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bloviating-vy · 4 days

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NOT THE JOPPING SLANDERRRRRRRR ALSO JIMIN IS ELITE ELITE ELITE

caught looking: chapter 8 (knj x ksj)

summary: of course Seokjin has heard the rumors. most of them boil down to this: kim namjoon will get fired from the kiwoom heroes after this season is over. he’s the kbo’s youngest manager in history, one of korea’s darlings, always on every 30 under 30 list, and everyone is sure he’s about to tumble from the tower he’s built. or, namjoon is probably going to lose his job and seokjin is probably never going to make his dad proud, but they have a better shot at overcoming those two things together than they ever have alone.

pairing: seokjin x namjoon

rating: e for everyone for now but there is adult content in later chapters so no minors pls

genre: etl, fluff, eventual smut

au: baseball, specifically the kbo

warnings/tags: idk... swearing, drinking, and general sports things? some blackmail kind of and discussions of homophobia in sports. a drunk ex being drunk and pushy. kissing! eventual smut of the gay variety.

wc: chapter: ~4800

chapter summary: seokjin tries to get his lips to touch namjoon's lips, and for once, he succeeds.

hello! here are chapters one two three four five six and seven if you'd like them. or the whole thing is on ao3 here . thank you! for the like.. three of you who read this here and not on ao3, i'm taking next week off cos i'll be at an art show, but i'll be back in 2 weeks :)

***

Because life is inherently unfair, Seokjin and Namjoon aren’t able to make it work to get together that weekend.

On their off day, Seokjin’s mother makes a surprise appearance in Seoul, all but forcing him to go shopping with her and to lunch and then more shopping. It’s fine, really, he has a good time. He actually likes spending time with her and likes shopping with her (he even spots a soft, green, cashmere scarf and buys it for Namjoon remembering the first time they hung out, telling his eomma it’s for a friend—it’s not exactly a lie), but he’d gotten a chat message from Namjoon that morning, asking if they could see each other, and he hated having to say no.

Then there were games all weekend, away games technically, but at Doosan, so there was no opportunity to be stuck together on a bus for hours and Seokjin didn’t even go. There was no benefit, he thought, to hanging around his former employer and thinking about how much less respect he got there than he does now. Add that to having to watch Namjoon manage a game without being able to talk to him or actually fucking kiss him already, it woudn’t have been worth it. So, instead, Seokjin holed up between his office and his apartment, plugging away on analyzing the last five seasons worth of player data ahead of the looming trade deadline.

Lost in data, he can focus. It’s nice to feel like he’s got a reason to focus on work as they enter the second half of the season. The acquisitions they’ve made so far under his guidance are helping; all the available information tells him they have a shot at the playoffs. Nothing’s ever one hundred percent certain in statistics, but some things feel pretty close, he tells Namjoon one night as they chat during Namjoon’s commute. What’s even better than that, though, is that Yoongi and his father believe him when he says it to them, in the way that the executives at Doosan never did.

So, he’s useful going into the trade deadline, and it feels good. If nothing else, it’s a welcome distraction from wanting to puke every time he sees Namjoon (even on TV), and it stops his thoughts from being all butterflies and rainbows and happily ever after.

He hasn’t seen much of Hoseok, either. After he’d basically walked in on them, he didn’t emerge from his room before Seokjin fell asleep, and then he’d left for work at some ungodly hour of the morning that Seokjin prefers not to see unless he hasn’t been to sleep yet. Then Seokjin was out, and the cycle went on like that for a couple of days.

Now, he’s sitting on their couch with his laptop open, and one of his gaming monitors on their coffee table. The aircon works better if they don’t hole themselves up in their rooms, letting it circulate freely, and it’s desperately hot in Seoul, so he’s trying out working from the living room to see how it goes.

Slowly, is the answer, because the game at Jamsil just ended, and his phone is already lighting up with notifications from Namjoon, Jeongguk, and also their newly established group chat: “Yoongi & 6 kids who won’t leave him alone.”

(He’s only mildly annoyed at being included in the “kids” even though he’s the oldest. Yoongi’s always been more responsible, or at least liked to think that he was.)

Hoseok barrels through the apartment door just as Seokjin is trying to think of something to send back to Namjoon that is both flirty and not entirely inappropriate.

“Why am I in your group chat?” Hoseok asks, before they even say hello to each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re sleeping with Jimin?” Seokjin asks at the same time.

“It’s new.”

“And you thought that not saying something when you knew I was having a complete crisis over Namjoon was helpful?”

“I tried to tell you, hyung. I told you I didn’t think they were together.”

Seokjin sighs. He’s not actually mad about it anyway, and who knows—he probably would have just assumed they had some sort of open relationship, anyway. He’s been… dense.

“Fine,” he says. “You’re forgiven.”

Hoseok laughs and flops down next to him on the couch. “Now, this group chat…”

“Jimin added you,” Seokjin shrugs.

“I think he likes me.”

“I think so, too.”

“What about you and Namjoon? Anything you want to tell me?” He pokes Seokjin in the side, over and over like Jeongguk would, but not as hard. It just tickles.

“I think he likes me, Hobi.”

Hoseok snorts. “Obviously.”

“You’ve barely even seen us together!” Seokjin protests.

“I’ve seen enough.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Anyway, no. Nothing’s happened. I think we were about to kiss when you came home the other night.”

“You think?”

“Well, he said ‘this is me about to kiss you,’ and asked if that was okay. I thought that was a pretty good sign.”

Hoseok cheers, in a way that’s quintessentially him, hollering and wiggling his whole body in excitement, slapping Seokjin as he goes. “And then what happened?” he asks excitedly.

“And then you came home, startled the shit out of both of us, we knocked our heads together and I spilled whisky all over myself. The near-concussion I gave him may have killed the moment.”

“Sorry, hyung.” But he’s barely able to stop himself from laughing, so Seokjin doesn’t think he’s actually very sorry. “Did you make plans to see him?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, I know he’s coming to Jimin’s dance thing next week, so there’s always that. If you don’t just want to see him at work and wait for him to bend you ove—”

Seokjin covers his ears and sings loudly, the most unsexy song he can think of, repeating the chorus of “Jopping” until Hoseok is doubled over laughing and definitely not talking anymore. Then he says, “I don’t want to talk about fucking at my job, Hobi.”

“Fine, but I think you want him to—”

“Don’t make me unfold all your laundry.”

“Fine, fine,” Hoseok puts his hands up in surrender and drops the subject finally, but not until Seokjin has pinky sworn to come to Jimin’s performance. It's not like it’s a bad idea, but Seokjin should probably not let himself think too hard about being with Namjoon in a dark theater, either.

Unfortunately, the next time he sees Namjoon isn’t in a dark theater, it’s later that week in a conference room at Gocheok, where Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin, Minjun, and several other members of the front office and coaching staff are gathered to review all the trade deadline proposals that Seokjin and his team have put together.

His presentation went relatively smoothly, even though he had to make a concerted effort not to notice Namjoon staring at him with a dopey grin on his face. Once, he made the mistake of looking in that direction, and he almost let himself return the look before he remembered that not only were they at work, but his dad was watching.

“So,” Minjun interjects as Yoongi and one of the bullpen coaches bicker about a Wiz reliever. “You want us to focus on relief work and speed?”

Seokjin nods. “I think that gives us the best shot at winning the championship, yes.”

Namjoon speaks up for the first time. “I agree. If we can get Roh from Hanwha and Park Byungho from KT to fill out the infield, we’ll have the highest average on base percentage in the league. And they both have solid wins above replacement.”

“And you also want the short reliever from Hanwha?”

“I do,” Seokjin confirms. “Kyuyeon-ssi is talented, the players love him, and he doesn’t give up the long ball. There haven't been any home runs hit against him in two seasons.”

“He pitches to contact.” Minjun sounds skeptical, Seokjin knows what that tone means because he’s been hearing it specifically directed at him since he was a preteen or before.

“So?” Namjoon interrupts. “Jeongguk does, too, and Seokjin was right about him. And that’s without optimal defense at first and third.”

“We may never hit a home run again,” one of the batting coaches complains.

Namjoon counters, his jaw set tight. “I’d rather win games than innings, wouldn’t you?”

Just when Seokjin thought Namjoon couldn’t be any hotter, he had to go and agree with him. It’s Seokjin’s achilles heel.

Minjun scoots his chair back and stands. Someday, Seokjin will know how he gets his suits to stay perfectly wrinkle-free despite the fact that he’s pretty sure his dad just sits all day most days. It’s a miracle of tailoring, he decides. “I trust your judgment,” he says, gesturing vaguely between Namjoon and Seokjin. He turns to Yoongi and they murmur in low voices about the budget, Minjun giving him caps for every position and a player count he’s willing to give up. While they talk, Namjoon meets Seokjin’s eyes across the table and gives him a smile and a relatively discreet thumbs up. It’s so cute, Seokjin could cry.

This time, since they’re not traveling and trying to get deals done in a hurry, Yoongi handles the business end like he’s supposed to. He’s better at it than Seokjin, doesn’t seem to get as nervous to cold call other teams for trades. Although, this time of year, they’re all expecting it, at least.

They file out of the conference room to leave Yoongi and his assistant to it, and Seokjin tries not to get excited when he realizes Namjoon is following him to his office.

“That went well,” Namjoon says when they get to the small room.

“Thank you,” Seokjin replies. He means it, too. It might be the first time his father has ever said he trusted words that came out of Seokjin’s mouth, and he suspects it might have something to do with Namjoon’s support. “Really, thank you for telling him you agreed with me.”

Namjoon nods. “You don’t need to thank me. I do agree with you. You haven’t made a bad call yet, so I don’t have any reason not to trust you.”

Seokjin feels seen, and in a way that only makes him a little bit uncomfortable. It’s what he wanted to hear for his whole career—the acknowledgement he was never going to get at Doosan, and at first didn’t think he would ever get from Namjoon, either.

“Anyway,” Namjoon continues, clearing his throat, “I was wondering if you have plans tonight?”

Another thing he wanted to hear and didn’t think he ever would. Everything’s coming up Kim Seokjin, he thinks.

“No, I—”

“Seokjin?”

He wonders if it’s possible for him and Namjoon to have a single conversation without being interrupted.

“Hello, sir,” Namjoon says as Minjun approaches, giving a polite bow.

“Seokjin, your mother wants us to have dinner together tonight. Are you free?”

It has to be some kind of joke. He’s a nice person, he treats his dongsaengs and he calls his grandmother and he brushes his teeth twice a day, and still, the universe is conspiring to keep his lips off of Namjoon’s lips.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Seokjin-ssi,” Namjoon says, all politeness in front of Minjun.

“Talk to you tomorrow Namjoon-ah.” He’s not sure if he sounds as disappointed as he feels, he’s not sure if it’s possible.

Dinner goes as expected. According to his mother, Seokjin should find a nice boy to settle down with, he should think about getting his PhD, he should exercise more and stop playing those “silly children’s games.” It takes everything in him not to tell his parents that what they should do is mind their own business for a change.

Over the next couple of days, he and Namjoon exchange messages, mostly mutual complaints about being cosmically separated since the team went for two at Samsung. Sometimes, Namjoon sends the occasional selca, too. They’re thirst traps with plausible deniability, mostly. They could just be thirst traps, or you could believe Namjoon when he claims to have no idea that his lips might do something to a person when they’re pushed out and pouty.

Finally, the Heroes are back in Seoul, Namjoon included, and it’s the night of Jimin’s dance performance. It’s very much not his scene, but Seokjin tries. He lets Hoseok dress him in tight jeans and a satin shirt, lets him brush Seokjin’s hair off his forehead, and even lets him pick out earrings for Seokjin to wear. There’s lip gloss involved. He feels awkward, but Hoseok tells him he looks good, and a brief glance in the mirror confirms it.

“You seem nervous, hyung.”

“It’s the first time I’m going to see him outside of work since we—”

“Almost became lovers,” Hoseok says.

Seokjin swats his shoulder. “Shut up, you sound like Jimin. You’re spending too much time together.”

“Well,” Hoseok shrugs, “he sounds like Taehyung.”

“I don’t know how that’s any better.”

Hoseok considers that. “Actually, me either.”

The theater looks small on the outside, in an artsy part of the city, between a bookstore and a record store, an art gallery above it. Inside, it’s much larger than Seokjin had thought, and everything is modern looking and far too cool for someone who prefers to spend his time at home, and in pajamas.

And then he sees Namjoon, leaning against a table by the bar, looking painfully handsome in his dress clothes, and he thinks that maybe there’s something to be said for going out every once in a while. There’s a large bouquet of flowers laying on the table in front of him, and even though Seokjin knows they’re for Jimin and not for him, it all adds to the mental image of Namjoon being his gay teenage fantasy dream date. His adult one, too, if he’s being honest.

“Hi, hyung,” Namjoon says as they approach him. “You look…” his eyes dart to Hoseok and then back to Seokjin. “Hot. You look hot. Is that okay?”

Hoseok barely keeps his laughter in.

“That’s okay.” It’s more than okay, it’s in the ballpark of things he’s wanted to hear come out of Namjoon’s mouth since almost the moment they met.

(Not quite that moment, because Namjoon was being a massive jerk that night, but maybe by the second time they met when Seokjin saw him in the weight room, shirtless. Definitely that time even though he was still being a jerk.)

“See,” Hoseok says, “you should thank me.”

His comment is directed at Seokjin, but Namjoon smiles and replies, “Did hyung really need any help to be the most handsome guy in the room?”

Seokjin squeaks and turns away. He knows he’s handsome, he’s confident, but he’s not used to people talking about him like he’s not there and having it be so complimentary.

“You two were bad before with your heart eyes and your stupidity, but now you’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” Namjoon says, still smirking at Seokjin. “Should we go find our seats?”

They do, after they grab drinks, and Seokjin finds himself about eight rows back sandwiched between Hoseok and Namjoon. They speak casually to each other over him, and Seokjin thinks it's nice that they’re finally having some time to get to know each other. Hoseok is one of the most important people in his life, and Namjoon… Well, Namjoon certainly has the potential to be that, too.

He likes the easy way Namjoon gets along with people, and feels like he should be surprised by it given their initial interactions. But now, he gets the Namjoon he’s come to know since then: kind, a little silly, incredibly smart, and attentive. It makes sense now, Seokjin thinks, that he’s so well liked and respected around the KBO, and it makes sense that those qualities would be even more pronounced in his private life, around people he chooses to spend time with.

They’re a good complement to each other, perhaps. Seokjin is also a little silly, but usually as a way to divert attention from himself. He’s an introvert to Namjoon’s extrovert, he’s more organized, and thinks a little more linearly. He lets himself picture a future where maybe he can help keep Namjoon grounded and Namjoon can help him come out of his shell sometimes.

He doesn’t even realize he’s daydreaming when a hand slips over his. The theater has gone dark, the curtains are just about to rise, and Namjoon mouths, “Is this okay?” gesturing toward the arm rest. Seokjin nods as the music comes up and slides his fingers in between Namjoon’s. They fit well, just like in his daydream.

Turns out, Jimin maybe undersold his dancing hobby. He’s incredible, the group he dances with is incredible. Seokjin doesn’t know too much about dancing, but he knows that there’s no chance he could ever move his body the way that they do, not even with years of training.

The lights come up as the show comes to an end, and next to him, Hoseok looks like he’s had some sort of horny epiphany, and the flush on his cheeks makes both Namjoon and Seokjin snicker.

“I knew he was flexible, at least,” Hoseok says in a quiet voice, probably to himself, but it manages to send Seokjin into a fit of laughter.

“C’mon,” Namjoon says as he stands. “Let’s go congratulate Jimin—he told me where we could find him backstage.” He grabs the flowers that he’d stashed under his seat in one hand, and pulls Seokjin up with the other. When they’re both standing, he doesn’t let go, just slides their fingers back together and leads Seokjin down the theater aisle.

“Cute,” Hoseok whispers behind him, pointing at their joined hands.

Seokjin only nods, feeling a little overwhelmed.

Backstage, they find Jimin quickly—he’s with Taehyung and Jeongguk who explain sheepishly that they snuck in late because they’d been “held up” and it was “totally not sex-related because they work together.”

Then Taehyung seems to clock the fact that Namjoon is (still) holding Seokjin’s hand, and quickly backtracks. “Nevermind, it was absolutely sex-related.” Jeongguk groans and Jimin just giggles, telling them it’s fine, and he’s just glad they came. Which makes Jeongguk groan again and look like he would rather evaporate than experience more vague (and not so vague) talk about his sex life.

Namjoon untangles his hand from Seokjin’s and hands Jimin the large bouquet. Or, most of it anyway. What Seokjin hadn’t noticed earlier is that there were two bunches together. One large one of roses and some white frilly thing, and one small one: white daffodils and a spiky pink flower Seokjin thinks looks vaguely familiar.

“These are for you,” Namjoon says softly, handing the small pink and white bouquet to Seokjin while everyone is distracted oohing and aahing over Jimin.

“For me?” Seokjin takes them and peers at them. They’re perfect, but he has no idea why he deserved them.

“They’re your birth flowers,” Namjoon explains. “Yoongi told me when it was, so this one,” he points to the pink flower, “is your Korean birth flower, and the daffodils are your western one.”

“It’s beautiful,” Seokjin says, trying very hard not to look like he’s actually falling in love.

“Glad you think so. It’s cheesy, maybe?” Namjoon looks so nervous, it’s cute. “I looked it up, and the daffodil is for new beginnings, and the other one is for affection.”

Before Seokjin can say anything (which is fine, because he feels a little sputtery and speechless at the moment), Jimin interrupts. “Oh my god, this is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“But it’s happening to hyung,” Jeongguk says, confused.

“Shhh, Jeonggukie.” Taehyung puts his pointer finger against Jeongguk’s lips. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

Seokjin is a little bewildered, and the moment definitely has passed thanks to his dongsaengs, but he tells Namjoon thank you anyway, and when he thinks everyone’s lost interest and their attention has been pulled elsewhere, he rises up on his toes and gives a barely there kiss to where Namjoon’s dimple appears.

They don’t get caught, but the way Namjoon’s eyes pop open in surprise would have made it worth it even if they had.

Eventually, Jimin shoos everyone out so he can get changed and promises to meet them at a restaurant a few blocks away for a late dinner.

Namjoon, unfortunately, makes apologies, saying he can’t stay because needs to follow up on some work. Sheepishly, he admits he could’ve done it earlier, but it took him visiting several flower shops to find dock for Seokjin, and he used up most of the day. He offers to walk with them to the restaurant at least, before he goes to the station.

They walk together quietly, a few steps behind Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin, who are apparently using the opportunity to get to know each other. Seokjin says a little prayer that the younger two aren’t doing anything to scare Hoseok off.

Finally, when they’re about a half a block from the restaurant, Namjoon speaks. “I really wish we could get some time together,” he says. “I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out.”

God, Seokjin is sorry about that, too. All he’s been thinking about for the last several days is getting his lips on Namjoon’s lips and maybe more. But, standing on the sidewalk of a busy street in a busy neighborhood isn’t exactly the kind of atmosphere he’d been looking for.

“You coming, hyungs?” Taehuyng calls from the door of the restaurant.

“I’ll be there in a second. Grab a table and I’ll be right there.”

“Have fun tonight,” Namjoon says to the group going inside. Then he brings his attention back to Seokjin. “I guess we finally have time together?” And like a mind reader, he adds, “It’s not how I pictured it.”

Seokjin just laughs and pulls him off the main street, ducking into an alley. “Is this better?” he asks, once they’re tucked in against the wall of an over-full looking bookstore, just out of sight of a street vendor selling hottoek and other fried treats.

“Actually, I take it back,” Namjoon says, tilting his head down to bring it closer to Seokjin’s.

“You don’t want to be alone anymore?”

Namjoon shakes his head and brings a hand up to Seokjin’s face, cradling his jaw. “No, not that, I just don’t care if it’s here or on the street or anywhere. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

And the summer evening is already warm, humidity just starting to mellow after the sunset, but Seokjin feels like he’s burning. “So, kiss me,” he whispers, face so close to Namjoon’s that their lips are already almost brushing.

It’s the sweetest thing when Namjoon finally does. He’s smiling into the kiss, and somehow that makes it more awkward and infinitely better. It’s soft and slow. Nothing demanding, no feeling that it’s a means to an end. They just kiss quietly under the streetlamp, surrounded by the smell of old books and sweet dough, and Seokjin thinks anywhere would be the perfect place to be kissed like this—like he’s something delicate.

He’s feeling lost in it, trying both to live in the moment and also commit the entire thing to memory so he can play it back on an infinite loop. Namjoon hums, pleased, right before he breaks the kiss, looking as dizzy and all slow motion foggy as Seokjin feels when he pulls back.

“I should go.”

Seokjin isn’t sure how words work anymore. “Okay,” he says, a little stunned.

“See you at the press conference tomorrow?”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me after a kiss like that,” he teases.

Namjoon drops his head, shy, for a moment, and then he says. “So, you’ve been kissed like that before?”

Seokjin laughs loudly enough to get the attention of people waiting in line for food. “No,” he eventually replies. “No one’s ever kissed me like that.”

“Good.” Even smug looks good on Namjoon. It’s ridiculous. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung.”

And he backs down the alley with a wave, laughing when Seokjin reminds him to watch where he’s going. But he does, turning around and throwing a little wave over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t sure how he’s supposed to sit through dinner after that, but he’s starving, so he makes his way to the restaurant anyway.

Jimin’s already there when he finds their table in the back.

“Oh, there he is,” Jimin says. “I thought maybe you’d never stop making out in the alley.”

Of course he saw them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers. He tries his best to sound nonchalant. Obviously, if it were just him and Hoseok at dinner, he’d spill his guts, and Hoseok would probably end up telling Jimin anyway, but it’s different to sit at a dinner table with your co-workers and tell them you might be in love with their boss. More complicated than Seokjin’s kiss-clouded brain wants to deal with.

“Sure, hyung. I must’ve been mistaken.”

“Must have,” he shrugs.

Luckily, Taehyung and Jeongguk seem to have stopped paying attention, and have moved on to arguing over who gets to grill the meat.

“Stop fighting. Hyung will do it,” Seokjin interjects, taking the scissors from Taehyung carefully.

After the pork is cooked, the conversation moves away from the subject of Seokjin, which he’s grateful for. It allows him to let his thoughts drift a while, of course always coming back to Namjoon. Hoseok catches him staring at the flowers, now on the table next to his plate.

“He really likes you,” Hoseok notes.

“I think maybe he does,” Seokjin agrees, not able to help the grin on his face.

“No shit,” Jimin says. “He hasn’t been able to shut up about you since you put him in his place on your first day. Ever since then it’s been, ‘Jiminie, he’s so hot,’ and ‘You should have heard him tell me to fuck off, I think I might have a new kink’. It’s been awful.”

Seokjin wants to melt into his seat—it’s mortifying and a little thrilling. Mortifying to again be the subject of Taehyung and Jeongguk’s giggles and thrilling to know that Namjoon has been feeling the same way as him this whole time.

“Don’t be shy, hyung. It’s romantic,” Jeongguk assures him. “I think you both deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, Jeonggukie. That’s why you’re my favorite,” he jokes. “More pork for you,” he adds as he drops a few more pieces of meat on Jeongguk’s plate.

It starts an argument over who’s actually the favorite, which lasts until they’re done with dinner and into the station to catch trains home. Hoseok and Seokjin ride home quietly, both texting and checking social media.

When they get home, Hoseok pulls Seokjin into an unexpected hug. His hugs are unmatched—they’re tight but not stifling, warm, and you can almost feel the love coming out of him and into you. Seokjin loves them.

“What’s this for?” he asks into Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Nothing. I’m just happy for you.” Hoseok pulls back. “You’ve been so much happier lately. At Kiwoom, with Namjoon, being around Yoongi again… It’s just nice to see you happy like you deserve.”

There’s a reason Hoseok is his best friend.

They don’t sleep right away, Seokjin is still reeling a little and Hoseok wants details. He gets them, and then the conversation evolves into talk about Jimin and how things are going between him and Hoseok (incredibly well, apparently), Hoseok’s job, and how Jimin has convinced him to join him for dance classes once a week if he can get the time off. For as much as Seokjin seems happier to the people around him, Hoseok does, too.

Last year, they’d both hated their jobs, felt unlucky in love, and were sort of stuck. Now, things are turning around for both of them, and it just feels right. That this would happen for them together, at the same time.

Hoseok hums a song Seokjin recognizes from Jimin’s performance. How many times had he watched Jimin practice? Seokjin realizes he’s been so busy between work and worrying about Namjoon that he doesn’t really know how much time Hoseok and Jimin are spending together lately.

“Do you ever think about what might have happened if we’d gone to a different club that night, or if you hadn’t come with me?” Hoseok asks out of the blue.

He does sometimes, actually. Even though, in general, he’s not really an overthinker, he does sometimes wonder how things move behind the scenes to get people where they need to be at any given moment. Is it fate, design, choice, multiverses? He has no idea, but it’s fun to consider on the occasions when he's feeling introspective.

But tonight he’s just feeling content.

As he stands up, ready to head to bed, he gives the answer that he likes to think is the most truthful. “I think we all would have ended up exactly where we’re supposed to be no matter what,” he replies.

Hoseok grins. “I like that, hyung.”

#fic: cl #kim namjoon x kim seokjin

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bloviating-vy · 5 days

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I’m being dragged into this fandom and reading the fics and I have still no idea who these people are lolol

Hold Fast | Ch. 5 - Five Courses

Series Master List

Rating: M, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

A/N: Frankie and Sweets finally go on their date! I do not recommend reading this when you are hungry. Ty to @bloviating-vy for beta-ing and providing all the emotional support one needs for writing fanfic lol.

Word Count: ~5.6K

Tags: no y/n, alcohol, gymbff!Benny, OC!Chloé, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short and has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, reader's nickname is Sweets, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, Frankie POV, kissing, making out, gratuitous descriptions of food, Sweets eats like a powerlifter, angst that resolves by the end of the chapter, discussion of previous relationships, implied past abusive relationship (not described), cliffhanger-ish?

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After you leave on Sunday, Frankie spends the rest of the weekend scouring the internet for the latest, fanciest restaurants in the greater metropolitan area. He's determined to make up for canceling on you at the last minute and go all out for you after everything you've done to care for Gabi and him. Tucking into another bowl of your magical chicken noodle soup, Frankie sighs at his laptop after clicking through tasting menu after 7 course menu after kaiseki menu after some weird pop-up dinner theater. Yeah, no. This isn't it.

And a small part, ok large part of him, wants to impress you, but he's at a loss as to how since he doesn't know you well enough. Surely as a doctor you are used to living the good life, dining at fancy places, right? What would not just be good enough for you, but impress you? His phone buzzes with a text from Benny in the group chat about a new PR lift and that's when an idea pops into Frankie's head. After a brief exchange with Benny he shuts his laptop and readies for bed. He has a plan.

Just as you are sitting down to scarf down your lunch later that week, your phone vibrates with a text from your favorite brown-eyed pilot.

[text conversation]

😻🐟: Hey, so what kind of food do you like? 🏋🏻‍♀️: Yes 😻🐟: ???

🏋🏻‍♀️: I have to eat so much to fuel for 🏋️‍♀️, so yeah, I like food. 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🍜🍳🥩🍔🌮🥟🍣🎂🍩🍪🍮🧁🥐🫔🍧 🏋🏻‍♀️: I don't do sandwiches though 😻🐟: Roger that 🫡

😻🐟: Be ready to eat okay? Might want to wear something stretchy. Prepare yourself. 😉 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🫡 say no more. I have the perfect outfit. 😈 😻🐟: Pick you up Saturday at 4:30? I know it's early, but trust me ok? 🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻💃🏻

You spend the rest of your break smiling into your lunch wondering what Frankie has planned for Saturday. The weekend couldn't come soon enough.

On Saturday, at 4:25 PM you hear a soft knock at your front door. Swinging the door open you're greeted by an enormous arrangement of dahlias, a stunning ombre of purple, pink, and fuchsia hues, a grinning Frankie peeking from over the top.

"For you," he says with a winning smile as he hands you the arrangement.

You're speechless. You didn't think he'd remember you whispering to him, nearly three weeks ago, what your favorite flowers are. And how did he know these are your favorite colors? Chase never remembered your favorite flowers despite the years you were together. He probably gave you flowers less than five times in the entirety of your relationship.

"You remembered," you breathe, looking up at him. "Frankie, they're beautiful."

"I do my best to remember the important things," Frankie huffs, cheeks pinking at your compliment. You catch him flick his eyes over your form, biting his lower lip. "And you're prettier than the flowers. You look — wow."

It's your turn for your cheeks to heat before you invite him in for a moment while you find the best spot to place the arrangement (you decide on your dining table so you can look at it every morning while you drink your coffee). The dahlias are arranged like a piece of art, exploding with color against the drab colors of your apartment. You could look at them all day.

"Sooo, where are we going this early?" you venture, finally taking your eyes off of the flowers and running your eyes over Frankie, admiring the way the navy button down shirt stretches deliciously across his broad chest and the khakis he's wearing hugs his hips and thighs. Curls accentuated with product. And surprisingly no hat.

"I'll tell you when we get in the truck," Frankie grins at you.

"Okay, Mr. Mysterious," you huff with a small smile as you grab your bag.

When you get to his truck he insists on opening the door for you and offering a hand as you climb in. As he settles into the driver's seat and starts the truck, he hands you a beige piece of folded card stock, printed to look like a menu. The cover reads, "Frankie's Food Truck Tour" in elegant script across the front.

You gape at him, excitement bubbling up your entire body. "You're taking me on a food truck tour?!?"

"Yup," Frankie responds, popping the 'p.' "Someone might’ve mentioned you love food trucks and hole in the wall restaurants. So I'm taking you to all the best ones I know about."

You're practically vibrating with anticipation as you open the card and gasp at the listed courses on the food tour.

Frankie's Food Truck Tour

First Course - Taco de Carnitas 🌮 Heirloom blue corn tortilla from house made masa, slow braised pork shoulder, pickled shallots, chicharrons

Second Course - Empanada Colombiana Braised beef, potato in fried corn flour crust

Third Course - Sunday Sauce with Fresh Tagliatelle 12 hour simmered ragu with fresh made tagliatelle

Fourth Course - Soup Dumplings ground pork, blue crab

Fifth Course - Gua Bao braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, toasted crushed peanuts in steamed bun

Dessert - Italian Water Ice

You are so very glad you wore your fancy stretchy clothes because this is a veritable feast of all of your favorite things. You weren't joking when you told Frankie you liked to eat. Plus today's SBD day was max effort sets, so you are ready to inhale some food. But you are also so moved by his thoughtfulness, planning such a creative first date. Who told him about your love of food trucks and hole in the wall spots?

As Frankie eases onto the main road, he swallows before asking, "Does it look okay?"

"Okay? This is amazing Frankie! It's so thoughtful." You look at him with watery eyes. "No one's done something like this for me in a long time." You might have let out a little sniffle because he's glancing at you with concern etched across his handsome face.

"Hey," he soothes, sliding a hand into yours. "It's my pleasure."

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture makes you melt inside at the sweetness. You intertwine your fingers in his, wanting to stay connected to him and you catch him smile when you do.

"Wait, so who told you I like food trucks?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh uh, I — I asked Chloé," Frankie's ears reddened at his admission. "I checked with Benny to see when she usually works out at Pope's and, uh, talked to her earlier this week."

You hum in response, impressed that Frankie would voluntarily approach Chloé considering most regulars at Pope's Gym wouldn't dare. She intimidated everyone too much.

"It was weird though. Benny acted like he didn't want me to talk to her until I told him it was to plan my date with you." Frankie continues, tapping the steering wheel.

"Huh," you wonder, filing that bit of information away. "Wonder why."

Frankie shrugs as he pulls the truck into a gravel parking lot. A half circle of food trucks sit just in front of a copse of trees, surrounded by picnic tables. Several other cars pull up shortly after you arrive and a queue starts to form at one of the food trucks on the far end.

"Ready for the first course?" Frankie grins at you as he opens the passenger door.

"Born ready, Frankie," you grin at him with barely contained glee.

By the third course, you and Frankie are both completely relaxed and enjoying each other's company, allowing the conversation to ebb and flow between food truck courses.

The carnitas tacos whet your appetite, a perfect balance of succulent pork shoulder topped with crispy chicharrones. Pickled shallots cut the tender, savory bites with crisp acid that dance along your tongue. Charred tomatillo salsa rounds out the bite. All perfectly wrapped in a freshly griddled blue corn tortilla. You can't help but close your eyes and let out a small moan as you experience the first bite. A cacophony of well-balanced flavors and complementary textures. When you open them again you catch Frankie with a pleased look on his face as he takes a bite out of his own taco.

At the second stop, Frankie asks why you don't do sandwiches as you chomp into a piping hot empanada. The corn flour crust crunches with satisfaction giving way to the tender braised beef and fluffy potato filling. Steam curls from the opening of the empanada, a testament to how freshly made it is.

"I mean, why would I want something slapped between two slices of bread when I can have this?" you respond as you gesture to your half eaten empanada. "It's just as portable and tastes a billion times better."

You scoop some of the red salsa onto your empanada before continuing, "Besides, I had way more than my fair share of sandwiches and cold, sad meals during med school and residency. I want my meals to be hot as much as possible."

"But what about hot sandwiches?" Frankie presses, even though he nods in agreement.

"I'll make an exception for them if they are really tasty," you acquiesce. "And bánh mì, especially if the baguette is baked fresh in house."

"Duly noted," Frankie smiles, taking mental note of your preferences.

"Oh my god, you have to try this salsa," you moan after you finish your salsa covered bite of empanada. The acid from the tomato cuts through the richness of the filling, followed by sharp bites from the minced white onion, finished by a hint of sweetness — maybe from pineapple?

"Wait, don't tell me you're a fan of sandwiches."

Frankie looks slightly embarrassed when he admits he eats most of his meals standing over the kitchen sink, especially when he has Gabi, but the food is usually at least hot. "I do love cooking meals for Gabi and introducing her to all of our family's foods," he adds. "She's a really adventurous eater."

You perk up at his information. "Yeah? That's so awesome Frankie. Maybe I can make her some of my family's favorites sometime?"

He gives you the sweetest look of adoration and gratitude. "She'd love that. I — I would too."

You continue to chat with Frankie about how Gabi is doing since you last saw her as he tidies up the picnic table, and you both head to his truck for the next course.

When Frankie pulls up at the third food truck, you giggle and remark at the kitschy decor, multi-color string lights, barrels painted the colors of the Italian flag, red umbrellas shading long wooden picnic tables and smaller red metal patio tables for two. The food truck itself is a long white truck reminiscent of an old milk delivery truck. Short velvet red curtains frame the ordering window with a mismatched gallery wall of photos and paintings hanging along the side.

As you and Frankie sit at a cute red patio table sharing a sangria, waiting for the buzzer to go off to retrieve your food, you hear a woman's voice call out, "Morales?! That you?"

"Hey— " Frankie stands to greet the person behind the voice before a blur of brown hair wraps him in a tight bear hug he returns awkwardly with one arm.

"Finally made it out to check out this place huh??" the brunette says as she pulls back and releases Frankie.

"Yeah, uh, thanks for the rec. This is Sweets," Frankie gestures towards you as you stand to meet her. "This is Becs. She's one of the flight nurses I work with."

"Ooh, date night?" Becs winks at Frankie as she pumps your hand up and down one too many times. "Didn't realize you were seeing anyone Morales. Gonna break all those hearts at the hospital when people find out." You offer her a wan smile, a bit overwhelmed by her chaotic energy.

"Wait! I know you," Becs cocks her head as she assesses you intently. You stiffen even if you don't recognize her. Before you know it she's dropping the name of your former employer, adding, "Yeah, I used to work as an OR nurse there, but jumped at the chance to become a flight nurse. Less surgeon egos, more excitement, ya know?" She gesticulates with fervor as she speaks.

"Yeah, uh, I worked there," you admit, realizing you've been holding your breath. "Been over a year since I left though."

She looks you over once more. Just when you think you're in the clear she snaps her fingers and exclaims, "I do know you! You were engaged to that new trauma surgeon, what's his name!"

Your heart is in your throat and you can't move. Can't breathe. Is this really happening right now? What are the chances you'd run into someone who'd recognize you from your old job right the fuck now?

"I'll never forget how you made a surgeon get on his knees so fast," she smirks. "It's not every day you see someone throw a $50k diamond ring across the cafeteria."

Really, what are the chances you'd run into someone who witnessed the moment your engagement exploded spectacularly in front of what felt like everyone at work? Over a year ago? You can't look at Frankie. This isn't how you want him to find out. Not that you were exactly hiding it from him, but wasn't this like a third date kind of conversation? What did you know, you're so out of the loop on dating things these days. Because you're old. Broken? No one's going to want you, your mother's voice hisses up from the abyss of your mind.

"Well, it's not every day you catch your fiancé cheating on you, at work," you grit out as you find your spine.

"Yeah, bummer about that." Becs waves you off. "It was hilarious watching him crawl around on his knees trying to find that ring though."

She slaps Frankie on the shoulder and says something about seeing him at work before tossing you a nice to meet you and jets off as abruptly as she appeared.

You brave a glance at Frankie, but not really seeing him with the adrenaline flooding your system. "I —"

"Sweets —"

Of course the food buzzer decides this is the most opportune moment to go off, shocking you back into yourself as it dances erratically on the metal table top flashing red like a siren. Frankie slides a hand over the buzzer and picks it up as he walks around the table to stand in front of you. With his other hand he gently cups the side of your face.

"Sweets, you don't have to explain. It's ok. Breathe."

You swallow and let out a stuttery breath as you clasp a hand over his. His hand is warm and comforting against your skin, steady unlike your heart pounding through your chest. The buzzer continues to flash red and vibrate, muted now in his other hand. When you look up, his warm brown eyes only convey care and concern at your thinly veiled panic. Full blown panic, really. You're practically shaking.

"Hey," his voice is soft like when he speaks to Gabi. "It's okay. I'm going to go grab our food and when I get back you can tell me as much or as little as you want. Whenever you're ready. Or we can just go back to talking about how much we hate sandwiches, okay?"

"I— you— okay," is all you can manage, followed by a small nod, eyes still wide with panic, even with his attempt at humor. Coherent sentences are back to being a struggle apparently.

"We all have baggage, Sweets. I mean, I have a whole ex-wife and toddler, remember?" He gives you one more understanding smile before telling you not to go anywhere as he heads to the food truck to collect your food.

How are you supposed to eat anything right now? Your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots. You plop down in your chair as the adrenaline recedes, replaced by a wave of dread at what to possibly say to Frankie when he returns. At some point you did plan to tell him, but what happened spans several conversations, none appropriate for a first date. You try to ground yourself in what he said before he went to retrieve the food. It's okay. He has baggage too. He's okay with you telling him what you’re ready to tell him. What the fuck are you ready to tell him?

When Frankie arrives at Pope's Gym to catch Chloé and ask for her help in dinner ideas for his date with you, he isn't prepared for Benny acting so cagey and weird.

"Hey, Benny," Frankie greets Benny at the front desk with a familiar dap of the fist.

"Fish," a rare one word response from Benny, the more loquacious of the two Miller brothers.

"She here?"

"Sweets or Chloé?" Benny asks, feigning ignorance even though Frankie literally just texted him the day before asking when Chloé usually worked out at Pope's.

"For God's sake Ben, I'm looking for Chloé." Frankie glares at Benny before rolling his eyes. "To help me plan my date with Sweets. What's gotten into you?"

"Oh. Right, yeah she's here," Benny mumbles nodding in Chloé's general direction before sulking away.

As Frankie treks over, he notes the message on her cut off shirt declaring, "I'M A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE." Chloé's covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard as she finishes a set of medicine ball slams.

"I'm pretending this is your head," she mutters at Frankie as he approaches. "For canceling on Sweets the day of without telling her why."

Frankie decides to stop a generous distance away from Chloé. He lifts his cap and runs his fingers through his curls, a nervous tic, before replacing the cap on his head. "Yeah, um, that really was my bad. Uh, that's — that's actually why I'm here."

He swears the glare Chloé gives him could kill.

"And why should I help you." It's not a question, but a challenge.

"I want to really impress her and go all out for her this Saturday to make-up for canceling," he continues before pausing. "Especially since she took such good care of my daughter and me when Gabi got sick last week. Which is — which is why I canceled at the last minute."

Chloé gives him a non-committal grunt, brows still furrowed, but her eyes motion for him to continue.

"I thought about taking her to some of those fancy tasting menu places, but I realize I don't know what she really likes… If she'd be into that."

"I mean, who doesn't like a fancy meal once in a while?" Chloé scoffs and shifts her weight from side to side, as if she's trying to decide whether to divulge more and help Frankie out. "But Sweets isn't into the fancy shit the way she is into food trucks and hole in the wall spots. The woman is always on the hunt for the best tacos or dumplings or whatever in the area."

Frankie nods along intently to what Chloé shares and takes detailed mental notes. You truly are a woman after his own heart.

"You should see her on vacation trying to suss out the best local eats. You always know you're going to eat well with her." Chloé glares back at Frankie before concluding with a threat for good measure. "You hurt her and I'll kill you. She's — she's been through enough. She doesn't need another guy wrecking her life."

Frankie appreciates a direct woman. And the tip about some guy wrecking your life. He stores that one away along with the threat.

"I just want to go all out for her. She deserves the best," he manages. "Gonna try my hardest not to fuck it up."

"Good," Chloé resumes picking up the medicine ball and raising it overhead before slamming it down on the ground. How does someone make everything sound like a threat?

"That still my head?" Frankie ventures looking at the medicine ball.

"Depends," Chloé huffs back at him, but he thinks he catches her smirking at him for a moment. "On how well you take care of my friend."

As Frankie thanks Chloé and turns to leave, he catches Benny hiding behind the cable tower machine watching the entire interaction, pretending to wipe down the gym equipment. Benny never cleans a goddamn thing unless it is a weapon.

"You're gonna take the paint off the metal," Frankie whispers to Benny as he walks by.

"Huh?"

Frankie shoves Benny out from behind the cable tower, "See you later, Benny boy. Good luck with that," as he motions with his eyes towards Chloé.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Benny calls back after catching himself from falling on his face in front of Chloé.

Frankie just shakes his head and beelines it to his truck. He has a food truck tour to plan.

When Frankie returns with a giant pile of fresh tagliatelle smothered in Sunday sauce, your stomach turns even if ragu is one of your favorite things. He sets everything down gently as if he is afraid to spook you with any sudden movements or sounds.

"I — I wasn't trying to hide my ex-fiancé from you," you blurt out without thinking. Smooth start there, tiger. Real smooth. You worry your hands in your lap to hold back the rising waves of anxiety. "I just thought failed engagements are more like a third date kinda conversation."

"Didn't think ya were," Frankie responds as he settles back into his chair. He slides a large hand across the table beckoning for you to place one of your hands in his. After a beat you slide a hand into his. It's warm and grounding. You find your shoulders relaxing away from your ears a smidge, and your stomach settles.

"I meant it when I said you don't have to tell me anymore than you're ready to," he reassures before something you said clicks, and he beams at you. "You'd go on a third date with me?"

You can't help but offer a small grin back, "I'd let you take me on as many dates as you want if they're anything like this, Frankie."

"Minus the co-worker with the big mouth." Frankie is full of jokes. "Too soon?"

You suppress a giggle bubbling up from your throat. "I guess that means you're not going to take me home after this?"

"Not unless you want me to, Sweets," Frankie squeezes your hand. "I'm having the best time."

Your stomach rumbles at this exact moment in response and Frankie laughs, tummy shaking laughter, wondering out loud how you are still hungry after tacos and empanadas.

"I told you I like to eat!" You cross your arms in mock indignation as Frankie wipes away tears of laughter and hands you a fork.

As you both dig into the pile of pasta, marveling at the depth of flavor a 12 hour simmer gives the ragu, you take the opportunity to ask Frankie about his work as an EMS pilot. His entire body is buoyant with excitement when he talks about flying, brown eyes bright with passion. You can tell the two loves of his life are Gabi and flying by the way he speaks about both.

"The hours aren't terrible, 12 hour shifts, 4 days on and 3 days off, with a lot of waiting around. But at least I'm not getting shot at now when I fly," Frankie shares, adding how his parents help watch Gabi when he has custody and has to work. Your breath hitches at the thought of anyone shooting at sweet Frankie.

"Next stop?" he tries to change the subject when he catches your worried expression.

You nod and attempt to help clear the table, but Frankie insists you don't lift a finger.

The next two stops fly by as Frankie tells you about the owners of the soup dumpling take-out window, former cooks at some Taiwanese chain making its way into the U.S.

"Ooo yes, DTF! I've been to one of their locations before!" you exclaim.

His eyebrows curve upward in confusion, "Wait, I thought DTF meant... something else??"

"Ohmygosh, DTF — Din Tai Fung!" you cackle. "Their soup dumplings are to die for."

Frankie admits he hasn't ever eaten a soup dumpling before as you lift the lid and a cloud of savory steam erupts from the bamboo steamer basket. You offer him two options that won't involve near boiling broth burning his mouth off. After all, you have... plans for that mouth.

"Next time we have to try the pork and shrimp ones too," Frankie tells you as he opens the passenger door for you. Seeing his eyes light up after the first bite and slurp of soup dumpling, you know he is a convert for life.

At the last stop he slides an arm around your shoulders as you sit side by side on a park bench splitting one extra-large gua bao, too full to each have your own. It’s the size of your face instead of the standard appetizer size. Frankie insists you take the first bite of the pillowy soft steamed bun, a vehicle for the unctuous braised pork belly, pickled mustard greens, and toasted crushed peanuts. The umami of spiced soy sauce carries forward balanced notes of anise and cinnamon with a not too sweet caramel finish of hoisin and brown sugar. A savory symphony of flavors in your mouth.

"That good huh," Frankie smiles as you let out a groan.

"Mmph," is all you can manage, eyes closed, savoring the bite with a happy food wiggle.

You offer the bao up to him, angled so he can get the perfect bite, the scruff on his chin tickling your fingers as he takes an exaggerated bite.

"Fuch, ish good," he mumbles, mouth full and sauce dripping out the corner of his mouth.

When you brush your thumb to wipe the sauce away, the pink triangle of his tongue peeks out to lick your finger clean. Your eyes flick up and catch a dark, mischievous look across Frankie's face that makes you want to combust on the fucking spot. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the bao before offering the last bite to him.

He sighs in contentment when the food is finished and pulls you closer to him, tucking you to his side. It's warm and safe here snuggled against him with his strong arm draped over your shoulder as you idly watch other diners nearby. Safe enough you weigh the risk of ruining the moment by sharing about your painful past.

"Can I tell you a little bit about... what happened a year ago?" you ask, voice quiet, looking up at him.

Frankie returns your gaze, "Of course."

"Ok," you drop your gaze to your hands and take a deep breath before continuing. "We, um, met in college. Both of us pre-med... and just dorks with the same goals you know?"

You tell Frankie about Chase, how he changed from a sweet college boy to someone you didn't recognize as you went through med school and residency. "I was so afraid of being alone, I ignored the red flags and how we were growing apart until he went out of state for his fellowship and I stayed here. That’s when I realized I was happier on my own than when he would visit."

You peek up at Frankie through your lashes and realize he's been looking at you and listening intently the entire time. "But it took catching him cheating for me to leave."

You shudder at the memory of the night you tried to leave and the weeks that passed before you finally could. That is a story for another day. Frankie tightens his grip around your shoulders as he releases a sharp exhale through his nose when you stop talking.

"I appreciate you sharin' all that with me, Sweets," he says, pausing as if he isn't sure what he wants to say next. His thumb on your shoulder tracing slow circles on your skin.

"I guess I spent the last year working on myself and figuring out what I want now in a relationship," you continue.

"And what's that?"

"Where I can be myself and not have to cut off pieces to fit someone else's idea of who I should be — accepted for being me," the last part you say wistfully.

"As you should be. You're amazing, you know that?"

"Depends who you ask," you respond, quirking a smile up at him. "But I like myself alright now."

Frankie shares a bit about where things went south with Vanessa, his struggles with learning how to single parent. They had been high school sweethearts and stayed together, though he admits he felt like they were growing apart even before he joined Delta Force. How they tried to stick it out when Vanessa got pregnant with Gabi, but eventually realizing it was better for everyone if they separated.

You pull his arm tighter around you when you feel him hesitate and start to pull back after sharing about his own relationship history.

"Thanks for telling me."

"Not too much?" Frankie asks, eyes etched with worry.

"You're never too much for me, Frankie."

He visibly relaxes before asking, "Would getting dessert be too much?"

"Never," you say as you stand and offer your hands to pull him up. "Don't you know I have a whole separate stomach for dessert?"

The dessert course is a small takeaway window for Italian water ice just off the broad walk along the beach. You weigh the flavor options, debating between mango and passion fruit, before finally deciding on mango. Frankie picks passion fruit without hesitation.

He gives you a knowing smile and wink when you raise an eyebrow to his choice, "Figure that way you'll get to try both flavors." Is it possible to simultaneously melt into a puddle and combust from his thoughtfulness?

The velvety smooth ice refreshes as the fruit flavor cleanses your palate from your decadent dinner. You both make your way down the broad walk at a leisurely pace, sharing bites of yours with Frankie as he feeds you bites of his.

“Not too sweet?” he asks with a grin, knowing your bar for the ideal dessert.

“Not too sweet,” you confirm with a pleased smile.

He offers you the last spoon of his dessert, which you accept without hesitation because your sweet tooth is the boss, before he takes both your empty cups and tosses them into the trash. You intertwine your fingers in his as you continue your stroll, turning down one of the piers and walking down part of the way.

“Think this might be the best first date I’ve ever been on,” you smile at him, eye to eye as you lean back and balance on the lowest rung of the railing. His strong arms cage you in on both sides, protective as if you might possibly fall into the water below.

“Yeah?” He breathes back, curls whipped wild by the ocean’s breeze, brown eyes anchored to yours. “What would make it definitely the best first date you’ve ever been on?”

“If you kissed me right now.” The tip of your tongue wets your lower lip as your gaze flicks to his plush lips curving into a small smile at your words.

Frankie smooths your hair back before cupping your cheek with one hand. “Think I can manage that.” He presses the line of his body against you as he slots his mouth against yours, gently at first, until you open for him to lick into your mouth. A soft moan escapes your throat. He kisses you harder, his other large hand snaking up the middle of you back to cup your neck, holding you in place. You reach your hands to run your fingers through his curls, such soft curls, tugging to keep him pressed against you. When he lets out a soft moan you realize he likes it when you do that.

Your foot slips when someone suddenly catcalls the two of you, followed by a "GET A ROOM!" But Frankie catches you with his quick reflexes, holding you tight against him. "I got you, baby," he reassures, voice breathy and soft. Baby. You practically melt at the endearment. And because he's now nuzzling the sensitive spot behind your ear with the delicious curve of his nose, peppering kisses down the column of your neck.

"Frankie," your voice comes out breathy like you've just sprinted down the broad walk. You repeat his name when he continues to pepper you with kisses.

"Hmm," he rumbles against your neck.

"We're in public." A giggle escapes your throat.

His eyes flick up to yours, black pupils edging out the brown you get lost in, expression intense. Hungry, but not for food. He wraps an arm around your waist and places you gently back on solid ground.

"I can fix that, baby," he murmurs. Pressing a kiss to your temple and tucking your hair behind your ear, he steers you by the small of your back and leads you back to his truck.

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Endnote: Sweet's relationship with her ex-fiance is partially inspired by this quote from Robin Williams: "I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up alone. It's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone."

Hi hi, did ya miss me? I missed YOU. Been adjusting to a new job and the absolute fatigue from training has me beat (summer powerlifting competition wee!). But I’m so glad Frankie and Sweets finally went on their date and ate so well. It’s funny, but I’ve mostly written the last chapter and I just need to get them there. I’m learning that all the stuff between is uh, the hard part. Also, I still haven’t wrapped my head around writing smut, but we’ll see. At least they kinda made out? Lol. Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far. It means the world to this newbie fanfic writer. Taglist is open! You know you wanna! xoxo, Jee

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@burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel

@copperhalfcent @triplefrontier-anniversary

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #happy frankie friday #frankie friday

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