds you up as you walk to his open bathroom.

“You okay darlin, feelin alright?” He laughs.

“Oh yeah yeah, just hobbling along from being fucked to death, I’m all good. How about you?” You mumble.

“Spent the night with the girl of my dreams, I’m doing pretty fucking fine.”

You shake your head as you pee, he gives you your peace.

“C’mere.” He motions his fingers to you when you finish, “Do you wanna take a shower? I know you don’t have anything here, but if you wanna clean the sex off.” He mutters. “I can give you some clothes until we have to leave again.”

You survey his bathroom, shelves of cologne and body products for men, marbled tile and a really fucking big shower, a shower big enough for 10 people. His bathroom smelled like santorini water, heavenly. But his unique smell controlled your brain, you only wanted to be close to him.

“Shower with me? It’s early and I need to stay awake.” You smirk.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He fires up the water inside his shower, pulling you in when the water was hot enough, you both stand under the water spout. Slightly moaning as the water soothes out the kinks of your sore muscles.

“What’d you do when I fell asleep, big man?”

He grabs this glass of shampoo, spilling some out and scruffing your head with it.

“I was just laying there, with you in my arms. Thinking about how this will probably be the happiest moment of my life.”

Everything shifted, demeanor, his body language, he was being so gentle.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while baby but the first time we met was actually back at UNCSA, you probably don’t remember but-”

You grab his hands, trying to rack through your brain on when you could’ve seen him last you but you draw at a blank.

“What?When?”

“Ah it was back when we were coming to like “scout” you to accept you in the program, we saw the closing night of Cabaret and we went to your spring recital and I just knew.”

“You were there? Frankie, why didn’t you tell me?”

You interrupt, holding his face, scanning his beauty. His nose, his facial hair, his deep set eyes, his hair. You loved everything about him. His body. He was made to love, his whole life he was made to experience a love so life altering.

You yourself have never felt a love this consuming, was it love? Or was it lust?

Whatever it was, you knew you could never experience it with another human again. You didn’t feel like a girl with Frankie, you felt alive. You felt looked after, and cared. Nothing else mattered when you were with him.

You kiss him harder than you thought an asteroid could hit the earth, a simulation scrolling through your head.

This love crushing your bones couldn’t take the intimacy curating between you both, “Why didn't you tell me you goose?” You almost cry, brushing through his hair with your fingers, “I could’ve known you earlier, we couldn’ve-”

“I don’t know, I mean I’m your teacher and then all the Macbeth stuff and it was just so much, I didn’t want to scare you off and I didn’t know how to act around you, and now things are just different.” Yes they are Frankie, they always will be, “I just wanted to welcome you here but fucking immediatly I couldn’t hold back.” He stands against his shower wall.

“But babygirl, “He grabs your attention, “Your Sally performance, your passion in Maybe This Time, darlin you're pizazz on that stage, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Old man, looking at me in lingerie,” You purr, “Is that why you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me?”

“No, not because of that.” He pulls you closer, “Because you’re confident on stage, the audience can feel your passion and I didn’t see you on the stage, I only saw Sally. You're such a good actress baby and you don’t even know it.”

You simper, that’s all you ever wanted, “I’m glad you can see that.”

“Well, you’ll see it after this weekend I promise, people are raving about you gorgeous. After those interviews you’ll see.

He washes your body, running soap on your heated skin. He smudges over your nipples, wincing at his touch. He dropped lower, rubbing his hand all over your body, soothing the redness of your ass.

You moan, never forgetting his soft sensual touch on your body.

Most of the days you try to work hard, you try to

give acting your all. The amount of empathy that runs through your body, the amount of crying and thinking you’ve had to do. Countless nights of annotating, listening to Broadway music, seeing off Broadway shows at DPAC, water pouring.

“Thank you Frankie.” You fiddle with his hair, you never felt more comfortable with your body in front of another guy, “I try to think those things, but I appreciate it you know, I try to be what people want me to be.” You grimace at the thought of having to do another show tonight, on the day you just want to stay in with Frankie and never leave.

“I know it’s hard dollface, but I want you to know, you probably don’t remember but I went up to you after the show and you hugged me, and I knew that minute. I just knew deep down I would find you again.” He washes his hair, “ I introduced myself as someone else because we couldn’t say we were from New York but you didn't even know me and you still talked to me, you still gave me your time and I could see how tired you are. But that’s how special you are, that’s why everyone loves you, that’s what you do to me-”

You shut him up before the words can be said, you relax under the water together pushing your body against his, “You’re fucking with my heart, no matter what Frankie, baby I will always find you. This was meant to happen, and everythings been so perfect, I haven’t felt this,” You rub your heart, “In a long time. And that's because of you. I have the power to go up on that stage because of you. You were my lucky charm on the closing night of Cabaret and I didn’t know it then, but here it is now.”

He hedonically sits on the seat in his shower, sitting you on his leg. The water was pouring the other direction and he meticulously kissed down your back.

You shudder when he would lift up, to place his lips back down again. He was making love to your body, he was being gentle and calculated.

Your souls were attaching themselves together and you don’t think you could ever let go.

“Last night was perfect, everything we did, everything you did made me believe in God.”

“Trust me I saw God last night mi amor, my perfect Goddess.” He nips at your shoulders and ears, “So strong, so soft, golden.”

As you press into his stomach you really feel him, fuck.

“Shit, you didn’t come.” You squeak. You could feel a rock against your back, reacting to your body so easily.

“It’s okay, I didn’t need to. All I needed was to make you feel good.” He shivers, “And if we went any longer… I would’ve came inside-”

“I can go on birth control you know, get an IUD, drink turmeric water, something. Bless we live in the state of New York.”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with honey.”

“It's 3am, we’ve got some hours to kill.” You grin.

The burnt fire in your stomach ruptures again, and this time you’re in control.

“What do you want from me right now Mr. Morales?” You shimmy your ass against the base of his cock, his length nooking into your inner thigh, “C’mon playboy, I want more, more for tonight. I can take it.”

He groans, you push him against the shower wall, you look down and see precum leaking out of him like a college boy. You fish around to fit his cock inside your entrance, exasperated from the feeling of him stretching you wide. You hear him whimper slightly in your ear, the warmth of the steam filing your lungs.

The unsaid craft of love mixing with you guys fucking each other made you want more for the world. If you could feel this for the rest of your life, if you could make all 8 billion people on earth understand how this love was the realist thing you have felt, humane but not blind. You needed more of him.

You knew he needed him to cum, he needed to chase his release.

His hands reached for your hips, the water easing the action of you bouncing on his cock. He couldn’t contain his guttural sounds. You couldn’t handle his cock slipping in and out of your pussy, it felt too good. The way he curved inside you to kiss your spongey spot made you twitch.

“I ain’t gonna last darlin, m’sorry.” The slapping of your skin overpowers the air, the motion in your body to think.

“Come inside, I want it Frankie. Fill me up, fill my fucking pussy up.” You groan, “I’m just a fucking hole for you, fuckin cum hole for your dick.”

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna baby, don’t stop- don’t fucking stop.”

At the last minute, you reach down to touch his balls, to give him one last kick before he untangles inside you, you want him to see the stars.

He gasps, and his body spasms, he falls back and you go with him. He unloads into you, never feeling warmer in your life. You shimmy your hips with his dick still inside you, he heaves as his cum kisses your cervix.

You feel him slipping out of you, you can see the water washing it away, but he felt so good inside you.

“Jesus baby, so fucking tight you have me cumming light a god damn teenager.” He amused.

You slank against him, breathing for your life. He kisses your ear, pulling your hair from your face, clasping your lips together. His hands were holding your boobs, roaming your torso. He stays inside you and he goes soft.

“I could feel you swelling inside me, I could feel the second you popped, it was like your orgasm interconnected with me. Fucking made for eachother.” You whisper.

He gains back strength enough to move, he grabs the cord of the showerhead, dropping it to his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve never done this?” He questions.

“Do what with a shower head?”

“You’ll see.” He purrs, kissing your neck.

He turns the head of the shower spout to the smallest, but most powerful setting, and he immediately points it at your clit.

“FUCK,” You jerk, “My fucking- god Frankie- it’s so powerful- fuck. I can’t-”

“You think I’m gonna cum and you’re not pretty girl?” He intertwined his legs around you, pinning you to his body. The sensation on your clit made your cunt walls jolt, that affected his dick to harden again inside.

He started to push into you, clamping around him too fast, your orgasm was coming quick and there was nothing to do to stop it.

“Cmon dirty girl, I know it feels so good. I know you’re leakin and it ain’t just water. I need you to cum on my cock again, I know you can do it.” He brings the spout closer to your pussy, a centimeter from your pulsating nub. He fucks his spent cum back into you.

He moves his hips faster than a sonic boom, disrupting the symbiotic relationship you had seconds ago and you feel like you’re about to explode, incomprehensible how the pressure on your clit with his heavy dick inside you is about to make you fall off the face of the earth.

“Ahh- ngh- Frankie- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-” You scream.

He interlocks on you harder, keeping you in place and with his free hand he holds your stomach down. Locking you down. He growls in your ear, fucking you in place. You can’t do anything put let your pussy take it and unleash your voice.

“I can feel the outline of my cock in you, so deep in your stomach, see that?”

You dangle your head, seeing a bulge past your mound inside you, his cock owning you. And not a second later his pumps slow subconsciously and he sets down the shower head. You can feel him spurt into you again. Longing out both of your orgasms.

“Fuck Frankie, fuck I can feel it, I can feel both of us.” You mumble, kissing him, salivating for his mouth. The water was facing the other way of the shower, so you watch both of your liquids mix to the shower floor.

You’re so full of his cum, you can’t even panic, you would have if it was anyone else, but Frankie’s cum was a gift made from the universe. All you wanted was more. Figuring out how to prevent anything from biologically happening inside your body was another day's problem.

“Gotta clean you off baby, can’t have me leakin out of you all day.” He shifts, scrambling to get the shower head off the floor, changing the setting so it wouldn’t attack you again.

“No I could be, but I don’t think it would be too sanitary for my costume.”

“Fuckin nasty girl.” He beams, he rubs the inside of your thigh, not daring to get closer to your entrance, cleaning you out and using the heat to uncrease any knots in your body.

You still couldn’t believe it all this time, he saw you first. He saw you as Sally, he saw you in one of the worst stages of your life, and he still saw you for who you were. Deep down, you knew there was never going to be anyone like him again for the rest of your life.

“I think it was the universe makin us together Frankie.” You mumble in a sex haze.

Cherish him now, before anything threatening happens.

He turns off the shower, slipping out to grab towels for you both. He spikes through his hair, lifting his towel. You eye him up and down, your lower half not able to handle seeing him like this. You’ve had the best orgasms of your life in the past 6 hours and you're still wet for more?

“Don’t worry baby, we’ll have time for more tonight.” He smirks. You go to lay in his bed, grabbing the closest shirt of his you see.

“Actually remember that afterparty for the show? I was gonna go to that, see if you wanted to go?” He joins you in bed.

“I wouldn’t mind going, I think all my guys were gonna go to that but…” He lingers his fingers around your boobs, “We couldn’t really be near each other or touch each other.”

“But that would be fun, edge each other all night, just to be back in bed, fucking each other like crazy. Isn’t that right Francisco?” You hum, running your fingers on his belly.

He huffs, your fingers searching dangerous territory.

“You don’t know what you’re fucking starting.” He tuts.

“Of course I do.”

You lay with him longer, watching the time pass. He scrolls through his TV, he still has cable. You go in and out of sleep, watching the sun rise through his balcony.

You saunter downstairs to get your bag eventually, grabbing your bag to clean yourself for the day. Thank the fucking lord you packed like a hound for show days. Lotion, 2 days of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, hair oil, perfume.

He watches you slip into his bathroom, winking at him as you close the door.

20 minutes to go fucking delusional. You check your phone.

New Message:

11:34 Laylah: May have accidentally gone to Bryce’s place

11:40 Laylah: OOOOOHHH SHIT YOU”RE GETTING DICKED DOWN TELL

6:55 Laylah: Just woke up, let me know if you’re alive

Jesus christ, what a story to tell.

You: I’m alive and breathing

7:38 Laylah: WHATTTT HAPPENED

You: Well we did things, and more things. And then the universe collapsed.

7:40 Laylah: OH FUCK ME TOO. Talk when we get to the theater?

You: Oh hell fucking yeah.

As you put your phone down, Frankie knocks on the door, he comes in, “Hey before we go to the theater, lets stop at a bodega. Get some coffee and stock up on some pills?”

Pills?

Oh fuck.

“Shit, I completely forgot,” You giggle, “That sounds perfect.”

He picks you up and twirls you in the air, “Be ready in 30, pretty girl.”

------

Before you left, he gave you a tour of his house in the daylight, took you in the backyard, showed you his garage with 2 other cars. His whole upstairs. His house was beyond elegant, something you’d only see in movies and this was all for him. You feel his personality in every room, you could see his life in everything he has. He had lives before you, but who were you before him?

Instead of taking his million dollar car, he took his low audi. Not as recognizable but still him.

He went to the nearest corner store, leaving you in the car, giving you his hoodie. Whatever was to happen between you two, you could live your life like this until you die.

“Ok 2 coffees with stevia and oatmilk, and a shitload of Plan-B!” He cheers. He came back with a bag full of Plan-B. “What?”

You shake your head, jesus christ. Your uterus couldn’t take him.

He pulls around back behind the theater discreetly, dropping you off so no one would see you walking in together. He kissed you goodbye, tonight's the last show.

Before you realize it, Laylah is booming at your hair, perfecting your makeup for your cast interview with The New Yorker. When you saw each other you both squealed but were surrounded by other makeup interns. The long awaited conversation would be saved for a private session.

At 2:30, Ms. Roylance pulled the cast into a room with a line of interviewers from The New Yorker. She had already pre-prepped you all with answers, figuring this would probably be the longest part of the day. Frankie, both of Mr.Millers, Mr. Garcia, Ms. Cheot, Mr Davis, and Ms. Roylance sat in the back of the room observing how you all would respond.

The interview was being filmed, so you sat up straight and answered when you were talked to. The questions were more directly to Mattias, you didn’t mind. All you had to do was look at Frankie and look pretty. You weren’t sure how stuff like this would ever work out, you knew some interviewers could have their sleeves so tight that they could ask any asshole questions.

So finally to both our leads, how did you balance school work and working on a college Macbeth production for Broadway?

“You go first.” Mattias directs you.

“Well, I just had recently moved to this school and as a senior my classes are industry classes. So as long as I show up, give 100%, and learn my lines on the side. Work my job, get 7 hours of sleep, wake up and run. Try to subside that this is a Broadway production and you’re balanced.” You grin.

“For me, I do my classes, shots of vodka every Friday, and learn my lines. Not as well as this one.” Mattias giggles.

Mattias definitely made you feel more comfortable in this interview, he tried to give more questions to you, but you didn’t take it personally.

You wanted this interview to end nonetheless, smiling at empty jokes- you really didn’t think your first interview would go like this.

After an hour and a half, you and Mattias had to be prepped to go into another room for Vogue. The other actors were being touched up by Laylah. Ms. Roylance said this would be more intimate, prepare your answers to be more emotional and if you don’t want to answer you laugh it off.

5 o’clock sharp and just one reporter walks in greeting all the directors and sitting down in front of you and Mattias.

“Hi! My names Jules and I’ll be interviewing you guys today.¨ She shakes your hands, smiling and jaunty within her step, ¨Umm I just want to start off, if you don’t want to answer anything that I ask, give me a thumbs down and we can just pass it. No harm, no foul.” She smiles.

You’re not being recorded, but audiotaped. You liked this better, you could slouch in your seat and not check every 5 minutes if your hair looked correct. You all had afternoon coffee on your side, and Frankie was in the room, you were safe.

I wanted to start off first, how do you both relate to your characters?

¨I feel like Macbeth is a warrior hero, he is just trying to make everyone happy. He’s jumpy but wants to make his wife happy. He aspires to be king and I feel like my entire life I’ve been trying to gain control of my own life and I feel like that’s what Macbeth is trying to do in his story.” He sips his coffee.

“I feel like Lady Macbeth has been strong her entire life, she would do anything to make her husband happy, and I mean in the end she takes her own life because of the things she has done so personally I relate to her because my whole life I do things for people and sometimes I may go against myself to make someone else happy and then I feel dead inside. I feel this stomach churning sickness that I will never get to go back to my regular person.

Wow, your responses. I feel grateful to be here with you both and your responses are so heartfelt already. Where do you both see life after college?

“Honestly I thought I wanted to go to Law school after this, but possibly some more auditions for Broadway. I did apply to get into the graduate program at Julliard so I am looking forward to that this year. Possibly get an internship somewhere.” Mattias responds.

You haven’t this far about what you’d do after college, your number one fear of having to move back with your mom or go homeless.

“Honestly after this year? I mean I have a service job uh… audition for some TV roles. I’m not sure, I love reading scripts and annotating them. Just working in the industry, I love acting so whatever comes my way I’ll take it.”

Do you plan on staying here? Since you moved from North Carolina?

“Yeah I do.” You look at Frankie across the room- he’s essentially a reason why you would stay in this city. “North Carolina was never home, so I feel like if I go back, there would be no place for me to go home to.”

That’s funny, I’m from there so I understand what you mean, it’s pretty boring.

You laugh with Jules, empathy being an understood language.

What are your prize possessions?

“Can she finish the rest of the interview, I’m sorry I’ve talked all day and she has better responses than me. And pedialyte!” Mattias pokes you.

“Ok, my most prized possession is my copy of A Little Life by Hanya Yanigihara. I think that is the best book I have ever read, now I’m not saying go read it because there's so much trauma and it’s extremely sad, but it’s truly one of the most captivating and well written books I’ve read in my lifetime. I’ve annotated it to the brim and it’s worth everything to me.”

I’ve read it! After I finished I was sobbing like a baby, and I had to go to Lispenard street and just sit there in silence, it took months for me to not think about Jude!

“Trust me, me too, that book will go to the grave with me.” You wink. “I’ll have to go visit Lispenard street sometime soon!”

Ms. Roylance gives the que that it’s time to wrap up, show would be starting in 2 hours and you had to do senior greenroom.

Okay, my last question for the night, what are your thoughts on the industry, Hollywood, Broadway, all of it?

You couldn’t obviously say how you really felt, but you could weave around it.

“Hmm that's a big question,” You nod your head, “I don’t think it’s a cruel industry, I mean it can be, don't get me wrong. But when I was younger I was drawn to a place of freedom of expression, I was drawn to a place that would allow me to feel without any punishment. I wasn’t allowed to feel anything when I was younger. I felt silenced my whole childhood, and this world pushes me. I’m motivated to act.”

You simmer for a second, “But the kicker is, the space that makes me feel safe, has 180’d sometimes into the box that makes me feel like a child again. It’s trying to find that fine line between expressing yourself or getting nowhere. I want my work to make people feel, I want them to notice how I felt when I was younger. I’m healing, I feel like anyone who acts is still healing, no matter what it can be. It’s like this box that you wanted to get around going into the industry puts you in it again, because no matter how raw you get, how you assume a character in front of that camera or audience, you will still be judged by how you move.” You take a breath.

“I don’t know, humanity will always be humanity, um I feel like being a true actor in this industry will eventually let me feel free so I’m lucky in a sense. I’m an emotional person so I’m excited to see where my life takes me. I think regardless of what your life is like, the artist and creative soul will always find a way to create. The world will find a way to bring resistance, but it’s what your mindset is like that will eventually push through and prove other people wrong. Because the industry won’t be pretty to your unapologetic self. It’s all the human experience.

Jules pauses the recording on her phone, “Who are you and where have you been?” She beams. She starts clapping her hands, everyone in the tiny room abruptly applauding for you. You shy away, looking at Frankie through your hair and Mattias shakes your shoulders.

You didn’t mean for this to happen, but this is how you really felt about the industry.

“Tucked away in North Carolina for 22 years. Before then? Maybe a cat walking the cornfields in Kansas.” You giggle.

“It was the utmost pleasure to meet you all today, break a leg with your last show.” Jules gathers her things and leaves the room, leaving you alone with Mattias and your directors.

They called in the rest of the cast, Frankie went searching around for the rest of the tech crew, preparing for the tradition before the last show.

As everyone entered, you saw Laylah make her way to you, you felt tears beam in your eyes. Never failing to get emotional for anything like this. You hadn’t really let anyone see you cry before, Frankie hasn’t seen you cry yet, except for Laylah.

“So as you all know, this is what we call the Senior greenroom. Where all the graduating seniors this year give advice to anyone under, what they have learned and we know it’s early in the year for some of you but say anything on your mind before the last show.” Ms. Roylance explains.

“Mattias you start.”

You lean against a wall for this, looking at your feet, trying to not to show any emotion. If you gave in you know you’d cry all your makeup off. You listen to Mattias speak about his years here, about the things he would have done differently;y and you watch the tears drip down his face. A few more seniors talk, some you haven’t gotten a chance to really work with, but hopefully in the coming months you will.

The spotlight lands on Laylah, you look up and see the gloss all over their eyes, they walk over and put your hands in theirs.

“Advice I would give to people younger… hmm…” They run their thumb through yours, “When you need help, accept it. Open your heart more and don’t regret it.” They look up to you, “And sometimes your family doesn’t have to be blood. I have spent years trying to make up for past time in my life but the people that I know have made lifelong friendships will always be there for me.” They pause, “This space already has given me the opportunity to only be myself and create art, that's all I ask for. And you have made my girl, my best friend, the happiest person on earth.” They finish.

They finish and they hug you, tighter than you could think. You appreciate Laylah more than you could imagine, when you were a little girl you never thought you would be loved by another human being this much, but Laylah proved you wrong. They taught you your self-worth, they taught you how to function in society. You couldn’t explain your level of friendship, it just was.

They let go, after tears slip down your face, you clear your eyes and prepare what you are gonna say. Only a couple months ago were you two introducing ourselves to a crowd of people and here you are.

“Where do I even begin?” You blow the snot in your nose. “Honestly when I came here I was scared, but I didn’t let myself be held back by that underlying fear. And this one right here always pushed me, no matter what.” You squeeze Laylah, “Always trust your teachers, because they know what’s best for you. Always go the extra mile even when you’re not even asked because that will get you much further.” You ponder,

“But this space, the performing arts has always let me feel. I have always been myself and I have always expressed my emotions in a beautiful way in the performing arts and I would never take it back for a second.” You choke on your words, “I feel so lucky to get to be here in the city, and I am so happy to have worked with a group like this that has accepted me and made me feel safe fuck.” You giggle, covering your mouth for cursing, it lightens the room, “But all I’ll say is let the world consume, fill your life with passion and projects, care about things, be a nerd, be a baseline for someone, be love and safety.”

By the time the whole room is in tears and you start hugging, hugging because the sadness for the purity of everyone's happiness is a raw human emotion.

Ms. Roylance is clearing her eyes, and you can see Frankie rubbing circles in his heart, signing to you.

“I wanted to say how I am so lucky to have worked with some of the best I’ve seen in years, and I will get to say we made history with our Broadway shows, and the talent that I have gotten to teach and direct has shocked me. Go make me proud out there! Places in 10! Everyone break a leg!” Ms Roylance calls out.

The crew scurries to get to the booth and you go behind the stage watching the chaos unravel itself.

You hear a door open and a tug at your shoulder, you immediately knew it was Frankie. You were panicked but the confirmation of it being Frankie made you feel instant relief.

“What are you doing Mr. Morales? Are we here for old times sake?” You grin.

“I mean I wish, but I want this to be our ritual before you perform. Just us together, somewhere hopefully alone.” And he hugs you, tightly.

Instantly you feel a world of emotions collapsing on you, almost the joy you felt as a kid during christmas. Magic.

“Your heart, pretty girl, so so beautiful.” He rubs your temples, “You’ve got a way with words, my perfect star.” You kiss him, feeling the world crash in, “Now give them all that you got.”

———

taglist: @pastelnap

previous || next

tell me what you guys think!!

[dogboy-chewtoy]

hnnnngh thinking about going to some weird, dingy revenue for a punk show. i wear something cool, maybe leather or something really tight or short. i get there early and get a drink at the bar, and someone sits down next to me. another tguy, maybe older than me, who's wearing big leather boots and an open shirt so i can see his hairy chest. we talk about T and i tell him i just recently started.

we hit it off so we watch the show together, and he invites me back to his place after. he pushes me agaist the door as soon as its locked behind us and he wastes no time feeling me up, groping me through my jeans and praising the noises i make. he leads me to his bedroom and pulls out the strap he's been packing with, a big, thick thing. he orders me to get naked and i do. he lays me down on his bed and starts by inspecting me, checking the small ammount of bottom growth i already have. he teases me about him being bigger, and then slides his strap in. its excruciatingly slow at first, but then he speeds up. by the end of the night he's made me cum several times.

[smallmeanie]

been feeling like i need to crawl out of my skin today, just need to brat it out ig

[parvumchao]

TAGS, PART FOUR - PRIMARY OCs

[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~ ♡

[mytheoristavenue]

Shy Makeouts with Your Fav!

Summary: You initiate a makeout as a confession and he's just putty in your hands!

Warnings: Just fluffy stuff, makeouts, sub!character, dom!reader, gn!reader

"H-Hold on..." He said, staring up at you shyly. He'd always had the softest spot for you and no matter how confident he could be, no matter how resilient- he never could tell you no. That's what had him sitting on his own bedroom floor with you in his lap, kissing down his jaw without any shame for knowing neither had confessed yet.

"Sh-Shouldn't we talk about this first...?" He asked weakly, swallowing thickly as his head rolled to the side to give you more room. This felt so taboo, and yet he had no intent to stop it. "Hey..." He shuddered while your lips brushed his throat, but his palms stayed planted on the floor.

He could never pinpoint what it was about you that made him so shy. Maybe it was you dazzling smile or the mischievous glint your eyes would have when you had an idea that would get him in trouble. Kinda like right now. You were smirking at him for above, peppering his face with kisses, giggling at his blushed cheeks and furrowed brows.

"I'm seriou- ahh..." He sighed, melting when your lips brushed the shell of his ear. Your playful giggle rang in his ears as he tried to muster the willpower to stop you, to make you talk things out with him. "W-Wait, please-" He begged, trembling under your touch, but his arms betrayed him, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away. "Just talk to me, you know I hate it when you get all cryptic..."

"What would you like me to say, big guy?" You finally mused, breath hot on his ear.

"That you like me...?" He confessed with red cheeks. "T-That you keep kissing on me because you want be my..." He didn't have the heart to finish his thought, the embarrassment becoming too much to bare.

"Oh, but I do like you..." You smirk deviously. "And I do want to be whatever it is you want me to be." You didn't miss how his infectious, dopey grin cracked across his face at your confirmation. "There's that cute smile..." You giggled, settling back into his lap as he melted against your touch like butter in a pan. "Now, where where we?"

Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Mashirao Ojiro, Eijiro Kirishima, Tamaki Amajiki, Izuku Midoryia, Tenya Iida, Hanta Sero, Shoto Todoroki, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Juzo Honenuki, Shihai Kuroiro, Iguro Obanai, Inosuke Hashibura, Tanjiro Kamado, Gyomei Himejima, Tomioka Giyuu, God Usopp, Roronoa Zoro, Vinsoke Sanji, Cyborg Franky, Portgas D. Ace, Spirit Albarn, Soul Evans, and whoever else you'd like!

I hope you guys like this format! I wont be doing this like this all the time, but I thought it might be a way to give yall something when I'm away for a few days at a time!