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kingofbodyrolls · 13 days

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Deep Dive (m) | knj

You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals.

→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au, soulmate!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff, smut, angst + a very small sprinkle of comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.8k → Warnings (general) + triggers: not much, honestly it’s all very very fluffy, lovey dovey and cute (you’ll probably get a cavity). There’s also a lot more lore and worldbuilding in this one compared to the others, as this is the first time we’re properly introduced to the seacity🧜It’s also rather existential and philosophical. → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), oral (male and female), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, love making, kissing, breast play (licking, sucking, biting), handjob, fingering, clit play, hair pulling, creampie, very brief cockwarming. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note(1): I really don’t know what happened when writing this one; my fingers totally slipped and most of this is just world building 🫣 At least I had a shit ton of fun writing it! I tried to make the smut a bit different than I normally do, because I just feel like what I write is getting very repetitive… So I tried changing the pace of it a bit, but I don't know if it worked or not. Anyway, I really hope you like this one too, and I managed to finish it before Namjoon’s birthday, which means I’ll release it on that day 🥳 Please do let me know what, and if you liked it, and if you’re excited for the rest of the mermaid stories ✨

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

The boat sways gently with the rhythm of the waves, each crest and trough sending a flutter through your stomach, a tantalizing whisper of the adventure awaiting below. The sea has always been your muse, its vast, enigmatic depths a sanctuary where you’ve carved out your own livelihood. As a freelance scuba diver, you descend into the ocean’s embrace, hunting for hidden treasures—crystals and gems, and occasionally, the rarest of finds. These treasures are not just artifacts; they are fragments of the earth’s ancient soul, preserved in the watery depths.

Hae, your best friend and partner in this aquatic quest, stands beside you, her hands steady as she helps you prepare for the dive. She runs a holistic and spiritual webshop called Soulful, a name that seems to capture the essence of her being—a blend of spirituality, sustainability, and an eye for the aesthetically divine. The gems and crystals you unearth find their way into her shop, where they are revered not just for their beauty, but for the energy they carry. The world has turned its gaze towards the mystical these days, and her shop has become a beacon for those seeking solace and healing in the arms of nature.

With your wetsuit snug against your skin, fins secured, and the weight of the oxygen tanks settling on your back, you feel the familiar thrill course through you. Hae hands you your goggles with a smile, and before placing the mouthpiece between your lips, you flash her a grin. “See you soon,” you say, voice laced with excitement. The small tool bag—your fanny pack of excavation tools—rests comfortably at your side, ready to assist in your quest for nature’s buried wonders.

You take a deep breath and plunge into the ocean, the water swallowing you with a resonant splash. As you breach the surface, your arms stretch forward, parting the water with a smooth, practiced motion. The ocean welcomes you, wrapping you in its cool, serene embrace. Here, beneath the waves, you are home, surrounded by the vibrant tapestry of sea life. Jellyfish drift by, their tendrils trailing like delicate threads of silk, while schools of tiny fish scatter at your approach, shimmering in the filtered sunlight that dances through the water. Deeper you dive, into the world where time slows, and the ocean whispers secrets long forgotten by the surface. The seafloor is a hidden gallery of nature’s artistry, where crystals and gems lie in wait, forged over eons by the earth’s elemental forces. Each one tells a story—of undersea volcanoes, tectonic pressures, and the alchemical dance of minerals. Hae often speaks of these gems as if they are living beings, infused with the spirit of the ocean itself, each one a relic of the deep’s quiet, patient creation.

You smile to yourself, recalling her poetic musings, almost as if you were reading straight from her website. But you know the truth behind the beauty—these crystals, formed through evaporation, precipitation, and the intricate dance of minerals, are more than just pretty stones. They are pieces of the earth’s heart, shaped by the hands of time and nature’s immense power. Sodium, magnesium, calcium, potassium—their chemical symphony plays out in each crystal, each gem a unique testament to the forces that birthed it.

To you, they are not just beautiful—they are a testament to the majesty of the natural world, a tangible link to the planet’s deep, unspoken history. Hae’s customers, too, are drawn to this connection, to the knowledge that each crystal was not mined en masse, but discovered and unearthed by your hands alone. This makes each piece not only ethically sourced but also one-of-a-kind, carrying with it a story that can never be replicated. And then, there’s the healing. The myriad of spiritual properties attributed to these gems opens another world entirely, one that you and Hae have only begun to explore. It’s a world where science and spirituality entwine, where the physical and the metaphysical dance in harmony. But for now, as you dive deeper into the ocean’s embrace, you’re content to simply marvel at nature’s handiwork, knowing that whatever treasures you find will carry a piece of this underwater realm back to the surface.

A glint catches your eye in the distance, a shimmer that pulls you deeper into the ocean’s embrace. You’ve lost track of how far you’ve dived—perhaps just a few meters, or maybe more. Time seems to stretch and compress down here, as fluid as the water around you. A quick glance at your watch reveals that only ten minutes have passed, but you know you must be mindful of the oxygen left in your tank. Still, the ocean’s siren call urges you onward, tempting you with secrets yet to be unveiled.

Something blue sparkles ahead, its brilliance cutting through the murky depths, and you find yourself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Your body moves with the fluidity of the water, each motion a dance of instinct and harmony. Down here, you’re not just an explorer—you’re a part of the ocean itself, swaying gently in time with the currents. The source of the light reveals itself as you approach a small rock formation, where gems of varying shades of blue glisten like forgotten stars scattered across the ocean floor. Aquamarine, calcite, and amazonite—Hae’s voice echoes in your mind, recalling the knowledge she’s shared with you. Aquamarine, the “Sea Water Stone,” born from the cooling magma of the earth’s depths, its color an echo of the ocean’s own hues. It’s a stone that calms the mind, eases stress, and sharpens communication, a talisman of courage and clarity. Blue calcite, a crystal forged from calcium, carbon, and oxygen, soothes like a lullaby, its gentle presence calming nerves and quieting anxieties. It also opens the mind’s eye, enhancing intuition and inner vision. And then there’s amazonite, a gem you’ve always favored. Its cool blue-green tones speak to your soul, a “Stone of Courage” that promotes truth, honor, and positive communication. It balances the masculine and feminine energies within, weaving harmony into the fabric of life. You reach out, your fingers brushing the rough texture of the rock, marveling at the beauty before you.

Carefully, you pull out your tools—a smooth flat file and a soft silicone hammer—and begin to work. The gems yield to your skillful hands, and soon, you’ve gathered a small collection of aquamarine, blue calcite, and amazonite, each piece a perfect reflection of the ocean’s quiet majesty. You tuck them safely into your bag, their weight a comforting presence at your side.

But the ocean isn’t done with you yet. You swim further, your eyes scanning the seabed where kelp and other sea plants sway like ethereal dancers. A small cave catches your attention, its entrance barely large enough to accommodate you, but you’re compelled to explore. You squeeze through the narrow opening, and the sight that greets you steals your breath away.

Before you lies a treasure trove of green crystals, their surfaces shimmering like serpent scales. Serpentine—Hae has spoken of this gem, formed deep within the Earth’s mantle by the transformation of silicate minerals through water. This is your first time finding it, and you can’t help but marvel at its beauty, the green hues reminiscent of a forest hidden beneath the waves. You run your fingers over the rough surface, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within the stone. Carefully, you chip away a few pieces, their weight adding to the growing collection in your bag.

But the bag is heavy now, laden with the ocean’s gifts, and a glance at your watch tells you it’s time to return. With a reluctant sigh, you leave the cave behind, swimming back toward the surface, your heart still lingering in the depths. As you break through the water, the sunlight dazzles your eyes, and Hae is there, her hands reaching out to help you back onto the boat. The weight of your gear is a burden you’re glad to shed, and you push the bag toward her, eager to share your discoveries.

“Wow!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with wonder as she sifts through the gems. “You really found a lot—and serpentine? You’ve never found that before. My customers are going to be over the moon!”

Her excitement is infectious, and you can’t help but smile. “That makes it all worth it,” you say, pulling off your hydro fin shoes with a satisfied sigh. “But I’m keeping one piece of serpentine for myself—it’s too beautiful to part with.”

Hae nods, still mesmerized by the treasures you’ve brought to the surface. The joy in her eyes is a reflection of your own, and you feel a deep contentment settle over you. The ocean has shared its secrets with you once again, and as you breathe in the fresh air, you know that the bond you share with the sea is stronger than ever.

You sail home under the setting sun, the ocean’s breeze carrying with it the scent of salt and adventure. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the boat lulls you into a state of serene satisfaction. Back on land, you join Hae in her cozy apartment, where the warmth of the evening light filters through the windows. Her small photo studio, a creative sanctuary tucked into a corner, is ready for the treasures you’ve unearthed. Together, you arrange the crystals with care, each one glistening like a piece of the ocean’s soul captured in stone. The camera clicks, preserving the gems’ beauty for the world to see, as Hae’s artistic eye transforms them into visions of wonder. The process is swift but meaningful, a quiet ritual that binds your shared passions. Soon, the crystals will grace her webshop, ready to bring a touch of the sea’s magic to those who seek it.

“This collection is huge, Namjoon,” Hoseok remarks with a warm smile, his gaze sweeping over the shimmering array of gems that adorn the older merman’s room. “There’s so much history embedded in these walls,” he adds, pointing to the meticulously arranged stones, and Namjoon feels a flush of pride rise to his cheeks. He’s poured countless hours into curating this collection, each gem—some calcite, larimar, jasper, peridotite, amazonite, and serpentine—bearing the weight of time and the ocean’s secrets.

Yoongi casts a sidelong glance at Namjoon and his prized collection, murmuring with a wry grin, “It’s impressive... but also incredibly dorky.”

Hoseok bursts into laughter, his joy so radiant that for a moment, Namjoon thinks they don’t need the sun in their underwater world—Hoseok’s light is enough to illuminate the depths.

“I’m not a dork,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms over his bare torso in an attempt to feign indignation, but his stern expression does little to sway the younger mermen. Their laughter echoes through the water, a melody of friendship that only strengthens the bond between them.

“Nerd, then,” Hoseok offers through another burst of laughter, his voice rippling through the water like bubbles rising to the surface. Yoongi, ever the skeptic, merely rolls his eyes, already weary of the conversation. Namjoon can sense that Yoongi’s thoughts have drifted elsewhere—likely back to his bed, where he longs to sleep away the rest of the day. But Namjoon’s heart beats with a different rhythm, one that craves adventure. He usually embarks on treasure swims with his friend Soo-ah, but she’s preoccupied with her fiancé, Seokjin, as they prepare for their upcoming wedding.

Namjoon casts a glance at his friends, hoping they’ll soon take their leave so he can slip away into the inviting embrace of the sea. The room feels too small for his restless spirit, and the ocean beyond the walls calls to him like a siren’s song. He had initially invited them over for their monthly book club, but the gathering has devolved into something else entirely—Hoseok couldn’t stop laughing at the protagonist’s ridiculous misadventures, and Yoongi, true to form, had forgotten to read the book altogether. The story, plucked from the land above, strikes Hoseok as particularly odd and amusing, especially since he’s never set foot on land himself.

“Book club’s over, right?” Yoongi asks with a resigned sigh, his voice heavy with fatigue, as if the very mention of reading has drained him further.

“Yeah, but do try to read the next book for next month,” Namjoon chides gently, though he knows his words will likely fall on deaf ears. Yoongi merely shrugs, not even bothering to pick up the worn book as he drifts toward the door. Namjoon watches them go, rolling his eyes as Hoseok flashes him a soft smile and a thumbs-up before they swim off to their respective homes.

As their laughter fades into the distance, Namjoon finally feels the freedom to pursue the adventure that has been stirring within him all day. The sea awaits, vast and full of mysteries, and he is eager to explore its depths once more.

Namjoon exhales a deep sigh, the weight of his thoughts momentarily heavy, but he renews his energy by nibbling on some fresh kelp. The taste is crisp and briny, filling him with the vitality he needs for the journey ahead. With a determined glint in his eye, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and sets off on his adventure. The sea has always been his home, its vast expanse a comforting embrace. His parents, both scholars dedicated to preserving the rich history of their underwater city, have instilled in him a love for the past. But while they focus on teaching the young minds of the city, Namjoon’s heart has always been drawn to the secrets hidden within the earth—gems and stones that hold their own silent histories.

He propels himself forward, his baby blue tail cutting through the water with graceful precision. As he gathers speed, the fish scatter in a dazzling display, their scales catching the light as they dart away. The underwater world rushes past in a vibrant blur of color, until something shimmering in the distance catches his eye.

Ahead, perched on a rock formation, are gleaming clusters of calcite and aquamarine, their surfaces dancing with the light that filters through the water. The sun’s rays, fractured by the waves above, cast a spectrum of blues across the gems, making them shimmer like the sky at twilight. Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat, as it always does when faced with such natural beauty. Each gem is a masterpiece of time and pressure, a testament to the earth’s patient artistry. He reaches out, reverently running his fingers over the cool, smooth surfaces, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within them.

He pulls out his tools, careful not to disturb the surrounding environment, and begins to collect a few of the precious stones. As he works, he remembers Soo-ah and selects a particularly radiant piece to bring back to her, a token of their shared love for the ocean’s treasures.

But his heart skips a beat when he notices something unsettling—many of the gems have already been harvested, leaving only a few scattered remnants behind. A frown creases his brow as he wonders who could have beaten him to this spot. None of his friends share his passion for collecting gems. Sure, Taehyung enjoys gathering trinkets and curiosities, but stones have never been his interest. The thought of another collector in these waters feels strangely alien, a mystery that tugs at the edges of his mind.

Who else, he wonders, could be drawn to these underwater treasures with the same fervor that drives him?

You find yourself submerged once more, the embrace of the ocean welcoming you into its depths as you embark on yet another treasure hunt, eager to unearth new crystals. Your path leads you back to the familiar cave where you previously discovered the serpentine and calcite, their beauty still vivid in your memory. Yet, something feels different this time—there are fewer crystals adorning the rock formation and scattered across the seabed. The ocean’s depths, a canvas for nature’s exquisite artistry, have always been a sanctuary for the many fascinating crystals that dwell there. But you’ve never encountered another diver who collects them as passionately as you do. The realization leaves you momentarily puzzled, until a flicker of purple catches your eye in the distance.

Intrigued, you glide through the water with graceful urgency, approaching the new discovery. As you draw closer, you recognize the delicate gray and rose-hued crystals as lepidolite, known for its ability to enhance astral travel and lucid dreaming. You’ve rarely come across these gems in your dives, and even now, only a few precious stones cling to the rock formation. Carefully, you retrieve your tools and begin to collect the lepidolite, tucking each piece into your bag with a sense of reverence.

Continuing along the seabed, you pass by schools of vibrant fish, their colors a blur of life around you, until something extraordinary catches your attention—massive aquamarine crystals, far larger than any you’ve ever seen before. They seem to pulse with a quiet energy, drawing you in with their mesmerizing blue hue. As you approach with a gentle hand, you feel an inexplicable connection to the gems, as if they are whispering tales of the ocean’s mysteries and the magnificence of the world beneath the waves.

Gingerly, you touch the aquamarines, and a surge of calm washes over you, a tranquility deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. The sensation is strange, yet profoundly soothing, as if the ocean itself is sharing its serenity with you.

Taking your time, you inspect the crystals, standing tall on a rocky pedestal surrounded by pink sea bushes and kelp that sways in the water’s current. A few curious fish glide by as you carefully chip away at the base of the crystal, hoping to extract a substantial piece. When you finally succeed, you notice something peculiar—the crystal’s twin, the piece that once stood beside it, is missing. The jagged edge where it was removed is unmistakable. The question lingers in your mind, unsettling and persistent: Who has taken the other piece?

As you wonder who else might be drawn to the allure of these hidden gems, your hands continue their careful work, collecting a few more of the larger pieces, along with several smaller ones. You know that the smaller stones, though modest in size, still carry the same potent energy as their grander counterparts, and some people cherish them all the more for their delicate beauty. Each crystal, whether large or small, holds within it the ocean’s quiet wisdom, waiting to be shared.

Gently, you tuck the treasures into your bag, the weight of them a comforting reminder of the sea’s generosity. With a final, lingering glance at the shimmering aquamarines, you propel yourself upward, your body moving effortlessly through the water’s embrace. As you break through the surface, the world above greets you with a rush of air and sunlight. Hae is there, her arms open wide, her smile as warm as the sun. She helps you back into the boat, her touch gentle and reassuring, as if she understands the wonders you’ve just encountered below.

Once you’re back in the boat, the weight of your gear feels heavier than ever as you remove it, but your heart is light with the excitement of your discoveries. You eagerly reveal your treasures to Hae, each crystal glinting in the sunlight as you lay them before her. With a grin, you hold up the largest aquamarine, its cool blue depths mirroring the ocean below. “This one’s mine,” you declare, the gem feeling like a piece of the sea itself in your hand. But then your tone grows more serious as you add, “I think there’s another diver out there collecting gems. So many were missing from the formation.”

Hae’s eyes widen, her smile fading into a look of concern. You can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, already strategizing, perhaps even considering whether it’s time to move to a new, more secluded spot. The thought of competition makes her uneasy, her gaze drifting over the precious stones as if they might vanish any moment.

Sensing her anxiety, you place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” you say with quiet confidence. “I’ll dig around, find out who it is. We’ve come too far to let this unsettle us.” Your words are meant to calm her, to remind her that together, you’ve weathered challenges before. After all, her webshop, with its unique blend of spirituality and sustainability, has always stood out in a sea of imitators.

Hae exhales softly, her tension easing as she meets your gaze. “Okay, thank you,” she murmurs, her hands gently gathering the remaining crystals, leaving you with your cherished aquamarine. The stone gleams in your palm, a symbol of the bond between you and the sea, and now, a silent vow to protect what you’ve both worked so hard to build.

The pull of the ocean is undeniable, a quiet voice in the depths of your soul that beckons you toward the gem, as if it carries the very essence of the sea within its crystalline heart. You know instantly that this piece belongs by your side, a reminder of the ocean’s mysteries and your bond with its vast, hidden world. The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the water as you sail back to shore, the quiet lapping of waves a soothing lullaby.

Returning to your apartment, you flick on the light, the familiar space bathed in a soft glow as you carefully place your ocean gift on the nightstand beside your bed. The gem catches the light, its surface shimmering like the sea at dawn. With a contented sigh, you brush your teeth, the routine grounding you after the day’s adventure. But as you lay in bed, your mind drifts back to the ocean, and sleep comes quickly, filled with dreams of underwater realms and the treasures that lie beneath.

Yet, even in sleep, a question nags at you. For days, the mystery has lingered in your thoughts—who could be venturing into the depths to collect gems alongside you? Your research has led you nowhere, each inquiry a dead end. No diver you know is as daring, or perhaps as mad, as you, willing to plunge into the ocean’s deepest reaches. The puzzle gnaws at you, an itch you can’t quite scratch, and the frustration builds like a storm on the horizon. It feels as if the answer is just out of reach, hidden beneath the waves, and the more you dwell on it, the more it drives you to the edge of your patience, a riddle you are desperate to unravel.

Driven by a spark of determination, you’ve hatched a bold plan—to dive back into the depths and catch the mysterious intruder who’s been claiming your precious gems. Hae thinks it’s a dumb idea, but she indulges you, knowing your spirit is as restless as the ocean itself. And so, once again, you find yourself out on the boat, with Hae in the vast expanse of the ocean under the midday sun. The boat sways gently, a rhythmic dance on the water’s surface as you methodically pull on your gear—your oxygen tanks, goggles, and hydro fins. The final touch is your backpack, securely fastened to the tank, ready to hold whatever treasures you might uncover.

With purpose in your heart and a steely resolve, you press your arms together and plunge into the ocean’s embrace. The world above fades away as you descend into the deep, your body slicing through the water with graceful determination. Thoughts of the smaller boats you saw earlier linger in your mind, fueling your hope that this dive will lead you to your elusive rival.

As you dive deeper, the current cradles you, guiding your body as you sway with the ocean’s rhythm, until you reach the seabed. The familiar terrain unfolds before you, a place you’ve visited many times, yet now it feels different, touched by the presence of another. Only a few small gems remain, their glint a reminder of what’s been taken. You scan your surroundings—kelp sways like dancers in the current, fish dart about in a symphony of colors—but no sign of competition yet.

Undeterred, you press on, swimming further along the seabed, following the contours of rocky formations. Your heart quickens as you reach a familiar spot, the place where you once unearthed a magnificent aquamarine. But as you approach, your breath catches—the rock’s surface is nearly barren, the aquamarine all but vanished, save for a few remaining shards that catch the light. Your fingers hover over the stone, tracing the empty space where the gems once gleamed, now a haunting reminder of what’s been lost to unseen hands.

A sudden jolt, like a spark of electricity, tingles through your fingertips, and before you can react, a blur of blue fills your vision, distorting the world around you. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze, but it remains—an ethereal presence in the water. Then, you feel a light, almost playful poke against your cheek, and a startled scream escapes into your mouthpiece, sending a cascade of bubbles spiraling upwards.

Instinctively, you jerk backward, heart pounding, as you struggle to comprehend what’s before you. No—this can’t be real. It’s not another diver. It’s not even human.

In front of you, suspended in the water like a living dream, is a merman. His face, heart-shaped and adorned with eyes like dragon-like darkened amber, is framed by short, blue hair that floats gently around his soft cheeks, jawline and pointed chin. Thin soft eyebrows arch over those wide, curious eyes—eyes that seem to hold all the wonder of the deep. His lips, thick and juicy are slightly parted in a soft ‘o,’ convey a mix of curiosity and surprise. Your gaze travels over his tall frame down to his bare chest, lean and strong, and then to the tail—an iridescent baby blue, shimmering with every subtle movement, a perfect extension of the ocean’s beauty.

A wiggling tail instead of legs.

You blink again, desperate to make sense of the vision before you. A merman… It has to be.

He drifts closer, his tail flicking gracefully as he reaches out to poke your chin once more, his voice resonating through the water with an almost melodic quality. “Are you human?” he asks, his tone gentle yet filled with the wonder of a child discovering something new.

Your mind races, and you nod frantically, unable to speak with the mouthpiece still in your mouth, your feet paddling in the water as you fight to steady yourself. The reality of the moment crashes over you like a wave—this is no fantasy. A merman is right in front of you.

As your gaze falls on the backpack strapped to his shoulders, you notice a subtle shimmer, a gleam of something precious. In that instant, the pieces fall into place—he’s the one. He’s the mysterious collector, your unexpected rival in this underwater hunt for gems.

“I’ve seen humans before,” he continues, his voice carrying an almost casual tone as he swims around you, studying you like a creature from another world, “but I’ve never seen one dressed like you.”

Your heart aches to respond, to ask a million questions, but with the mouthpiece in place, all you can do is let him circle you, his eyes filled with an innocent fascination. The silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, each glance exchanged like a whispered secret between the ocean and the sun.

As you take in the sight before you, your eyes are drawn to a necklace resting against his chest, the small piece of aquamarine nestled between the firm contours of his titties—chest, you mean chest! The gem, cradled in the hollow where his muscles meet, glimmers softly, almost as if it’s alive with the very essence of the sea. You can’t help but stare in awe, the allure of it tugging at something deep within you. Thank heavens for your goggles, masking the blush that would otherwise give away your wandering thoughts.

“You look funny,” he remarks, his voice laced with innocent curiosity as he reaches out to grab one of your hydro fin shoes. The unexpected touch throws you off balance, and for a moment, you find yourself flipping weightlessly in the water, your body twisting like a leaf caught in a gentle current.

“Is this supposed to be like a mermaid’s tail?” he asks, holding your foot aloft as though it were some ancient relic to be deciphered. His brow furrows in concentration, and you can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and bewilderment at the sight.

Instinctively, you jerk your foot back, breaking free from his grasp, and you push against the water with frantic kicks, a glance at your watch reminding you that time is running out. As much as you wish to linger here, captivated by the merman’s presence, the pressing need to return to the surface propels you upward.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” he calls after you, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation, but you’re already too focused on reaching the surface to notice the distress in his expression. The thought of what could happen if you don’t make it in time isn’t one you’re willing to entertain.

Breaking through the water’s surface, you take off the mouthpiece and gulp in fresh air, scanning the horizon until you spot your boat, a distant speck where Hae waits, the other vessels having long since disappeared. It seems manageable, this swim back to the boat, as long as you stay above water—your oxygen tank now empty, its weight a reminder of how close you cut it.

But before you can begin the swim, something solid collides with you, stopping you in your tracks. “Ow,” you exclaim, startled as you float backward, only to find yourself face to face with a familiar figure, his blue hair dripping wet above the waves.

“Hi,” the merman says with a smile, his dimples appearing like little pools of light in the sun. The simple word carries a warmth that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re lost in the easy charm of his grin, the ocean around you feeling suddenly smaller, as if it were just the two of you in this vast, endless world.

“Hi,” you greet him with a soft smile, still astonished that he followed you to the surface at all. A swirl of unspoken questions rises in your chest, but they tangle in your throat, leaving you staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless. The world seems to blur, save for the merman before you, his wet blue hair plastered against his forehead, his dragon-like eyes sweeping over you with a curious intensity, as if he’s memorizing every detail.

“What’s all that stuff you’ve got on?” he asks, pointing a slender finger at your goggles and then at the oxygen tanks strapped securely to your back.

“These?” you say, finding your voice as you point to your goggles. “They help me see underwater,” you pause, feeling the weight of the tanks pulling at your shoulders, “And these let me breathe while I dive—they hold the oxygen I need when I’m down there.” You gesture to the tanks behind you, your explanation feeling small in the face of his wide, unblinking curiosity.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding as if piecing together a puzzle. “Makes sense,” he says at last, though his gaze strays past you, catching sight of Hae waving from the boat that rocks gently on the surface, her silhouette framed by the scorching sun.

“I... I have to get back,” you mumble, pointing toward your friend, the words feeling heavy as they leave your lips. You try to steady your thoughts, but they swirl like the currents beneath the sea, a thousand questions dancing just beneath the surface, questions you don’t quite dare to voice.

“Okay,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps. “But before you go…” His voice halts your movements, drawing you back to him like the pull of the tide. You turn toward him again, heart fluttering in the quiet space between you, as if the ocean itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next.

“What’s your name?” His voice is soft, carrying a gentleness that ripples through the water.

“It’s ___,” you reply, offering him a smile that’s both shy and warm.

“That’s pretty,” he says, and when his lips part into a smile, his dimples carve deep into his cheeks, making him almost impossibly cute, but dangerously so.

“I’m Namjoon.”

His name lingers between you like a secret, sweet and mysterious. “Will I see you again?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow raised in curious hope.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, the warmth filling your chest. There’s something about him—this enchanting creature of the deep—that makes you feel drawn in, like the tide itself is pulling you closer. You nod, the joy bubbling up inside you as you answer, “See you later, Namjoon.” There’s more than one reason you want to see him again. The unspoken questions whirl in your mind, but there’s also the thrill—because maybe, just maybe, you want to get your hands on the best crystals before he does.

As you turn and swim back toward Hae, your thoughts a mess of wonder and disbelief, a blush warms your cheeks. Did you just make a date with a merman? The thought sends a tingle of excitement through you. But when you glance back to where he was, Namjoon is already gone, having disappeared beneath the shimmering surface, like a dream fading with the dawn.

You finally make it to the boat, the sun still hanging high, bathing everything in golden light. As Hae helps you out of the water and hands you a towel, her eyes are wide with confusion. “Who was that? And how did he just vanish into the water like that, without any diving gear?”

“A merman,” you pant, peeling off your oxygen tanks and goggles. The words slip out of your mouth so naturally, like it’s something you’d say every day. Not the revelation of a magical creature, but a simple truth.

Hae stares at you, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. ��I’m sorry, what?”

“A merman,” you repeat, more firmly this time.

“A merman?” she echoes, her voice faint and incredulous, as if the very idea is too fantastical to grasp.

“Yes. A goddamn merman,” you say, grinning wide as you meet her disbelieving gaze. “Scaly tail and all.” And then the absurdity of it all hits you, and before you know it, you’re laughing—a bright, bubbling sound that lifts the tension from your chest.

Hae blinks, her mind racing to catch up with the truth you’ve laid before her. When she finally does, her gaze shifts to the shimmering crystals you’ve collected, and without another word, she turns the boat towards home, lost in thought as the ocean waves lap against the sides. And all you can do is sit there, the excitement of your encounter buzzing through your veins, as you wonder about the next time you’ll meet Namjoon beneath the waves.

The next time you set sail, the open sea stretching endlessly before you, a current of giddy anticipation courses through your veins. Thoughts of the blue-haired merman, Namjoon, fill your mind, sparking excitement deep within your chest. Will he be there today, waiting beneath the waves? You wish you could speak with him underwater, to ask him the thousand questions swirling in your heart, but the surface would have to do for now. You can’t help but smile at the thought of seeing him again.

Hae steers the boat through the shimmering water, the horizon vast and infinite. As you slip on your gear and dive beneath the surface, the ocean’s cool embrace pulls you into its depths. You swim purposefully, eyes scanning the underwater world, searching for both gems and a glimpse of Namjoon.

Suddenly, something blue catches your eye, sparkling in the distance. Your pulse quickens as you think, just for a moment, that it might be him. But as you swim closer, your heart sinks—it’s only a cluster of aquamarine, glittering like pieces of fallen sky. You feel a bit foolish, letting your hopes get the better of you. Shaking off the disappointment, you turn your attention to the task at hand, collecting the gems with careful precision, though your thoughts continue to drift back to the mysterious merman.

You move to a new spot, finding a hidden cave adorned with larimar crystals. The stones are breathtaking—swirls of blue, white, and gray blending like waves crashing upon a shore, smooth and radiant. The sight brings a smile to your face, the beauty of the moment settling into your heart. You gently gather some of the crystals, placing them in your bag with reverence, as if each one carries a secret.

Just as you’re about to leave the cave, a shadow falls across the entrance. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden presence. But then, the familiar voice reaches your ears, warm and apologetic, and you see him—Namjoon, his figure filling the space, his smile soft and full of quiet charm.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand nervously scratching the back of his head, his eyes filled with a gentle sincerity.

Relief washes over you, and with a playful wave of your hands, you signal that it’s okay—that he needn’t worry. How you wish you could speak to him down here, let your words float freely in the water like the bubbles escaping from your gear. But for now, your gestures will have to suffice. Your smile says the rest—you’re just glad to see him again.

“You’re collecting crystals, right?” Namjoon asks, his voice cutting through the liquid silence as he gestures toward your already bulging bag. You nod in response, still catching your breath from the weight of the gems you’ve gathered.

“Do you want me to show you a cave with lepidolite?” he mumbles, his tone casual but a bit uncertain. “They’re pretty rare, but I know of a cave that’s full of them.” For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is the ocean’s version of Netflix and chill, the awkwardness of the offer landing with the charm of a bad pickup line. You can’t help but smile at the thought.

Still, you nod, knowing that Hae would be thrilled to get her hands on more lepidolite, and besides, you’re curious. You figure underwater Netflix and chill is a bit different from what you’re used to anyway.

Namjoon leads the way, his brilliant blue tail weaving effortlessly through the water, shimmering like sunlight caught in a sapphire. You trail behind him, captivated by the rhythmic sway of his form, the way his muscles ripple across his broad back like waves sculpted by some divine hand. You can’t help but wonder—do they even have gyms down here? The sight of him, so fluid and powerful, is mesmerizing, and before you know it, time seems to slip away, your focus narrowing to the subtle dance of his movements.

“This is the cave,” he suddenly announces, pulling you out of your reverie. You hadn’t realized just how long you’d been swimming, utterly absorbed by the quiet beauty of the journey and him.

You follow him inside, and the sight that greets you takes your breath away—deep violet lepidolite, sparkling in the dim light like stars scattered across a twilight sky. You’re awestruck by the sheer abundance, the rare gems nestled into the cave walls as if nature had painted this secret world just for you.

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon giggles softly, his voice echoing gently through the cavern as you nod, too taken by the sight to speak. You pull out your tools, carefully beginning to gather the precious stones, all while feeling the warmth of his gaze lingering on you. His silent watchfulness stirs a strange flustered feeling inside, like he’s studying you with the same intensity you’ve used to admire him.

Once your bag is heavy with lepidolite, Namjoon takes you on a quiet tour of other hidden gem spots. Each place he shows you feels like a secret whispered by the ocean itself, and soon your collection grows so large that the weight of it tugs at you, as if the sea itself is trying to pull you back down. When Namjoon offers to carry your bag, you try to refuse at first, clinging to your independence. But as your arms grow heavy, you relent, watching in awe as he effortlessly takes your overloaded bag, slinging it across his broad frame with ease. He carries it as though the weight is nothing, his strength as graceful as the tides themselves.

With a raised arm, you gesture that it’s time to surface—your oxygen running low, the familiar ache of needing air settling into your chest. He seems to understand immediately, and together you ascend, the world around you turning brighter as you rise toward the surface.

Breaking through the water, you gasp in the fresh air, peeling off your goggles and mouthpiece, eager to speak to him in the open air. Namjoon surfaces beside you, droplets clinging to his skin as the sun catches the water in his hair, casting a shimmering halo around his smiling face.

“We should do this again,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“It really was,” you reply with a smile, your heart still buzzing from the underwater adventure. “Thank you for showing me all those caves. My friend, Hae, is going to be over the moon,” you say, casting a glance toward the boat swaying gently in the distance.

“That’s great to hear,” Namjoon replies, his voice as smooth as the rippling waves.

A flicker of frustration tugs at your chest, and you bite your lip. “I just wish I could talk to you down there,” you admit, your words heavy with a longing that feels both simple and profound.

“It would be nice, yeah,” he muses, his soft smile brightened by the sunlight. “But I don’t mind coming up here to talk. I like the air up here too,” he adds with a gentle chuckle, his gaze warm and steady.

“I have so many questions,” you blurt out, the words escaping you before you can hold them back. There’s too much wonder bottled up inside you, too much curiosity, and it needs to spill over.

Namjoon laughs, a sound so genuine it feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Shoot,” he says, his dimples deepening like two small whirlpools at the corners of his mouth.

You pause, your mind swimming with possibilities, before settling on the most obvious. “Are you the only merman, or… are there more of you?” you ask, your voice tinged with awe.

“There are more,” he says with pride, his chest lifting slightly. “There’s a whole city beneath the sea—Naraeum, where we live.” His eyes gleam with the pride of someone who belongs to something ancient and wondrous.

A thrill runs through you at the revelation. An entire city of merfolk hidden beneath the waves. The thought makes your pulse quicken, the realization that you’ve stumbled upon something so extraordinary, so secret, that few on the surface could even imagine it. You feel as if you’ve been let in on the universe’s greatest mystery, and it fills you with a giddy excitement that hums like electricity in your veins.

“Are there cities or kingdoms beneath the waves? What are they like?” you ask, your voice soft with curiosity, eager to glimpse the world he calls home.

Namjoon’s eyes light up with a quiet pride. “Naraeum is a vast kingdom,” he begins, his words gentle yet full of wonder. “There’s pink coral stretching as far as the eye can see, ancient golden buildings weathered by time, and bright green kelp that sways like dancers in the currents. Dark caves hide beneath the surface, teeming with life—fish, crabs, creatures of every kind. And at night, everything glows with bioluminescent light, turning the ocean into a dreamscape.” A faint blush rises on his cheeks as he adds, “Maybe I can show you one day.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the thought of seeing an underwater kingdom beyond anything you’ve ever imagined. “That sounds unbelievable. I’d love to see Naraeum,” you say, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling within you. The idea of diving so deep, into a world untouched by human hands, feels too surreal to grasp.

“There are other cities too,” Namjoon continues, a smile tugging at his lips. “Some are smaller, some are larger, but Naraeum is like the heart of our region, the capital of sorts,” he adds, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Your mind whirls with possibilities, questions tumbling out before you can stop them. “Do you have art? Music? Stories? How do you create them underwater?”

Namjoon laughs, a full-bodied sound that echoes across the waves. “We do,” he replies with a sparkle in his eyes. “Human books, for one—we’ve learned to preserve them so they don’t dissolve. Otherwise, we etch our stories on stone, carving our history into the bones of the sea. For music, we use instruments that echo your drums, flutes, and strings, but they’re crafted from merfolk hair, delicate yet strong.”

He pauses, a wistful look crossing his face. “Naraeum is ancient, filled with art and stories older than any of us. But,” he adds, adjusting the heavy bag on his back, “I fear I don’t have enough time to share them all right now. This bag,” he says with a light grin, “is starting to weigh me down.”

“Oh right, the bag!” you exclaim, snapping back to reality as a wave of panic ripples through you. You mentally scold yourself for letting the moment sweep you away, your feet kicking gently against the water as you make your way toward the boat. Namjoon swims by your side, effortlessly graceful, his shimmering tail flickering beneath the surface.

Hae is there, waiting with a patient smile, and as she pulls you aboard, you reach out to take the heavy bag from Namjoon’s hands. “Thank you so much,” you say, a warm smile spreading across your face despite the unspoken whirlpool of questions still swirling in your mind. You wish you could ask him everything, but those wonders will have to wait.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Namjoon replies, his voice soft like the lull of the ocean. His own smile is tender, a quiet acknowledgment that leaves you feeling light despite the weight of the bag.

Hae chimes in with a grin, “So, you’re the famous merman,” she teases, still a little wide-eyed as Namjoon flashes his bright blue tail above the surface, the sight leaving her speechless. The tail vanishes just as quickly, a flicker of the magic below.

“I’ll have to go now,” Namjoon says, his voice carrying a gentle farewell as he begins to swim backward, his gaze lingering on yours. “But I’ll see you again soon, ___.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, and despite yourself, you smile and wave, heart fluttering in a way that’s both exhilarating and unsettling. You watch him dip beneath the waves, his form disappearing into the deep blue, leaving the water still and the air quiet.

Hae turns to you with a knowing look. “You’ve got a crush on the merman, don’t you?”

You can’t deny the warmth spreading through you, but you push the thought aside, the reality of it sinking in. He’s a merman. You’re human. It feels impossible, like something from a dream. But maybe—just maybe—being friends isn’t out of reach. Friends, you think, as if convincing yourself. That can’t hurt... right?

In the following weeks, you find yourself swept into a world beyond imagination—each adventure with Namjoon feels like diving into a storybook of magic and wonder. He takes you to hidden underwater realms where gems glimmer like stars, and schools of fish, dolphins, and whales glide by as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s as though the ocean has opened up just for you, revealing its secrets with every dive. The more time you spend with him, the stronger your heart tugs, pulling you deeper into your feelings. You try, futilely, to convince yourself you’re just friends, but every shared laugh, every meaningful glance, makes that harder to believe.

Namjoon is an incredible friend, one who listens to your ramblings with genuine interest. His conversation is as vast and deep as the ocean itself, leading you into existential tangents that leave you pondering life and its mysteries long after the talks are over. You wish for more—there’s an ache that grows inside you—but how could that even be possible? He’s a merman, you’re human. It feels like some impossible fairy tale. Yet, you’ve caught him stealing glances, his cheeks tinged with blush, and sometimes he gazes at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter in ways you can’t ignore. But does that mean anything? How do merfolk even love? You wonder if their hearts beat the same as yours.

One quiet afternoon, as you sit with the sun lazily dipping below the horizon on the boat, you find yourself asking the question that’s been gnawing at your mind. “Are there any consequences if a merman falls in love with a human?” The words tumble out before you can stop them.

Namjoon, floating beside the boat, nearly chokes on the beer you brought him, his laughter turning into a cough as he searches for air. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more careful. “There aren’t really... any consequences,” he murmurs, the tips of his ears turning pink. His eyes flicker nervously to your lips, then meet your eyes again, a quiet vulnerability swimming in their depths.

Good to know, you think, your heart skipping a beat. But before the blush overtakes you, you scramble to change the subject, your curiosity pulling you in another direction. “Is there magic in the ocean, like the old legends say? Can you control it?”

He laughs softly, the sound like the ebb and flow of waves. “There is magic, but no, I can’t control it. None of us can. There’s a Sea Witch, though—she’s the only one with that kind of power, as far as I know.” His words are laced with mystery, and your mind spins with possibilities.

“Can merfolk live forever?” you ask, half-dreaming of a life that stretches beyond the boundaries of time.

“Yes and no,” he replies, his voice thoughtful. “We can live for so long it feels like forever, but we’re not truly immortal.” His gaze drifts across the water, as if pondering the weight of time itself.

“Interesting,” you murmur, your thoughts swirling. “What happens when a merperson dies, then? Is there an afterlife?”

Namjoon’s smile is wistful as he explains, “When a merperson dies, we hold a celebration—a spiritual send-off, really. There’s singing, dancing, it’s more of a party than a funeral. We celebrate their journey into the afterlife.” You must look puzzled because he quickly adds, “In the afterlife, we become ghosts. But if friends and family don’t send you off properly, there’s a chance the spirit might come back to haunt them.” He chuckles lightly, and you gasp, wide-eyed at the thought.

A cool breeze dances over the water, and for a moment, the world feels suspended between reality and the dreamlike expanse of the sea. You sit there, awed by the depth of his world, your heart both heavy with questions and light with wonder. And in that moment, despite the impossible distance between your two worlds, something seems to shift—something delicate and unspoken. You don’t know what the future holds, but maybe, just maybe, there’s magic enough to bridge the divide.

He passes the beer back to you, and you take a gentle sip, letting the taste linger without wanting the haze of drunkenness to settle in. Out here, in the middle of the endless ocean, everything feels both vast and intimate. A small taste is enough.

“Do you ever feel lonely in the vastness of the sea?” you ask, a quiet melancholy softening your voice as you gaze out at the seemingly endless horizon. The sea is breathtaking, yes, but the weight of its endlessness stirs something in you—a humbling reminder of how small one can feel in such a world.

“Sometimes,” Namjoon admits, his head dipping as his gaze finds the water. “There are moments when the ocean feels too big, too quiet.” His voice is soft, vulnerable. “But I have good friends,” he continues with a faint smile, “and I have my books when the solitude feels too heavy.” He looks at you with eyes warm and reassuring, as if to say that the sea might be vast, but he’s found beauty in its stillness.

“Oh, what books do you like?” you chuckle lightly, trying to brighten the mood, though his quiet sincerity tugs at your heart.

“Human books,” he replies with a gentle grin. “I love historical tales, but fiction is my favorite—stories that let me dream of other worlds.”

You smile, curiosity dancing on your lips. “What kind of fiction? Should I bring you some next time?” The words tumble out before you can catch them, your eagerness spilling over into the space between you.

A blush blooms across his cheeks, so deep it even colors the tips of his ears. In a shy, almost bashful voice, he says, “I... I like romance.” His admission is soft, as if he’s unsure of how it will land.

You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling with affection. There’s no shame in it, not to you—if anything, it’s endearing. “I have some romance books I can bring next time, if you’d like,” you offer, your voice gentle, feeling the warmth of your words fill the space between you.

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle, a soft wonder lighting them up as his blush deepens. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his voice as tender as the evening breeze.

The sun has begun to sink lower, casting a golden glow over the water. Namjoon glances at the sky, then back at you with a smile that feels like the closing of a chapter. “It’s getting late. I was thinking... next time, I could show you Naraeum.” His voice is proud, almost glowing with the thought. “If we go at night, the whole kingdom shines,” he adds, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he recalls the bioluminescent beauty he once described to you.

Your heart leaps at the thought. “I’d love that,” you say, feeling the pull of the ocean’s magic once more. “I’ll ask Hae to man the boat, so I’m not alone when it’s time to head back.”

Namjoon nods, his smile softening as the sun dips lower, its light casting golden hues over both the water and his blue hair. “See you soon,” he says, waving as he begins to slip beneath the surface.

You wave back, feeling the warmth of his presence linger, even as you sail toward the shore, the fading sunlight a reminder that the ocean holds many mysteries yet to be uncovered. And with each adventure, your connection to him deepens, like a current pulling you both to something inevitable.

"I’m telling you, you’re totally whipped, man," Yoongi says with a playful eye roll, his voice teasing but laced with truth.

“I’m not,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms defensively, but deep down, he knows resistance is futile. His friends have been relentless, teasing him ever since you entered his life—how his smile stretches wider, brighter, after spending time with you, how your name slips into conversations that have nothing to do with the human world. It’s like you’ve seeped into his very soul. He knows he’s fallen, and fallen hard, but the weight of his feelings confuses him. He has no idea how to navigate them, unsure of your heart, or if you could even feel the same pull toward him. And how could it ever work between you two? The thought of venturing onto land to be with you dances through his mind like a fragile dream, but there’s a storm of questions swirling beneath the surface—questions he’s too afraid to ask, too scared to drown in all the unknowns.

“Just don’t get your heart broken,” Yoongi mutters, his voice softer now, tinged with caution. Namjoon nods, the words settling heavily in his chest like stones sinking to the ocean floor.

“Hey man, don’t throw your past experiences at Joonie like that!” Jimin chimes in, smacking Yoongi’s shoulder, a little too forcefully judging by Yoongi’s wince. “If he’s in love, he should go for it. Take the dive, see where the current leads him,” the blonde merman insists, eyes sparkling with mischief and optimism, trying to fill Namjoon’s heart with hope, pushing away the shadows Yoongi’s cynicism casts.

Namjoon, though, can only sigh. “I just don’t know…,” he mumbles, fingers trailing along the spines of his beloved books, rearranging them in some futile attempt to quiet the storm inside him. Anything to busy himself, anything to keep thoughts of you from consuming him. But it’s hopeless—why does his mind keep drifting back to you, like the tide, relentless and unyielding?

“It will never work,” Yoongi shrugs with a quiet scoff, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s seen too many relationships slip away. His words linger in the air, heavy like the deep sea.

Jimin, unphased, shoots him a scolding glare. “You never know that,” he says firmly. “Just because your love life’s been a shipwreck doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone else.” There’s a sharp edge to his words, a flicker of irritation.

“And look at Seokjin and Soo-ah!” Jimin adds, his voice lifting again, the gleam of an idea flickering in his eyes. “Soo-ah was human once too, remember? She turned mermaid for love. Maybe ___ would want to become a mermaid as well? Who knows what fate has in store,” he grins, ever the romantic, eager to plant seeds of possibility in Namjoon’s mind.

Namjoon’s heart stirs at the thought, but even the idea feels like a dream too distant, too fragile to reach. Could you really be part of his world? Could love, like the sea, find a way to bridge the impossible distance between you?

“I would never put that on her. She has a life—one she’s likely content with on land. I couldn’t ask her to leave it behind,” Namjoon says, his voice laced with breathless resignation, as though the weight of his own feelings has left him deflated, crushed beneath the impossibility of it all.

“She’s a good friend. I’ll just... enjoy what we have for now,” he adds softly, placing the book you’d given him gently on his nightstand, his fingers lingering on the cover. He already treasures it, not for the words it contains, but because it came from you. Though he hasn’t yet reached the end, he finds himself lost in the pages, immersed in the tale of a woman struggling with feelings for her best friend—torn between preserving their friendship or risking everything for love. If Namjoon sees a reflection of his own heart in those pages, he’ll never admit it, not even to himself.

“Love sucks anyway,” Yoongi mutters, his voice sharp and bitter, like a wound still raw and bleeding.

“You’re killing the vibe, Yoon,” Jimin sighs, shaking his head as he swims closer to Namjoon, his energy warm and comforting.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jimin adds, draping an arm around Namjoon’s broad shoulders, trying to lift the weight that presses down on his friend. “He’s the last person you want advice from when it comes to love. He’s forgotten what it means to believe in it.” Jimin shoots another glare at Yoongi, who merely shrugs, unmoved.

Namjoon lets out a weary sigh. He likes you—no, more than likes you. Perhaps he’s even in love, but he’s still learning to come to terms with that revelation. What if telling you his feelings drives you away? What if, in confessing his heart, he loses the precious friendship you’ve built together? You, who’ve brought laughter and life into his days. He’s never been close to a human before, not like this, and the thought of losing you weighs heavier than the ocean above him.

It’s not like he hasn’t ventured to land before, tasted fleeting moments with humans—flings that flickered out as quickly as they began. But this, you, feel different. And he’s in deep water now, uncertain of the way forward. It doesn’t matter to him that you’re human. If you were a mermaid, he doubts it would make things easier. What draws him to you isn’t your species, it’s your soul.

It’s the way your hair dances in the wind, or how it clings to your skin when it’s soaked from the sea. The way your cheeks flush red, that soft blush that dusts even the bridge of your nose. The way bubbles rise and swirl around you when you dive beneath the waves, how your lashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly. The way your presence calms the storm inside him, as though you carry the quiet strength of the sea itself.

Yes, Namjoon thinks, his heart heavy with the undeniable truth. He’s got it bad.

“Hae, I don’t know what to do,” you sigh, the weight of indecision pressing down on you as you sit at the coffee shop, staring at the steam rising from your untouched cup. You feel like you could pull your hair out, frustration boiling inside as you wait for the coffee to cool, though it’s really your emotions that need calming.

The midday sunlight filters through the window, casting soft golden light over your table, but you can’t appreciate the warmth. Your mind is too restless. What are you supposed to do with these feelings?

“It’s actually quite simple,” Hae says, her tone far too casual for the magnitude of what you’re feeling. She takes a sip of her coffee—how does she drink it so scalding hot?—and you scoff softly, half out of envy, half in disbelief at how calm she seems. “You just have to talk to him.”

You groan, the sound louder than you intended, pulling curious glances from the tables around you. Embarrassed, you lower your voice, but the frustration lingers, tugging at your insides like a tangled knot.

“It’s not that easy,” you say, pushing your coffee aside. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I ruin everything between us?” Your voice drops to a whisper as your hands fall to your lap, palms sweaty and clammy. “How would it even work? He’s a merman, Hae. I... I’m just me.”

Hae raises an eyebrow, amused. “Girl—have you seriously not noticed the way he looks at you?”

You blink. “What do you mean? He looks at me... normal.”

She gives you a look that suggests you might be the most oblivious person on the planet. “Nah. He looks at you like he’s ready to drown in your eyes—like you’re his whole world.”

Her words hit you like a sudden wave, stealing your breath for a moment. Could she be right? You’ve never seen Namjoon look at you like that, at least not in a way you could recognize.

“Really?” you whisper, unsure, heart fluttering with both hope and fear.

“Yes,” she emphasizes, laughing a little as she sets her cup down. “You’re kinda stupid for not noticing.”

You finally take a tentative sip of your now-warm coffee, trying to hide the way her words unravel you. As the warmth settles in your chest, your mind starts racing, replaying all the moments you’ve shared with Namjoon, all the times he’s looked at you, spoken to you with that gentle smile. Had there been something more in those glances? Had you been too blind to see it?

“You should confess your feelings,” Hae says, matter-of-fact, sipping her coffee like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

But it’s not that simple, not for you. The thought of baring your heart feels like standing at the edge of a precipice, with no way of knowing if there’s solid ground beneath you—or a fall. What if she’s wrong? What if you’re wrong?

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know if I can. What if I ruin our friendship? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Hae gives you a knowing look, but you’re already spiraling, lost in your own thoughts. Maybe... maybe you could watch him a little longer, try to see what she’s seeing, catch more evidence that there’s something there, something more.

Because the risk of losing him over your feelings—that terrifies you more than anything.

It’s a few nights later, and the sea is a blanket of darkness as you and Hae venture out into its endless expanse. The sky above is nearly pitch black, save for the delicate shimmer of stars scattered like diamonds, casting faint light upon the inky water. The moon hangs low, its pale glow mirrored perfectly on the surface, creating a fragile bridge between the heavens and the sea. You pull Hae into a hug, murmuring your gratitude for her being here, for her unwavering companionship on this strange, otherworldly journey. She laughs softly, her voice breaking the silence of the night, and tells you she wouldn’t let you drown—not when she’s here to keep you safe. Her words bring a smile to your face, easing the quiet tension in your chest as you pull on your gear in the dark.

You slip into the water, the sea swallowing you whole. Beneath the surface, it’s as black as ink, the deep blue fading into a near-impenetrable navy that borders on oblivion. But there is no fear, only the pull of the unknown as you dive deeper, surrendering to the quiet pull of the ocean. Your breath is steady, your heartbeat louder in your ears than the sound of the waves above.

And then, there he is—Namjoon, his gentle smile waiting for you like a beacon in the depths, dimples carving softness into the darkness. His presence is steady, grounding, and for a moment, you forget you can’t speak, forgetting that the words you wish to say—I’m glad I’m here, thank you for this—are trapped behind the mask of your breathing gear.

Suddenly, his hand reaches for yours. The touch surprises you at first, a flicker of warmth against the cold of the sea, sending a soft spark up your arm, a silent current that makes your heart stutter. But then you relax into it, realizing how right it feels—his hand in yours, the silent understanding between you. It’s just a hand, you remind yourself, but even the smallest gesture carries weight in the depths of the sea.

“It’s dark,” he gestures to your joined hands, his voice a whisper through the water. “I’ll guide you.” You notice, even in the dim light, how his eyes shift nervously, and if the ocean weren’t so dark, you’d swear there was a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Together, you swim deeper, your hand still clasped in his as the world around you begins to change. In the distance, something gleams—a glint of gold, faint but unmistakable. As you draw closer, it becomes more defined, taking shape as towering structures rise from the seafloor like monuments from another world. Tall, ancient buildings glitter beneath the water, their surfaces gleaming with gold, adorned in intricate lettering and symbols you can’t begin to decipher. The curves and arches remind you of something familiar, some echo of human architecture, though far grander and more ancient than anything you’ve ever seen. These aren’t just buildings—they’re castles, palaces from a forgotten fairy tale. Everything is bathed in the ethereal glow of bioluminescent light, soft blues and yellows emanating from plants that pulse like stars, making the entire city shimmer as if alive with magic. It’s breathtaking—otherworldly in its beauty—and you feel your breath catch in your throat, mesmerized by the impossible splendor before you.

How many wonders exist beneath the surface, hidden from the world above? you think, the weight of it all is almost too much to grasp. That such a place could exist, a vast city of gold and light, thriving in the deep—how could you have never known?

“Welcome to Naraeum,” Namjoon says, his voice soft, gesturing toward the city center that teems with life. Merpeople of all shapes, colors, and ages drift through the streets, some lost in their own rhythms, others laughing and chatting, and children darting through the water in playful games. The whole scene is alive, vibrant, and full of warmth, and the sight of it fills you with something indescribable—joy, wonder, perhaps even belonging.

A smile spreads across your face, unbidden, as the reality of this magical place settles over you. For the first time, you feel like you’ve truly discovered something beyond the world you’ve known, something boundless and beautiful. And with Namjoon beside you, it feels like you’ve only just begun to understand its depths.

“This is the city hall,” Namjoon gestures toward the tallest of the castles, its golden spires reaching upward like fingers trying to touch the ocean’s surface. “The royal family lives there too.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to his words, something ancient and significant about the building that looms over the city like a silent guardian.

You glance at him, blinking, wishing you could ask more, the curiosity burning inside you. If only you could speak, but the water and the mouthpiece keep your questions trapped behind your lips. The tug of his hand interrupts your thoughts, and once again you’re being gently pulled deeper into the heart of Naraeum, where the city unfolds like a dream in slow motion.

The water sways with life—delicate kale and other greens move in rhythm with the gentle currents, shells glint beneath the sandy floor, and tiny crabs scuttle between the rocks, oblivious to your presence. Shoals of fish—bright yellow, orange, and black—dart past, their quicksilver bodies flashing through the twilight water. And now, the eyes of the merpeople are on you. Their gazes, curious and shimmering, follow you as you move through their world, and for the first time, you feel like a true visitor in a land not your own.

Three merpeople approach, their figures graceful and effortless in the water. One, a striking merman with a pink tail that shimmers like rose quartz in the dim light, looks you over with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way both comforting and unfamiliar. You notice his hand intertwined with a mermaid beside him, her tail a stunning shade of purple that gleams like amethyst. Together, they are radiant, like a pair of jewels. They look perfect together, you think, a bit in awe of how seamlessly they belong to this world.

“This is ___?” the pink-tailed merman asks, his voice smooth, his eyes darting to Namjoon for confirmation.

Namjoon nods, and the mermaid smiles, her face brightening with warmth. “Pleased to meet you,” she says, her voice light like a melody. “I’m Soo-ah, and this is my fiancé, Seokjin.” You nod in response, acknowledging them with a smile behind your mouthpiece, feeling a sense of camaraderie in their presence.

But before you can speak—or even think of what to say—your eyes catch on the third figure. A dark-haired merman with a tail the color of midnight, streaked with gold that glimmers like starlight. His aura is different—colder, detached. His black eyes flicker over you briefly, then, with a dismissive scoff, he turns away, arms crossed over his chest as if to close himself off from the world.

Namjoon sighs, his voice edged with irritation, “That’s Yoongi.” The name comes out rough, almost an apology. “He forgot to take the stick out of his ass today.”

You can’t help but chuckle, bubbles escaping from your mouthpiece, rising toward the surface like tiny pieces of joy. Even in this underwater kingdom, humor survives, softening the tension. But Yoongi, unmoved, swims off into the shadows, his figure disappearing into the vastness of the sea.

“Don’t mind him,” Namjoon mutters, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Come on, I want to show you the rest.”

Soo-ah and Seokjin swim alongside you as Namjoon leads you through the winding streets of the marketplace, stalls lined up like sentinels, though empty now in the quiet of night. The architecture is both foreign and familiar, illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent plants. Everything feels untouched by time, and yet alive with history. You pass the grand library next, its shelves filled with tomes both ancient and new, merfolk stories and human books resting side by side. You can almost feel the weight of untold stories and hidden lore that fills the space, waiting to be discovered.

Namjoon’s excitement builds as he takes you to a fitness center unlike anything you’ve ever seen—massive bars with stones at either end, weights crafted from various-sized rocks, and machines clearly designed for strength and agility in the water. It’s a glimpse into the life of these beings, how they build themselves in this weightless world.

After a while, Soo-ah and Seokjin bid you farewell, their presence a quiet comfort as they swim off together, leaving you alone with Namjoon. Your pulse quickens. His hand, still clasped in yours, feels warm even in the cold depths of the sea. The way he glances at you—those fleeting, secretive looks that you’ve caught out of the corner of your eye—makes your heart race even more. Hae’s words echo in your mind, whispering truths you’re not sure you’re ready to admit.

Could it be? you wonder, as the two of you drift toward his home.

“This is my place,” he says softly, his voice reverberating through the water as he turns on the light—an iridescent seashell hanging from the ceiling that casts a gentle, pearlescent glow throughout the space. His home is carved into the heart of a cave, the walls smooth and cool to the touch, like the sea itself has shaped them over countless years. Your eyes fall on his bed, draped in what looks like a soft, inviting duvet, but as you get closer, you realize it’s woven from delicate strands of kelp, swaying ever so slightly in the currents. It’s an unexpected beauty, intricate and organic, like everything in this underwater world.

The longest wall is dominated by a towering bookshelf, its shelves lined with books, arranged meticulously by color and size. It’s mesmerizing, this ocean of stories he’s collected, and you can’t help but wonder what worlds and lives he’s explored within these pages. You want to tell him, to say how beautiful it all is—his home, his soul, him. But your words are trapped beneath the weight of the sea, tangled with the breathlessness of being in his presence.

Your fingertips brush the spines of the books, imagining all the narratives they contain, each one another layer of who Namjoon is. You glance down at your joined hands—his fingers laced with yours, and in that quiet moment, you swear you can feel something electric passing between you. A pulse of warmth, a silent exchange of emotions you can’t speak. You want to kiss him, more than anything. The way he’s gazing at you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken, the gentle curve of his lips hiding a blush you wish you could see more clearly.

But here, in this quiet cavern beneath the sea, there’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask him what you’re dying to know, can’t lean in and feel the warmth of his lips against yours, can’t tell him that you’re falling, deeply, helplessly. All you can do is float here, heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid.

He clears his throat, nervously scratching the back of his head. His mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, then closes again. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, lingering in the air between you. He tries again, and this time his voice, soft and hesitant, finally breaks the silence.

“Thank you for letting me show you my world.”

You squeeze his hand gently, pouring all the gratitude and affection you can’t voice into that single touch. You hope he feels it—the appreciation, the awe, the quiet longing you carry for him. And in that touch, you wish you could invite him into your world, share everything that you are with him, even though he’s been on land before. But you don’t know if he’d want that. You’ve never asked, never dared to imagine what it might be like to share your lives across these two worlds. You’re afraid to impose, afraid to hope too much.

The moment hangs fragile between you, but like all perfect moments, it begins to fade as reality presses in. You feel the pull of time, the reminder that you need to return to the surface. Namjoon feels it too. His eyes flicker with understanding as he leads you back out into the city, guiding you through the soft glow of bioluminescent lights, past the merpeople still moving gracefully through their midnight routines.

The silence between you stretches as you swim toward the boat where Hae waits, but it’s not the kind of silence that weighs heavy. It’s filled with possibility, thick with everything you haven’t said. Your heart beats faster as you realize that, once you’re back above the water, you’ll have the chance to speak. To ask. The thought of it sends your pulse racing, a swirl of excitement and terror mixing in your chest.

What if he doesn’t feel the same? The question spins through your mind, gnawing at the edges of your courage. But the way he looked at you, the way his hand feels in yours, gives you hope. And maybe—just maybe—that will be enough.

As you break the surface of the water, you push your goggles up to rest like a headband, feeling the cool night air kiss your damp skin. It’s crisp, almost electric, filling your lungs with a freshness that makes the world above feel more alive than ever. Namjoon surfaces beside you, offering you a soft smile, but your attention is caught by the subtle blush dusting his cheeks, a faint rose bloom in the moonlight. He seems hesitant, his uncertainty mirroring your own, as if you’re both standing on the edge of something vast and uncharted, too afraid to take that first leap.

For a heartbeat, he swims closer, his presence looming gently in your space. You hold your breath, your pulse quickening with the thought that he might—maybe—kiss you. Instinctively, you close your eyes, ready to surrender to that moment, but instead, his fingers brush your cheek, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with such tenderness it sends a wave of warmth through your body. His touch lingers, delicate and deliberate, and though it wasn’t the kiss you imagined, it makes you blush all the same. The heat rises to your cheeks, flooding you with a mixture of longing and disappointment.

But then something stirs within you—some reckless courage sparked by his closeness—and before you can think it through, you lean in. Your lips find his, a soft, quick kiss, almost like a whisper. It’s gentle, just a peck, but his lips are warm, softer than you ever imagined, like the sea breeze caressing your skin on a summer evening.

When you pull away, you see the surprise flicker in his eyes for just a moment before his features soften into something tender and full of quiet affection. His ears burn red in the moonlight, and his dimples deepen as he gazes at you with a look that leaves you breathless. His brown eyes—dark and shimmering, like polished amber—glow with something more, something deeper. You think, just for a second, it’s desire, simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“Thank you for tonight,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the soft lapping of the waves. You squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of him, and smile. “It was so beautiful.”

Namjoon doesn’t speak; he simply looks at you, his dragon-like eyes full of quiet intensity, his dimples softening the tension in the air. It’s a look that makes your heart skip, that holds a thousand unsaid words between you. And as you reluctantly pull away, swimming toward the boat, your mind is still spinning from the kiss, from the closeness, from everything left unspoken.

Hae pulls you up into the boat, and as you sit, catching your breath, you catch her sly grin. You know she saw everything—the kiss, the blush, the way Namjoon looked at you—but for now, she stays silent, letting the moment hang in the air. You wave to Namjoon, watching as he offers one last gentle smile before disappearing back into the deep, dark waters, the night swallowing him whole.

And even as the waves settle, your heart still swells, full of the hope and mystery that the night—and Namjoon—left behind.

The days pass in a blur of anxious thoughts, your heart heavy with doubt. Every dive into the ocean feels colder without a trace of Namjoon, and the silence is deafening. Each time you resurface alone, your mind spirals further into uncertainty. Did you overstep? The kiss lingers on your lips, but now you wonder if it was a mistake. It feels as if he’s vanished into the depths, leaving you adrift. Is he avoiding me? The question gnaws at you, twisting your insides. Maybe this is his way of saying he doesn’t feel the same, that he wants nothing more to do with you.

Hae, ever the caring friend, drags you to a fancy restaurant in an attempt to soothe your restless mind, insisting that you’re worrying yourself to death. You look like a dog that’s been kicked, she had said with a shake of her head, trying to make you laugh. But now, as you sit across from her, poking at the salad you barely have the appetite to eat, the weight of your uncertainty presses down even harder. Your stomach twists with every bite, the anxiety clinging to you like a shadow.

“Maybe he’s just busy, or caught up in merfolk stuff?" Hae suggests, her voice light, trying to pry you from the dark corners of your thoughts. But your mind won’t let you escape. Busy? No, your treacherous thoughts whisper, he’s avoiding you—he’s forgotten you, and the kiss meant nothing.

You say nothing, only stabbing your fork into the salad with a kind of quiet fury, each jab into the leaves an outlet for the storm brewing inside you.

“Uh, ___?” Hae’s voice breaks the tension, but you barely lift your head. She stumbles over her words, clearly uneasy, her tone cautious as she leans in closer. “There’s a man—blue hair—he’s looking at us.”

At her words, something stirs in you, curiosity overriding the anger for just a moment. Blue hair? Your heart skips a beat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn around, almost instinctively, as though drawn by an invisible thread. Your gaze collides with a pair of deep, brown eyes that hold all the mystery of the ocean. Namjoon.

His eyes glisten like the sea at dawn, reflecting both depth and tenderness, swirling with something unspoken—regret, maybe even desire. You swallow hard, feeling the magnetic pull that has always existed between you, but this time, it’s stronger. The air around you thickens as he walks toward the table, his presence unmistakable, sending your pulse into a wild rhythm.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft, laced with an apology that doesn’t need to be spoken yet. The smile he offers is gentle, almost shy, and you can see the guilt in the way his eyes search yours. He knows. He knows he shouldn’t have disappeared without a word.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you manage to reply, the sound of his name on your lips stirring something deep inside you—something that’s a mixture of relief and frustration. You’re a little mad, of course you are. But as your heart races, you know you can’t stay angry with him, not when he’s standing there with that look in his eyes. He’s here now. And that’s enough for your heart to forgive him.

Your eyes travel down to his legs—strong, toned, perfectly human. He’s traded the water for the land, just for you, standing there in beige shorts like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And yet, your mind spins with the impossibility of it all, as if he’s a dream made flesh, and part of you still can’t believe he’s really here.

The air between you is thick with unspoken words, a tension that seems to ripple like the sea itself. Namjoon scratches the back of his head, his eyes shifting with uncertainty. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone,” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that, but something happened in Naraeum—”

Before he can finish, the weight of your own anxiety breaks through, forcing the words from your chest. “I thought you didn’t like me, or just forgot about me.” The admission tumbles out, raw and trembling, the very fear that has haunted you for days finally taking shape between you. As soon as the words leave your lips, you feel exposed, vulnerable. You brace yourself for his response.

For a moment, he just stares, his expression frozen in disbelief, like your words have knocked the wind out of him. Then, his face softens, eyes wide with something close to shock. “Baby, no,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, the nickname slipping from his lips so naturally that it sends a flutter of warmth through your chest. He steps closer, worry etched in every line of his face as his gaze falls on you, sitting there with your heart in your throat.

Baby?

“I’d never forget about you,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly as he bites his lower lip, as if trying to hold something back. The intimacy of that small gesture makes your breath catch.

Hae clears her throat opposite you, breaking the charged moment. She rises from her seat, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing both your gazes toward her flushed face. “Namjoon, please, take my seat and talk. I’ll go home and shower this tension off,” she says, her tone teasing but kind.

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it, realizing she’s right. The tension is palpable, thick as the ocean depths, and part of you is grateful for the space she’s offering. Even though nerves twist inside you like a storm, you know this is a conversation you need to have.

As Hae leaves, Namjoon sits down across from you, his eyes soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry I worried you, baby,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His hands rest on the table, inching closer to yours, like he’s afraid to cross that final distance too soon.

There’s that word again—baby—and it stirs something deep inside you, butterflies rising in your chest, fluttering wildly, desperate to escape. It’s more than just a nickname; it’s a promise, a reassurance that melts the cold fear that has been gnawing at you for days.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice softer now, the storm inside you beginning to calm. “My mind just... got the better of me.” Your gaze flickers to where his fingers hover near yours, and your heart beats wildly at the nearness of him.

Namjoon is here, in front of you, and you realize with a quiet, overwhelming relief—he’s never really been gone.

“I could never not like you,” Namjoon murmurs, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the truth is too delicate to be spoken aloud. “I think I... love you,” he finishes, the last words barely audible, yet they linger in the air between you like a fragile secret.

Did he just say love? Your heart stumbles, and for a moment, you forget to breathe. “You do?” you ask, your voice trembling with disbelief, your pulse fluttering wildly in your chest. Could it be real? Could he feel the same way?

A flicker of uncertainty dances across your mind, and you can’t help but press further, needing clarity. “Wait—do you think, or do you know?” Your question is gentle, but it carries the weight of hope, a hope that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Namjoon smiles at himself, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry,” he says, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakable. “I know. I know I love you.”

Time seems to slow, the world slipping into a dreamlike state where everything feels soft, suspended, as if wrapped in the warm glow of your shared confession. The air between you feels charged, but also tender, like the fragile moment before the first petal falls. You can feel it now—he’s there with you, and this love, this real thing, is finally mutual.

You reach out, taking his hands in yours, and lean in closer. “I love you too, Namjoon,” you whisper, the words feeling both daring and true.

For a moment, silence settles between you, but it’s a comfortable silence—one filled with the weight of what’s just been said. His hazel eyes, flecked with warmth and softness, hold yours, and you swear you could drown in them. Drown and never wish to come up for air.

The pull between you is magnetic, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, unfiltered and bold. “Do you... want to come see my place?” The second the words leave your mouth, heat rushes to your cheeks. The invitation is brazen, filled with unspoken implications, but you know it’s what you want—all of him, not just this moment, but something more, something deeper.

Namjoon’s breath catches, and he stands, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yes, baby,” he replies in a voice that is almost a whisper, but carries the weight of everything he feels. That one word—baby—sends shivers spiraling down your spine, and you bite your lip, holding back a smile.

Hand in hand, you walk together through the quiet night, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth building between you. You don’t need words now; the simple contact of his hand in yours is enough, grounding you as you lean into his strong frame. It feels so natural, as if you’ve always been walking beside him, as if this was always meant to happen.

When you reach your apartment, you fumble for the keys, unlocking the door with a nervous flutter in your chest. As the door swings open, you flick on the light, and for a moment, you glance around, hoping he won’t find your space too cluttered or small. You’d cleaned just the day before, but still, anxiety lingers.

Namjoon steps inside, his eyes roaming the space, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he looks at you, his gaze heavy with something unspoken, something that makes your heart race. His hand tightens around yours, and you feel yourself being pulled further into his orbit, like gravity drawing you closer.

You look up at him, studying the moles that dot his skin, noticing the way his features are softened by the low light. He’s so close, and in this moment, with his warm eyes on yours and his hand gently holding yours, you think—this is what it means to truly be seen, to truly be wanted. And God, does he look so handsome.

Then, without hesitation, he dives in, his lips crashing into yours with a desperate, urgent need. The moment you let out a soft moan against his mouth, he releases your hand, now free to explore you. Both of his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, yet with a fierceness that pulls you deeper into him. The kiss consumes you, leaving you feeling like water melting in his palms—soft, fluid, and utterly surrendered. His lips tease yours, grazing them in a way that demands more, and when he seeks entrance, you grant it willingly. Your tongues meet in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, moving like waves crashing together under a moonlit sea.

Another moan escapes you, and you feel heat pooling deep inside, a yearning that’s overwhelming. And it’s only a kiss—yet it has you unraveling like a ribbon coming loose.

When he finally pulls away, his gaze locks onto yours, desire simmering in the air between you, thick and electric. “Baby, I want you so bad,” he breathes, his lips curling into a soft pout that makes your heart melt. How does he look both fierce and endearing at once?

You can’t help but smile, your own need burning just as fiercely. “Me too... Please call me ‘baby’ more,” you whisper, fluttering your lashes as you cling to the warmth in his eyes. “I love it.”

He chuckles, the sound like a low rumble of thunder. “Oh, I’ve noticed,” he says, amused. “Every time I call you ‘baby,’ your eyes dilate.”

You didn’t know that, but you feel the truth of it—the way that simple word makes your heart race, how it draws you even closer to him, making you crave more.

“I want you...” You pause, feeling the boldness rise within you, “I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is breathless, your gaze holding his with an unspoken plea.

Namjoon grins, a softness creeping into his eyes. “Oh, baby, I’m going to make love to you,” he whispers, and the words are like honey dripping slow and thick. “Don’t you worry,” he adds, his lips capturing yours again with a hunger that makes your head spin.

Each kiss sends you spiraling further into him, your sanity slipping, but God, you love every second of it. It strikes you then how much of a romantic he is, how the passion in his touch mirrors the stories he loves in his books.

He pulls back, his breath hot against your lips. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asks with a playful chuckle.

You point, and before you can say another word, his strong hands find your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around him, straddling his hips as he carries you across the room. He opens the bedroom door with a sweep of his foot, not bothering with the light, and gently lowers you onto the bed. Laughter bubbles between you, soft and sweet, as his lips claim yours again in a kiss that is both feverish and tender.

Your fingers tangle in his blue hair, tugging at the strands, and he hisses in pleasure, the sound sending shivers racing down your spine. He grinds against you, his erection pressing firmly against your core, and you feel yourself unraveling again, melting beneath him. God, he feels big, you think, your body aching to know him, to feel him completely.

Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you tug the fabric upward, longing to see his bare chest again. You know what lies beneath—his broad, muscular frame, every inch of him beautifully sculpted, chest rising and falling with each breath. And you need to touch him, to feel his strength beneath your hands.

In this moment, nothing else matters—just him, you, and the gravity of everything that has led you here.

He pulls away, sensing exactly what you want, and in one fluid motion, grabs the hem of his shirt, peeling it off in a way that feels almost sinful. The sight of him should be illegal—holy hell, the way his muscles flex as he undresses is enough to take your breath away.

Your hands move instinctively, drawn to the expanse of his chest, a perfect blend of softness and strength. The skin beneath your fingers is warm, and the way he feels—solid, yet yielding—is intoxicating.

“Like what you see?” he teases, his voice low and full of that gentle confidence, and you can only gape at him, feeling the warmth of your admiration blossom into something deeper.

“God, Namjoon, you’ve always been beautiful... inside and out,” you murmur, your voice filled with reverence, because while his looks are striking, it’s his soul that captivates you.

His lips curve into a soft smile, his gaze tender as he leans down, brushing light kisses along the curve of your neck. The sensation sends waves of laughter bubbling out of you, light and breathless, as the tickle of his lips spreads joy and heat all at once. He keeps moving lower, trailing kisses down your body like a map only he knows how to navigate.

When he reaches the waistband of your pants, he pauses, eyes flicking up to meet yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I?” he asks, his voice both eager and gentle.

“Yes,” you whisper, and as he unbuttons your pants, you arch your back to help him slide them off, heart racing. He pauses again, staring for a moment, captivated by the sight of you, the evidence of your desire already showing.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, his voice hushed and full of wonder. “All for me?”

You nod, breath hitching, your body already trembling with need. “Yes, Joon. You make me so damn wet,” you pant, writhing beneath him, desperate for more. “Please, just touch me.”

His gaze darkens with lust as he licks his lips, then dips his head lower, trailing kisses across your stomach, inching closer to where you need him most. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, and you giggle softly, unable to contain the lightness you feel even as desire coils tighter within you. His lips press against the hem of your lace panties, nothing extravagant, yet he looks at you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen.

With agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down with deliberate care. The cool air of your apartment contrasts sharply with the warmth between your thighs, and you gasp, aching for him. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but in the most delicious way—his gaze heavy with desire as he takes you in.

“Joonie…” you moan softly, voice trembling, as his eyes linger on your glistening pussy, admiring you. You wonder if he finds you beautiful like this, spread bare before him, and his awestruck expression tells you everything.

“Damn,” he whispers, voice thick with astonishment. “You’re so pretty… already dripping with need.”

Your breath catches as his words wash over you, and when he asks, “Can I taste you? Can I touch you?” you can barely manage a nod as you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

“Please,” you beg, feeling delirious with want, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation.

His touch is featherlight at first, a single finger brushing over your swollen clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. You flinch, already overly sensitive, a gasp falling from your lips as your body responds immediately.

“More,” you plead, rolling your hips into his hand, urging him to press harder, to give you what you crave.

His fingers glide over you, warm and sure, stroking your slick skin with precision. Every movement sets off another spark, and a moan escapes you—high-pitched, breathy, and filled with need. His touch is both tender and demanding, and with every stroke, you feel yourself unraveling, caught in the storm of pleasure.

His fingers continue their rhythm, rolling over your sensitive clit with perfect precision, each movement making it throb with want. Your body reacts instinctively, hips rising to meet his touch, chasing more—chasing everything. You need all of him, and the craving is almost unbearable.

Namjoon watches you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, his eyes filled with both desire and wonder as he works you with his fingers, and then, slowly, his lips find the tender skin of your inner thigh. His kisses are featherlight, but they leave a trail of fire in their wake, and you tremble under his touch. With each kiss, he moves closer, until finally, his mouth finds your pussy, his warm tongue lapping at your slick folds, tasting you with reverence.

He groans, the sound vibrating against your core, and your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you want him to drown in your pleasure. His tongue flicks over your sensitive nub, teasing, tasting, and the sensation makes your whole body tense in anticipation. His fingers slide to your entrance, probing gently before slipping inside, one at a time. The stretch feels divine, his fingers curling to reach deeper, and soon two, then three fill you, stretching you in the most perfect, delicious way.

Your toes curl, your breath comes in ragged gasps as you feel the wave of your climax building, rising with every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers. “Joon,” you gasp, a warning, but he only sucks harder, his lips and tongue working in tandem as his fingers thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside you that sends you spiraling.

The world tilts, and your back arches as the orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and electric. You thrash beneath him, pulling at his hair as pleasure floods your body, and all you can do is moan his name in a broken, breathless whisper. Even as your body shudders, he doesn’t stop, his mouth still on your clit, drawing out every last wave until you’re trembling with overstimulation. You tap his shoulder weakly, and finally, he pulls back, his face glistening with your slick, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his hand brushing softly over your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His touch is light, reverent, and though you’re still floating in the bliss of your release, you feel the need to return the favor rise within you.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper, your voice thick with desire as you shift, pushing him down beside you. He opens his mouth to protest, but the words are swallowed by a low groan as you straddle his lap, feeling the hard bulge of his cock press against your wet core. You grind down on him, teasing him with the friction, and he lets out a ragged moan that makes your pulse quicken.

“I just want to make you feel good,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. “I don’t know how mermen make love, but as humans—I want you to feel good too.”

He chuckles softly, his hands resting on your hips, eyes dark with hunger. “It’s definitely not the same,” he admits, voice low and breathless, and that’s all the encouragement you need. You slide down his lap to the floor, your eyes locked on his, your intentions clear.

Your fingers find the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you pull them down, revealing his muscular thighs. When you see the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxers, your mouth waters, anticipation making your pulse quicken. Tugging down the last barrier, you free him, and his cock springs forward, thick and long, the head flushed red with need. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your breath hitches at the sight of him, hunger twisting deep inside you.

You lick your lips, your hands moving with purpose—one resting on his thigh, the other wrapping around the thick base of his shaft, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Slowly, you begin to pump, your fingers sliding over the velvety skin as you build a steady rhythm.

Namjoon groans, the sound so deep it reverberates through your core, and you can feel him tense beneath your touch, his body reacting to every stroke. His groans are like music, deep and sinful, and they make you want to push him further, to hear more of those primal, desperate sounds spill from his lips.

Damn, you need more of him.

You glance up at him, mischief in your eyes as you give a playful wink before taking him into your mouth. The taste is salty, a mix of his precum and something else, something almost elemental, as if the sea still clings to him. It sends a shiver down your spine, urging you to lose yourself in the act. You move with intent, your lips and tongue working in unison, breathing deeply through your nose as you take him deeper, each stroke making his body tremble beneath you.

He gasps your name, his voice barely a whisper, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment. His hands find their way to your hair, gentle, not controlling—just resting there as if he’s entranced by the sight of you. He glances down, watching the way your mouth moves over him, and his breath quickens, as if the very air has become too thin.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained, “you’re so damn good at this.”

You smirk inwardly, already knowing, but the praise sends a thrill through you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he fills your mouth, the way you feel him pulse against your tongue. It makes you wonder how your pussy will take him, how it’ll feel when he’s buried deep inside you, stretching you wide.

You’re making a mess of him—your saliva slicks his length, dripping down onto the sheets—but you don’t care. Not when he’s like this, writhing beneath you, his muscles taut with need. Your hand moves lower, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in your palm, and you feel them tighten as he draws closer to the edge.

“Damn,” he rasps, voice rough with desire, “you look and feel so fucking amazing.”

The sound of his praise sends another wave of heat rushing through you, making you wetter, a needy ache building low in your belly. You take him deeper, determined, your throat tightening as you try to swallow him down. But your gag reflex protests, and you pull back slightly, not wanting to push too far. Instead, you focus on teasing the head, your tongue circling slowly before flicking across his sensitive frenulum. He groans sharply, his hips jerking, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you.

He’s unraveling, his control slipping, and you love it—love the power you hold over him in this moment, love seeing him lost in you.

Suddenly, his hands come to your cheeks, stilling your movements as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. “Baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with both lust and affection, “you’re dangerous with that mouth. If you keep going, I’m going to come right down your throat… and I want to make love and come inside you.”

You release him with a soft pop, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you lick them slowly, savoring the taste of him. “You can always come down my throat later,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry. Rising to your feet, you peel off your shirt, followed by the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your breasts spill free, and the heat in Namjoon’s gaze intensifies as his hands instinctively find your hips, his grip firm yet tender.

“Is every inch of you just perfect?” he breathes, awe in his voice. The compliment sends a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you chuckle softly, not answering because his words feel rhetorical, like they’re part of the worship that’s building between you.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him, pouring every bit of your desire into it. His cock twitches beneath you, hard and throbbing against your thighs, but you take your time, savoring the kiss—long, slow, and tender. You straddle him, hovering just above his cock, your body aching to sink down, to feel him inside you. But instead, you pause, letting yourself get lost in the depth of his gaze, his eyes like molten gold, swirling with emotion.

He kisses you again, his lips soft but insistent, and in that moment, you feel weightless. Like you’re floating, caught in a current, drifting between pleasure and affection. You feel cherished, like a treasure he’s unearthed from the depths of the ocean—glimmering, precious, and adored like the gems you’ve been collecting.

He groans, a deep, feral sound vibrating from his chest, and his hands tighten around your hips, the pressure promising bruises that’ll bloom as tender reminders of this moment. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, baby,” he pants, his eyes dark and hooded with lust, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve of your face. His lips search for yours, hungry, desperate to close the space between you again.

“Likewise,” you breathe out, your voice shaky, your pulse racing. One of your hands trails down his body, fingers grazing his taut abdomen before wrapping around the thick length of him. You lift yourself slightly, feeling the heat of him against you. Just as you’re about to guide him inside, his deep voice cuts through the haze of desire.

“Should we use a condom?” he asks, his words momentarily shattering the tension, leaving the air thick but still.

You blink, slightly caught off guard, but quickly recover. “We don’t have to,” you murmur, sensing his hesitation. His brow furrows, so you add, “I have an IUD, and I’m clean. It’s… it’s been a long time for me.” Your words taper off, embarrassment creeping into your cheeks, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath his gaze.

He studies you for a second, his expression softening before that same, dark hunger returns. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” he rumbles, his voice like molten velvet, sending shivers racing down your spine. The sound of him, the depth of his tone, makes your body respond instinctively—your pussy clenches with anticipation, aching for him to fill the emptiness inside you. “It’s been a long time for me, too. So, I’m sorry if I don’t last long…”

You shake your head, silencing his concern with a gaze that speaks louder than words. You need him, now. The heat between you both is unbearable, every second a sweet kind of torture. You guide the head of his cock to your entrance, teasing yourself by gliding him along your folds, feeling his hardness slick against your wetness, sending delicious tremors through your body.

Slowly, you position him at your opening and sink down.

The stretch is exquisite—a burn that ignites every nerve as he fills you inch by glorious inch. He’s thick, and the sensation of him sliding deeper feels like nothing you’ve ever known. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swear you hear him curse under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening as he savors the feel of your walls closing around him.

“Fuck…,” he groans, his voice wrecked, vibrating through you like a shockwave. “So damn tight.”

“Yeah…” you pant, your head spinning, your body adjusting to his size. Inch by agonizing inch, until finally, he’s fully seated inside you. You pause, trembling, your insides fluttering as he twitches deep within. You let out a soft moan, your lips searching for his in a fevered kiss, one that feels more like a collision than anything tender.

When you pull away, your gaze locks with his, your voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so fucking good… like you’ve always belonged there.”

He hums in response, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he traces your body with his hands, unable to take in enough of you. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, the words low and reverent.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you lift yourself slowly, your body trembling with anticipation. Then, with a burst of need, you slam down, impaling yourself on his cock, a scream of pleasure ripping from your throat. Namjoon moans, the sound guttural and raw, as you ride him with renewed vigor, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, catching his attention, and without hesitation, his hands move to cup them. His lips trail down to one nipple, his mouth warm and eager as he takes it between his lips. You gasp at the sensation, a surge of heat flooding your core, and you feel a gush of wetness coat him as your body responds to his touch. You didn’t realize you’d come until the tremors hit, your pussy clenching tightly around him, your body quivering in waves of pleasure.

His tongue circles your nipple, flicking it gently before his teeth graze the sensitive bud, and the sensation sends you spiraling. Your breath stutters as he switches to your other breast, his hands roaming, kneading your skin, every touch heightening the electricity between you. Just as his mouth closes around your other nipple, his teeth accidentally bite down harder than intended, and a sharp cry escapes your lips—his name, ripped from your throat like a plea and a curse all at once.

He freezes, eyes wide, concern flashing across his face. But the look you give him—wild, consumed with lust—tells him everything he needs to know.

“I’m so fucking sorry—,” he gasps, but his words barely register through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. Your gaze softens, your eyes half-lidded with desire, a gentle delirium swirling in their depths.

“No, no, it was good, Joonie,” you whisper, your voice a breathy melody. Your hand drifts to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, tugging lightly. “I loved it.”

He pauses, a chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest, and you feel the twitch of his cock still buried inside you, a silent promise of more. His lips descend to your chest again, worshipping your skin with slow, languid kisses. His tongue finds your nipple, teasing it with a delicate flick before sucking, nipping just enough to make you moan his name, the sound a song on your lips.

Your body trembles, another orgasm crashing over you like a summer storm, your walls tightening around him in waves of bliss. He groans, a low, primal sound vibrating through your entire being. “Fuck, you—” His voice breaks with need as he rises from the bed, lifting you effortlessly, his body still entwined with yours. In one swift motion, he turns and lays you back down, pressing you into the sheets, his hips surging forward with raw intensity.

“This fucking pussy,” he growls, the words so feral, so laced with hunger that it sends a jolt of heat through you, your toes curling as your body responds to the deep, relentless thrusts. You moan, overwhelmed by the sensation of being pushed up the bed, your fingers gripping the sheets in desperation. Could you come again? Already, your body is teetering on the edge, caught in the rhythm of his passion.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You look so gorgeous, baby,” he rasps, each word dripping with lust as his hips drive into you again, leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as though all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Are you gonna come again?” he asks, his voice rough with need. You bite your lip, uncertain if you can, but the fire in your core tells you otherwise. Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit. Everything is so slick, so impossibly wet, but you manage to find that perfect rhythm, circling the sensitive nub as your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s like the tide pulling you under—a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you with blinding force. Your orgasm overtakes you, your body shaking beneath him as you cry out his name, each syllable a desperate plea, a prayer to the god of ecstasy. You thrash beneath him, lost in the throes of release, and still, he keeps thrusting, deep and deliberate, as your body flutters around him, the aftershocks rippling through you.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as his cock twitches inside you, on the edge of release. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his warm seed filling you as his orgasm hits him hard, his body trembling with the force of it. His face—god, it’s beautiful in this moment—the way his lips part, how his brow furrows in pleasure, how he keeps moving, riding out the last waves of his climax until he begins to soften inside you.

Both of you are left panting, gasping for air like you’ve surfaced from the depths of the sea. He collapses beside you, pulling you close, your bodies still warm, still trembling. Your chests rise and fall in sync, the silence between you heavy with shared satisfaction.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp against your ear.

You chuckle, cheeks flushed and glowing. “Yes… we should definitely do that again.”

He turns on his side, his fingers brushing your arm tenderly as he gazes at you, eyes filled with warmth. “We really should.”

But then, out of nowhere, a ripple of anxiety courses through you, tightening your chest. You turn to him, your heart suddenly heavy. “Can we really make this work?” you ask, your voice small, vulnerable. “You, being a merman… and me, human?”

Namjoon’s expression softens, his gaze tender as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. His hands trace soothing circles along your back, grounding you in the moment. “Yes,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll make it work. We have to.”

In his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, the world feels possible again.

→ Taglist: @allie-is-a-panda @jeonsbabygirlsworld @bangtannie7 @suker4angst → Disclaimer: the banner is obviously partly made with AI— I just want to point that out, to clear the air. I’d normally never use AI in my work, but for this specific fantasy series, I just came up really sort with making them myself with pre existing images of bangtan 😭 Because I want a certain aesthetic (no, a moodboard is not what I was looking for), I decided to use AI to crunch out the merman— I did not, and I repeat this, I did not write any of their names for the prompts, which is also why I do not want to show any faces in these banners, because I know how the guys feel about making AI with them, and I agree. Which is why, this is in short just generically made images that are prompted by a scene in the story. In the end, I still made the banner— did retouching, color grading, added and/or removed stuff, added background etc. Just to let you know. Normally, all my banners and graphics are made by me, unless otherwise stated! (lol, what I mean here is that I’m making them myself, I still sometimes use stock photos and vectors made by others in my work (the banners)). → Author’s note(2): Only four mermaid stories left now! 🥳I hope you’ll like the other ones as well, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜

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margotw10bis · 7 months

Text

Pretty Baby. KNJ [m]

sugardaddy!namjoon x sugarbaby!reader

Genre: smut; short-story

Words: 2.2k

Synopsis: Namjoon is your sugar daddy. However, you can't deny how your heart is jumping in your chest when he calls you his "pretty baby"… But when did it all begin?

Warnings: rough sex; unprotected sex; oral sex (f. receiving); Namjoon is huge 😳; he loves ass; use of "daddy"

1 → 2 → 3 (Bonus : Memories ; Doubts & Possibilities)

This part takes place before chapter 1.

Namjoon has always thought your first encounter was that night at a bar when he asked you to be his sugar baby. Little did he know there was, in fact, an unofficial encounter, several months before that.

It was at Incheon Airport, while you were waiting to pick Jimin up after a trip with his childhood friend Jungkook. You were actually grumpy when you saw that his plane had 20 minutes delay. But all of that went forgotten when you heard some sobbing nearby. You looked all around you and noticed a little boy, maybe three or four years old. He was crying but he was all alone. You frowned and was ready to walk to him when a tall, brawny and blond hair man kneeled down in front of the boy.

You stepped closer, ready to jump in if the man had bad intentions. However, you heard him talking with the sweetest tone possible despite his deep voice.

"Are you lost?" The man asked

The boy nodded, crying louder. Your heart broke a little to witness him this sad and scared.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna help you. I promise I gonna find your parents" His savior said, putting a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder

His palm was so big on the small child's body that you wondered if the man has ever been a child before. His aura was nothing but goodness and the way the little boy stopped crying proved you right. The stranger, of whom you could see the face now, was the most handsome man you've ever seen. His eyes, which you surely thought could be very intimidating in other situations, were so pretty in their brown shade. His lips were pulp and the cute dimples on his cheeks when he smiled were like a Cupid's arrow entering your heart. Was that love at first sight?

The man asked the boy for his name.

"Seo-joon" He answered with a hiccup

"Let me see your bag, maybe there is your parents number"

You could totally see that the man was trying to be as delicate as possible and it made you giggle by the sweetness. He was definitely daddy material — only if you knew how much...

The backpack of the little child had, indeed, a tag with his parents' information. The man dialed the number and a panicked voice answered the call.

"Hello, I'm with your son. Don't worry, he is okay. We are in the arrival hall, near the information panels"

Seo-joon's parents arrived quickly after that, running to their son. They were crying and thanking the stranger at the same time. An embarrassed smile grew on the man's face. You wanted to talk to him but he walked away before you could do it.

You had been thinking about him for months but what could you do? You knew nothing about him, not even his name. But luck was on your side since Jimin, without knowing it, gave you the opportunity to see the man again when he literally dragged your ass to a luxurious bar. At first, you didn't want to go but your best friend insisted so much that you gave up.

You were sitting at the bar, waiting for your drinks when a man sat down next to you. When you turned your head and saw the stranger from the airport, your heart stopped and your throat went dry. He was even more handsome than from your memories.

He introduced himself and you did the same. Namjoon started to flirt with and you flirted back. But you surely didn't imagine what he would say next:

"Look, I'm going to be honest. You're very pretty but I'm not looking for a girlfriend" You remember that your heart broke a little when he said that "But, if you're okay if it, we can have a different kind of relationship"

"What kind?" You asked, completely dumbfounded

"A sugar daddy/baby one" Namjoon answered, looking straight into your eyes

What?! You had never, in your entire life, thought about having a sugar daddy. You didn't even need the money, your current job was paying you enough. And Namjoon wasn't so much older, even though he was 35 and you were 24.

You just asked him why and he was honest enough to tell you that he didn't have time for more and that you wouldn't be the only one. You thought about it for a few minutes and then you realized that seeing him again was fate and that you couldn't miss the chance. You wanted to be with him the very first minute you saw him. If you had to be his sugar baby for that, then a sugar baby you would be. You accepted, not caring about the ridiculous amount of money he offered you. You didn't need the money but you wanted the man.

After that, you spent the night — a very hot night during which you realized how much of a beast Namjoon was in bed — with him in a hotel room. A few days later, he texted you an address. He didn't say what you would do there and you didn't question. You just went to the rendezvous.

You were quite surprised to stand in front of a luxurious block apartment in one of the most expensive districts of Seoul. At first, you thought it was Namjoon's place and you were very curious to see how his flat was, to see if he had photos of him, his family and his friends. But when Namjoon joined you and opened the door of one of the apartments, you were more than surprised to meet an empty one.

The place was huge and the windows provided an amazing view on Seoul, but there was no furniture at all.

"Do you like it?" Namjoon asked you

"The view is beautiful" You managed to say, not knowing where he wanted to go with his question

"Good. It's yours, baby"

You gasped and looked at Namjoon with wide open eyes. In the other hand, Namjoon was pleased by your reaction and he walked closer to kiss you deeply. His hands quickly found your ass and he pressed your body against his. You were small in his arms. You knew Namjoon was very strong and he could break you very easily but instead of being scared of it, you just felt good in his embrace. You felt protected and you wished you could never leave it.

It didn't take long for Namjoon to lead to the kitchen island. He grabbed your thighs to make you sit on it and started kissing your neck. Your fingers were in his soft hair and your legs circled his waist, trying to pull him deeper into your skin. You felt his hand slowly going down to capture your tit in order to massage it. Your head rolled back at the pleasure of it. He took off your top and bra in no time to finally get to see your pretty boobs. He smirked when he noticed your already hard nipples.

He dived into it, sucking and rolling his tongue around it. Soft moans left your mouth and your pussy became wetter and wetter. Fuck, he was good. You whimpered when he bit on one of your nipples but an instant pleasure chased the pain. You loved how rough he was. You kind of got the clue that the rougher he was, the more he cared. So you did want him to be harsh with you.

Namjoon pushed your chest down so you could lie on your back. The material of the kitchen island was so cold against your burning skin that it made your shiver. Namjoon took some seconds to admire how beautiful you were and then made sure to completely undress you. Your naked body entirely at his disposal was the best thing ever for him.

"My pretty baby" He whispered before taking a big licking of your wet pussy

You jolted and moaned of how good it was to feel his tongue on you. He was eating your pussy so good that you couldn't think straight. Namjoon loved to see how your body reacted when he was touching you and he made it as his mission to make you cum as much as he could. He entered you with one of his long digits. He knew your tight pussy wasn't used enough to his big cock for penetrating you directly. He was pumping you, covering his finger with your juices. When the sliding was smooth enough, he added another finger.

"It feels good, daddy" You moaned with red cheeks — calling him daddy was very new to you at the time

"Your pussy is so tight, I love it. Let's find out if you can take another one" He teased before entering you with a third digit

Fuck, he was stretching you so good that you gasped. Namjoon curled his fingers inside your pussy to hit your g-spot, making you lose your sanity. His tongue was keeping its devilish pattern on your clit and you could feel your orgasm slowly building inside your stomach. Namjoon smirked when your walls got tighter around his fingers. He sped up his pace, just to push you closer to the edge.

"Cum on my fingers. Come on, baby"

His raspy voice against your pussy was a real sin and it was enough for you to go to the other side. You cummed hard on his fingers, screaming his name despite your heavy breathe.

Namjoon stood up to kiss you, your arousal still tasted on his tongue. You were slowly coming back to Earth while Namjoon used the hand that was in your pussy to lube his big cock. You didn't even notice him taking off his clothes. You opened your eyes to awe his buff body. His biceps and abs were flexing as he was pumping himself. He was so damn hot that you had to bite your lower lip to prevent a moan at his sight.

"Open your legs for daddy" Namjoon orders and fuck, you could feel your pussy dripping

You hold your thighs to give as much room for Namjoon as you could and he guided his fat dick to your entrance. The tip was teasing you and you couldn't wait to feel him inside you. You shuddered when the teasing was longer than you thought it would be.

"Beg for it"

Namjoon loved hearing how desperate you were for his cock. It boosted his already huge ego and you didn't mind making it bigger. Namjoon was, in fact, the man you loved and you could do whatever he wanted to make him happy.

"Please, daddy, I need your cock" You begged, making Namjoon satisfied

"Good girl" He praises as he gently entered you

Fuck, he was so big, it was almost painful. When he was fully in you, Namjoon pushed your knees against your chest to open you wider. It made your cunt clench and Namjoon growl. He started pounding you hard and deep. That was no doubt he knew what he was doing. Never a man had fucked you this good and the pleasure was enhanced by this huge size.

Sounds of skins clapping were echoing in the empty apartment like the sweetest melody ever. Your boobs, bouncing in rhythm with Namjoon's dick strokes, appealed him and he bent over to suck on your nipples. You groaned, feeling overwhelmed by all the sensations on your body.

"Fucking big" You choked up, making Namjoon giggle

"Fucking tight" He replied playfully

Your pretty face was torn by pleasure which spurred him to fuck rougher, if it was even possible. You looked so precious like that. His pretty baby.

You felt your second orgasm near so you grabbed Namjoon's hair to kiss him messily. Moans from both sides were mixing between your lips.

"Faster, daddy" You begged, completely delirious

Namjoon did it and you reached your high — again — in no time. You thought that he would slow down but it surely wasn't his intention. He, instead, put one of his warm palms around your neck and the other one on your clit. It was like Namjoon wanted to never end your orgasm but it was too much for you. Your eyes filled with tears and your mouth opened, no sound able to come from your shaking body.

"Look at you" He smirked "So fucked up. Tell daddy how much you love his cock"

"I fucking love your cock!" You screamed

"You're so fucking pretty"

Namjoon pounded a couple of times more before pulling abruptly out of your pussy and jerk him off to paint your stomach with his hot and thick white seed. He took a few seconds to admire his art piece but he didn't wait long before picking it up with his index and middle finger. He brought them up to your mouth.

"Open" He ordered and pushed his digits inside your mouth

You could taste his salty cum on your tongue as you rolled it around his fingers to clean them up.

"Good fucking girl" He praised

He kissed you so gently after that that it surprised you. You didn't think Namjoon could be so caring after fucking you so roughly. But it'd soon be your favourite thing about him. He hugged you tight despite your sticky tummy and his sweaty body — you both didn't care at all about it.

"How about a hot bath?" He offered you with a very sweet voice

You were definitely in love with the man.

Memories → Next

Taglist @gimeow @whoreseok723 @wecanpretendit @missbangtangirl @dprmoon @baechugff @parkinglot-nights @nikkinik485 @hoseokteardrop

#bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #fanfic #knj smut #knj #knj x reader #kim namjoon #kim namjun #bts namjoon #namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #sugar daddy fanfic #sugar daddy namjoon #bts rm #rm #rm bts #bangtan rm

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kivedreams · 8 months

Text

I WANT YOU. part. I knj.

pair. idol namjoon x f. reader. f. is latina poc.

genre. falling in love, established relationship, romance, marriage

warnings. +18 racism and colorism discussed [this part does not contain smut, but the story is not made for a minor audience] this super delulu coded [pls tell me if i missed anything ]

synopsis; you make my life shine, and I think I also make yours shine or you didn't know how hard a relationship with a famous person would be

word count: 4.7k

A/N: i let my delusions run free with this one, i think ill be four parts.

next part.

Just a the moment you thought the party was dying down they arrived, is not like you hated the idea of having a party, but this week has been hard on you, nothing went exactly as you planned, having your thesis send back two times in a row, draw you down, that thesis was the last thing between you and your PhD, you knew it was going to be hard, but God it really was testing you, of course you were happy for Namjoon today was a big day for him, he was finally releasing the book that he always wanted to publish a full guide on The Joseon era art and its influence in today's korean artwork, Namjoon was really proud of korean artists, so being able to pay homage to them was a big thing for him and for you, because Namjoon happiness was part of your own.

The tight red dress that you were wearing might have been a bit too much, but it was Namjoon’s gift. It might have been tighter because you had put on some weight due to the stress of these months. Going to the gym or doing any type of exercise was the last thing on your mind. You would have been lying if you did not admit that, it was one of the things that were making you feel insecure tonight, your relationship was already hard, nobody believed that Namjoon the first born child of a korean family, the leader of the most successful kpop group and now Namjoon the writer would settle for you, a latin woman of color, that did not appeal to a single one of the korean standards, you weren't insecure by Namjoon’s feelings, but you were insecure on how everyone else feelings and prejudices might influence his decisions, is not like you were desperate for the ring, you really didn't need it, nor were you prepared for marriage, but sometimes it feel like the only thing that could silenced all the voices in your head, all the social media talk, and of course everyone around you.

“Y/N?” He called for you. You were still in the balcony of the apartment, seated in the light brown handmade chair you purchased for the space, with a glass of wine enjoying the Seoul night, a slight breeze, and of course the beauty of the balcony Namjoon and you have crafted together, a lot of plants were everywhere accompanied by artworks and souvenirs that you both had collected through the years, some on your travels together, some alone.

“Yes, darling” you responded looking at him, Namjoon was an extremely handsome man, you loved that haircut in him, and his choice of clothing today was a masterpiece, that beige suit with a purple turtle neck top was a perfect mix. He looked at you with confusion in his eyes, he quickly brushed that look a way and sais,

“My parents are here, they're asking for you” Are they? was the only thing in your mind

You walked to him with a smile taking his hand, to greet them and most of the guest that have arrived since you little rendezvous to the balcony, you were begging that nobody would notice your weight, your thighs were clearly giving a show in that dress, god I hope the concealer is strong enough to cover the sleep bags in my eyes, do I still have lipstick on?

“Y/N!” His father greeted you “You look so beautiful tonight! How is your thesis going? Are you close to the finish line?” His father always looked happy to see you, but was he?

“Mr. Kim! Thank you! And yes I'm close to the finish line, if everything goes as planned, I will be able to present it in a few weeks” You responded with a smile giving him a hug and doing the same with his mother. She always looked at you, at your hair with curiosity? Of course 4B coils were not the norm in Korea, but Korean beauty standards weren't going to pressure you into hating your beautiful hair.

After polite talks and greetings for a whole night with people that were close to both of you, in professional and personal level, the night was over, Namjoon and you finished saying good bye to the last guest and his agent, the night was a success, as you knew it would be, Namjoon never fails to amaze you, you saw him the whole night , moving around and enchanting everyone, you get it, you too were enchanted by him.

Finally being able to get rid of the uncomfortable shoes and the red lace around your waist that made the dress even tighter and letting Namjoon in the living room talking with the service that was in charge of getting everything clean up and tidy again, walking straight to your room, dreaming of the comfort of your bed, you forgot all the things that were placed on top of it, because you didn't trust any of the frail art pieces to be in the open while everybody drank and mingle, with not other option, you moved to the balcony, walking down to the kitchen first taking a glass of wine with you and politely smiling to the service, Namjoon was out of your sight.

Sitting on the cold floor of the balcony letting your hair free from the detailed bun that it was made into, enjoying the silence and peace of the night. You felt empty, maybe too much stress plus the insecurities in your relationship were passing you the bills, in a few months you would be 30, and if you get your PhD granted, working as a full time curator in the national art museum of Seoul, just what you wanted, but was Namjoon on your side for it? you didn't know.

“Babe” He called, putting a blanket on top of you, you did not realize how cold you were until he did so “ Tired? they are almost finishing, our room is ready, lets go”

You looked at him from the floor with your face resting on the wooden bench, giving him a little nod, but your body was not responding to the idea of standing up, maybe you were too tired, maybe it was that third glass of wine, reminding you that alcohol was not your forte.

“Too tired? “ He said lifting you up, you hugged him, getting flooded by his strong musky scent.

Before you could realize it you were already on the bedroom, headlight turn off, the only light in the room coming from the bed stands, Namjoon sat you on the edge of the bed looking at you with curious eyes, his hands on you waist, you could feel his breathing, warmth, “Can we talk in the morning?” you ask, with almost no energy to spare.

“Is everything ok?” he asked back, now with a worried look on his face.

“Yes, I am exhausted, let's talk tomorrow please” you said standing up making your way to the bathroom, trying to unzip the dress off and failing.

“Ok” He said, hugging you from the back, there it was again his scent, it made you feel so calm, at peace.

He started to remove the dress from you, leaving you there exposed to his eyes, and to yours. You could see the reflection in the mirror, how he was hugging you even harder, tighter, Namjoon loved you, you knew that. He started to remove his own clothes, making you move the other side of the sink to remove your makeup.

You heard the water running in the tub, namjoon got close to you naked, “Want to take a bath?”

“No, I’ll take a quick shower and go to bed”

“Ok darling “ He said, kissing your neck. Making you move.

He flicked due to the inspected action “I'm not in the mood to have sex” You said, before he could say anything.

“Is ok, I just want to feel you…” he said with a hurt look, you took a step back using the shower as an excuse. Namjoon was even more confused, because you never rejected physical touch, so it felt as if you were rejecting him, but you weren’t, you just wanted to reject the feeling that you had for him, because it felt like you had everything to lose.

It was around 2AM when you two were in bed together, Namjoon pulled you close, and you couldn't say no, you couldn't do that to him again. Nighttime passed through your eyes seeing the sun rise that sunday morning, you weren't able to sleep just thinking about all the possibilities, weighing your options, you could finish your phd and go back to your country, even though it was useless, jobs for a art history doctor, were not easy to find everywhere, you didn't think that you would be able to continue to live in korea after breaking up with him… the thought made you sob, you couldn't stay in bed anymore, so you quietly stood up, walking to your safe place the balcony.

The living room was like it always use to be everything clean up and in its place, you saw the blanket that namjoon used on you last night perfectly folded, taking it to the balcony with you, a cup of tea to clean your mind and a lonely space for you to cry in peace, and there you were cuddling up in the chair, with the cold morning breeze it was 6AM, but you were crying, because there were no other options for you, you knew, Namjoon would not settle for you, you'll never live up to the standard needed to be his wife, so it was better to finish it now, than wait for later.

Only your cries and the mobile hanging in the side could be heard, so that was it, like that, it was going to be over.

“Y/N?!” He called, and you used all your strength to hide your tears, but of course he noticed.

“Are you ok honey? Talk to me” You could hear the worry in his voice, you really tried to pull back the tears, but seeing him did not help

And there, both of you were, him hugging you and giving you solace, until your crying stopped, and all you could feel was his heartbeat, his hand going up and down comforting you. There he was for you, and you were about to end a 4 year old relationship.

You meet namjoon 7 months into arriving in seoul, while you were doing your master your favorite professor suggested you to pursue a doctorate in Korea, she knew people, she could get you a internship in Seoul’s national museum while you studied, and of course she knew people in HanYang university, you knew she was an important woman in the area, but you sub estimated her contacts and power, and there you were a year later accepted into Hanyang university with a full scholarship and paid internship, you didn't know how, but the rumor that you were there due to nepotism spread all over your department reaching your workplace, while it was true that your professor helped you, the scholarship was won fairly due to your grades and the ingenuity of your master's thesis. It made your work and student life harder, as if the racism and colorism wasn't enough, but of course you weren't there to make friends, you were there to finish your studies and make a name for yourself.

That just made everyone hated you more, your coworkers thought it would be great for you, a newly hire to conduct a private view of a new exposition for a VIP, at that point you did not know if it was the racism, the nepotism rumor or because they did not want to make it themselves; but at the end that's how you met namjoon, of course you knew who he was, you might not been his fan, but you knew what his impact was, the quality of his music, and the power he had. His whole presence made you nervous, but you weren't going to risk your job nor lose the professionalism. He ended up being there because the director invited him to look at the new collection that you direct boss had picked, but he wanted it to be private, he wanted to enjoy it, and that's how the both of you ended up there, sitting on the floor of the museum admiring the work behind the main art piece.

“Now I understand, why he wanted me to look at it in person” he said with a smile “it is magnific, it was worthy escaping from the studio for this”

“I know, art can free you, it's like the whole world shut down for a minute and you can breathe” you said, genuinely happy, because he was really calm and easy to talk to, so you weren't nervous anymore, it was a success.

“Indeed” he said looking at you, you felt the warm in your face because of the way he was looking at you, he stood up and helped you too “It has been a pleasure Y/N, meeting you and the collection, I think now I am supposed to take a photo” You got frozen en place, his voice was deep and raspy, it got you flustered, you came back to your senses

“Y-yes, you do, gimme a minute to look for the camera” You said moving quickly.

You took various photos of him, he looked great in every single one, Namjoon was a handsome man, and on top of that he was so humble and easy, maybe you expectatives where in the low as soon as you heard the world VIP or maybe Namjoon was just different, he made your heart move faster.

While you were tidying up he approached you with a question,

“Y/N would you like to take a photo with me?” it surprised you , but you did not have the ability to say no.

He pulled you close, you didn't know what to do, and he noticed, so he just told you to smile, you did so, but only god knows how you ended up looking in that picture. After that he said his farewell, and you could see his bodyguards getting closer than they were before.

It was such an experience it shaked your life for the next days, you could only think of him and his strong scents, it was so good, like a forest, as the freshness of the summer, Namjoon really did a number on you, you googled half of his life in those days, and started to listing to his music, it was really good, now you understood even more his fame. At the moment that you thought that you were forgetting the flustered feeling that he led on you, he posted it, he posted the photo that he took with you, you had a start sticker on your face, and his caption left you thinking about him even more,

art can free you, the whole world shut down for a minute and you can breathe

Did he post that because of you? Did he?

====================================

It was a normal thursday, you were in the subway on your way to work, thinking about the essay you had due this sunday, it was almost done, but you felt it was missing something, moonchild playing on your airpods. The day promised to be rainy, it always rained in seoul, but not in the sad depressing way it rained in London, Seoul’s rain was calm and nostalgic, sometimes it was full of rage.

You didn't have much to do at work that day, the inauguration of the exposition was a success, you replied to the emails you had, sent some codes and updated the maintenance date of some artworks.

“Miss. Y/N, Mr. Park is asking to see you, if you could go to his office please” the voice caught you by surprise, it came from Mr. Shin, executive assistant of the museum director, the surprise was more in him coming directly to see you instead of sending you an email. Have something happened, did you mess up something…

You colleagues gave you strange and curious looks, it wasn't a normal situation, and their looks worked as a further confirmation.

Walking through the administration hallways behind Mr. Shin, got you nervous, what could've gone wrong why are they calling you, are you fired? no, R.R.H.H would’ve called for that. Mr. Shin led you to the office door and retired, you could not bring yourself to knock at the door scared, but there was no other way of escaping it. You knocked on the door twice, until you heard a deep voice say, “Come in”

You opened the door using all your strength and calm “Good morning Mr. Park, how may I help-

You stopped on your word when you saw Namjoon sitting in the middle of the room, Mr. Park's office was big, two mauve sofas facing each other in front of the big brown desk, and Namjoon was seated in one of them looking at you with a smile.

“Hello ‘Y/N” his deep voice filling the room, “Please sit down’” he said signaling the sofa in front of him

You were frozen in your step, why was Namjoon there? you quickly got back to your senses, and greeted him sitting in front of him, you didn't know if the nervousness was visible, your hands were sweaty, while they rested on your knees.

“I know you got up here thinking you were going to see YoungJo, I am sorry for that, but I did not wanted to make a fuss, hope you understand” you nodded in comprehension, of course it was going to be worse if Kim Nam Joon came calling for you, it was already weird Mr. Park doing so.

“I'm going to be direct, would you like to work for me?” The shock was painted in your face “I want someone to curate some art pieces for my parents house, and for my house too, since our conversation last week, I feel that you would be perfect for it, we share the same art vision”

You couldn't say a word, he was waiting for your response, but since you stood there in silence he continue “Money is not the problem, nor is the time, please name your price and tell me when we can start working together”

“I-I, are you sure? wouldn't you like someone more professional for this? someone with more experience in the area” you muttered, still lacking the words.

“No” he said solemnly “I am not looking for experience or somebody with a name in this, I want you and your fresh views, I read your master thesis, and I know your working in your doctorate, as I said your vision is what I want, it amuse me”

“Can I think about it?” You said, but what was there to think.

“Of course” he said “Here look, this is my personal number, you can call me or add me to Kakao, and my agent number in case I don't respond, but it is unlikely” he handed you both of the cards, looking at your shocked face with a smile. “If someone asks, just tell them that YoungJo confused you with someone else, ok?”

You nodded, still feeling out of place, looking at his almond shaped eyes, he said goodbye and left, letting you there. You slowly stood up, and walked to your department, art acquisitions, as soon as you arrived your coworkers started whispering. You sat down keeping face, when you were about to start working, Anja, who seated next to you asked,

“Hey Y/N what was that about?” with curiosity flooding her face, you smile and said loud enough,

“It was nothing, looks like they were calling someone else and somehow they got to me” you said shrugging your shoulders, resting importance to it, with you saying that the whispering and the looks finished.

The rest of the day was normal, but you still could feel the nervousness in your gut, he read your thesis, and wanted you to help him curate art for his family house and his home, it feel surreal, to good to be truth, but if it was, the opportunity was amazing, Namjoon would become your first private client, the scholarship money was decent, and you pay wasn’t that bad, but you knew that whatever Namjoon would pay you would be enough to pay rent until you found a space in the campus dorms. You weren't sure yet, there wasn't a big reason to say no, but you felt insecure. What if your work does not live up to his expectations?

You arrived home putting those thoughts to rest, working on your assignments and studying your lectures, before you could realize it, it was already past midnight and you knew what you were going to say.

Hello Mr. Kim,

I would love to work with you, please let’s discuss terms and conditions.

Have a great day, “Y/N”

12:51 am

Looking at your phone screen maybe it was too short? but it didn't need any more it was concise, you hit sent, without realizing, that you did not programmed the text message to be sent at 9 in the morning, panicking looking at the screen, until those 3 hell looking dots started blinking,

Amazing, and yes I’ll have a great day ;)

knj

12:52 am

===========================================

And there you were the next day, in front of Namjoon’s workplace building, he asked you to come the next day to discuss the job requirements and pay, you set a 3PM meeting with him, going to the big doors of HYBE ent. you were nervous hand sweating approaching the reception, you'd feel the looks, but is not like you cared anymore, but maybe you should had hided your hair today, everyone at work was already use to it, but this was a new environment, the comfort of your usual places made you forget where you were.

“Hello good evening, I have a meeting” You say approaching one of the well groomed ladies in front of you, she looked you up and down, and say,

“Excuse you?” Your korean might not be the best, but it wasn't bad, now being here for almost 8 months it had clearly improved, you repeated yourself, and then she ‘understood’

“Ok, May I know the name of the person and their department please?” she said with a smirk in her face,

“I don't know his department, the name is Kim Nam Joon” she and the two ladies at her side looked at you like you were a rare species.

“Are you sure of that?” She said with a shuckle, she wanted to laugh, it was clearly on her face.

“Yes I am sure, I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't” you said annoyed.

“Miss please, don't shame yourself in here, please go, or I'll be obligated to call security” the disgusted expression on her face saying everything you needed to know.

“Could you at least call him to verify?” keeping the last strand of politeness you asked.

“No. Please leave or I'll call security” she said standing up signaling the big crystal doors.

You were mad, not knowing what to do walking down to the doors, hearing his laughs and the looks of the people around, until of course your brain reacted, you were a smart girl after all,

Hello Mr. Kim I am already here

2:58 pm

Ok, amazing please come to my studio they'll tell you the floor ;p

2:59 am

I am not being allowed, I went to the front desk and they asked me to go, should I?

3:00 pm

What? why? please dont leave, youre in the lobby right ill come to you

3:00 pm

You read the last text, still being mad but now you knew that namjoon actually wanted you there, you stood close to the door still with some of the looks in you, but they couldn't send you out, you haven't done anything and you could easily say you were going to the store. 5 minutes passed and you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket Namjoon was calling you.

“Hi Y/N? on what side are you?” his voice sounded agitated, as if he had run.

“Hello, yes, I’m close to the doors, I have a white cardigan and a brown plaid scarf”

“I think I see you” and when he said that, you heard the commotion, there he was, his hair looking frizzy, like he had been passing his fingers through it. He had a pale green sweatshirt, a dark brown jacket and light brown trousers.

You heard the call finish, and he was getting closer to you, the people in the lobby were looking at him, and you were too but not with the same eyes. Namjoon looked so hot, he smiled at you, he was happy to see you and that calmed your heart.

“Hello Y/N, I thought you would leave” he said, extending his hand to you, you shaked hands with him.

“I almost did” you said, trying to conceal the discomfort in your voice.

“What happened, why couldn't you come in? it was just a call away” he said smiling to the people around you, you started walking with him and two bodyguards started walking at the sides.

“I explained that to the lady but she did not care to confirm that”

“Who?” the demanding tone clearly in his voice he stopped to look at you, his eyes waiting for an answer

“T-he lady with the ponytail” you mutter, namjoon’s eyes intimidate you.

“Is ok” he said, dragging you to the front desk, “Can I have a visitors pass for MY guest” he was clearly annoyed, and you were too, the face in the lady was priceless, she was between shock and disbelief, until she actually needed to talk,

“C-can I have some form of ID? " she asked, you opened your purse to take your passport, going directly to your work visa.

=========================================

Namjoon drove you to his studio, scanning his face on the door. The hallway to it was beautifully decorated with small and big art pieces, Namjoon really had a great taste, his studio was small but cozy, you could feel how he crafted every space himself, it screamed his whole personality.

“Please sit down” he said and you did so “Before we begin I am obligated to made you sign a NDA, is just protocol” he said sitting in from of you handing you a folder

“Yes, I understand” you said, giving a quick read to the NDA, you signed because it was ok and handed it to him.

“Ok, perfect. Do you want something to drink? I’m making myself a coffee” he stood up waiting for your answer.

“Water would be fine”

“I don't like to beat around the bush Y/N, I want you to pick beautiful and meaningful pieces for me, I would do it myself” he brought a glass of water for you, while holding a cup of smoking coffee “But I am pretty busy right now and I like you, and your style. Your thesis in Seurat, was an enjoyable read, and I feel that your fresh vision would be perfect for what I want” He sat down in front of you taking a sip, you did the same, Namjoon made you nervous, his aura was intoxicating.

“I get it, still, I don't have a full experience curating, I might have the theory but I stick lack the practice” you said being honest

“I'm giving the practice to you, what about 15% for every piece you pick for me? " he said with a smile that made his dimples show up.

You smiled at him “What about 20%?” You smirked.

“25%, do we have a deal?” he put down his cup to look you directly in the eyes.

“W-we do.” you smiled at him nervously due to his gaze.

“You could've said 50% and I would have said yes. I just want you.” He said standing up, giving you his hand, his words made you lose your breath.

=======================

from delululand with love, kive <3

127 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 8 months

Text

London Calling | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Vixen

Wordcount: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship!AU, idol!Au, Married!AU

Rating: 18+; minors, please do not interact

Synopsis: Vixen has decided to distract herself from Namjoon's incumbent enlistment by focusing on her job. She has accepted adding more international works to her portfolio and is currently in London; too bad Namjoon can't help but post risqué pictures on his Instagram, and it really seems he's doing so to try and get her attention.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Swearing, Fear of infidelity, Nostalgia. Extremely mild DDLG dynamics, Babygirl!Vixen, Brat!Vixen, Phone sex, Masturbation, Dirty talking. Mentions of: Oral sex (both male and female receiving), Lingerie kink, Sex toys, Spanking. Oh, and one of Joon's friends simps for Vixen.

As usual, you can find my masterlist right here! I wouldn't mind if you took a few seconds to leave a comment or reblog my fic 🥰 Also, my requests are always open!!!

Enjoy 💜✨

“Been hearing someone’s on their worst behaviour.”

Namjoon’s chuckle on the opposite end of the line is everything you need to know. “What can I say, my last moral anchor is busy girlbossing around the world.” He licks his lips and sits down on the sofa, his friends messing around his kitchen, beers and liquors spread around your marble counter. “I’m missing my lucky star.”

“Your guardian angel.”

“My only angel,” he flirts.

The game is back on between you and Namjoon. Ever since you decided to stop waiting around for his enlistment and have started accepting international projects on your portfolio, it’s like no matter where either of you are, it’s always time to flirt on the phone.

Or mess around even more.

He’s touched down in London for you about two weeks ago, showing up at your hotel room with an Agent Provocateur bag dangling from his pretty fingers and the kind of smile that always gets you shimmying out of your panties.

“What are you up to, love? What time is it over there?”

“Uh-huh. I’m the one doing the asking here, mister.”

He puts his glass back on the coffee table, and leans over with his elbows on his knees. “I’m just trying to feed my imagination, little fox. What’s a boy to do, with an empty bed and a sexy wife on the other side of the world?”

“I don’t know, maybe be more careful before talking talks he can’t walk?” you suggest.

He lowers his voice before saying, “You’d be over my knee right now, you know?”

You decide to talk back, just to mess him up further. Your voice is like midnight fog when you tell him, “you’d have to catch me first.”

He steals a glance towards the kitchen. This feels an awful lot like when the two of you began hanging out — the secrecy, the craving, the distance, and the pining. Except this time you have rings on your hands and there’s no doubting loyalty, not on his nor your behalf.

He toys with his own ring, tracing it with his thumb, twisting it a little to the left, then to the right, back and forth.

“It seems you appreciated that quick leak…”

You click your tongue. “One of these days you’re gonna end up naked in those pics and I’ll have to come home to do damage control.”

“Is that all it takes to have you back home? I miss my territorial little vixen.” He stares at your stash of books in the bookshelf, standing tall right next to his, but looking twice more put together.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been acting sluttier lately.”

“At least I haven’t gone entirely shirtless yet.” He picks up the glass again and you hear him swallowing through the line. “Unlike some of my friends. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky, you say?”

He hears the sound of a glass being put down. “Are you drinking, babygirl?”

You cock an eyebrow and stare at your glass of red wine. “I’m dined and wined. You know which bit is missing. But it seems you’re not that deserving.”

“What did you eat?” He doesn’t grant you the courtesy of winning this sensual verbal sparring. That tiny comment about being dined and wined was a trap, he can tell. Looking so casual and half-hearted can only mean you expected him to go there, and if he does, he’ll probably end up right where you wanted him.

He can do better.

“I had a steak. With a lovely truffle cream. I’ll have to make it for you next time you’re around.” Your reply comes off beat, and he smiles, happy that he caught you off guard.

If this were a match of martial arts, you’d be dwindling a little, your balance compromised. “I’d love to. Miss your tiramisu. Your cheesecake. Your aglio e olio. Your sweet little ass working around the kitchen.”

You laugh, the sound as bright and heartstopping as ever. Blood rushes to his cheeks. He loves making you laugh. “You got the guys over, I assume? Four in the morning?”

“We just finished working. Like maybe an hour ago or so.” He can’t keep calm anymore. Everytime you call him when he’s home, his gaze keeps wandering to every piece of it that belongs to you.

Sometimes it’s suffocating. Sometimes he sleeps back at the studio. Sometimes he stays over at other people’s places.

Now it’s the portrait of your orchids that you had commissioned for him. It sits next to his bonsais, so he can think of your collection each time he’s watering his own.

Sometimes he wonders who is whose subtext, because at times he thinks you’re the one who picked up habits from him, other times he thinks it’s him who accidentally got into certain hobbies through the years so he could be your exact shadow once the two of you finally met and aligned.

“Also, you’re calling at four in the morning,” he observes. “Oh…” He rubs the back of his head, then plops back on the sofa, as if he were deflating slowly. “Right. I’m your booty call.” He chuckles. “Almost forgot.”

“I can find someone else in a more suitable time zone, if that sits well with you,” you reply, your tone just a tiny bit annoyed. His nonchalance irks you just a little.

“That your sneaky link, man?” you hear someone holler on his side.

“So now I’m miss sneaky link, huh? Not bad, mister booty call.” You click your tongue. “I’ll leave you to your friends. I thought you were alone, didn’t mean to disturb.” This could be your chance to win this match.

“No, don’t go because they’re about to. Kind of right now,” he says, looking towards the kitchen and nodding towards the door. “Sorry guys. Vixen’s rule.”

“He don’t deserve you, honey,” one of his friends calls. “Just one chance, miss. Kindly.”

“We’re literally married,” he tells the guy, then to you, “Bum says hi.”

“Oh, hi sweetie. What are your thoughts on the London timezone?” you ask, coquettishly.

“Careful, fox.” Namjoon’s voice is stern when it comes on. It makes you sit taller on your seat, redirecting the pressure in between your thighs. “And you’d better not reply, Bum.”

The guy stares at Namjoon as he says. “For you, anything, my queen. Though, from personal experience, it’s excellent for your late nights and our early mornings. If you know you know,” Bum suggests.

Namjoon slaps the guy’s back with the most sarcastic smile on his face. “Time to go, dude.”

“Starcrossed lovers, that’s our fate, my queen.”

You laugh loudly and Namjoon is a little annoyed. “All the great loves are those that never happened, Bum.”

“Guys, I’m literally right here!?” Namjoon says, embarrassed and just a tad annoyed. “You, get out of my house. And stop trying to seduce my wife.”

“Bum, can you keep an eye on him? Kinda worried I might not be the only sneaky link of his.” You joke about it, but deep down, there’s always a sliver of worry in it. You wouldn’t be surprised if some of his friends were encouraging him to be unloyal to you just because you decided to push forward with your career.

“He’s too busy panting for you to even begin thinking about someone else.” Bum’s putting on his shoes by the door, hushered by Namjoon. His three other friends are similarly getting dressed, laughing at the exchange.

“Literally, Vixen—”

Namjoon looks like he’s baring his teeth at Bum using his nickname for you.

“He’s whipped. We keep him in check, but it’s like guarding a leashed little puppy.”

You giggle, sweet and endeared. “Good. That’s the way I like him.” You lick your lips. “Make sure he doesn’t bare his ass on Instagram.”

“So you’re falling for his little thirst traps?” Bum’s laugh booms in the room and Namjoon wacks him on the head, worried about the neighbours. Also, he doesn’t like admitting that when he posts, he’s thinking about the way you would react when seeing him.

“You know how I am, Bum. I’m always falling for him,” you confess, cheesy and utterly honest at the same time.

Namjoon smiles like the cat who got the cream. “That’s sweet, babygirl. The guys are leaving now. Bye guys,” he says quickly, finally kicking them out.

You try to say bye in return, but you hear the door close and Namjoon is immediately all over you. “Always falling for me, huh?” He heads back towards the sofa. “That’s new.”

“That’s actually so, so old.” You roll your eyes but smile through it anyways.

“You’re my only sneaky link, Vixen. Still got your claw marks all over my back, by the way. Lovely touch.”

“Gotta mark my territory,” you state matter-of-factly.

“Wanna switch this over to a video call?” he suggests, already undoing the first button of his shirt.

“Just so I can be reminded I’m not over there fucking you right?” You snort bitterly. “No way.”

“We could make this our own personal porno,” he suggests, grateful that his trousers are baggy enough to give him extra space around the crotch. “Just a little visual aid.”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember how I rode you last time?” You undo the little bow at the waistband of your pyjama pants, your fingertips tiptoeing around the elastic of your panties.

“Let’s say I wouldn’t mind having a bit more than a memory to hold on to.” As if telepathically connected, he’s also undoing the button and zip of his denim cargos.

“Fair. You usually hold on to my hips while I fuck you.”

He hisses, head thrown back. “And you hold on to my throat when I’ve been an exceptionally good boy.”

A shiver screeches down your torso, then spreads through your midriff and settles somewhere at the small of your back, as if recalling the phantom touch of his hand, of his thumbs imprinting themselves in the twin dimples at the base of your spine. He likes resting his fingers there when he’s taking you from behind. It’s like the little dips were designed for his digits to rest there.

“You’re such a lucky little fucker,” you tease him and he one-ups you,

“I fucking am, but last time I checked you usually sort of profit from it.”

Your sultry laugh is his favourite form of payment — right now he’s richer than he’s ever been.

“Are your hands free, love?”

You let him hang there for a couple long seconds, your breathing heavy. “They’d be freer if you were here,” you tell him. “Maybe not.”

“They’d be all over me, and you know it, little fox.” He purrs as his hand finds a good spot. He’s not yet actually touching himself, but he’s definitely teasing. “Got on a fucking plane for those hands.”

“You flew for twelve hours for these hands.”

“And for that ass,” he adds, quick-witted.

Your laugh is more of a snort. “And that too.”

His zipper is undone, he dips his hand under the waistband of his briefs, shifting it downwards. “For that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers. “Just to kiss it for a bunch of hours.”

“It was very grateful,” you remind him, trying to bluff the fact that your middle finger is now circling your clitoris.

“I remember that.” His heartbeat is starting to accelerate. “I had to stop it from being a little bit too grateful.” He remembers the silky feeling of your hair in between his fingers, the tension in your hand on his thigh as you tried to take more of him. “My birthday girl,” he hums. “And yet, I was the lucky bastard who got presents.” The sight of you in that powder pink corset, with the delicate ruffles, and the feather trims tracing the top of your breasts, palpitating with every single excited breath you took.

It had been like seeing a map of your arousal, goosebumps rising on any inch of skin he had dared lay his eyes on.

“You were so responsive,” he whispered. “You were so fucking wet.”

“You teased me for almost an hour,” you object.

“I’ll have to make it two hours next time then.” He’s throbbing in his own palm, circling his tip, hissing when he hits a too-sensitive spot. “Maybe with the tickler still.”

“It was delightful, I will admit that.” You’re leaning on your hand now, cupped between your thighs. “Wish your face was between my legs.”

“Wish you were sitting on it, baby.” He bites his lip, as if he could recall the feel, the taste of you on his mouth. “Can’t believe it’s been two weeks already.”

“I can’t wait to be home,” you moan.

He can tell you’re touching yourself, from your ragged breathing, and from the way your voice has become more vulnerable, and more impatient too. “I’ll make sure to clear my schedule when you do. We can do that ‘seven days a week’ type of shit.”

You moan and he laughs to himself.

“Are you gonna come for me, my love?” he asks fondly, his voice like a dark caress. “Are you thinking about my mouth fucking you? About my tongue stroking you, feeling how wet and warm and sweet you are?”

“Joon, please,” you beg, a desperate little laugh.

“No need to beg, babygirl. You can have everything you want when you’re with me,” he continues, with his calm, direct voice. “You can take it, love. You can have me deep inside you, and you can suck on my fingers if you’re struggling to keep your voice down.” He’s quickened his own pace, trying to climb as fast as you do. “Or you can be loud, and tell the neighbours who’s making you feel this good.”

“When I get home I want you to mess me up for days. You’re gonna mark me, and make love to me and fuck me and feed me. You’re gonna cuddle me to sleep, then wake me up with your hand between my legs.”

You’re holding your breath as you speak, your high approaching like an incumbent, massive wave.

“I promise, love.”

“Are you coming too?” you ask, and he hums simply.

“I’m close.”

“I want you to fuck me while I sit on your lap.”

“On the sofa?”

“On the sofa, on the floor, in bed, I don’t care.” You gasp, then chuckle as you hit an indecently good angle with your fingers. “I want to hold you as we make love.”

“You will, baby.”

“I wanna whisper in your ear that you’re my one and only. That you’re the only one in the whole world who can get me this good.”

He loves when you get emotional during sex. He loves when you start to ramble and you tell him all those things you usually keep to yourself. “I can’t wait either. I miss you in bed. I miss you at every meal, I miss going to our galleries. I miss every fucking thing.” He’s getting desperate. “And most of all, I miss those eyes on me.”

“I’m coming,” you gasp, out of the blue, the idea of sitting on his lap, naked, making love to him, your mouth clamped around the crook of his shoulder to keep quiet, his hands tracing your back, his eyes looking for yours, for confirmation, for loyalty, for reassurance, for companionship.

“That’s my darling.” He can let go now, and he fucks his hand with intention, with neat powerful jerks. He helps himself with strong thrusts of his pelvis, and precise tugs of his hand too. He grunts when he hears your sweet whimpers on your side of the call, and finally he follows you into pleasure, with the image of your head thrown back, your plump lips agape, your hair tumbling wild behind you as you bounce on him.

He can almost feel the aftertaste of your perspiration on the tip of his tongue.

“Wow,” you say as soon as you manage to recollect yourself.

He’s still sort of numb, his orgasm spilled on his stomach and happy trail. Just a glimpse down and he’s already envisioned the phantom of you studying his semen, lowering yourself to his navel and tracing it with your digit, only to bring it to your mouth to have a taste. He clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Damn, I wanna cuddle the fuck out of you and you’re too far away.” He reaches for a tissue to clean himself quickly. “I guess that’s why we don’t do this more often. I miss the aftercare.” He pulls himself back in his briefs, then blocks his phone between his shoulder and ear and stands to get rid of the tissue. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Hunting for chocolate.”

“Oh, baby…” He giggles, endeared. “Should I order something for you?”

“No… it’s okay.” You’re a little bit sad, but you try your best not to let it show.”

“Not even those glass beads you’d seen on our favourite website?”

You widen your eyes. “Let’s not make say things we don’t mean now...”

Namjoon laughs fondly. “Thought so.” He waits a little. “We can just talk, by the way. Or you can go grab a toy and we can keep going with this. We could discuss in great details what you intend to do to me once you’re back.”

“We could do that. Or we could video call and you could watch me hump this little thing you got me.”

He grins. “Then let me get comfy. We’ve got quite the night coming up.”

You smile. “We do.”

He hesitates. “We don’t have to, you know? If you don’t want to video call. I’m okay with just hearing you.”

You pause. Your love for him multiplies exponentially in your chest. “Sure we don’t have to. But I want to.”

Namjoon smiles. “Okay.”

“Get comfy, lucky boy,” you tease him.

“I’ll be right there.”

It’s almost six in the morning when you fall asleep. He’s propped the phone right beside him on the pillow and though he’s found himself dropping it a couple times, he’s refused to let go until he was sure you were asleep.

Now he closes the video call and locks his phone, putting it back on the nightstand. He pulls your pillow close, hugging it to his chest, then throws a leg on top of it. He places another pillow in between his legs, where your thighs would normally tangle with his.

He breathes in the vague scent of you left on the bed — not much since the sheets have been changed and he can only smell the laundry scent you normally use, of sandalwood and cedar, warm and spicy.

Twenty-three days.

He can handle it.

He falls asleep with the memory of your body like ivy against his own. Even this far apart, he is and will always be covered in you.

#kim namjoon #namjoon scenario #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #namjoon fanfiction #bts fanfiction #52 hertz #btswritersclub #bangtansorciere #houseofddaeng #namjoon x vixen #kim namjoon married au #namjoon imagine #namjoon idol au #bts blog

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btsgotjams27 · 12 days

Text

pitch fest | knj

At Pitch Fest, a high-stakes event for discovering the next big book, you find yourself reluctantly partnered with your charming yet infuriating business partner, Namjoon. As he flirts his way through the week, you struggle with your unresolved feelings from a past kiss. Amidst a whirlwind of playful bickering and simmering jealousy, Namjoon’s persistence and seductive charm ignite a passionate confrontation, leading to a revealing and intimate moment that forces you both to confront the true nature of your relationship.

✨ title: pitch fest (don’t push your luck drabble) ✨ pairing: knj x f!reader ✨ genre/au: fluff, a lil angst (you know me) | co-workers, ex-college rivals, slight e2l ✨ word count: 1.2k | ✨ rating: R ✨ warnings: jealously, some begging, namjoon’s actually kinda sweet in this one, kissing, a smol erection ✨ a/n: just a little drabble for joonie’s birthday. i’m sorry it’s been so long since i’ve written anything. i’m honestly surprised i was able to even write anything. anywho, i hope you enjoy it. (oop--forgot to mention this is my don't push your luck couple!)

read > don't push your luck | read > under the mistletoe (drabble)

Pitch Fest is a yearly event where authors and agents speed date to try and find the best, up-and-coming books.

In previous years, you attended these events with your beloved ex-colleague, Raha, but this year, you’re stuck with your partner in crime, Namjoon. And as you expected, he turned on his charm, ready to sign any author that made a pass at him or slipped them their number. If you only had a dollar for every time that happened, then maybe you wouldn’t have to go into business with him.

You expected the door to slam shut after you, but it didn’t. Instead, a hand pounds against it, propping it open.

Namjoon calls out your name and like the stubborn person you are, you don’t answer. You’re ready for the week to be over so you can head back home and cuddle up with a fluffy blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.

Normally, you’d pack everything in your suitcase the morning of, but you need to keep yourself occupied or else you’ll throw a hair dryer at Namjoon’s head. You’re only keeping the essentials out to wash up tonight and tomorrow, along with your pajamas and set of new clothes.

There’s a felt presence behind you as you’re pulling shirts and dresses off their hangers.

“What’s going on?” Namjoon asks, grasping your arm, but you knock into him on your way to the bathroom.

You can hear a small sigh coming from him as you walk away. You’re ridiculous—you know you are. The two of you have never defined anything regarding your relationship, so flirting with other people shouldn’t have you riled up. He’s free to do whatever or whoever he wants. You just hate that he kissed you during Christmas and nothing has come of it since then.

Of course, there’s the constant quips and butting of heads, but that’s nothing new with the pair of you. That’s how it’s always been.

Namjoon leans against the door frame, watching you grab your makeup, and stuff it in your bag. “Can you talk to me? Please?”

You catch his gaze in the mirror, ignoring his question again.

A beat passes and he isn’t ready to give up. He stands beside you, urging you to stop what you’re doing.

“I can’t read your mind. Did I do something wrong?” His eyes are desperately searching for any kind of reaction.

You suck in your lips, turning to him with a fake smile. “Nope. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just being you.” There’s a twinge of displeasure when you deliver that last line.

He pulls back, stunned by your hostility. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You shrug. “You’re practically flirting and throwing yourself at women this entire week.”

Namjoon scoffs. “That’s what you’re mad about? It’s our job to get the best authors. What do you think I’m doing?”

“You were totally flirting with that one author,” you mumble, shaking your head as you continue stuffing your bag. The author with the low-cut top and mini skirt who was trying to sell her book about her dog's diary.

His mouth hangs before replying, “I was not!” He reassures you.

You whip around. “Yeah huh!” You cringe when you realize you sound like a child, and you hate that Namjoon can do this to you. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to push your buttons, but he’s like an itch you can’t scratch, a bug you can’t squash, a—you get the picture. He’s a pain in the ass.

He crosses his arms and cocks his head. “And if I was? Are you jealous or something?”

Your eyes go bug-eyed. “Me? Jealous? Pfft–you couldn't be more wrong.”

You whiz past him again, but he grasps your hand, pulling you and backing you up against the counter. Your eyes dart to his and you're praying he can't see the visible gulp you just swallowed.

“What?” you seethe through your teeth.

Namjoon's smirk makes you want to wipe it off his face. “You're cute when you're jealous. Should've done more of it so I could see you like this.”

If only your eyes could burn straight through that big head of his.

“Don't call me cute,” you huff, looking down at the ground.

His expression softens, and he raises your chin. He softly looks into your eyes, and you follow him as he glances at your lips, then back up. Namjoon's thumb strokes your cheek, making your heart flutter and your stomach somersault. Your chest rises and falls, breaths slowing down as you scan his face and your eyes land on the delicate beauty mark just below his lower lip.

“Cute.”

Your jaw tightens when he says it again. “I hate you.”

Those three words come out of your mouth but you don’t really mean it—well, maybe like 90% of it. He has some redeeming qualities.

“Yeah?” Namjoon’s fingers trace your jaw, then your neck. “What do you hate? Gotta be specific.”

“I hate….your lips,” you say breathlessly when he touches your collarbone.

“What else?” He growls, moving closer to you, his forehead now resting against yours.

“Your voice.”

Namjoon pulls back with a low chuckle and hums.

“Hate how it does something to me, especially during work meetings, when you pull me close and whisper in my ear,” you admit. His voice goes deep and rumbles, sending shivers throughout your body. Every. Single. Time.

He leans in close, right next to your ear. His breath warms up your skin, making your hair stand on its end.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Your hands are splayed across his taut chest, toying with the button on his dress shirt. “You're gonna have to work a lot harder for a kiss.”

“You're gonna make me beg, aren't you?”

“As you should.” It’s only fair, you think.

“Please…” Namjoon whispers, lips ghosting over yours, his thigh now slotted between your legs. “Can I kiss you?”

“Wouldn't you rather kiss Miss-Mini-Skirt?” you quip, knowing full well he doesn’t—evident of his arousal.

Namjoon shakes his head. “She's not the one slotted between my thighs, now is she?”

“Hmm, I suppose you have a point.”

“So, please…let me kiss you.”

“Or what?”

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. “Or else I'm gonna go insane like I've been all week, sleeping in the same room with you, being so close but can't touch you.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you play with the ends of his hair, twirling it around your fingers. You pull back, eyes wandering to his, then to his lips—they’re full and plump, ready to be ravished. Not gonna lie, you’ve been dreaming about them for months on end.

”Well, are you gonna stand there or kiss me?”

A smile sweeps across Namjoon’s face before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s soft, even hesitant for a few moments until you pull him closer. His hands are on your waist, then traces along your thighs, hooking his hands around them, lifting you onto the frosty marble countertop.

He breaks the kiss, but his lips are attached to yours again within seconds.

“Joon?” You say breathlessly with half-lidded eyes.

”Yeah?” He’s restless, wanting more kisses from you. Namjoon catches your bottom lip, nibbling, making his way across to the other side.

“I still hate your lips because they're so plush and soft.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Good. Come hate my lips some more.”

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #fic: don’t push your luck #happy birthday joonie!#bts fanfic #bts fic

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taehyungsgrowl · 2 years

Text

the last time - knj x reader

you find yourself at my door just like all those times before

you wear your best apology, but i was there to watch you leave

or namjoon is asking for another chance with y/n (feat. yoongi x reader)

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: on again / off again relationships, angst (duh), namjoon doubts himself a lot, dry humping, penetrative sex, riding, spanking, creampie, hickies, overuse of the word baby, yoongi is a king, jimin might have a crush on seokjin, did y/n fumble the bag? is this toxic?

rating: 18+

word count: 7.4k

italics = flashback

A/N: hi friends old and new!

i think it's close to a year since i've posted a fic on here and this is the first bts fic i'm posting so please be nice! i started this back in november and got like half of it done then and then the holidays and other life distractions got in the way but! i'm done!

i was listening to the last time by taylor swift when inspiration struck

please! let me know what you think!

“I see you everywhere I go… I… I miss you,” his voice cracked as the last word left his lips. The lips that missed caressing every inch of her. The lips she missed whispering into her hair all the broken promises

His heart tightened as he watched her swallow back tears before she spoke for the first time that night, “You don’t get to miss me, Namjoon. You don’t. Not when you keep leaving. I can’t keep doing this. Every time you leave - just hurts more than the last,” she stopped talking, her eyes looking up at the dark sky trying to recollect herself.

“Y/N, please. I - I know I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you, but…” Y/N flinched when his hand grabbed her forearm. She silently cursed the way his touch still sent electric currents through her body no matter how small that touch was. All it did was remind her of all the times with him she was actively trying to not think about.

Because no matter how good things could be with Namjoon, he’d shown time and time again - they wouldn’t last.

He said it himself the last time he stood on her porch like this.

“I… really am - it’s not… you.” he sighed, watching the tears roll down her cheeks. His hand twitched as he stopped himself from reaching forward to wipe them away for her. Namjoon wasn’t one to struggle to find the right words. In fact, he always knew the right thing to say - but now, nothing he said was coming out right.

“Maybe because this isn’t the right thing…” the small voice in his head whispered. He shook the thought away. It had to be the right thing. He knew Y/N deserved better - she just loved him too much to see it.

“It’s not you, it’s me? Are you kidding me Namjoon? At least give me one good fucking reason - don’t I deserve to know why you’re giving up on us?

“Y/N,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled out her name. “I’m sor-”

“I should know better by now.” she interrupted him. “Just… go. Leave like you always do.”

“Joon,” hearing her say his name brought him back to the present. “Things are different. I’m different.”

“I’ve changed too, Y/N!” he feels rushed to get the words out - too afraid they’re going to choke him before she hears him out. “That’s the thing, baby. Our love was never the issue… it just wasn’t the right time for me… please.”

His wet lashes made his dark eyes look even more intense.

“I’m seeing someone else.”

Ice ran through his veins as her words hung in the air between them. He shook his head as if he could somehow make her take those words back.

“You don’t love him,” he kept shaking his head, “I know you, Y/N.” She wouldn’t be hearing him out if she did. She wouldn’t be holding back tears if she did. She couldn’t love someone else when he was still hung up on everything about her being.

His eyes scanned her face for a telltale of a lie, but he found none. Her eyes were earnestly apologetic and it made his stomach turn. The guilt that swam in her saddened gaze told him enough.

Namjoon reminded himself to breathe - he was too focused on trying not to throw up. His body was reacting to the emotional pain and he couldn’t exactly wrap his head around it.

“You knew me. You don’t know me anymore. I… I don’t wanna hurt like this anymore, Namjoon.” she sighed, entirely spent on the way her evening had developed. “Please leave… and don’t come back.”

“I can’t promise you that.” Namjoon’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ll go,” he took a step back, stepping out of the porch light. He hoped being out of the light would better hide the way his eyes were swelling with more tears. But even if Y/N couldn’t see him clearly - she knew. She could hear it in his voice.

“Take care, Joon,” she took her own step back and closed the door before she did something stupid like run straight into his arms. Every fiber of her being begged to be wrapped in his arms, but she was done listening to her heart when it came to Namjoon. She needed to let her brain do the thinking - as much as her heart wanted to keep making the decisions, it kept getting too wounded to continue.

—

Jimin paced his living room enough to start making Seokjin dizzy. “Jimin,” Seokjin warned, “sit down,”

“I’m sorry, Hyung… I just don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen him like this in well… forever. Y/N and him break up and get back together all the time… I think something changed.”

“Well, has he said what happened?”

“No! That’s the thing - he won’t talk to me,” Jimin pouted. After his roommate got back from seeing his ex, Namjoon had hardly left his room at all. He was mopey and avoiding any talk of what happened that night at all costs.

Jimin had tried - he really had. He had stayed up late a few times hoping to catch Namjoon (lately it seemed as if Namjoon only left his room when he thought Jimin was asleep or away), he had tried coming home from work early to try to get Namjoon to talk to him - but nothing was working. He knew he had to call in for backup.

“Have you considered that maybe he needs some time? That he isn’t ready to talk?” Jin placed his arm on Jimin’s shoulder trying to comfort the younger man. “Sometimes, people need some space,” he tried to reason.

Jimin shook his head. “It feels different this time.”

Jin nodded. He forgets that some of Namjoon’s friends don’t know him as long as he’s known him. “Let me try to talk to him, yeah?” The corners of his mouth twitched when he saw Jimin’s eyes light up. “Can’t promise it’ll be any different, but I’ll try.”

Jimin wrapped his arms around Jin, knocking him back against the couch they were sitting on. “Thanks, Hyung!” Jimin pulled back, slight pinkness in his cheeks at his own sudden physical affection. “I’ll leave you to it then! If you leave before I get back can you please lock the door?” he asked, already up and grabbing his keys from the table. “Thank you again, Jin!” he waved off giving Seokjin some (unwilling) alone time with Namjoon.

Jin let out a heavy sigh and stalked over to Namjoon’s room. “Kim Namjoon. I know you know I’m here,” he knocked on the door, “Let me in,”

Behind the closed door he heard Namjoon groan.

“You may be able to avoid Jimin, but I’m not playing around, Joon,” his tone was serious. Namjoon could hear it in Seokjin’s voice. There was no use in fighting Jin when he had his mind set on something. Unfortunately for Namjoon, that something was for him to talk about what happened. Something he kept trying to avoid - because well, saying it out loud made it to real for him.

Seokjin remained still until he heard the bed behind the door creak and slow footsteps approach. He fought the urge to smile, knowing his smugness would only shut Namjoon further.

Namjoon opened his door and treaded back to his bed, letting his best friend trail behind him. Jin took a seat on the bed after Joon got back under his covers. One look at him and Jin knew. Namjoon, who usually kept his face clean shaven, now had on at least five day stubble. His eyes were bloodshot from the constant tears.

“Hey,” Jin’s tone was softer than before. “Talk to me,” his hand had found its way to Joon’s knee and he kept it there - slowly rubbing reassuring circles with his palm.

Namjoon looked up at the ceiling wishing his bedsheets would swallow him whole, “She said she’s seeing someone else. I… really fucked it up this time, Jin.”

Seokjin sighed, still patting Namjoon’s leg, “You remember what you said when you broke up with her?”

Namjoon finally met Seokjin’s soft gaze. He wanted to curse him for bringing it up. He kept silent, allowing his friend to continue.

“You said you thought she deserved someone better - no matter how many times we told you that you were making a mistake.” He held Joon’s stare firmly, “Can you blame her for doing what you wanted her to?”

Namjoon’s face felt like it had been in a permanent frown these days. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I need her in my life… even if it’s not how I imagine… I… can’t let her go, Hyung.”

Seokjin nodded. As much as he loved Namjoon, he knew he had really messed up with Y/N. He remembers the first time Namjoon called for a break with Y/N. She had been inconsolable.

Seokjin’s phone rang for the second time that night - Y/N’s name flashing brightly on the screen. He looked over at Namjoon - passed out on his couch, clutching a throw pillow. He tried to wrap his head around Namjoon’s thoughts.

He knew just as well as anyone just how much Namjoon loved Y/N. You’d only need to be around the two for a minutes to physically feel the love they both radiated for each other.

But he also knew Namjoon. Namjoon who doubted himself more than anyone doubted him. No matter how many admirers he had - he struggled to believe it. Namjoon who would subconsciously sabotage himself out of fear of failure.

Namjoon who was on the edge of leaping into something great, but finding a way to run from it.

Seokjin exhaled as he answered the call, “Hi, Y/N,” he waited for her to say something.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie,” her voice quivered and he could tell she was doing her best to sound okay for him. “I… called Joon.” Seokjin kept quiet, unable to tell her he watched as Namjoon blankly stared at his phone when she called. “I’m sorry - I don’t know why I called you. I just hoped he’d be there. This isn’t on you, I’m sorry,” she shut her eyes shut wishing she could take back the desperation that drove her to calling her ex’s best friend.

Having been on the receiving end of heartbreak himself, Jin could relate to the despair that he heard in her voice. “No need to be sorry. I don’t know if I should be saying this to you but he loves you, Y/N. More than I think he realizes. I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do. And I don’t know all that goes on in his head, but I know he does.”

Seokjin knew how happy Y/N made his friend. He knew Y/N had gone through a lot with Namjoon breaking things off, but maybe it was a selfish part of him that just wanted his friend to be happy.

“You need to tell her that,” Jin shoved Namjoon a little until he made enough space for him to lay down besides him. He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling as well. “You won't get anywhere hiding out in your room. You've got the kid worried sick,” he couldn't fight the smile that tugged on his lips at the mention of Jimin.

“Before you were ever her boyfriend, you were her friend. Remind her of that,” his shoulder nudged Namjoon's.

Namjoon remembers the first time he kissed Y/N - it was one of those core moments that would live in his heart forever. It was like the world paused just for them.

They had planned to meet to study together - but somehow, both burnt out from staring at their textbooks and screens, ended up going for a walk around the neighborhood.

Which turned into them walking endlessly into the evening, bumping shoulders and sharing giggles.

Before they knew it the rosy pink sky started to deepen into an indigo blue. The cool autumn air making them walk closer and closer (although Namjoon would take any excuse to be close to her).

It was that night that Namjoon realized how his heart beat a little faster when she was around… how his cheeks hurt from smiling so much when she’s with him…

The closer the two of them got to her house, the more he wished the night wouldn’t end.

For a moment, he couldn’t hear what Y/N was saying - but it was like alarms where going off in his head.

I like her… he thought.

He grabbed her arm and faced her. She stared up at him with wide eyes - in that moment, the silence between them was as loud as sirens.

Y/N, who had come to the realization that she had started to have feelings for Namjoon long before he did was frozen in place.

The look on Namjoon’s face could only be described as longing.

The longing in his eyes as they shifted between her eyes and her lips. His lips parted slightly. His breath stuck in his throat.

With a steady hand, he lifted her chin up slightly. Before Y/N was able to get a single syllable out, Namjoon was leaning down, gingerly placing his lips on hers. His eyes shut as his lips connected with hers.

The kiss was quick - but the Earth spun in slow motion. He swears he can still feel the ghost of Y/N’s lips kissing him back that night.

Because she did kiss him back - the plumpness of his lips pressed against hers made her momentarily dizzy. She didn’t have a thought to kiss him back - her body simply responding to his as natural as it was to breathe.

Kissing him felt like the first gasp of air after being under water.

—

“Are you gonna see him again?” Hobi was sprawled out on her bed, head hanging off the edge, scrolling through his phone. Y/N looked up from the blank page on her screen. Her deadlines were approaching, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish (or start) her assignments.

“See who again?” she asked closing her laptop.

“The cute guy from the coffee shop. Or are you seeing someone else and didn’t tell me?” he rolled onto his belly and looked up at her. Hobi wanted her to move on from Namjoon. The thought of his name alone made him want to gag. There were so many guys Y/N could be seeing instead of being hung up on the one who kept breaking his own promises.

Not that a long time had passed since their break up, but Hobi didn’t see the point in waiting. He believed the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else.

“Yoongi?” She felt her face warm up. What did seeing someone these days even mean?

She’d gone on a few dates with him - she was right to tell Namjoon she was seeing someone else, right? Was she jumping the gun by telling him? Why should she care what Namjoon thought about who she was seeing? Was she seeing Yoongi?

She had lost herself in the sea of endless questions she hadn’t registered what Hobi had said.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in front of her face.

“It’s been a couple dates, Hobi,” she sighed, “He’s sweet,” her bottom lip was caught between her teeth - a nervous habit her best friend knew all too well.

He was sweet… and charming… and handsome - and overall, she liked him.

She wasn’t looking to meet anyone else right after the break up (no matter how much Hobi insisted), but things with Yoongi fell so naturally into her lap.

As if Yoongi could sense she was thinking about him, her phone started buzzing, his name glowing on her screen before she could hide it from Hobi.

“Answer it!” he whisper shouted as if she had already picked up the phone. “Hurry!”

She rolled her eyes at her friend, but did as he said and answered the phone. “Hi,” Her fingers pressed down on the volume button, turning it as low as she could to keep Hobi from overhearing. He caught on quick and gave her the biggest pout he’d given all day. She made a mental note to make up for it later.

Yoongi chuckled softly before greeting her with his own, “Hi,”

Y/N learned from her first date, that Yoongi liked phone calls. Sure, he texts when he needs to, but prefers how clear, concise, elaborate, comforting - phone calls can be. He said there were just certain things that could never be as well expressed through a text rather than a call.

“I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?” he drummed his fingers over the marble of his kitchen counter.

“No, I just got done with some work,” she was done for the day - whether the work was completed was another story.

“Come over.”

“To your place?” the butterflies in her stomach fluttered at the thought alone. She had yet to go over to his place. After the last date, she planned to. Her mind was set on going home with Yoongi.

The furthest they got was steaming up the inside of his car with her on his lap and heavy breathing.

All before the little voice (that sounded too much like Namjoon for her liking) was urging her to go home.

Yoongi could hear wheels turning in her head and he held back a laugh.

“I made dinner,” he said, smiling into his phone, “You haven’t tried my cooking yet and I’m honestly doing you a disservice if I make you wait any longer to try it,” he chuckled. “Come over while it’s still hot.”

She laughed, making Hobi raise his eyebrows at her as he tried to listen in on their conversation.

“If you insist, how can I say no?” It didn’t feel like they were still talking about his cooking.

“Texting you my address - I’ll see you here.” It wasn’t a question because he knew she would be making her way to his place.

Y/N rushed to get ready to meet Yoongi at his place - after kicking Hobi out for critiquing every outfit she tried on. She decided not to overthink it and wore her favorite pair of jeans and a cozy, off the shoulder sweater. So what if what she wore underneath was pretty and pink?

As much as she wanted to get over Namjoon - she also wanted to do this for herself. After weeks of feeling inadequate and questioning so much of her past relationship, she wanted to feel wanted. Apart from that, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for Yoongi.

She convinced herself it was purely surface level attraction, but deep down she knew there was more to it - she was just too scared to dig deeper.

Yoongi was different than Namjoon - he was comfortable in the silence that Namjoon often fought to fill with his thoughts. In the ways that Namjoon acted on impulse, Yoongi was deliberate - everything he did had a rhyme or reason whether he voiced it or not.

She didn’t know Yoongi long, but one thing she had picked up on was just how consistent and transparent he was. With Yoongi, it didn’t feel like mind games.

Yoongi smelled woodsy and fresh - like walking down by the river with autumn leaves falling from the trees on a crisp morning. It was as comforting as it was exciting. As she pulled away from the hug he greeted her with, her tummy flipped with nerves. She was glad he was dressed just as casual as she was. His black pants hung lowly on his hips, exposing a dark grey waistband, and of course a simple black long sleeve shirt. His hair, which was now brushing the nape of his neck, was pushed back away from his forehead, a few long loose strands framing his delicate features.

The initial awkwardness of being in his home for the first time quickly subsided as Yoongi brought her into his kitchen as he finished prepping their meal. Y/N’s eyes scanned what she could of his place. It was a lot cozier than she expected, but kept very clean with little touches of Yoongi throughout.

For example, she had clocked six guitar pins scattered across his coffee table, bookshelves, and piano. Of course his piano that he had facing the largest window in his living room had a guitar pick laying on top it - along with other knick knacks like a framed photo of him and his friends, music sheets, and a lighter.

“Can I help you with anything?” she offered, standing at the sink, rolling her sleeves up to wash her hands.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just about done,” he brought the spoon out of the pan and dipped his index finger into the sauce that covered the spoon, brining it up to his lips to taste. She tried not to let her mind wander as he sucked his digit clean.

Yoongi washed his hands and grabbed a pair of wine glasses from his cupboard, closing the fridge door with his hip after getting an expensive bottle of wine out of it.

Their dinner date felt straight out of a rom com. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from how much she was laughing. The sparks flew between them effortlessly.

She tried hard to keep him out of her thoughts while she was with Yoongi.

But even as she breathed in Yoongi’s scents… even as she tasted the wine off his tongue… even with his hands under her sweater, pawing at her breasts… she could hear Namjoon’s voice.

She shook her head as if she could shake away the thoughts. By now, Yoongi and her had made it to his living room. She sat on his lap, her fingers laced with his long hair, letting his hungry lips crash against hers.

Yoongi pulled away from her kiss, his eyes scanning her face. “What’s wrong?” his brows were furrowed deeply, slowly lowering his hands out of her sweater.

Her cheeks flamed hot with embarrassment. She wanted to grab his wrists and keep his hands touching her. She wanted him to make her forget. Her eyes prickled with tears she tried to blink back.

“Nothing!” she cursed herself for ruining the moment. She wanted this. Wanted Yoongi. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself as much as Yoongi.

He took her chin between his thumb and index, getting her to look at him. “You know we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing —”

“No! It’s not that!” she interrupted him.

He stayed quiet for a moment scanning her face. “You sure?” his thumb lightly grazed her lower lip.

Y/N nodded quietly, her hands finding a home in his hair. “I want you,” her lip jutted out further into a pout. She didn’t want to have to explain to him all the thoughts of Namjoon she carried in her heart.

“What do you want?” he pressed his thumb against her lips intentionally this time.

Yoongi watched the saliva that connected his thumb to her lips as she released him from her mouth. “Fuck,” he rasped, smearing the saliva over her lips, coating them in the glossy sheen. “So fucking pretty,”

His words made her stir in his lap, feeling the way his length hardened beneath her.

Y/N closed her eyes as she opened her lips to take his thumb into her mouth. She felt the weight of this digit against her tongue and she suckled on it gently. Yoongi’s other hand caressed her cheek, “Open your eyes,” Her eyes met his dark gaze and it made her suck on his thumb with more force. “Need you to tell me what you need from me, okay?”

“Want you…” she mumbled inching closer to kiss him. The friction her movement created made her gasp against his lips. “Want you to fuck me…” she exhaled into the kiss.

Yoongi chuckled against her lips as his hands roamed up and down her sides finding the hem of her sweater and pulling it up above her head. His eyes traveled down her now exposed collarbones and down to her breasts. The sight of her in her pretty pink bralette, swollen lips, and wide eyes, pleading him to fuck her was enough to drive him insane.

He knew just as well as she did that this was new. Neither of them had even brought up the ‘what are we’ conversation. For now - they were just Y/N and Yoongi.

“Yoongi,” she whined as the cool air made her shiver. He flashed her a quick smile and connected their lips again. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

He adjusted her until she was laying flat on his couch with her head propped on the arm rest. “This okay?” he asked as he rolled to hover above her, holding his weight by his arms that rested on either side of her.

Baby…

Y/N’s mind replayed every time Namjoon greeted her by taking her in his arms and mumbling the word against her lips. Every time he came back to her, with pleading eyes, and the word dripping with atonement.

Baby.

“Wait,” she sighed, shifting herself to sit up. Yoongi climbed off of her, taking the spot next to her on the couch. “I’m sorry… I can’t do this,” her bottom lip shook as she tried to stop herself from crying.

Concern flashed his face before he picked her sweater off and handed it to her, “Nothing to be sorry about,” his brows furrowed, “You okay?”

She nodded her head, quietly putting her top back on. “Yoongi,” her head hung low as she stared at her lap, “I wanted to so bad,” her voice quivered, flashing her eyes at him, “But I… can’t stop thinking about my ex,” she admitted, wanting the earth to swallow her whole.

It was humiliating enough to have to stop hooking up with one of the finest men she’d ever met but having to admit to him why just made her want to die.

Yoongi nodded slowly, the flush of his cheeks subsiding. “Is it bad that I’m relieved it’s not because of me?” he jokes trying to ease the tension between them.

“No! I promise it’s not you. It.. it’s me. It’s him.”

He held out a finger to shush her, “Hold that thought.” He walked into his kitchen while Y/N followed him with her gaze.

Yoongi joined her again by handing her a little dish of vanilla ice cream “Here,” he said, taking a spoonful of his own ice cream into his mouth. He sat down besides her, his leg folded beneath him as he faced her.

Y/N stared at him, her cheeks warm as she fought her racing thoughts.

“I like you,” he blurted out in the only way Yoongi knew to blurt things out - softly spoken and nonchalant with an underlying firmness that made you know he meant it with all his conviction.

“Before you say anything,” he continued, amusement in his eyes when he saw her face show her panic. Y/N had never been one to hide her emotions - her face always ended up giving her away.

“I’m not expecting more than whatever you want this to be,” he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger as he thought out out his words, “I like you, but…” he patted her knee softly, “I know you still got someone else on your mind,” he offered her a half smile, “But… if you need a friend,” he shrugged easily, “I can be that too,”

“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her hands. She thought he must hate her for dragging him into her mess. Must hate her for setting up expectations she couldn’t even meet because her heart still longed for someone else.

“Y/N,” he shook his head laughing, “I mean it. Look at me,” he waited for her eyes to meet his. “I’m glad you told me when you did. I would have felt a lot shittier finding out afterwards.”

“It wasn’t fair to use you to try to get over him,” she finally admitted out loud. Both to herself and Yoongi.

“You don’t owe me an apology. I’m serious,” he frowned. “Tell me about him.”

She looked up at him, her heart beating louder. “He’s… I miss him,” she hung her head low, “I know I shouldn’t because he hurt me… and I was the one who didn’t want to give him another chance, but… we’re best friends.” her voice cracked as she spoke the last word. The silence that lingered heavy in the air between them. “I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t what you asked me to come over for. And I should really just get a grip,” she rambled mindlessly wanting to fill the space.

Yoongi shook his head, “Hey,” he surprised her when his arms found their way around her shoulders pulling her in under his arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you upset,”

“No,” she shook her own head, “It’s not your fault. Like, I know we weren’t… perfect, but he can make me so happy and… I miss him,” she admitted again. Hearing her own voice say it out loud again made it really sink in.

She felt immensely guilty for many things. One of them being not hearing Namjoon out when he came to her that night. Maybe she had expected more than he could give her.

She closed her eyes wishing she could hit reset and be in a place when her and Namjoon were good. They weren’t always like this.

She half laughed through a sob, shaking her own head. “You’re a good guy. And I like you too - but you deserve someone who can give you what I can’t,” she sniffled, as he nodded, understanding where they stood with each other.

“Can I be honest?” he asked, setting his dish on the coffee table.

“Of course,” she nodded.

“I think you still love him.”

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes.

“And you should talk to him.”

Her eyes snapped up at him. As scared as she was to give Namjoon another chance - the idea of living without him in her life felt scarier. Namjoon was the one person who could, with a brush of his fingers on her skin, could wash away her worries. He was the one who would make her sides hurt from laughter. The one who pictured growing old with. The one she loved.

“Not saying you gotta get back with him if that’s not in the cards,” he chuckled, “But… at least talk it out so you can know if you’re able to move on or not. Get the closure you need, I guess.”

—

Before Seokjin left he left strict instructions with Jimin on looking out for Namjoon. Jimin made sure to promise him he would threaten Namjoon with another visit from Seokjin if Namjoon didn’t get up the next morning for breakfast.

As happy as Jimin was that his roommate did in fact leave his room the next day, he was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be having Seokjin over for breakfast.

Namjoon put on a brave face for Jimin - offering to take out the trash, tidying up the dishes and take out containers that had piled up in his bedroom, making his bed, and even cleaning the bathroom.

But if Namjoon was being honest, he was just trying to keep his mind occupied. He had spent the night scribbling away in his journal the million ways he wanted to talk to Y/N. Pages of apologies littered his brain. He needed to talk to her, but like Namjoon had been cursed with the pattern of overthinking and he wanted what he was going to say to be perfect. Even when Seokjin told him it didn’t need to be perfect - it needed to be honest.

Namjoon thought he was his most honest self when he had time to think about what the right thing to say was.

He was still thinking of how to approach his conversation with Y/N when he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Y/N stood there, eyes wide, soft gasp leaving her lips as she looked up at him. After having been the one knocking on her door before, he was left speechless seeing her standing there.

“Y/N,” he breathed out her name.

She got goosebumps on her skin hearing his honeyed voice say her name. “Can I come in?”

Namjoon hurriedly got out of the door frame and invited her in. They took a seat at his dining table, the silence palatable between them.

“Y/N, I know -” he started before she held her hand up.

“Please let me say what I need to before I change my mind.”

Namjoon shut up and waited for her to speak. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He wanted to reach over and touch her.

“Do you know what the most frustrating thing about you is?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she continued, “You’re the first person to lift those around you up. You’re supportive and caring, and see the good in people,” she smiled softly, “But you can’t seem to extend that to yourself all the time.”

Namjoon looked away. He knew he had a weak facade, he should have known she could see through it and know he wasn’t deserving.

“You deserve the good things. You deserve love.” His eyes met hers, cheeks warm from the realization that she seemed to know what he was thinking. Her words echoed in his mind. You deserve love. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to accept it. He had tried so hard to push it away thinking he wasn’t worth the fight - wasn’t worth the effort. Namjoon had been so blinded by his own insecurities he had failed to see the way that Y/N had been fighting for him.

Namjoon hadn’t noticed the tear the rolled down his face until Y/N reached over and wiped his cheek. He grabbed her wrist gently and kissed her knuckles, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry for all I put you through.”

“I missed you. A lot,” she confessed, gently taking her hand back.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” he hoped his chuckle would mask how nervous he really was.

She sighed, her eyes intently looking into his. “I love you, Namjoon. As much as I tried to make myself hate you… I can’t. And…” she offered him a half smile, “I’m not quite ready to give up on us yet.”

Namjoon thought he was dreaming. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He knelt on the floor at her feet, taking her hands in his, “I promise I’ll make it up to you every day of my life, baby.”

Hearing that word fall from his lips again felt so right. It made her feel like she had finally made it back home.

She stood up, pulling him up with her. His arms found their way around her waist, “You don’t know how much you mean to me,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

Y/N took the opportunity to close the small gap between them and pressed her lips to his. Namjoon stumbled back a bit before regaining his footing. He held her close and savored the taste of her lips on his.

Out of breath, Y/N pulled away, her nose brushing against his, “We still gotta a lot to work on you know…” the corner of her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m willing to do it,”

“Good,” she pushed his chest lightly until he was pressed against the wall.

She kissed him again with much for fervor than before. Her nerves were on fire as she chased his lips. Their lips molded against each others, quickly finding their rhythm as if no time had passed.

Namjoon took her hips and his hands and switched them around so she was caged between his broad frame and the wall. He caught her lips with hers again as he took her wrists in one of his hands and raised them above her head.

His lips met her wrists as he kissed them gently, making his way down her arm kissing every inch. “Wanna show you how much I missed you, baby…”

“Joon,” she whined, bucking her hips towards him.

His lips were now latched on her neck, kissing and nibbling on her skin enough to leave a mark behind. With her hands still in his he pulled her closer, leading her to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. He kicked the door shut before the stumbled on to his bed. He hovered above her. His broad shoulders trapping her below him. She grasped his biceps to pull herself up into a sitting position. Namjoon sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap. His hands placed firmly on her sides, sliding into her shirt, feeling her soft skin against his finger tips. He pulled back when he felt her hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. He chuckled at her attempts and took her hint and discarded his shirt on the floor before reaching down to take off her top as well.

Y/N squirmed in his lap, feeling the tickling sensation along her ribcage. The friction of her weight pressing down on his hardening member was making Namjoon dizzy. He took one hand and cupped her chin, pulling her in closer for a kiss.

“I love you so much,” he mumbled against her lips as he felt her smile against his own.

She moved her hips as they kissed, growing antsier and antsier by the minute. She felt her arousal pooling in her panties and the feeling of Namjoon’s bulge pressing against her center wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him inside her again.

Y/N raised her hips and Namjoon helped her tug her shorts off along with her panties. His own pants quickly following. She sat back down on his lap, his hard length nestled between her glistening folds. She slowly moved up and down his length, teasing herself and him before he even entered her.

He dug his fingers into her hips, stopping her mid-track. “I can’t take anymore teasing.” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Y/N leaned down to kiss him, pulling away with a bite to his lower lip.

She grabbed his cock at the base and began to jerk him in her palm a few times before aligning her entrance with it. His head opened her up and she slowly sank down on him. She hissed quietly at how the stretching ached.

“Fuck,” she cursed. He was not even all the way inside her pussy when she began to rock her hips, helping him ease into her.

“God, baby.” he choked out.

She missed this. She missed him.

Namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut feeling her warm wet wall pulsing around his cock. His large hands grasped at her hips, almost holding her still as she eased on to him. His blissed out expression made her want to keep him at her mercy like this forever.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her nails digging into his chest when his tip finally brushed against her cervix; she sat snugly on the entire stretch of his cock. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in an attempt to hold in her moaning.

“Let me hear you, Y/N,” hearing him say her name in such a desperate tone made her walls clench around him.

Namjoon gently started to guide her hips, but he wanted her to be in control. He wanted her to use him to make herself feel good.

The wet sounds that filled the room as she bounced down on his cock were enough to almost intoxicate Namjoon. Skin slapped together found a pace that worked for her.

Y/N could feel every inch, every vein, being hugged tightly by the walls of her dripping cunt.

“You’re so tight.” he growled, his hand smacked down on her ass when she began to pick up the pace.

She was way passed the point of forming coherent sentences; Y/N was rapidly chasing her orgasm to the tune of her moaning and whimpering.

“Keep going. C’mon, cum for me.” he bucked his hips up me meet the roll of her own.

His guiding words help send her over the edge. Her body convulsed and pulsed around his cock, edging him closer.

Y/N crumbled around him, cumming all over him. Watching the way her eyes rolled back and her chest bounced along with her was enough to make him’s throbbing member explode inside her.

He groaned out her name as he spilled himself into her pussy. Her grinding and bouncing became sloppier and sloppier until she came to an exhaustion, making her collapse on his chest when he slipped out of her.

He held against his chest, softly kissing the top of head, breathing in her smell. His long fingers lazily tracing patterns along her back.

Just when he though Y/N had fallen asleep listening to the way he heart beat slowly regained its normal speed, he felt her lips leaving tiny kisses on his chest. She nestled her face between his pecs and left a wet trail of kisses.

“Y/N?” his hands raked low enough to squeeze her ass.

“Mhm?” she mumbled before turning the little kisses she left on his chest into a bite. She sank her teeth into his flesh teasingly, sucking a hickey between his collarbone and nipple.

They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. The bliss that Y/N felt being in Namjoon’s arms went far beyond any post-orgasm buzz.

But she was serious when she told Namjoon they still had a lot to work on. She knew she would have to burst the bubble the laid in for the moment.

She rolled off of him and under his covers, nestling herself under his arm. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her.

“Joon,” she turned to face him. “This is the last time we can… end things and be… okay.” She watched his face carefully. She loved him with her entire being, but she knew her heart could only handle so much more pain. She was going out on a limb for him because she believed he would do the same for her.

“I love you so much, I… don’t think I could handle another heartbreak like before,” she let out a deep breath, “I want this to work, but… you have to talk to me, Joon.”

Namjoon searched for her hand underneath the blanket and squeezed it firmly. “I promise. I promise that was the last time I hurt you like that, baby. I need you to know that.” He sat up a bit, reaching for his nightstand and grabbing the small leather bound notebook that sat on top.

“I have something for you.” He handed her his journal and flipped to the page that started his written apologies. “They’re not perfect. I was actually working on these before you came,” he blushed. “Been trying to make it right. Wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

He watched as her eyes scanned the pages, “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you at the door.”

“Do you trust me when I say I love you?” he spoke it so softly, his deep voice almost vibrating in the space between them.

Her eyes were glassy from reading his apologies. She made the choice to love Namjoon every single day - insecurities and all. She made the choice to make their relationship work. Through the words scribbled on his paper, she knew he felt the same way.

She nodded, tears spilling over.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he pulled her closer, wiping her tears away.

“I’m crying because I love you,” she laughed through the tears.

“Never wanna be the reason you cry anymore,” he pulled her on to his chest again and held her there. In that moment, he felt like he was holding his entire world in his arms.

thank you for reading! just tagging a couple friends i've talked abt with this fic hhfkvhdndjvndnfmf jchsdhvcjdh

@desertsunflower00

@wonhosmistress

lmk if you would like to be tagged in any other fics!

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soraviie · 1 year

Text

pining for you.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ masterlist

━ about: sister of "you assume it's unrequited.txt" this one from the boys' POV; angst + light fluff

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ sorry for the shortness of Tae's piece, it just felt right to begin and end with those sentences

━ leave a comment or I’ll drown you in a tub of money. If you like my work and want to tip, here's my ko-fi. Thank you so much if you do!

KNJ | Frankly — irrationally and irrevocably — Kim Namjoon hates your guts.

Rude, conceited, disagreeable. An ill-mannered hamster of a person!

Kind, smart. Different.

Different.

Was that why it usually takes him two whole days to muster up enough courage to speak to you? Or was the situation as a whole something more base — he desired that certain someone because they utterly and unmistakably wanted nothing to do with him?

Be that as it may, he needed rules. Rules for his status, rules for his peace of mind. Rules for his rapidly deteriorating mood. Why continue to pursue a person who runs away from you? Who didn’t like you at all; not even a little bit? Logically it made absolutely no sense.

With a deep, exhausted groan, he lets his head fall against the overcrowded desk of his unlit studio.

“Follow the rules, Namjoon,” he breathes out, feeling the rush of warm air reflect from the wood underneath. “Follow the rules and you should be fine.”

There were only five of them. after all. He ought to manage.

Rule no. 5: don’t think too personally about anything they do.

People showed menial kindness every single day of their lives. These were just gestures, acknowledging nods of the bond created between a person and a society at large. If the corners of your lips quirked as he was telling a joke it wasn’t because you thought of him as incredibly funny but it was because you were humouring him yourself. Should you happen to leave a note on his schedule: “Jaehyun told Sae who told me you needed 17th free for family reasons. It’s been arranged. Happy visit!” then it only meant that you were good at your job. He didn’t dispute that. Though Namjoon suspects he’s not doing all that good of a work with this rule — every single time your shoulder brushes past his, as you quickly make your way to whatever destination called you next, his heart, unfailingly, unflinchingly, skips a beat.

Rule no.4: no intruding upon your life.

He’s not intruding. Offering to get coffee and a pastry is not intruding. You haven’t eaten! You always wait for the last minute and if anything this was for collective good! Should you faint and an ambulance would have to be called, work day comes to a grinding halt! So he was merely thinking of it as a team effort, that’s all!

“Yeah,” he thinks to himself with a tired sigh, holding the bag of two breads in his hand. One for him and you. “I don’t think I’m good at this rule, either.”

Rule no.3: no personal contact or affection.

Line upon line, he traces the bold black letters of the notes littered across his fridge. In some cases, the marker has soaked the paper to the point of tearing.

NO HOLDING HANDS! he reads as a reminder while brushing his teeth in the morning.

NO BUMPS ON THE SHOULDER! mocks the writing on his bathroom mirror as he spits the damn toothpaste out.

“No holding you in his embrace,” he softly whispers to himself, hearing you cry on the other side of the ajar door.

But maybe…!

His fingers freeze around the door knob and with a bated breath he waits.

But maybe…!

He proceeds to curl his palm into a fist, closing the door softly closed.

No maybe’s.

No holding you in his embrace.

Rule no.2: limit personal time spent together.

That you seemed to be taking care finely by yourself. It hasn’t escaped him — the mad scramble you threw yourself in whenever he appeared. Across the stage, across the hall, across a busied street. Didn’t matter what conditions and barriers stood before you, recklessly you threw yourself over them, all but fleeing away.

Did it hurt? Yes.

But was it for the best? Yes.

“Fuck what’s for the best,” he sulks to himself, angrily punching the keyboard of his computer.

However, because Namjoon's life was nothing but a puppet show and he was indeed the puppet that’s on the stage getting repeatedly thwacked by a bat, the harder he tried to stay away from you, the more he found himself in your presence.

Noticing you approaching from the other side of the hallway, nose buried into a file, he, guided by nothing but pure-minded intentions, decides to spare you the running away and bolts into what he presumed to be an empty cupboard. Moments later you walk into his chest and only then he notices your name plastered across the door.

He walked straight into an office.

But as bad as he is observing all those rules, as much as he often breaks them quite knowingly, it’s but a mere echo of how much he can’t observe rule no.1.

rule no.1: out of sight, out of mind

Out of sight perhaps but out of mind? He wouldn’t dream of it. In fact if he does dream then you’re it. Every song, every laughter of another pair, every line in a poem and brush stroke of a painting.

You, you, you.

Frankly — irrationally and irrevocably — Kim Namjoon hates your guts. And just like someone whom he doesn’t remember said, the thing he hated most about you was that he didn’t hate you at all.

MYG | "9,000,000₩...no, more like 10,000,000₩."

"What are you doing?"

Throwing a thoroughly accusing glare over the rim of his glasses, Jimin coolly replies:

"I'm calculating the sum of money you'll have to pay for your crimes."

"What crimes would those be?"

"Stalking," taking an overtly smarmy sip from his iced coffee pinky outstretched and all, Jimin observes tiredly groaning Yoongi.

"Not this again," he huffs irately. "How many times? I'm not stalking. We're just friends."

"Friends," Jimin snorts as though what Yoongi said was at least decently hilarious. "Friends, my ass."

"Well if that's how you treat them."

From the sour expression alone Yoongi gathers the sentiments that Jimin wanted to hurtle at him and truly he was far too drained to hear any of them.

"I'm off," curtly, he tosses over his shoulder, gathering up his coat. Jimin's eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

"Already?"

"It'll stick that way," Yoongi points a finger at the other man's befuddled expression before promptly shutting the doors behind. Perhaps he did hear the bellowed question — "are you really going to see that bartender again?" — but he did not regard it. So what if he did? Taehyung had tens if not dozens of friends and no one ever gave him a hard time because of it.

Walking through the familiar haphazard turns which spun his way towards you, the blinding light of apothecary suddenly reminds him. Right, the patches.

"Thank you! Come again soon!"

Politely, Yoongi nods at the young woman's words, reflexively pursing his lips into a pinched smile behind the black mask. Calmly and silently he walks the by now usual route to your bar, occasionally thumbing at the nicotine patches in the pocket of his coat. Quitting for him wasn't exactly easy or difficult per se — there was simply no incentive for him to care all that much. Sure, he knew it was bad for his health but...so? So what? However, now he's found a certain kind of joy in quitting, even if he wholeheartedly believes these patches were nothing but a frankly lazy cash grab. This is your thing with him. He gets to share something with you. Like a human to a human. When you smile he knows it's not because you have to, not because he's a paying patron but because you like him.

And Min Yoongi happens to very much like you too. By now it's redundant to hide away from the truth or be so conceited about the fact, he'd sit here like a fucking fool denying the reality. It's not quitting an unhealthy habit that has him escaping work more, that has his legs racing to get to trash bins of all the places in the world. Who could have known a dingy side alley would become a piece of deluded home?

And sure, you probably don't like him like that, certainly you won't once the truth of his identity will come out, as it always does, but he's fine with it, as long as he can still keep seeing you. Seeing you as just himself — without the pretense.

Plus he has plenty of chances to tease you about living under a rock.

When he finds you, you’re looking like a roadkill. Hair frazzled, hands wringing nervously as you pace — a sign of nicotine craving hitting bad. Your face is scrunched up in deep worry and wrinkles line your forehead with thorough dedication.

Min Yoongi couldn’t be any fonder.

Before he has the chance to roast you to hell and back, you notice him across the swirling shadows of the alleyway, throwing your hands into the air.

“I thought you would never show up! Gimme!”

You reach your grabby hands towards him and playfully, Yoongi scoffs.

“Wine and dine me first, heathen. A guy can be more than a piece of ass you know. I have….feelings.”

“You’re a demon on two legs and a good skincare,” irately, you hiss and for a second Yoongi does think you would just rip the coat off him in search for the damn patches. He wouldn't…

…necessarily mind.

Khem.

He peels the patch out from his pocket and smacks it right into the middle of your forehead. With a deeply exhausted groan, you slide down the wall.

“I hate bachelorettes,” the miserable cocoon whimpers.

Yes, Yoongi knew as much. This was strictly a piece of knowledge you probably should never know but the first time he came here a bachelorette was also taking place. Under normal circumstances he would make a hasty exit but the stream of inebriated, overjoyed women had blocked all his possible routes of escape so he had no choice but to dwell like a malicious goblin at the far side of the bar in the hopes that they won’t take that long. The seat that he’d been forced into was next to the doors to the staff room and it was here that he first saw you. Or rather he heard you. Cursing. With such colour and speed that two things flashed through his mind:

with some training you’d make a decent rapper

damn, that vocabulary has my ears getting red.

By the end of the night, he left you a big, big tip, stuffing the wads of cash into his emptied whiskey glass and hiding it behind the bar where only you could find it. Tossing one last glimpse over his shoulders, wading through the mass of party streamers and spare boa feathers, he saw your disheveled form. As tired as you were, you were holding onto the small girl — Sara was it? — patting her on the back like your own child, assuring you’d cover for her tomorrow so she could rest.

Good. Even then he could sense that you were good. And watching down upon you now, just as disheveled and tired but still inherently good, he was happy he’d raced to meet you out here on one of his prevalent uh…”people watching” activities that just so happened to center around this bar.

“STALKING!” Jimin’s voice unwittingly surges from the back of his head and he jolts in surprise of it.

You lift your pitiful gaze from the backs of your hands and observe him quietly.

“Is your shoulder okay?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Cause you strained it two days ago—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.”

WHY?! WHY WAS HE DOING WHAT HE WAS DOING?!?

Min Yoongi, have you lost your mind, he scolds himself, harshly pulling his hand away.

So he…he just caressed your cheek. That…was a thing that just happened.

You both remain awkwardly quiet.

“The nicotine craving is really getting to you, huh?” you chuckle thinly, voice falling far, far above the average tembre.

“Yeah, I’m overwhelmed,” dryly, he retorts, pushing the hand that touched your cheek deep into the pocket of his coat.

I’m not going to wash it, is his first thought. That’s fucking gross, is the second.

“Why is your face all red?” you inquire curiously.

“None of your business!”

KSJ | Because one inevitably lives in a society there are certain rules and roles one has to observe. Jin for the most part has managed to break out of the mold that was so surely set for him. Becoming an idol did inadvertently saddle him with some expectations of how he should act and in what words that act ought to be shrouded in but it didn’t change the fact that a son of a CEO, no matter how humble that company was, ran off one day and became an idol.

As long as the rules only involved himself he was quite ready to do what he pleased. But this was…different. His role didn’t just involve you, it was because of you.

He’d never seen his father so serious as he was on that day when he pulled Jin aside and somberly whispered.

“I’m not saying that the kid is bad,” you were already adult then. “But that family is no good, Jin. Just…it’d be better for both of you if you’d forget it, son.”

His throat had then been full with the beat of his heart. By that point the attraction he had for you was simmering in the back of his mind. He thought he’d concealed it fine enough, letting the curious surprise at how you turned out to be sit in the confines of his privacy but apparently not. His father had tossed him the last knowing glance and mingled back into the party, leaving Jin to stand in his corner confused and suddenly cold.

But if society was a peculiar thing, then a mind was even more so.

Because for some reason Jin’s mind decided to obsess over that one person on the earth who had the personality of a power tool.

“Two years of my life.”

“Yoongi, please, this isn’t about you,” Jin whimpers miserably, sound falling muffled as his face is pressed tightly against the bedcover. “Give me some sympathy!”

“I have none.”

Jin is not quite certain how he manages it but even Yoongi’s disembodied voice carries its frustration so clearly, he can almost see the man in front of his eyes.

“Because of you, for two years of my life I had to listen to how beautiful they are, how clever. “Did you know they graduated in the top 5 in their university?! Yoongi, top 5!” I even had to organize to send them flowers on graduation from a secret admirer because of that bullshit feud your family has with theirs.”

The last part he scoffs.

Jin scrambles up from the bed.

“Can we get to the most important part here?” he huffs, bringing the phone closer to his mouth.

“And what would that be?”

“Me!”

The roll of Yoongi’s eyes is almost audible.

“And what about you? So you kissed them and chickened out. What’s more to it?”

“wHAT’S MORE TO IT?!” Only barely Jin manages to pull in a meditative breath, in order to not project his left lung all the way back to Korea. “What’s more to it?!” he hisses. “I’m supposed to be a brotherly figure. At best! They’re younger than me—”

“They’re still an adult.”

“I’ve known them since we were kids!”

“Real meet-cute, what can I say?”

“It’s just-It’s just! It’s just not meant to be!”

“If it’s not meant to be, why did you kiss them at all?”

Jin doesn’t reply and after a moment he drops the call entirely, leaving Yoongi to ruefully sigh in his dark studio.

“I fucking hate slow burns,” he grumbles.

Rolling out of the bed, Jin dejectedly waddles through the door. It’s the middle of the night, safe to say everyone else was sleeping. Why did he kiss you, he ponders waddling to the kitchen, why indeed. A brotherly figure was definitely not supposed to do that, doesn’t matter if you were just a close friend of his cousin or not. But then why had you embraced him last summer?

As your hands came up to form circle around his waist and with your breath reeking heavily of alcohol and the pink boa slipping down one of your shoulders, dragging limply behind like a tail, why did you have to mutter into his chest how much you liked him? That he was guilty for the suffering he’d caused you? Previously Jin was quite content with pining you from afar, indulging in the idea of you rather than the real you which would bear consequences for both of you but with you clinging onto him he had glimpsed behind the veil and the veil refused to close.

At times, he became tempestuous, gaming angrily while casting furtive glances at the phone, weighing the options of giving you a call. Why shouldn’t he be with you? After all that he’s had to sacrifice and give up, his father should have no choice about the turns in his life!

But…he always weighed against it. The matter wasn’t just about him but it was about you as well and because of it…he’d rather not act. He’d follow the role he was set to act, dignified and polite, he would be what he should be and not give you any hard time.

That is until, just as dignified and polite, you cast yourself in an entirely different role — corner him one day at a beach, the last day of a vacation, and there atop of the cold sand with an ease and grace of a century passed, you kiss him, forever changing the meaning of the word “love”.

JH | Dacquoise? Or perhaps an opera cake? Both could potentially be too sweet. But dacquoise looked pretty, however, opera cake had chocolate and one couldn’t go wrong with chocolate…

“Shopping for your girlfriend, mister?” the girl by the counter asks sweetly and immediately Hoseok smiles behind the mask. Lately just the thought of you tugged at the corners of his lips with a heavy hand.

“No, it’s actually for my,” the smile flickers “Teacher.”

In the end, he leaves the shop with a sizable chunk of swiss roll.

Bad Hoseok, crazy Hoseok, dummy Hoseok, he curses himself, trailing despondently down the road. Who would be so moronic as to start crushing on his own tutor?

“Ah, really, you’ve lost your shit, brother,” he mutters underneath the nose, falling heavily against someone's apartment building, careful not to damage the swiss roll dangling in the crook of his elbow.

“Mr Jung?”

Hoseok disjoined himself from the wall with a sudden start. With your slippers dragging against the concrete, you jogged over, fretfully glimpsing around the half-emptied street.

“When you said you’d drop by for a visit, I thought you were joking.”

With feigned innocence, he swings on the balls of his feet, growing flustered underneath the weight of your disapproving glare.

He was not nearly as innocent as he pretended. Would an innocent man utilise your soft spot for him to be forgiven? Would he beg and grovel to be accepted as a student with the hopes of it…leading to more? Would an innocent man lay awake at deep night and dream of things that were decidedly not innocent? Would he think of you scolding him with a smile of content?

Without the shadow of a doubt, Hoseok would be glad if you slapped him, as long as you touched him in the end.

No, an innocent man would not even dare entertain such a sinful idea. You still believed he was innocent and shamefully, horribly, selfishly he used that.

What a horrible man he was.

“Eyyy, how could I not visit when my favourite tutor moves apartments?” gently, he shakes you by the shoulder. “Let’s eat cake!”

“But—!”

“Let’s go!”

No, an innocent man would not grasp your hand as an excuse.

“Not, this again,” you growl in between bites of the swiss roll. There is no furniture and as such you both have to sit on the floor, using bendy plastic forks as utensils.

“The view is nice. Seodaemun-gu is a better choice, for sure.”

“Mr Jung!”

“Hoseok, please!”

Nearly in tears from exasperation, you cry out:

“Hoseok, please.”

The grin from his face disappears entirely as he took in the fraught state of your eyes. Was he…being cruel to you somehow?

“I like you, I really do,” his heart makes an uncomfortable leap and even you seem to catch on to the choice of wording, swallowing nervously as you did. “A-as a student I mean but I still quit as a tutor, there’s no way—”

“Yes, there is,” calmly, he puts the fork down, inhaling a shuddery breath. The air smells of your perfume. He hadn’t yet thought of a way to ask the name for it without coming off as…creepy. “Private tutor. I pay you out of my own wallet. I’ve arranged with management that I’ll take all the official exams but without their oversight.”

Just me and you.

“Mr Jung—”

“Hoseok.”

“Hoseok—”

“I’ll pay you 3 million won per month.”

“Still—”

“A million per meeting.”

If feasible, there would be smoke coming out from your nostrils.

“Dear Hoseok,” your lips blossom into a wide smile and he shudders, falling abruptly silent. That smile meant he’s going to get kicked to the moon.

“Do you want to learn a good English phrase?”

“Of course, I do!"

“BRO, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME SPEAK!”

Even you yourself seemed to be somewhat taken by the outburst. Blushing slightly, you cough, adjusting a strand of unperturbed hair.

“What I mean is money is not the issue. I already got a job translating documents for a firm nearby but what I mean is…”

Eagerly, Hoseok waits.

“What you mean is?” he continues, the thrumming of his heart so loud, he fears you’d hear it.

You gnaw on your lip, gaze flickering wildly all over his face.

“What I mean is,” you struggle out. “I...I…”

“You…?”

“I don’t think I’m the best tutor for you.”

Like a bucket of ice cold water, the sentence washes over him and Hoseok suddenly realises how close he’d leaned into you. With an embarrassed cough of his own he regains the proper distance.

“Nonsense. Isn’t that for me to decide? As your student,” the word sits bitter on his tongue. “I ought to choose what method of teaching is best for me. And you’re the best for me. Am I not the best for you?”

So far from an innocent man.

Your gaze slowly averts away and the way he relishes its shyness is almost perverse.

“Nah, you’re the best,” quietly, you remark, biting on a piece of swiss roll.

PJM | Two girls at the front of the club line were enjoying their conversation. Jimin was also enjoying their conversation.

“There’s that person here tonight. Eun-Chae swears she saw them coming in.”

“The one who made those pretty earrings she had last month? Ahh, I’m so jealous!”

“Hmm. Rumour is they’re really underground but if you get an invite from someone who's already been their client, they take you on.”

“Oh, really? How did Eun-Chae get it then?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to say this…” the girl with the long hair trailed off and even Jimin trailing behind her to get into the club could hardly control the scoff that threatened to break out of him. Not supposed to say this. Did she not know that once those words were spoken any true gossiper would drink seas of blood to hear such a delicious piece of information.

“But!”

Ah, so she did have some mercy.

“But apparently she got an invite from an undisclosed member of Stray Kids.”

As they both squealed, Jimin parted ways with the two women, easily blending into the nightclub. The fact that an underground jeweller was here did not surprise him. This particular club attracted all sorts of creative scenes. He didn’t much care for it, really, that is until he saw you. Hunched over the vomit littered stairs with a pair of pliers in between your hands you were working on what seemed to be an intricate piece of necklace.

Surreptitiously, Jimin snuck closer, mostly because he’d come alone here tonight. Without friends it was boring as all hell. Watching you work soon proved to be incredibly fascinating. The way that the space between your eyebrows wrinkled, how precisely your eyes focused on each individual detail. How you were able to regain calm and professionalism even amidst the chaos of sweaty bodies and pounding bassline. You cradled these pieces with the same care people did their children…or pets. It truly was a fascinating sight that Jimin could relate to.

Fast forward some months forth, he now also realises that it’s the sight he’s utterly fallen in love with.

“You’re breathing on my neck.”

The grumpiness in your tone rouses him from the memory and Jimin finds himself firmly planted in the present. With his chin perched on the curve of your shoulder, he watches carefully as your lithe fingers string the small pearls one by one. He wonders how would they feel caressing his bare skin. Would they tickle? Would they be warm?

“Am I? My sincere apologies.”

“You lying, little—!”

He flicks the back of your head.

“Ey, no swearing.”

You glare back at him, the only luminescence in the room being the small desk lamp you used at your workstation. Though Jimin couldn’t be absolutely sure where the border between what he wanted and what was differed but he knew for certain, there was something behind the way your gaze flickered to his lips and remained there for a touch too long.

He ran a tongue over his lips.

“You want to kiss?"

Your hand reaches upwards, abandoning the pearls and Jimin’s knees grow weak. He has to brace himself harder against the desk but it’s wholly useless as his arms come up by your sides. He’s caging you in? Nonsense! You’re the cager.

You flick him harshly against the forehead.

“Rich man stops being a perv when crossing the threshold into my home. Rule 12.”

“So many rules…” Jimin sulks, cradling the now sore spot. “You’re such a control freak.”

“So what if I am?” you toss over the shoulder, bringing your attention back to the pearls. It was both of your decision that the layered pearls would be a statement piece for an upcoming photoshoot. That is another thing he loves about you. You never insist upon him wearing chains or dainty pieces, you go for the middle. That same middle that he liked.

“Masculine, feminine,” he remembers you scoffing harshly one night. “If I make it, it’s just jewelry above all.”

For now he decides to leave you alone. Even if you like him, he knows you wouldn’t hesitate to toss him out by the scruff. That was the third thing he loves about you. Third thousand that is. While you work, he gleefully immerses himself into observing your home. He tidies a book or a blanket here and there, mostly to occupy the time.

Lador shampoo. He spots one in the bathroom. Should he tell you that he saw you use it and now uses it himself just so that his hair would smell like yours and he’d have something to serve as a reminder of you when going away?

No…that’s a bit unhinged. He’d accidentally spilled that piece of information to Yoongi and the man had been a hair strand away from calling the police.

“It’s not that weird,” he pouts to himself. “At least I’m not a stalker.”

Well, he did get your address from that undisclosed member of Stray Kids…

Faint scratching against the window brings his gaze up from the shitty kitchen tiles to the even shittier window and its half broken blinds.

“Nori!” he greets the tabby cat warmly. “Are you hungry?”

“STOP CANOODLING MY CAT, PARK!” your yell shakes the air before he can even reach for the can of open tuna. “You’re allergic to fur. Get your ass back here!”

He doesn’t dare to not oblidge.

“Look at you, sitting all pretty,” you purr, clasping the necklace shut.

Smarmily, Jimin runs a hand through his hair.

“Why thank you.”

For a second, your face scrunches as it does when you’re thinking something deeply but then the creases smoothe out and you toss him a half-hearted glare.

“Obviously I meant the necklace.”

“Was it that obvious?”

You reach to flick his forehead once more but this time Jimin catches your hand. Though the sly smirk growing upon his face is wiped with a bold stroke as he feels the numerous cuts marring the skin.

Sternly, he inspects them, wrapping his fingers tighter around yours as you struggle to pull away.

“No one did this to you, did they?” his voice drops an octave and unbeknownst to him, your breath catches in the middle of the throat. Park Jimin — forever a mystery, an onion gradually unfolding his many sides.

“Of course, not,” with feigned ease you reply, trying to take your hand back. He does not let it. “It’s just…collateral damage.”

“Your body is not collateral damage.”

“They’re just hands, Jimin.”

“Not even one inch,” he concluded sternly, not a millimeter in his expression or lilt of his voice freeing up the space for a debate to unfold.

Your fingers are cold, he finds out. But that’s okay, he’ll warm them up for you.

KTH | House, also referred to as "playing house" or "play grown up", is a traditional children's game. It's a form of make believe where players take on the roles of a family.

Though what is happening now is set in reality, in a way, Taehyung is playing a form of make believe.

By now it’s been well observed. 15 minutes into a movie and you’re passed out. Not even a night of solid drinking could make a person this unconscious. The make believe in this situation wasn’t scheduling a hang out at his place, it wasn’t the fact that he’d offered to watch a movie while fully knowing of your tendency to fall asleep, it’s not even wrapping his hand around your shoulder and letting his head rest atop of yours. It’s the dreaming that was fake. The endless hope that one of these days he would do something, that you would do something. Every once in a while, he gets the feeling that you might like him. But it’s gone so soon, he inevitably ends up presuming it’s just in his head.

Wasn’t it?

The blue glow of the screen illuminates your features with an eerie glow and even as someone screams, being chainsawed in half, you don’t move an inch. Now, a boyfriend would lift you up and bring you to the bed, covering your form with a warm blanket and then sliding in. But boyfriends were allowed to do so. That, however, is the fine line where comes the end of his game of house. Some things are simply not allowed.

Gently, he shakes you awake and blinking blearily, you let a pitiful mumble of confusion.

“Tae?”

His heart clenches.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t you have to go home?”

In the deluded state that you’re in, you throw both arms around his neck and mumble sleepily into the crook of his neck:

“Don’t wanna. Let me crash here.”

To stab already his bleeding heart, you add:

“Please?”

How could he possibly say no to you?

Falling in love with your friend is technically not a crime but Taehyung thinks that it should be. It’s nothing short of criminal — the level of delusion he entertains whilst adjusting his shirt to sit lower on your body. He should be arrested for the gentleness and care he takes in helping you to measly finish your skincare routine. It is sinful that he has the gall to pretend that this is anything but a series of utterly selfish actions. He gets to play house. He gets to play your boyfriend. He gets to slide underneath the covers with you, laying an arm around your waist and watching you slumber, peaceful and at ease.

JJK | Jungkook's part has been upgraded to a oneshot! Read it here!

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @devilsbooksworld; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @silverliningsandstorms;

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cinnaminyoons · 1 year

Text

ONLY ONES WHO KNOW !!

!! knj x m!reader

!! wc | 5.8k

!! tags | joon/reader are around 30 (implied), drinking, suggestive (reader comes off a little subby, but not as a bottom), reader seduces joon with facts about sea creatures, i don’t know how to write people who hate each other so the relationship is more like annoying x annoyed

[ event masterlist ]

professors of different faculties

seven minutes in heaven

“is that the best you can do?”

kim namjoon, head of the 'historical' aspect of the university's school of philosophical, historical, and international studies, is a terrible man to make an enemy of. his frowns are sharp and his tongue is sharper, lashing at loud talkers during his lectures and idiotic faculty heads alike, and he is never seen without a perfectly-pressed three-piece suit.

despite his severe outfits and hard-to-impress attitude, the passion he has for anthropology resonates in his voice, in his hands, and in his shoulders. his smooth voice grows quick and bouncy when he covers prehistoric art and relates cueva de las manos to the modern family, or even the brief few slides about the denisovan girl. he's usually a patient person, a trait that many of his students can attest to, but when it comes to one man, every notion of it flies out the window with a crash.

you. you. maritime archaeology was your schtick. you did your postgraduate studies overseas, and you could often be found nattering away with your students in their mother tongue. he wanted to dislike you – you, with your messy folded sleeves and lack of a tie – but when you turned to him, all shining eyes and little waves, he could feel the chains of the drawbridge loosen just one notch more.

"he-llo, professor kim."

he doesn't look up, tapping away at his laptop. "seat's taken, yn."

your brow furrows briefly and you glance around, meeting the eyes of a few mutual students who look on with feigned disinterest. you glance back down at him and set your white bowl of katsu curry on the table. "you? waiting on a friend? i thought i was your only one."

you move to sit down, but he grabs his bag and dumps it on the chair beside him – all without looking away from his screen.

"now, that's just unnecessary," you huff. you slide your bowl and drink to the other side of the table and grab a nearby chair. setting it down, you take a smug seat, leaning back in it as you slip the chopsticks out of the crisp paper sleeve.

you snap them apart and crack open the bottle of soft drink. you begin to eat quietly, scrolling through your phone to get a head start on the several thousand emails you have piled up in your inbox. your shirt is open one button lower than usual, and he fights the urge to comment on it. if he knows you – and he does, however unwillingly – you will come in tomorrow with the entire thing undone. he contents himself by glancing occasionally and pursing his lips.

a few minutes of silence pass in relative peace. the small cafeteria sits by the entrance to the law library, and namjoon was, until very recently, dead certain that you wouldn't find him here.

shame on him, doubting your determination.

"you know, i have never seen you eat anything at work."

he drags his gaze upwards, almost an eye roll, but too constrained. he lifts a brow behind thin black spectacles. "is that really so interesting?"

"given that i've known you for eight months and have seriously wondered if you have to plug yourself into a wall socket every night, yes. what do you eat? where do you eat?" you lean forward in open fascination.

he lowers his eyes and shakes his head, returning to his word document. "i won't tell you because if i did, you'd never stop bothering me. i like to have a moment of peace every once in a while, if you couldn't tell."

you gesture vaguely with your spoon and open your mouth to speak, before narrowing your eyes. "are those... new?"

his eyes flicker up again. "what are you talking about?"

"those. your glasses. did you get new ones?"

for a second, he looks so baffled that you can't help but burst into laughter.

"you're too cute," you coo. "of course you got new ones. what am i even asking?"

he wonders if you're fucking with him. these frames are the exact same as the ones he got last time; they should be indistinguishable.

"they look good on you."

you're definitely fucking with him.

he sighs. "thank you," he says warily. "are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to eat your lunch? it'll go cold."

"don't take it the wrong way. anything noteworthy about your face is immediately negated by that bland suit. have you so much as glanced at a fashion magazine in the last three decades?" propping your chin on your hand, you grin, your eyes glinting. "i'm feasting on your little pout."

he wants to dislike you.

"maybe if you were head of fashion design, i'd listen to you," he replies primly. "but you spend half your time in the water. you reek of sea salt and wouldn't know dressing well if it slapped you in the face."

your mouth falls open and you scoff in exaggerated offence. "whoa! i do dress well. that really hurt, namjoon."

"your belt and your shoes are different colours."

"what are you looking at my belt for?" you ask with a wink and a suggestive grin.

"you've never gone a minute without folding your sleeves, regardless of who you're meeting that day."

"it's part of my roguish charm and attests to my qualifications." you slide them up your arms.

"your hair constantly looks as if you've stepped freshly from a car quickie."

"i hear jealousy," you tease.

namjoon purses his lips, lowering his laptop lid. you lean back in your seat with a triumphant glitter in your eyes.

"admit it," you tell him. "you envy me. i mean, who wouldn't? i know a lot about whale sharks and old ships, still have outstanding student debt, and still look absolutely stunning in a wetsuit."

he forces a smile, and your grin widens as he drops forward on his elbows. he must be particularly short-fused today; it usually takes a lot longer for him to crack. it wasn't even your best attempt.

"keep it in your pants, narcissus. you wear spandex and find things buried in the sand – great. a five-year-old can do that. do you know what a five-year-old can't do? my job."

"what, wax poetic about the enduring essentiality of human love despite the aeons and spanning epochs? i do that every saturday night. nobody pays me for it."

"what would you know about love? you're too busy petting sharks to even look a man in the eye."

"pet a shark when it lays still because it trusts you and say that again. bettie taught me what love is. you read one book and think you know everything – the fool's curse."

"i don't think i know everything," he says, and sounds quite offended. "that's why i keep reading. you, on the other hand, haven't picked up a book in ten years."

"untrue! i pick up books. then i put them down. i'm more of a hands-on learner, actually."

he picks up his laptop and slides it into his messenger bag. "you're an embarrassment to be around. i'm pained just talking to you."

"oh, namjoon, don't be like that. it's all in good fun."

all in good fun for you. he feels like the blood vessels in his brain will rupture if he spends another second in your presence.

as he turns to leave, you call out, "are you coming to the get-together?"

it's really a 'party', but as serious adults with hundreds of peer-reviewed articles published in respectable journals between everyone, there was a unanimous agreement to make it sound as if you'll be doing anything more professional than what a gaggle of twenty-year-olds would do.

he would rather drink himself into a coma by himself. at least his home would be comfortable and warm, and he would be wearing something more suited to a blackout drinking session than a tweed jacket and polished leather shoes.

you're going to be there. he would know it even if he wasn't told; your popularity extends past your students.

"yes, i will be coming."

your grin brightens and the surprised glimmer in your eyes is pleasingly... sparkly.

"really?" you laugh with a hint of disbelief. "well, i'm excited to see you there! the dress code's casual, by the way. that means no ties, cool?"

"i know what casual means," he replies tetchily. he averts his eyes. "but yes, i will go. goodbye, yn."

as he strides away, long legs carrying him easily to his next workshop, you know you must look like an idiot, beaming after a man whose dislike of you is widely documented.

you smile into your curry. this was the first time he said goodbye to you first.

—

"yo, namjoon! you look so good – i didn't even know you had that in your wardrobe!"

"i don't. i killed someone for this shirt."

seokjin squints at him, holding at a distance by his shoulders. "i hope you're joking. that was a joke, right? you really need to work on your delivery. anywho – come on. you're right on time."

soft pop music floats through the large house. it is an inherited estate – seokjin's joked before that he'd never be able to afford it in today's money on a teacher's salary. it looks a lot like a wealthy person's house would – open plan, bright, classic textures and colours – and even has a pool.

in other words, it's the perfect place to host a party.

several faces turn in his direction when seokjin appears in the kitchen, dragging namjoon behind him. they grin and wave, stopping namjoon briefly to make small talk about his clothes, his week, his work. he's forced to move on when seokjin grabs his arm again and brings him around the living room, unnecessarily proud of the fact that he is the first one to host namjoon at a party.

"here, namjoon. wanna play mario kart?" seokjin asks, offering a controller.

with an apologetic smile, namjoon flaps his hands awkwardly. "ah, i haven't played in a long time..."

"oh, that's okay! i can remind you. yoongi! come here!"

yoongi, dark-haired and casual, wanders over, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his silk bomber jacket. he nods at namjoon. "'sup?"

"namjoon doesn't know how to play mario kart, so we're gonna have a quick round to teach him," seokjin explains with a big grin. he waggles the controller in his grip. "you in?"

yoongi considers it. he shrugs and accepts the controller. "sure. but i'll smash you."

seokjin scoffs, following yoongi to the couch. he pats the seat beside him for namjoon. "you wish! there's no one better at mario kart than i am. prepare to have your face crushed into the dirt."

a crowd slowly gathers around the couch as they start up a match on the big flatscreen. there are more people here than namjoon realised; he notices it when they attempt to squish themselves onto the couch or around it.

it feels like living in dorms all over again.

in the middle of the last round, namjoon feels a familiar arm drape around his shoulders. he sighs quietly, ignoring the presence that dips the couch next to him.

"boo," you say. "who's winning?"

several excited shouts of your name ring out, and you smile brightly as people swarm around you and the cookies and the pack of beer you've brought. you hand them out graciously and a good friend of yours, jung hoseok, gives you a solid kiss on the crown, both of his hands holding your head steady like a basketball.

"are you trying to squeeze another drink out of him?" a t.a. accuses with a dramatic flip of her head. "how dare you abuse your networking skills!"

"i don't even like drinking that much," hoseok protests as more people loom on him. "can't i say hi to my bestie?"

"not when you greet him like a european," another jokes, and hoseok gapes in offence. "people already think you're dating!"

"no, they don't," hoseok sniffs, as if it's an idiotic thing to say. "can't a man give his best friend a forehead kiss, live with him, arrive at different times and act like we've been separated for years, and cuddle when we're cold, without being suspected of dating?" he pauses. "oh. i think i'm seeing it."

"you cuddle when you're cold?" yoongi asks blandly.

"yeah," says hoseok. "our entire complex suffers in the winter. bad insulation."

"we cuddle in other situations," you add, and hoseok pats your head fondly. "like right now."

you grab him by the torso and press your cheek against his stomach, grinning as hoseok lets out an undignified yelp. people laugh at his response and mock the noise; one of them does it so well that it causes a new bout of disproportionately-hard laughter.

"you're an embarrassment," hoseok grumbles, pouting as he drapes himself over you.

"funnily enough, that's not the first time i've been called that." you let go of him and hold out the tray of cookies as people return to cheering on the final match. "will you help me with these?"

"yeah, no problem!"

you rise to your feet, chatting with hoseok as you carry the remaining beers into the kitchen, placing them down in the fridge. hoseok laughs at something you say, leaning casually against the bench as he steals a cookie.

namjoon turns back to the game. seokjin boasts his win to a disgruntled yoongi, who came in fourth place once and it turned the tides of their otherwise equal first-place wins. yoongi, for all his huffing and complaining, doesn't seem too bothered, even smiling softly when seokjin does a lap around the couch for a long chain of high-fives like an athlete.

the night goes on with gentle glee. namjoon even starts to drink, nursing a beer covered in condensation. he pinches it by the neck to avoid getting his hands wet.

after one bottle, when he's pleasantly buzzed, he finds himself loosening up, cracking jokes with the rest of them and feeling shy but delighted when people laugh.

the crescent moon floats across the sky. somebody suggests seven minutes in heaven and is immediately booed off of the stage.

they start to play anyway.

when the bowl comes to a stop in front of him, namjoon struggles to find something to represent him. his hands come out of his pockets with a ring of usb flash drives attached to a resin bonsai keychain.

you coo next to him, plucking it out of his hands before he can put it back and dropping it into the mixing bowl next to yours. you are represented by a charm of a tiny, chunky lemon shark – as a yellow lemon. "somebody's a plant dad."

"if you ever visited my office, you'd have realised that five years ago."

you gasp, placing a hand on your chest. "was that a saucy invitation? should we have ramen together?"

"you wish," he retorts. "i'd kiss a spider before you."

"spiders would rather rip off their own legs than get anywhere near you, john keats."

he huffs. "that isn't the insult you think it is, jack sparrow."

"that's 'captain' sparrow. besides," you lean in, nearing his ear with a husky lilt, "it wasn't meant as an insult."

you move away. he stares, and you can feel it boring into the back of your head. you stifle a laugh; you can hear the gears crunching and squeaking.

seokjin props his elbow on namjoon's shoulder, leaning in with a nosy smirk. "what did that handsome man say to put that face on you?"

he whips his head away. "handsome?"

seokjin snorts. "anyone with eyes would agree. but you haven't answered my question. what did yn say?"

"nothing," he scoffs, rubbing his palms on his thighs. "he was just trying to rile me up. what else is new?"

"you two have been bickering since the dawn of time," seokjin chuckles, holding out the bowl as more knick-knacks drop in. "i don't even know why. i think you were at each other's throats before i even arrived in seoul."

"don't say that. i feel ancient."

seokjin pulls an offended expression and pushes him, as if casting an ugly shirt aside. namjoon hides his snicker with a cough. "i'm not old, dingbat! all you whippersnappers could learn a thing or two about manners – especially you humanities kids. nothing is sacred anymore."

namjoon nudges him with a sideways grin. "everyone who says 'dingbat' these days is in a nursing home."

"you will be, after i'm done with you," he threatens, pointing with narrowed eyes. "i'll make sure you won't be able to feed yourself after knocking all your teeth out and crushing your finger bones."

"very good. i won't have to worry about cavities."

seokjin scowls, but nothing in it is serious. he stands up huffily. "i can see why yn has a bone to pick with you. you're completely insufferable."

"it's called humour, old man. i wouldn't expect the farmer to know about the gold."

seokjin stomps away, tossing his head like a regal horse. very pointedly, he takes a seat next to you and offers the bowl to the woman next to him.

everyone hushes each other, watching on in interest. she thrusts her hand forward with a grimace and grabs the first thing she touches, pinching a single 100-won coin between her middle and ring fingers.

a short silence passes.

"a hundred won?" she asks in exaggerated distaste. "i'm worth more than that. whose is this?"

sheepishly, a young man lifts his hand, sandwiched between you and yoongi. he's fresh-faced and anxious but has the characteristic fashion sense of an arts major. he must be seokjin's t.a. – he looks somewhat familiar.

"oh, i'm sorry! here, have it back. this is half your salary."

laughter rings out and the poor young man flushes with embarrassment, giggling behind his hand. you nudge him forward out of his seat and he shuffles after the older woman, who guides them both into the nearest of seokjin's guest rooms – the designated 'smooch closet', as seokjin had put it.

the group plays truth or dare for seven minutes while you wait, with every back-out punished by a single shot of alcohol. eventually, you and namjoon get into an argument so heated that nobody notices the pair sneaking back into the group.

you're so amused by namjoon's stance on tomatoes that you don't recognise seokjin's sneaky smile as he skips over himself and offers the bowl to you. you dip your hand in and seokjin covers your eyes with his palm, making you laugh – you raise his hand to properly cover them, turning your head to the side for good measure.

you rattle around the bowl purposefully, then hook your index finger in a steel ring. you shake it, feeling another slip off, and wrap your fingers around the smooth metal mass. you open your eyes.

a little bonsai tree.

namjoon leans back in his seat. "no fucking way."

it's the first time you've ever heard him cuss – and it's so deadpan, too. no fucking way. it's simply complete and utter refusal.

"am i not attractive enough for you, namjoon?" you pout, and seokjin rolls his eyes with a giggle. "oh, the horror! i don't look enough like fourth-b.c.e. roman glazed pottery! how else can i seduce him into handling me ungloved?"

"we wouldn't wear gloves," namjoon sighs amongst laughter at your antics, "for non-porous artefacts. your field of study is all about finding old things in bad condition. why wouldn't you know this?"

"i handle metal and wood, professor," you chuckle, standing up and offering a hand in a sweeping bow. "we always use gloves. force of habit."

"despite your jokes, i know of several similarities between you and a glazed roman pot," he says drily, standing and ignoring your hand, which drops to your side without much thought. "you are both old, easily broken, and easily replaced."

a devilish grin tugs at your lips. "we are also both very hard and very beautiful. you'd be lucky to touch me."

you wink and whisk him away into the bedroom by the shoulders. it's completely dark within, save for a single lamp on the bedside table. he takes a prompt seat on the bed, smoothing the soft, cool covers and looking very intensely at the clock blinking digital blue on the dresser near the door.

nine thirty-two. he can survive until thirty-nine.

"namjoon," you say tentatively, "you don't... actually dislike me, do you?"

"this is a children's game," he replies curtly. "we don't need to talk."

"yes, well, seven minutes can feel like a long time under the right circumstances." you shrug, turning towards him. you're rather glad that seokjin hadn't shoved you into a closet – it'd be awkward standing chest-to-chest with the man whose entire disposition sours at the sight of you. you rest against the doorframe to the joint bathroom.

namjoon glances at you, leaning back on his palm. the bed dips with his weight. he turns away, the line of his mouth twitching to one side. "well... you're immature, loud, childish, and are too lenient with your students. i heard rumours that your faculty head once believed, quite firmly, that you were sleeping with several of your students, and that was why you were campaigning so hard for their cases."

you straighten, the casual slouch to your shoulders dropping entirely. "what?"

lifting an eyebrow, he asks, "you didn't know?"

"no." your brow furrows. "no one made me aware of this. when was this?"

"four years ago. that head's been replaced now, i know that, but even i heard about it, and i'm not one for staffroom gossip. you really didn't know...?"

you shake your head, rolling your eyes with a huff. "look, these kids are taking out predatory loans just to be a number on a sheet of paper. they're so young – especially my undergrads. some are just seventeen, can you believe that? many of them are working the hours of adults in addition to the hours taken up by draining assignments and part-time jobs. if some of them are struggling more than others, of course i care. what kind of asshole faculty head wants their students to fail and suffer?"

namjoon watches you and the frustrated angle of your brows. "sorry," he says, rather gently, "for bringing it up. i didn't mean it cruelly."

you shake your head with a sigh, placing a hand on your hip as you rest back against the door. "it's alright. it's something i never knew – guess you're a teacher even outside office hours." you quirk a smile, and namjoon huffs half of a laugh, sitting back on the bed until he can swing his leg freely.

"what about me?" namjoon asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "do you know any rumours of me that i might not know?"

you suck in a breath through your teeth, head tilting as you tap your lips. "oh, that's a hard one. i know a few, but ones you don't know... now, that's a challenge. i'm sure you know all the ones that say you're an intimidating person but the best professor the postgrads have, that you're actually an immortal born in the forties, and that you've never had a technological malfunction because even the machines are afraid of you..." you laugh. "oh, this is actually hard. ah! i think i have one."

"go on. hit me."

"you're actually married. and to a man."

his silence has you worrying your lower lip between your teeth, watching on in anticipation. does he know this one? have you won?

his lips part. "who... the hell thinks that?"

"i've seen a trend in them. the older someone is, the more likely that they're convinced you're married."

"and who are these people? are you including the staff?"

"no, i think it's mostly the students." the corners of your lips twitch upwards. "i heard a few people introduce the idea that you're on the brink of divorce, which explains the lack of a marriage ring and your dour personality. it's actually quite funny."

namjoon kicks his feet, and you hide a chuckle at the sight. he looks like a petulant boy. "i'm not that bad, am i?" he mutters, "a divorcé...? i'm barely thirty."

you chuckle. "you give off the feeling that you'd be married to your job. no time for love, no time for dates. they probably think you've forgotten one too many anniversaries, and the downfall of this hypothetical relationship snowballed from there."

"i'm good at dating!" he retorts defensively. he sighs and falls back on the bed, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "i'm failing whoever thinks that i'm not. i don't care if i get fired. i am not that bad."

"you're kinda bad," you reply sympathetically. "but i will give you this: you are the most organised person i know. you'd never forget an anniversary. seriously – who has more than one paper planner nowadays?"

"i have a lot of things to manage and report on," he snipes, "of course i need three. you can shove off with your funny little laptop calendars. paper never runs out of battery."

"you're aware of how old you sound, right?"

"yes, i am aware."

you laugh again, louder this time, and namjoon's mouth curves up. something flutters deep in his stomach.

you shake your head, still chuckling. "i like this side of you. i feel like i could be friends with this version of kim namjoon."

he shrugs. "there are no versions. i'm just me. i'm somewhat tipsy, which might influence how you view me, but it's not as if i wish to... create a personality for the different aspects of my life."

"it's the clark kent effect." you wander over, taking a seat next to him with an old-man sigh of relief. "actually, why aren't you wearing your glasses?"

namjoon sighs softly, feeling his heart beat beneath the ridges of his ribs. "i'm wearing contacts. seokjin pestered me into using them tonight. he says i look ten years younger without them."

you nudge his thigh with your knee. "don't listen to him. he's an idiot. your glasses look cute on you."

he turns his head, gazing down his shoulder at you with a quirked smirk. "is that a flirtation, professor ln? how deeply unprofessional."

"we're playing 'seven minutes in heaven' and drinking bud light. i think this entire night is unprofessional." you shift on the bed, laying down next to him. you roll your shoulders, getting comfortable. the dark ceiling surrounds the lamp's round glow. "you know... right now, you sound like you hate me less. is it the change of clothes? some psychological link between wearing tweed and disliking me?"

he makes a face. "i don't hate you. i'd rather not have anything to do with you, yes, but hate? no. hate is far too strong a feeling for me to hold this conversation with you."

"oh." you slide a hand under your head, the other resting over your stomach. "well, in that case... did you know black swallowers are deep-sea fish that can eat prey over twice its length and ten times its mass? their stomachs are highly distensible. most specimens we have were collected dead on the surface of the ocean because their prey were too large to digest. decomposition set in before they could digest it all, and the gases made them float to the surface."

"really?"

"yeah! they're weird-looking fellas. no scales, small and long, and an underbite." you smile to yourself. "i sorta wish i specialised in deep-sea marine bio. piloting those little robot guys with the lasers so often sounds like a lot of fun. sure, you're only really going in one direction, but i love the idea of whale falls. all the activity and life that it sustains around it seems like a cool thing to watch in real-time."

namjoon shifts onto his side, interlacing his fingers and placing his hands below his temple. the woodsy smell of your cologne almost masks the light, breezy scent of the sea that follows you around wherever you go. "tell me more about your favourite fish."

your face lights up, visible even through the darkness. "you serious?"

he nods.

"they aren't fish, but i like boxer crabs a whole lot. i came across them a couple times in shallow waters when i was working on my dissertation. they're about an inch wide, their legs are banded red, and they don't have large claws. their claws are slim and are specially shaped to grab one small stinging anemone in each, which the crab uses to defend itself from predators. they can't feed themselves with these claws, so they use their anemones to grab food particles for them or use them to sting and immobilise prey. they wave them in the water and it's really cute to watch!"

namjoon hums, listening to your rambles. he smiles softly.

"and the anemones they use," you add eagerly, "include some of the most venomous in the red sea. if the little crab loses one of the anemones, it tears the other one in half, and each becomes a new individual. like planarians. i love planarians. yoongi has a tank of sixteen genetically-identical little guys that he just... keeps. they live in his apartment."

namjoon snorts. "are they lab ones? is that even legal?"

"i don’t think so. yoongi's really attached to them – i believe he just took one from the pond on campus in a jar and cloned it a few times. dunno. but he feeds them a bit of boiled egg every day and they seem happy enough, and he keeps me updated, so i think he's a good dad to them – even if they don't know it."

namjoon's gaze traces the outline of your cheek. "what about you, then? do you have a black swallower in a bowl next to your bed?"

you laugh, shuffling around to lie on your stomach. you prop your temple across your knuckles. "no. i do have an aquarium, though. you should come over and see it one day – it really livens up my living room. we watch blackadder together every friday night."

"i'm sensing another flirtation, professor," namjoon murmurs, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards. "as someone who runs his mouth as much as you do, i expected your flirting skills to far outweigh mine. at the moment, it’s quite clumsy and somewhat heavy-handed. is that the best you can do?"

"you got me," you chuckle. "i like talking to you, even if you don't. you've got a... unique sense of humour. i like hearing you argue about how we should really define civilisation. it's enlightening, but the look on your face? it's passion, plain and simple. i also liked your smiles tonight – i never knew you had dimples."

"then you weren't looking hard enough." namjoon quirks a smile. he sighs. "i'm sorry that i come off as so... unapproachable. i simply don't – well – i don't know quite how to interact with you. i've spent a long time with academics who'd like to bury their noses in a library and never speak to another living person again. you were so sociable it was almost frightening. i suppose you could call it a reflex."

"mm, i know the type." your gaze flickers down to his lips; he doesn't miss it. "you look really good in those jeans, namjoon."

"why do my jeans have anything to do with my lips?" he murmurs, watching as you inch closer, lips nearing his. he follows your body naturally, angling his face towards yours as you hover above him.

"you're right. it's got nothing to do with that. i just want to know why you said you wanted nothing to do with me, but you don't seem to mind what we're so close to doing."

his tongue swipes over his lower lip, drawing it between his teeth. "for starters," he begins, "i have a type."

"a type?"

"i like smart idiots. you have a doctorate, which means you're some sort of smart, and you're yet to kiss me, which means you're an idiot. congratulations," he teases. "you're everything i could ever want in a man."

he lifts himself up, cupping the back of your head, and presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, somehow deeper than any you've had before. his kisses are slow, almost lazy, and the way he tilts his head and moves his lips against yours carries a hint of a tease, a hint of exasperation. your eyes flutter shut as you cup his wrist, letting yourself fall into his warm embrace.

when you finally part, shivering as his soft, plush lips pepper slow kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck, it takes a while for you to string together a coherent sentence.

"i didn't take you," you pant, "for such a romantic."

he dimples against your neck, gently nudging you over so that he's the one hovering over you on an elbow. "the only way this could be more romantic is if you took a hard science. art and science pair together so well." he trails his lips down your chest, teasing the buttons of your shirt. "are you in shock, ln? what is it?"

"i'm, uh," you stutter. "you're just – you're being very demanding. oh – uh, th-that's my belt..."

"i know." he smirks, sliding his hands up your sides as he slings his thigh over your lap. "not interested? or just not used to being the one on his back?"

"i am so interested," you breathe, placing your hands on his thighs and squeezing. he's warm like a summer sunset. "oh, fuck. we're snowballing. i'm snowballing. please keep moving your hips like that..."

he laughs softly, and those dimples come out full force. "you're so talkative. but, i don't know what i was expecting – it is you, after all. you are always talking, talking... it's good to hear you shut up for once." he hums, tilting his head. "i like you better like this."

your cheeks are aflame. you never thought he had it in him to speak so freely. you don't know whether to be embarrassed, annoyed, or enamoured – he is, technically, still insulting you.

"n-namjoon, i..."

he silences you with his lips just as the door flies open with a wedge of light and seokjin's voice, announcing that the seven minutes are over. "tell hoseok to stay with a friend for tonight," he murmurs, trailing his fingers down your chest. "i want to see this aquarium you talked about."

#namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x male reader #kim namjoon x male reader #namjoon x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #1k event

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blackswan446 · 7 months

Text

worth it - one.

→ pairing: yan!knj x reader

→ wc: 1091

→ cws: none!

→ notes: i procrastinated this sooo hard but i hope you enjoy :) fun fact this was supposed to be a one shot sorta thing but i realized midway thru writing it would be hella long so i decided to cut it up and make it an official book so yippee

pushing the door open effortlessly, your brother pushed aside the pair of fuzzy houses slippers that sat next to the doormat. sliding off his shoes, the boy accompanying him glanced around the house. it was average, not too big or small, and the typical appliances and furniture sat in their typical places. overall, it wasn't much different than his own home.

making their way to the kitchen, the pair of guys set their bags down at the wooden table as your brother shuffled over to the fridge. "you want anything?" jiwon asked him, "my mom went shopping yesterday." namjoon shook his head. "i'm all good, thanks." he said, looking at the family photo that adorned the wall next to the table. he looked at the four smiling faces, quickly identifying who each family member was. one of them caught his eye, her stunning eyes and pearly white teeth causing him to do a double take.

"you have a sister?" he asked, turning back around to his acquaintance, who had sat at the table with a handful of random snacks he had rounded up in the fridge and pantry. "yeah, i do." he said nonchalantly as he ripped open a small bag of candy. "i didn't know." namjoon said, unable to take his focus off of you and your mere existence. "i don't think i've ever seen her around school." jiwon nodded. "yeah, well, she doesn't go to school with us." he said nonchalantly. namjoon knew he should have just left it there, but something was gnawing at his brain, he just had to know more about you.

"how come?" he questioned. your brother shrugged. "ah, you know. things happen. it was just...better for her to go somewhere else." he said, giving namjoon a look that obviously told him to stop prodding. getting the message, he cleared his throat awkwardly and sat down at the table. "so, uh. right. let's start with math. you said you needed help with...inequalities?" he asked, prompting another nod from your brother, who shoved more candy into his mouth before reaching for his notes. the pair had barely gotten through the first two questions before the front door swung open.

you breezed into the kitchen a second later, ditching your blazer on a chair and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. "hey," jiwon said, "how was school?" he asked, turning his attention away from his paper, and luckily, also from namjoon, who looked like a deer in headlights. you nodded as you filled the glass with cool water and ice. "it was fine. i'm just glad i can relax for a little bit." you sighed, sipping the icy drink in your hands. "how about you?"

he shrugged his shoulders, turning back to the table. "same as always. we're doing homework now." he said, picking his pencil back up. you shuffled over to the table, standing at the corner of the table as you peered at the books and problems scattered everywhere. "i can see that...what're working on?" you questioned. jiwon scoffed, shaking his head. "don't ask me, i don't know what any of this is. namjoon's the smart one here." he said.

namjoon, whose heart was racing at your close proximity, jolted his head up at the sound of his name. your wide eyes met his own dark, mocha ones, and he still struggled to find the right words, regardless of the simplicity of the prompt. "uh, inequalities. you know, greater than, less than, that type of stuff. annoying at first, but not so bad once you get the hang of it." he stuttered, the smile on his face a harsh contrast to the panic in his head. had he rambled on too long about math? did you think he was weird now?

you smiled softly at him, nodding your head in understanding. "sounds...awful." you joked. namjoon chuckled, perhaps a little too much, at your words and glued his eyes back down to the paper in front of him. "i'm going to go lay down. i'm beat. good luck with the inequalities, alright? and namjoon," you said, "nice to meet you." you said, giving him one last smile before heading off to your room for the afternoon.

jiwon, who had obviously moved on from the interaction quickly, continued on with his homework normally, every now and then stopping to ask namjoon why he seemed so spaced out all of a sudden. brushing it off as nothing, the boy tried to concentrate on the tasks in front of him, but just couldn't.

the poor boy was a wreck inside, feeling so many unfamiliar emotions at the same time making his head spin like a top. you were an enigma, that was already made evident by your cool demeanor and the way your brother talked so little about you. it was also obvious that it was supposed to be that way, he knew by the look in jiwon's eyes when he asked about you, that you were supposed to be kept quiet, kept safe and hidden away from the dangers of the world.

and that's exactly why he got drawn in so quickly.

namjoon was smart, a genius even. it seemed like he knew everything about everything. at least, that's what it felt like to him. there didn't appear to be that many things that he didn't know, and whatever he didn't know, he could pick up a book and become an expert on within a day. his intelligence was gift, sure, it had gotten him ahead in just about everything and anything he ever wanted could be brought to him on a sliver platter.

but here, everything was so different.

you were a subject he couldn't master. a code he couldn't crack. and the mystery of your sheer existence reeled him in so fast and so hard he couldn't really remember what life was like, even moments before he met you. you were unlike anything he had ever encountered before, for once in his life, there was something he couldn't study. a closed book he couldn't crack open.

the feeling, though it was new and unfamiliar, was intoxicating, and seduced him before he could give it a second thought. he was addicted, alright, hooked on the drug of uncertainty that he had avoided his entire life. and as he accepted the new challenge that would soon come to devour his very being, a familiar chill of excitement ran up his spine. oh, this was going to be so worth it.

besides, who doesn't like a little challenge?

taglist:

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #kim namjoon x reader

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daechwitatamic · 2 years

Text

VI. Don't Think About Him || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

You try - and fail - to figure out who and what you want.

Section Warnings: excessive drinking, bar scenes, language, kissing, groping, maybe grinding idk

WC: 6k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sunday October 28th

Fire burns low in the hearth, but my feet itch and beg to go, into the night where the wolfpack hunts, into the storm of wind and snow.

I can hear only their hunting song. The blizzard steals from me my sight. I have no map to traverse this land, But I peer wistfully into the night.

The wolves, the storm, the wild land, Even still I must decide. I know despite the dangers, I can’t afford to stay inside.

“That’s fucking terrible,” you mutter, closing your book and scooting it away from you in disgust. “Wolves? Am I fourteen? For fuck’s sake.”

Still, it does touch on how you feel: like proceeding forward will result in you getting ripped to metaphorical shreds - but staying here, stuck in the familiar just because you’ve deemed it safe, would somehow be worse.

“Talking to yourself?” someone asks, and you jump with a shriek.

“Namjoon!” you scold, as you register that it’s him in the doorway. “I thought you weren’t home for a few more hours!”

He crosses the room and tosses his bag onto his bed. “Yoongi has a lead foot.”

“How was it?” you ask mildly.

Namjoon wiggles his head, indicating both good and bad. “The brewery was really fun,” he says. “And it was nice for us all to hang out and talk at the house. We all used to dorm together… it’s been weird not living in the same place as them. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

This makes you smile. You’d been to that dorm once or twice, but you’d refused to hang out with Taehyung there because… well, dudes are stinky. And you’re not a clean freak by any means, but it was a little gross over there.

“Well it was lonely and boring here,” you report. “I’m glad you’re back.”

You’re instantly unsure if that was too forward, too much. Namjoon going away the literal day after you’d kissed him had given you plenty of time to think in private, but it had also given you room to sow doubts in your own mind. But Namjoon smiles shyly, pleased, so cute it makes your toes wiggle.

“I’m glad to be back too,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower and unpack. Have you made plans for dinner yet? We could order later?”

You hadn’t, but you have a feeling Taehyung will want to hang out after two days away. “I have plans,” you lie, figuring it will end up being true.

“Ah, no problem then,” Namjoon says easily, and heads into his room, closing the door behind him with a little wave.

You text Taehyung - “welcome home!! dinner later?” - and get up to start some laundry. By the time it’s done washing, and drying, and you’ve folded it, he still hasn’t answered.

You try again - “hello??? this is y/n, looking for signs of life???”

This time, the response is almost immediate.

[4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: sorry [4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: can’t tonight

In the end, you walk to campus alone, eating by yourself in the far corner of the cafeteria. You’ve splurged on ordering too much lately when these meals are built into your tuition. Besides, you don’t want Namjoon to know that your “plans” fell through.

Friday November 2nd

Angel on the right… Devil on the left…

You look side to side, conflicted. Such a strong case for each.

“Are those for tonight?”

You jump, spinning away from the two Halloween costumes you’ve laid out on your bed. It’s not like Namjoon to come over to your side of the apartment; in fact, you’re not sure he’s ever talked to you while you’re in your own room. It’s usually you going over to his door to bother him, if you aren't both in the living room or kitchen.

“Yeah,” you say. “I can’t decide. You’re coming?”

“I think we all are, except Yoongi,” Namjoon tells you. “I’m going as a detective. I have a magnifying glass and everything.”

You laugh. “I can’t wait to see that. Any thoughts on which way I should go tonight?” You mean the costumes. You’d texted Taehyung for his opinion and he’d returned with, “flip a coin”. You’re not sure why you expected anything else from him.

“I think that’s going to depend on your mood,” Namjoon teases. “How are we feeling today? Naughty or nice?”

You raise your eyebrows. Was that… outright flirtation? “What if I’m feeling both?” you ask.

He laughs. “You need one of those half-and-half costumes. I’ve seen them in the stores.”

You have too, but you think they’re cheesy. “I think I’ll go devil,” you muse, a finger on your lips as you consider. “The angel wings are pretty cumbersome. And the bars are going to be slammed.”

“Naughty it is.” Namjoon flashes you a grin and disappears from your doorway, throwing over his shoulder, “No complaints from me!”

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the giggle. Well this is new, and damn, you want to keep playing.

You Uber together to the first bar of the town’s Halloween pub crawl, the guys waiting for you outside. Taehyung howls in laughter at Namjoon’s long coat, fedora, and magnifying glass.

“I see the devil won the coin toss,” he says to you, grinning.

You roll your eyes, still a little peeved that he couldn’t take anything seriously, even when you needed him to. This was a trivial thing, but still. It wasn’t a lot to ask.

Jungkook hands you and Namjoon a flyer with a QR code - it listed the locations of each bar and what time the group would move, in case you got lost or missed the exodus. Inside, you have to pay to get wristbanded, but the wristband earns you special prices at each of the stops.

“This does not go with my costume,” you pretend to pout, the bright yellow wristband glaring against your short, red dress.

“I think everyone will understand,” Namjoon teases. Taehyung appears on your other side, pointing out the little laminated sign that advertises this bar’s drink specials.

“You two need to catch up,” he insists.

Three hours and two bars later, you think you’ve achieved this. You and Taehyung cling to each other’s arms, holding each other up, somehow taking turns being the one who needs help staying upright. The first two bars had offered specials on shots, but this one only has special offers for mixed drinks and beer.

“Do we pay full price for shots, or do we let The Man tell us it’s time to settle down?” you muse loudly into Taehyung’s ear.

“Don’t start with that shit,” he tells you. “This is Halloween, not a hippie convention.”

“I see at least four hippies,” you sniff indignantly.

“I think you’re seeing double,” he counters. “No more shots for you.”

“You aren’t in charge of me!” you yell, and head for the bar at a clip, ankles crying for mercy in your heels. You grasp the bar in both hands when you get there, steady yourself, and then reach up to fix your horn headband, which had been starting to slide. You thought Taehyung was right behind you, but when you turn to look, he’s talking to a girl in a mermaid costume.

Of course.

It’s fine.

The bartender finally catches your eye and you flash your wristband, indicating you’ll take the special. He nods, turns and picks up a bottle. A body settles beside you; you turn, expecting that Taehyung caught up, or maybe Jungkook stopped by for a beer. Instead, a guy you’ve never seen before smiles at you.

He’s in scrubs, complete with a fake stethoscope (you think it’s fake, anyway) slung around his neck. His nametag reads Dr. Love. You laugh out loud. “That’s so corny,” you say, your filter well and gone for the night.

Luckily, he laughs too. “It’s sewed on!” he protests. “I honestly almost Sharpied it out, but I thought that would look even stupider.”

He’s really cute, you notice. He looks… clean. Older.

“You look…” he trails off, letting his eyes roam to your feet and back appreciatively, “phenomenal. Is there an angel wandering around here looking for you?”

You grin. “Just me.”

If Kim Taehyung can find a hookup everywhere he goes, why can’t you?

But as you lean against the bar and take a sip of your drink, your eyes scan the bar before you. In the mirrored wall behind the team of bartenders, you can see a slightly distorted view of the patrons and all of their costumes.

Your eye catches on a detective.

Namjoon’s eyes hold yours through the mirror, though he’s about six seats down from you. There’s a tiny smile on his lips as he sips at what looks like a beer. A smile that says maybe he should have expected this. It’s the same face he’s seen on you when Taehyung does exactly what he did tonight.

Beside you, Dr. Love is asking you something, but you don’t hear him at all. You don’t want to be here, in this spot, anymore. You want to be six seats over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, interrupting him, plastering a sickly-sweet smile on your face. “I just found one of my friends, and I’d lost them. Enjoy your night, though!”

You slip away before he can protest more than a syllable, before you can really register the disappointment on his face and feel guilty about it. Better luck next time, Doctor, you think, as you make your way to Namjoon.

As soon as you’re close enough he extends an arm, making a space for you right next to him. His arm tucks you closer, protective. He walks with you towards the far end of the bar, where it’s marginally less crowded. Once you settle into a spot there, he doesn’t remove his arm. His fingers rest on your bare, body-glittered shoulder, moving imperceptibly now and then, as if they have their own agenda.

“Are you having fun?” you ask him.

“Loud bars aren’t usually my thing,” he answers. “But the costumes are great.”

There’s a lot of alcohol in your system; your filter’s taken a hit. “I like this,” you sigh happily, closing your eyes for a second. You think you sway on your feet a little. The arm around your shoulders tightens.

“Like what?” His voice has gone deep, and you shiver a little. You want to kiss him again; you’d blame the shots but you’ve been thinking about it since it happened. The drinks just make it louder.

“Your arm around me,” you tell him honestly, and he ducks his head, dimples appearing along with a blush.

He shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re drunk,” he accuses playfully.

“It’s a Halloween pub crawl,” you point out flatly. “I’m supposed to be drunk.”

“That’s a fair point,” he allows. Then, he peers at you through squinted eyes. “Are you okay, though? How drunk are you?”

You consider this. “Drunk enough that I want to kiss you again, to hell with the consequences. Not too drunk to remember that there would be consequences.”

The playfulness leaves his face; it’s too obvious not to notice. “Consequences like what?”

It’s a challenge. He knows you know it.

“Namjoon,” you say, a little pleading. Don’t.

“Consequences like Taehyung would see?” he presses. His voice has gone hard. He’s tiptoed around this issue before, but it’s the first time either of you have ever really given it life.

You feel like you want to cry. “Are you mad? About Taehyung?”

He softens. His fingers brush your shoulder again, absently. “No,” he admits, deflated. “No, I guess I’m not. But we both know that’s what you meant.” He removes his arm from your shoulders. It hangs listlessly at his side. You feel its absence painfully, like it had kept you tethered and now you might float away.

“Hey,” you say sharply, and reach for his hand. You miss and get his wrist, but you hold it like your life depends on it. He looks at you curiously. “I like you,” you tell him firmly. “A lot. I’m trying not to mess everything up - with anyone. But he’s my family, and if I lose him…” You take a deep gulp of air, trying to will your pulse to calm, your stomach to settle, your eyes to clear of stupid tears. “I have no one left. It feels… delicate,” you finish finally. You need him to understand. You wish you were better at explaining.

Namjoon twists his wrist from your grasp gently, but takes your fingers in his. “What about me?” he asks, voice a little pouty. “We aren’t delicate?”

You smile at him, relief giving you more of a high than anything else could right now. “No,” you say, and touch his chest lightly, just over his beating heart. You brush your hand down his chest, drop it to your side, and turn to stare out at the crowd. “No,” you say again, finishing the thought. “You aren’t delicate at all. You’re steady. That’s something I really like about you.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between you, tension building like a bassline, and then he gives a tug to the hand he’s holding. You turn back to look at him.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asks plaintively.

You open your mouth immediately to answer, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t think about him when you answer that,” he commands seriously, fingers clutching yours so tightly it almost hurts. “Don’t think about anything else but you and me. What do you want?”

What do you want?

“I…” you start feebly, unsure how you’ll even finish the sentence. “I want…”

Jimin rushes up to you, breathless, grabbing both of your arms. Namjoon drops your hand like it’s burned him. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t let on.

“We have to go,” he pants. “Literally right now. Jungkook hit on some huge guy’s girlfriend, it’s about to be a thing. Help me find everybody?”

“Where are they?” Namjoon asks, quickly setting his beer glass on the bar and reaching for your drink too. You let him take it, eyes wide.

“Taehyung grabbed Jungkook and ran - I think they’re outside. Have you seen Hobi? Or Jin?”

“Jin left with a girl two bars ago,” you supply, glad to be able to help.

“I see Hobi,” Namjoon says, craning his neck to scan the crowd. “I’ll go get him. Y/N, go with Jimin, we’ll meet up outside.”

He moves without waiting for an answer, wading through the crowd in what must be Hobi’s direction. Jimin takes you by the hand - it feels much different than it had felt a minute ago with Namjoon - and leads you through the crowd hurriedly, dodging people left and right. You look over your shoulder as he pulls you, trying to find Namjoon in the sea of people, but you can’t.

Outside, Jungkook seems to be arguing heatedly with the bouncer.

“Come on,” Taehyung is telling him, looking honestly pissed. “Let’s just go. The night’s already ruined, let’s just leave.”

You pull away from Jimin and head for Taehyung.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting a hand on his arm. He turns on you, still furious, but you don’t waver. “Take a breath,” you tell him softly.

His temper gets the best of him sometimes.

He shakes his head, angry, but you see his chest move as he obeys anyway. A second later he says, more calmly, “Come on, Jungkook, we can even go somewhere else if you want. We won’t have fun here, that guy’s friends are all worked up in there.”

Jungkook relents as Hobi and Namjoon join you on the sidewalk. You slide your hand off of Taehyung’s arm, feeling weirdly guilty.

“We rallying?” Hobi asks hopefully. “Or did we kill the buzz?”

“Rally!” Jimin cheers, going over and shaking a sullen Jungkook’s shoulder. “Come on! The night prevails!”

“I’ll go somewhere else,” Taehyung says.

“I think I’m done,” Namjoon says, glancing at his phone for the time. “I’ll Uber from here.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung asks, looking to you. For a second, you’re not sure why. Then you realize - you either have to Uber home with Namjoon, or opt to continue on with the rest of the guys.

The angel whispers that you haven’t hung out with Taehyung as much lately.

The devil whispers that you and Namjoon could be all alone.

0-2 for the angels tonight.

“I’m tired,” you say. “I’ll Uber with Namjoon. You guys have fun though. JK, try to keep it in your pants.”

He flips you off wordlessly, still sulking.

They all tell you goodbye, Taehyung giving you an extra-tight squeeze with his hug, and they walk down the block to find another bar. You turn to Namjoon, who’s tapping at his phone to order a ride.

What do you want? His question floats in your head.

You don’t know. You want too much, too many things, too many contradictions.

It seems like Namjoon knows, and forgives you. He silently holds out a hand, waiting. You take it, keeping it tight in yours, not letting go even as you slide into the backseat of the Uber, as it weaves through the neighborhoods until it stops in front of your building, as it drives away, leaving you lit in red taillights before vanishing around the corner.

You’re standing on the sidewalk in front of your building’s front door, Namjoon’s hand in yours, your eyes sleepy but your pulse racing.

He tugs you towards the stairs, and you think he’s going to lead you inside. Instead he spins you and presses you back against the stone balustrade, one hand splayed across the middle of your spine, the other cupping your jaw as he kisses you insistently.

You open immediately for him, giving a happy noise low in your throat. His spare hand, the one not holding you up off the rough stone below, grips the back of your neck for the barest of seconds before continuing down - rubbing patterns past your shoulder blade, the middle of your back, down to the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip, the meat of your ass. He’d better appreciate every curve, you squeezed into spanx for this dress.

You grip at the lapels of his ridiculous detective coat, the earth spinning in circles around you in a blur. You’re aware of only where your hands bunch the fabric, of only where his teeth and lips and tongue clash with yours, of only the fiery path his hand traces up and down your body. You melt into his touch, wanting more, trying to pull him closer, trying to get lost in each sensation.

He breaks the kiss to nip a line of sharp nibbles down your neck. You whine, trying to give him more room. His hands come to rest on your ribcage, thumbs not quite reaching your chest, which has to be a conscious decision on his part. You can feel the cold night air on your thighs; your dress has ridden up. This snaps you out of the moment a little.

“Namjoon,” you murmur, but it comes out a little whiny as he continues to nibble down near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “We should go inside.”

He stills, then pulls away, eyes seeking yours for any signs of discontent. “Yeah,” he says finally, one syllable all he can handle. “Come on.”

He releases your body gently, letting you find your balance on the pavement. Then, he leads you up the stairs and inside. In the threshold of the apartment, you look at him, a question on your face.

“We’re both really drunk,” he says apologetically, reaching out to brush some stray hairs away from your face. “We should probably cool down a little.”

He’s right - you know he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, letting the front door close behind you. “Okay.”

You press one palm against the wall for balance as you fight with your shoes, sliding them off one at a time.

Namjoon’s in his room, but the door hangs open. You pause in the doorway of your bedroom, realizing you have a problem.

“Um, hey,” you call across the living room, and he takes a few steps to come look at you. He’s lost the hat and the long coat, and his button-down is undone, revealing a tight, white undershirt beneath. “I promise this isn’t a come-on,” you say, biting back a smile. “But I legitimately can’t reach the zipper on this. Can you-?”

“Of course,” he says, crossing the living room. You turn your back to him, presenting the zipper. He gently sweeps your hair off of your nape and places it over your shoulder. You shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms, and you hear him hum a pleased noise at your reaction. You feel him fumble with the hook-and-eye at the top, and then the zipper sounds. He pauses halfway down your back.

“That good?” he checks. “You can reach that?”

“Yes,” you say, turning back to face him. He’s still got a bit of your lipstick on his mouth, and it makes you have to fight off a smirk. Down, girl. “Goodnight, Namjoon.”

He looks at you for a long minute, expression unreadable. Finally, he says, “Goodnight,” and steps back out into the darkness of the living room. When he gets to his room this time, he closes the door behind him with a soft click. You stare at the inch of light that comes from under his door for a minute before hurrying to close your own door against the dark.

Sunday November 4th

You spend most of Saturday in bed, heart and head both pounding, which means you have a lot of homework to cram in on Sunday.

After you shower and eat, you set up in the living room to get some work done. Namjoon’s door is halfway open, and you can hear the clacking and bass thumps that mean he’s writing in there.

Midafternoon, he appears in his doorway, stretching widely. Your eyes skim the inch of stomach exposed with the stretch and then flick back to your page before he can catch you.

“How’s it going?” he asks, heading into the kitchen.

You twist your mouth, eyeing your laptop and the text spread open on your lap. “I guess it’s going. Sort of.”

“What are you working on?” he asks.

“A paper for one of the bullshit general classes,” you tell him. “Which makes it more challenging, because I deeply do not care.”

He laughs at this, then plops onto the couch a few feet away from you, a water bottle in his hands.

“How about you?” you ask. “It sounded like it was going well.”

“It was going okay,” he agrees. “I reached the end of a scene, so now I need to like… process, look at what’s coming next. I might take a short walk and let it marinate in my brain a little.”

You smile. “How come you never work out here?” you ask him, just curious.

He gives a quick, self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t get anything done. I’d just talk to you.”

You flush, feeling your face heat up, and bite back a smile. “What if I refused to answer?” you offer. “I could just sit here like -.” You mime zipping your lips, still fighting a smile. For good measure, you lock it up and throw the key over your shoulder.

His smile grows. “Wouldn’t help. I’d still be able to look at you.”

Your blush intensifies; you’re tempted to go stick your head in the freezer to cool your cheeks down. “I’ll turn around, then,” you tell him.

His grin turns wolfish. “I assure you, that will not solve the problem.”

Your jaw drops. “Kim Namjoon!” you scold, but you’re giggling.

“I’m just being honest!” he defends, laughing deeply, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Anyway, why? Does it bother you that I stay in there?”

“No,” you say immediately. “You can do what you want.”

He gives you a knowing look, like he’s used to your bullshit and isn’t falling for it. When did that happen? “Don’t get prickly,” he warns.

“Don’t compare me to plants,” you grumble.

“Do you want me to work out here instead?” he asks gently, smiling at you like you’re adorable, which just sets your prickliness off even more.

“I don’t know what I want,” you retort.

There’s a long, stretchy silence as you both consider just how true those words are, on several different levels.

Finally, Namjoon gives you a nod in goodbye and heads back to his room.

This time, he closes the door gently behind him.

–

Taehyung invites you out that night, to see a movie you’d been talking about. You tell him yes, as long as you can go to the earlier showing. But then you start to feel… guilty. Unsure.

You want to ask Namjoon if he cares if you hang out with Taehyung still. He’s bothered by some aspect of your friendship, obviously, but you don’t know what it is. Is it only the fact that Taehyung is a bit of a barrier for you two? Or is he threatened by the whole friendship?

You lay sideways across your bed in the fading late afternoon light, considering this. You imagine asking Namjoon. You think his answer would probably be, do what you want, I’m not your boyfriend.

Which, fair. That conversation needs to come first. Are you together, do either of you even really want that?

In the end, you don’t bring it up. When it’s time, you do your best to sneak out of the apartment, hoping to avoid any conversation about it at all.

Taehyung’s car idles on the street below, and you let yourself in the passenger side and buckle up. You’re anxious, you realize, as Taehyung starts complaining about an argument he had with Jimin back at their place. You’re afraid he’ll ask something that will lead the conversation to Namjoon, afraid that he’ll catch you tripping up, clue in that there’s something worth his attention there.

You can’t lie to him. He knows this as well as you do.

That’s why he never asks you questions he doesn’t really want the answers to.

You’re anxious for nothing, because Taehyung talks about his own shit for the whole drive to the movies, and the whole time you’re in line for snacks, and for the whole time before the movie starts as you sit in the back row of the theater munching on overpriced popcorn.

But the movie is good, and you get pulled into the fictional world, and when the lights come on you find Taehyung’s arm casually over the back of your seat. You hadn’t even noticed it was there.

“I can’t believe Jimin wouldn’t come see this,” Taehyung scoffs as you file out of the theater and back to the lobby. “That was so good! Just because he doesn’t like that one actor?”

You’re curious if Taehyung would have still asked you to join him tonight if Jimin hadn’t turned him down first.

But, like Taehyung, you don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared to hear the truth. So you don’t ask. What would be the point?

You wonder during the drive home if you’d feel better talking to Taehyung about what was going on with you if the guy in question wasn’t his friend.

Maybe.

But only a little better.

Monday November 5th

Unlike the Monday before, Namjoon leaves for campus without you on Monday morning. You aren’t sure if he’s upset with you, or if he just needed to be there early. You’re too cowardly to ask.

You need some support.

If it’s not coming from your “best friend”, you’ll have to outsource.

You trudge through your morning class, eat as fast as you can - alone - in the cafeteria, and head to the student center. You get to the store well before your shift starts.

You aren’t allowed to clock in yet, so you kill some time doing reading for class in the stock room. The second your shift starts, you’re at the front registers, uncomfortably close to Kris’s personal bubble.

“Yes?” they ask you archly, eyeing your proximity suspiciously.

“I… have a confession to make,” you say, your voice as quiet as you can make it. You’re barely moving your mouth, you’re trying so hard to not actually say these words. “There… has been… perhaps… some kissing.”

Kris is stunned into silence for the first time since you’ve known them. Eyes wide and jaw slack, they stare at you. Then, they clarify loudly, “By you?”

You growl in exasperation. “Don’t be cute.”

Kris beams. “Can’t help it, it’s ingrained in my DNA.”

“I need you to be just a tiny bit serious,” you tell them, “because I am having a full-blown crisis.”

Kris sobers instantly. “Wait,” they whisper. “Crisis? Explain.”

“I kissed…” you cast your eyes around the bookstore, making sure no one’s lurking, “...the one I live with.”

Kris gasps. “You did not! You kissed him? Not the other way around?”

“I did,” you admit, feeling yourself flush again. “Twice. Well, the second time he started it, if you want to get technical.”

“I do want to get technical,” Kris whispers, voice almost reverent. “I can’t fucking believe this. So, why the crisis?”

You take a deep breath. Which factor to start with? Because you don’t want to give up on Taehyung yet? Because you don’t want to risk altering that friendship beyond repair? Because you don’t know if Namjoon will be able to handle your best friend being a guy - a guy that you’ve had feelings for?

“Because I don’t know what I want,” you say, the simplest truth. “I can’t get my head straight.”

Kris cocks their head. “If you didn’t know Taehyung - if you removed him completely from the situation -.”

“Impossible,” you protest.

They hold up a finger to silence you. “If you removed him from the situation,” they continue over you, “would you want to pursue things with Namjoon?”

Guilt hits you like an ocean wave, tugging you down, down, down. “Yes,” you whisper, because that part is just true. There’s no wiggle room, no if’s. You like him. You want to see where it will go. If there were no chance of losing Taehyung in the mix, it wouldn’t be a question at all.

“Y/N,” Kris says insistently, leaning towards you. “You are not doing anything wrong here. Taehyung is your friend. Nothing else - and that’s his fault. You aren’t, like, betraying him by catching feelings for someone else. He can’t expect you to sit around waiting for him until you die!”

“He doesn’t expect that,” you say, still in a whisper, because suddenly your throat is tight in that way it gets when you’re upset.

“You need to talk to Taehyung,” Kris tells you gently. You groan. “And the conversation should not be you asking for permission, either!” they continue, impassioned. “You need to tell him I’m seeing someone and you need to be okay with it.”

“But they’re friends,” you protest. “It’s so messy. I’ve never had messy before.”

“You’ve never had anything before,” Kris points out.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble. “Yes I have.”

“Nothing that mattered,” they correct. “Nothing with feelings.”

You slump onto the counter. “I hate this.”

“I’m telling you,” Kris says airily. “If you don’t talk to them, this is all going to blow up in your face. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“Why do you have to be right all the time,” you complain. Kris smiles beatifically.

When your shifts ends, your feet take you not towards home, but towards the academic building where Namjoon’s “office” is.

You’re thinking about your conversation about Kris; you’re thinking about the idea of fairness.

It isn’t fair, as Kris said, for Taehyung to expect you to wait indefinitely for something that was probably never coming, to hold you emotionally hostage.

It isn’t fair for you to do the same thing to Namjoon - to keep him waiting, wondering, unsure if you’ll ever be completely in it. You know that’s the reason things have kept progressing so slowly between you. You’ve felt guilty letting it get any further, felt afraid of those damn consequences. And if you had to bet, Namjoon has been trying to wait for you to sort it out, to make the choice - to choose him.

You can hear the low tones of his voice as you approach down the quiet hallway. Only the staff are normally back here, sometimes one or two students who need to speak to a professor, so there’s not a lot of foot traffic.

You linger in the hallway, leaning against the wall and messing around on your phone, far enough away to not be able to tell what Namjoon and the student are discussing. When the student - a young guy who looks absolutely dejected as he passes by you - exits, you slip past him and lean against the doorway. Namjoon doesn’t notice you right away. It’s clear that his hours have ended and he’s packing up his stuff. When he does notice a body in the doorway, he jumps, inhaling sharply in alarm.

He slumps against the back of the chair when he registers that it’s you.

“I’m usually the jumpy one,” you giggle.

He gives you a sideways smile as he leaves over his bag on the floor, messing with the clasp. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else. What are you - I mean, what’s up?”

“What am I doing here?” you tease, catching his slip. You feel a little nervous, but you’re determined to do this correctly, to treat him better. “I came to see if you wanted to walk back together.”

Namjoon goes a little still, and you hurry to add, “It’s okay if you don’t! It didn’t make my walk longer or anything to come here first. I just thought I’d check.”

He lets you babble. He does as he’s been doing since the beginning - he waits you out with a patient smile.

“So…” you finally finish, the nerves fluttering and hopping around your stomach. “Do you? Want to walk back with me?”

He stands, lifting his bag from the ground and hoisting it onto his shoulder. “Yes,” he says simply, giving you a tiny smile.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, back down the stairs you’d climbed a minute ago, and outside. It’s a nice day - bright and sunny, chilly but not freezing. Campus is busy, and you have to people-dodge a little as you cross the main section, the crossroads of the two main paths.

The second you cross through the front gate and step onto the city sidewalk on the other side, Namjoon silently reaches for your hand. It’s different from last time, in the rain - not urgent, not pulling. It’s gentle and tentative and, weirdly, somehow sensual the way his thumb runs over your knuckles as he glances sideways at you to see if you’re okay with this.

You give his fingers a tiny squeeze.

You walk together in silence for a few minutes, and then Namjoon asks you quietly. “How was your day? You had class this morning? Was it for Thesis?”

You smile up at him, happy to have someone to talk to about this. Kris would listen, you’re sure, because Kris is a good human, but they would much rather talk about romance. And Taehyung… it’s November, and Taehyung has asked you about your classes or your thesis exactly zero times.

“No, not for my thesis,” you tell him. “Just a regular lit class. It was okay! I was so tired, I could barely stay awake… I think I’m still recovering from the weekend.”

He laughs. “Can’t imagine why,” he teases, voice going a little deeper. “I’m sure you were a perfect angel all weekend long.”

The joke - that you’d dressed as a devil - is not lost on you, and you grin up at him. “Clever,” you say.

He beams back, proud. “Sometimes,” he allows.

“How about you?” you ask. “Did you have class before your TA hours?”

“Yep,” he says, nodding. “Unfortunately, it was a research-based class.”

You groan in sympathy. “First thing on a Monday morning? Fucking ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m not much of a napper, but damn, I could use a nap.”

At the apartment, you decide to watch a show you’re in the middle of, and you settle on the couch with a throw-blanket over your legs. Namjoon appears in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at you a little balefully.

“Can I… do you mind if I read out here?” he asks.

You scramble to sit up a little making room on the other side of the couch. “You don’t need to ask,” you say, a little appalled that he’d felt the need. “You live here! I never mind, I promise.”

Appeased, he makes his way over and gets comfortable on the other side of the couch. It occurs to you that this is how you and Taehyung usually spend your time - on opposite ends of the couch - but you shove the thought away.

You glance at him now and then as your show plays, and a few times you think you catch him watching more than reading. In between episodes, you notice his book face-down on his chest, rising and falling in deep, even motions. His head leans back against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids flutter as he dreams.

Smiling a tiny smile, you fluff your blanket to cover his legs, and press play for the next episode.

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Thank you so much for being here!!!!! What did we think of what I lovingly call "the Halloween Pub Crawl Fiasco"?!

Section VII will drop on Friday, February 24th! I hope to see you there!!

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