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stutterfly · 4 years

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Love Bytes 08 | Critical Updates | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 07: You started seeing a guy that seemed great at first, but when he revealed his true colors, you found yourself heartbroken and feeling like the world’s biggest moron. If not for your friends’ intervention, you might feel twice as broken.

Your insecurities are now in the forefront of your mind but one man is determined not to let you dwell on them... Is this love?

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 15.4K

Series: Love Bytes (8/?)

Genre: Friends to lovers, IDIOTS to LOVERS, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension, SMUT, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, IT/Nerd!Reader

CW: anxiety, sexual tension, angst, pining, sexual thoughts, language, grinding, Secondhand embarrassment, soft Namjoon feels, insecurities all around when things are the same but also very new, mutual masturbation, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, premature ejaculation, hickeys, accepting insecurities, let’s all just appreciate Namjoon’s hot bod ok, Namjoon said chill, Is This Love?

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7 masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

Do not repost. A/N: There’s at least one more chapter, if not two! I hope this is enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write. I pretty much worked my birthday weekend on it. Happy birthday from me to y’all for me since i thrive on pleasing others. <3

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“I’m so stupid,” you sob into his shirt.

Namjoon cups the back of your head, wishing he could remove every ounce of pain, every insecurity Jihoon’s words left behind. He may have walked away, but the damage he’s caused makes Namjoon’s blood boil. He wants to chase after him; he wants to hurt him the way he’s hurt you; he wants to physically unleash every ache that has been stewing all night in his heart. But he wants to be there for you more than anything else. If he has to choose, it will always be you.

“You’re not stupid. You just have a big, stupid heart...” He hugs you even tighter. “...and it’s my favorite thing about you.”

You don’t mind the way your ribcage is crushed in his embrace. It soothes the sting radiating from your body. Also you’re lowkey wishing that your ribs will break and puncture your lungs so you don’t have to think about everything that’s happened tonight.

It’s almost like the sky can sense the heaviness in your mind, epitomizing the weight of your emotions by slowly turning the light rain at your back into a downpour that quickly soaks your shirt. As you pry your face away from the comfort of his chest, rain splatters across your face, mixing with the tears that have already ruined your painstaking application of makeup for the evening.

Jennie, Hoseok, and Taehyung exchange pitying smiles. Despite wanting to comfort you, they know this moment isn’t meant for them and they slowly head back towards the entrance to the building. Jungkook stands firm with his arms crossed, completely engrossed in the way Namjoon comforts you, the way you stare at him, the way you clearly love each other. It’s like watching his favorite television drama, only better because it’s reality. It’s two of his favorite people finally navigating their feelings after an emotionally charged night. Are you going to kiss in the rain?

“We should get you home,” Namjoon mumbles, keeping his palms on your shoulders.

Droplets trickle down his forehead, dripping from his eyelashes as he blinks. He tries to ignore the chill of the rain soaking through his shirt, but the longer you both stand here like morons, the colder it becomes.

“I don’t want to go home,” you whisper with a shake of your head, knowing full well you will lock the door, turn off your phone and just wallow in self pity until you’re forced to leave bed and go to work on Monday. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Please.”

“You’re never alone.” A sad smile spreads across his face. “You have all of us.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The sadness in his lips disappears and he laughs, running his hands down the slick sides of your arms until he runs his fingers along yours. Time seems to slow as you pout at him, heart racing in your chest as your wet fingers slip against each other. Your palms clamp together with a wet squelching sound.

“If you don’t want to go home, do you want to…” he starts slowly, as if he’s afraid of your answer.

You’ve come over before but you’ve never spent the night at his place. He’s the one who always crashes on your couch, not the other way around. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Just ask.

“...come over my place instead?”

You smile as you nod and give his hands a reassuring squeeze. Pressing your face into the crook of his neck, you shyly ask the question on your own mind. “Will you please hold me tonight, too?”

Hoseok turns around with a gasp, realizing Jungkook isn’t with them. He quickly runs back to grab him by the ear. “Jungkookie you’re going to ruin everything. Let’s go,” he hisses, dragging him back towards the club.

Even in the rain, he catches the puffy, reddened nature of Jungkook’s eyes before the younger man wipes at them. Combining that with the proud grin and the way he refuses to remove his gaze from the pair of you even as he’s being pulled away, Hoseok rolls his eyes. What a baby. Before he can tease him for being sensitive, Jennie is already chastising him.

“What the fuck, Jungkook? Give them some space.”

“Aww, I just wanted to watch a little longer,” Jungkook whines even as Taehyung is shaking his head at him. “I was hoping to see a little more action.”

“Don’t be a perv.” Jennie pinches his arm hard and he whimpers. But for the first time she notices the glossy texture in his eyes. "Are you crying?"

Jungkook scoffs, pushing past her. "What are you, crazy?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The drive had been quick. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn't live very far from that particular club. Between your emotional state of mind and the severity of the rain assaulting your windshield, you’re not sure you could have safely made a longer drive. You step into the elevator, Namjoon’s hands guiding you inside. His arms wrap around your torso, attempting to cut off the chill soaked into both of your clothes as the doors slowly close.

“You okay, Geeksquad?” His words sound distant, despite the fact that he’s close to your ear.

“Yeah… Yeah!” You try to sound chipper but all you manage is to showcase the fact that you’re not. You purse your lips together, knowing that was pathetic. Hugging your arms over his, you spare a glance at him. The incredulous expression on his face is killing you.

“Don’t let him get inside your head,” he says, armed with the knowledge of how much damage those toxic thoughts can do.

“He was right.” Your voice breaks the second you speak, even as you try to keep the tears in.

Namjoon shakes his head before dropping his chin to your shoulder. “No. He couldn’t be more wrong about you. You’re funny and kind and beautiful. That fool didn’t deserve to be breathing the same air as you.”

You let your chin drop to your chest, nuzzling your nose beneath his arm. “I’m boring. I work with computers because I like it. I like to watch movies and do nothing all day. I like video games and sitting on my butt playing through stories I could never dream of. I like to sit in parks and space out for hours staring at the sky. I know it doesn’t make for great conversation. How do I defend against that? He’s right. I am boring. I’m a loser.”

You pause to sniffle, finding that the words just won’t stop coming. “And that makes me desperate for anyone to see past the layers and love the person inside. Just like he said. I know I have more to offer and I want people to see it. It’s just so hard to show anyone why I matter, why I should be considered, when all I see when I look at myself is the same timid marching band geek I’ve been since high school.

“Bullied. Passed over. Cheated on, then dumped for someone prettier. Too nervous to say hi. Too shy to say how I really feel out loud. I mean, I have eight friends and most of them I only have because of you. Most people wouldn’t willingly get to know me without an ulterior motive and I was stupid to think otherwise. To top it all off, I’m barely a six. Barely average. I mean when you put it all together, it makes sense why nobody has ever loved me.”

Namjoon is quiet, pressing his cheek against yours and listening to the uneven breaths you take. “You deserve to see how amazing you are. All those things you think make you a loser, or unworthy of love, they’re ingrained in your DNA. They’re a part of you and you can’t cover it up, and you shouldn’t. These things are little pieces of you that are beautiful fractions of the person I know. You think no one has ever loved you, but you don’t know how other people think or feel. Sometimes we’re all too shy, too scared to say the things we really want to say.”

He licks his lips and breaks his hug, planting his hands on your shoulders and spinning you towards him. “I’ve seen you, everything you are. Every last wonderful fractal of your soul shines, even in the dark and I…” He blinks slowly, his heart caught in his throat. “...want to be the prism in your light. I want to capture the beauty of your soul and reflect it back at you. But I need to open your eyes so you can see the way I do.”

Your heart skips a beat as his palms warm the wet clothing at your shoulders. How can he take words and make them into such beautiful things? Trembling beneath his touch, you wipe the tears from beneath your eyes and bring a shaky palm to his cheek, thumb sliding between his nose and his cheekbone.

“You think too much of me,” you choke out with a laugh, cutting the tension in the space between you.

He shakes his head again, nuzzling into your touch with a laugh. This feels… right.

“Before I knew you, my heart was only filled with straight lines,” he mumbles.

Your brow furrows, but your stomach does a flip within the confines of your body. Did you hear him correctly? “Namjoon?”

“Your imperfections make you human, like me. I’m just a human,” he takes a deep breath, courage surging in his veins when he locks eyes with you. “You erode all my edges and make me into love.”

You forget how to breathe, legs threatening to buckle out from beneath you. The trembling in your hands has spread and it’s impossible to attribute it to the waterlogged clothes on your body. Your jaw quivers, unable to find the words to speak. You’re worried you’ll undo every beautiful phrase the man before you has uttered if you open your mouth now.

“We’re humans in that myriad of straight lines. My love,” he whispers in a low breathy tone, taking your hands and placing them over his chest. “Sit on top of it and it becomes a heart.”

You stand with your shaking hands stacked over his heart, too scared to move. His lips part as his brown eyes open wide, unsure what else needs to be said. Did he make it too complicated? He thought it was poetic. Maybe his final draft needs more work. He knots his eyebrows and tries again.

“You say that no one loves you, but then you don’t know how I feel. I love the things you don’t like about yourself. I love the things you do. I love the things you’ll never know or see. Your charm, your wit, your jokes, your laugh, your smile… All your layers. All your beauty. Physical, emotional, all of it. I love it. I love you.”

His tongue wets his lips despite how dry his mouth feels and he swallows, waiting for a response. Was it too blunt this time? Was it too simple? You’re still just staring at him with your mouth hanging open, unmoving. He really hopes that this moment passes quickly. If you’re really uncomfortable he will let you have his bed and he will sleep on his own couch, but he has to know one way or the other and the silence in the elevator is maddening.

The truth of it is that your mind needs to reboot and process. He’s so eloquent that you feel stuck trying to construct a response that feels adequate. It feels like someone pulled the power cord out before you were finished shutting down and fired your system back up with the press of a button. The fans are spinning but the motherboard still needs a minute. Slowly your hands move up towards his shoulders, trailing a path up his neck and come to rest on either side of his face with your thumbs curled underneath his jaw.

Namjoon tries to beat back the hope bubbling in his gut, worried something else is going to happen. Something will change. Something will interrupt. It always does. Or this isn’t what he thinks at all and you’re about to give him the softest, most heartbreaking letdown of his existence. He panics and freezes, waiting for the ache in his heart to amplify.

Words aren’t so good right now, but actions speak louder anyway, right? Gathering every last speck of courage you can, you close your eyes and lean forward to bring your lips to his. The sensation sparks fireworks in your brain, your stomach rumbling with a heat that makes your heart feel like it’s a hot air balloon taking off and your torso is floating away from your legs.

By the time Namjoon’s brain catches up to the realization that you’re kissing him, his hands are already at your back and in your hair, desperately pulling you closer to him to expand on what you’ve offered. He immediately dips his tongue inside your mouth, feeling you, tasting you, finally having you. You’re kissing him. You’re actually kissing him now. Is this a dream he’s about to awaken from?

His back hits the wall of the elevator when you fall towards him and you mumble an apology against his lips, but he simply grabs a fistful of your hair and clamps his mouth back down, sliding his tongue against yours. A throaty moan replaces the words of reassurance he means to say. He wants to commit the feeling of your lips to memory and he's well on his way when the doors slide open.

It would have been fine if you both didn't act like getting caught was the most embarrassing thing in the world, bouncing to opposite ends of the elevator like ping pong balls. The young woman entering purses her lips and shifts uncomfortably as she looks from you to Namjoon. She settles her gaze on the floor and presses the button for her destination, reminding you both that you haven’t left the ground floor.

You press your forehead into the wall and find an interesting spot to stare at. Namjoon awkwardly shuffles forward and finally presses the button with the "8" above it. You all wait in painful silence for the woman's stop.

Ding… Ding... Ding... Ding.

The doors open and the girl scurries out as quickly as possible. Namjoon clicks the close button multiple times, wishing the technology would respond faster to his touch. The doors close just as he looks over at you, quickly crossing the space and turning you by your shoulders to face him.

"Geeksquad."

Leaning against the wall, you shamefully drag your eyes to his, wincing as his thumb grazes the welt beneath your shirt.

"Shit, sorry," he whispers, carefully sliding his fingers down your arms until they rest at his sides.

Ding.

"No, no. It's fine. Just… Please." Shaky fingers reach for the back of his neck, coaxing him to move back towards you.

Ding.

He places his palms on the wall beside your head, leaning into your touch with a heavy exhale.

"Please, what?" The question escapes with a cracked whimper. You're driving him insane.

"Please don't stop touching me tonight." The words you've chosen are far more sinful than either of you anticipate.

But if you're honest?

Ding.

His reaction makes it worth it.

As the doors open you're panting against his ear, eyelids fluttering to catch the glint of metal reflecting the light from the hall. Namjoon is busy coating your neck and jaw in sloppy open-mouthed kisses, growling against your skin when you weakly claw at his shoulders to get his attention. He suppresses the urge to grind his throbbing cock against you and instead starts sucking bruises into your neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh. If he teases you enough, will you do the same to him?

As light as your head feels from the high of his tongue massaging the tension from your body, you tug at his hair. He's not going to move without some prompting but you really don't want to spend the night in the elevator.

"Door. Door. Door," you repeat with a breathless whine.

He grabs your hips, walking you towards the exit as the doors begin to slowly slide together. He sticks his hand out just in time to catch the sensor, parting the barrier before it can completely shut. Okay, Namjoon. Control yourself. Few more steps. Get into the apartment.

"Sorry. Got carried away," he says, giving the blossoming color on your neck a nervous glance.

You shake your head at him and offer a goofy grin. "Please get carried away more often, preferably somewhere less public."

He forces his hands away from their perch on your hips and instead twines your fingers in his as he leads you down the hall.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You slip your arms through the oversized white t-shirt he’s given you, the fabric stopping just above your knees to act as a makeshift nightgown. There have been multiple times you’ve teased him for owning clothes that are easily four times his size, but for once you’re thankful for it. Your wet clothes hang over the sliding door to the shower and you use the damp, dark material to rub the remainder of makeup off your eyes. It’s dirty anyway.

Holding the sweatpants he’s provided, you purse your lips in contemplation and stare at the doorknob. Do you even bother putting them on? The shirt you’re wearing covers plenty. You debate taking your panties off because those are wet too, but for an entirely different reason.

Sparing a glance at your reflection, you quickly realize you can see the faint circles of your nipples poking out from beneath the shirt. The material is so worn down that it’s almost sheer, the once black band decal on the front now a faded gray. A blush warms your face as you wonder if this was a carefully selected garment for his own benefit.

Despite the anxiety in the back of your mind telling you that you’re completely unfuckable, Namjoon’s affirmations of love sit in the front row of your brain, replaying like a song you can’t get enough of. Your lips are still swollen from the hungry way he kissed you and you drag them over your teeth as you consider how fucking good it felt to finally give in to the devil on your shoulder.

You stare yourself down as two peaks form beneath the sheet of white over your chest. Just the t-shirt it is. You’ve never been more thankful to have preemptively shaved your legs for a date in your life.

As you pull the door open, your mind is replaying the hottest moment in your life: the way he had you pressed against the wall of the elevator. Reality smacks you in the face in the form of his massive chest. He bashfully apologizes, looking you up and down with a warm smile before swallowing hard and slipping past you.

The door closes behind him and without his gaze on you now, you’re left with increased feelings of anxiety. Clutching your elbows, you wander into his bedroom, hoping to silence the noise in your head by dramatically flopping into his bed.

As you wait for Namjoon, you get comfortable on the pillows, turning your body to one side as you watch rain assault the large window nearby. A shiver runs through you, reminding you how much of a chill is still left in you from the rain. You’re regretting not putting on the sweatpants now as the t-shirt rides up over your thighs, so you bury yourself beneath the plaid duvet, sliding your legs against the soft cotton sheets beneath and curling the material around your face.

The light in the room dims. The flash of blue and purple catches your eye, a tiny projector firing up across the room with a soft hum. You follow the light it casts to the soothing presence of slow-moving stars twinkling on the ceiling. The soft glow of orange LED candles on the nightstand beside the bed contrasts the calming sight above you in a way that makes you feel warm and safe, even though nothing has changed in terms of temperature or security.

You smile in disbelief at the breathtaking galaxy as Namjoon shuffles under the covers beside you, never taking his eyes off you.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, mouth hanging agape as you watch stars twinkle in and out of existence.

You reach up as if to touch the sparkles above, knowing that the action is as useless as reaching for the stars outside; it’s an optical show of light refracting against glass, but it’s still so fucking pretty that you allow yourself to pretend for just a moment that you can feel a galaxy at your fingertips.

“Yeah?” he asks with a laugh, looking at something far more perfect than the lights dancing across the ceiling.

He props his head up with a folded elbow, taking in the childlike wonder on your face with a grin of his own. He’s spent many nights falling asleep under this fabricated sky, but it’s never felt as magical as it does now with you beside him. How cheesy would it be to tell you that? Should he say it? Would you love it? He decides he doesn’t want to ruin the moment with his corniness.

“I used to camp a lot in my backyard when I was little. Fell asleep under the stars a lot.” He reaches for your hand, drumming his fingertips over your knuckles. “When I grew up I found it hard to sleep when I couldn’t see them.”

“Surprised you haven’t broken this projector,” you tease with a grin, curling his fingers over your hand.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “It’d be okay if I did though. I don’t need that universe to sleep anymore.”

“Really?” You look over at him, the orange glow of the candle framing his head like a halo.

He nods with a smile, going for all the cheese he missed earlier. “‘Cause I got youniverse.”

You cup your hand around his jaw and you shake your head even though you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. “You’re so fucking corny, oh my god. You’ve been spending too much time with Seokjin.”

“No, see it’s double funny because--”

“Joonie, I got it,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes with that big goofy grin splitting your mouth wider.

He feels the need to further explain, digging a hole to put the rock he’s about to die on. “Because it can be taken like you are the center of my youniverse. But also you’ll fix it probably and you can call it yours--”

Your lips press against his, muffling the sound of any further explanation, extinguishing the blazing trail of thoughts, turning them into hazy stacks of steam that threaten to pour out his ears. He prays if this is a dream that he doesn’t wake up. Knowing what your lips feel like when you’re kissing him, how soft they are, the motions your jaw makes, the way you taste, means he can’t go back to pretending like he doesn’t.

His eyes open in time to catch your satisfied expression as you place a palm over his chest and press him flat against the bed.

"How have I never noticed?" you ask, losing yourself in his handsome, dimpled smile.

"Hmm?" He folds one arm behind his head while trailing his fingers across your forearm. He's a little distracted by the way his favorite shirt slips away from your chest just enough to expose a bit of your collarbone.

"How much you feel like home," you respond, cupping his face with your hands.

He licks his lips, pretending to tuck hair behind your ear just so he can use the excuse to rest his palm on your cheek. "Must have been that firewall you're always talking about. What, did you decide it was time for it to come down?"

"Pfft. No. Firewall is in full effect," you say, resisting the urge to explain how whitelisting a program works and the comparison it draws to your love life. "Just… For everyone except you."

You reach over his body, leaning across him to grab your phone from the nightstand as you maintain eye contact. It takes the full remainder of his self control to keep his hands to himself as your tits squish against his chest. From the devilish glint in your eye and the teasing flick of your tongue over your lips as you brush your nose against his, he knows it's a purposeful action.

You navigate to Tinder as you rest your head beside his, angling the phone towards him so he can watch. You open the app and ignore the unread messages in favor of hitting the account settings.

"I'm an idiot for ever downloading this app," you mumble, pressing the link to delete your account. The prompt on screen asks if you're sure, citing loss of conversations, matches, profile data, literally everything as unrecoverable once you agree. You've never been more sure about anything in your life.

Just like that your profile is gone and after a few seconds, so is that awful app. You press the power button to turn the screen off and look over at him.

"You're everything I want." You begin brushing your fingers through his hair. "I was too stupid to figure that out on my own. I shouldn't have needed an app to realize that, but I guess sometimes I need a little help getting out of my own head.”

You reach over him again to put your phone back on the nightstand, this time hovering instead of pressing into him because suddenly you feel shy. You’re not just latching on to some random person. This has been brewing for some time now and it’s clear now that it can’t be anyone. You may be desperate to be loved but that stems from you loving and being afraid to admit it, to be loved in return by the object of your unsung affections. He’s already done the hard part. Can’t you just do one thing right and gather your courage for once in your life?

"I love you."

The words somehow feel natural and terrifying at the same time. Your body betrays the bravery in your tone by allowing your arms to quake as your palms sink into the mattress beside him. Even though he's the one that said it first, doubt creeps in your mind. What if he was just caught in the moment?

He doesn't allow your thoughts the time they need to splinter into a thousand more. Goosebumps break out over your body as his arms wrap around your back, slowly pulling you down into a chaste kiss.

"I knew I loved you a long time ago. I knew it when you bailed my ass out of trouble even though it broke your finances to the point you started biking to campus to keep from spending on gas. Yes, I knew, and yes, I still think you’re a fool for stretching yourself so thin... I knew it when you agreed to meet my friends and made them all fall in love with your soul the same way that I did. I knew it when I started binging movies with you and falling asleep on your couch, wishing I was holding you instead." His words are soft as he hugs you close to him, trying the soothe the tremors causing your body to involuntarily vibrate. "But I only accepted it recently, so I guess I'm twice the idiot you claim to be."

You laugh, rolling your forehead across his as you brush noses. "Is that so? I'll remember that the next time you bring up that IQ of yours."

He smiles, planting another innocent kiss on your lips before murmuring, "Wow. The disrespect is real."

You giggle, taking the opportunity to roll off him. "Sorry, should I be nicer to you now?"

"Don't you dare," he laughs, sitting up and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. "Do you mind? I'm gonna overheat otherwise. Central air can only do so much."

You shake your head and the material slips over his head, exposing pectorals that are bigger than expected. Your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his dark golden skin and two rigid brown nipples in the low light. You're already scanning the moles between them, trying to form an invisible constellation that you might count yourself lucky enough to run your tongue across later.

You bite your lip as he balls the shirt up and launches it across the room because for the first time you're actually able to process how fit he is. The skin of his stomach is firm and smooth, lined with a fine trail of hair that disappears into his sweatpants. His arms are bigger than you remember them being and it spawns the memory of how good they feel wrapped around your back.

Suddenly you're grateful for the underwear you kept on because it's easier to hide the soaking nature of your folds when there's something to help absorb it. He settles in beside you, breathing a sigh of relief at the cool air touching his skin. You look towards the ceiling, trying to pretend you weren't just ogling his perfect body, but you're a second too late. He catches the longing expression and the subtle smack of your thighs clamping together.

"Geeksquad," he mockingly chides with a surprised laugh. You bury your face in the blankets as he grins, drawing you towards his obscenely hot chest.

It's not fair. How is he so hot so suddenly? You can't even think. Doesn't he know he can't just magically become hot the moment you admit to being in love with him? That's not how this is supposed to work.

"Oh, did I embarrass you?" he teases.

You pull the bedsheet up his chest, creating a layer between your cheek and the source of your shame before covering your head with the duvet.

"Rude," you mumble against the fabric.

He slowly uncovers your head and you glare at him even as he squeezes your body close to his. He presses his lips to your forehead and you melt into a puddle.

"You don't have to stop thirsting just because I called you out. It's cute and I'm not used to it. That's all."

"Oh no. I can't hear you. I am asleep," you say, despite your eyelashes fluttering as you inhale the calming musk he emanates.

He clicks his tongue. "I can feel you blinking."

"No."

He can't help but grin at the familiar scenario. "How are you gonna tell me no? I feel it."

"No," you whine again, this time turning your face into his chest to smile.

His fingers trail paths up and down your arm and you feel yourself already beginning to doze.

"Joonie?"

"Hmm." It sounds like he’s in the same boat.

"Thank you," you mumble.

His sleepy response is delayed. "For what?"

"Being my home."

He hums a sleepy note of affirmation and you hug him as tightly as you can muster, feeling his hand playing with your hair before allowing sleep to claim you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Muted light floods the room as heavy raindrops barrage the window. The sky is a dark grey so it's not like daybreak presents a horrible wakeup call. Still you glare daggers at the half-drawn navy curtains. It's not far. You reason that you can get up, close them, and be back in bed before Namjoon even stirs.

The heavy arm wrapped around your waist makes it difficult to want to move. Instead of peeling him off of your body, you find yourself nuzzling into the arm beneath your cheek and folding your fingers over the ones nearly tucked beneath your hip. You inhale deeply, trying to use the memory of his scent as incentive. On exhale you slip out from beneath him and slide the curtains closed as quietly as possible, allowing a dull darkness to coat the room. Carefully using your hands to navigate your way back to your spot, you feel along the mattress for his hand but it’s nowhere to be found.

As you wiggle back into place, his arm comes down over your waist to envelop you in a tight embrace. “Thanks for closing that.”

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes even though the light airy feeling in your chest makes it impossible to drift off. You want to feel him against you like this forever. Missing out on the heated sigh against your ear, the covetous pull of his arm against your body, and the solid mass of his chest pressing into your back would be a crime.

“Namjoonie, are you going back to bed?” You turn your face towards him and he lifts his head to look at you.

“Are you?” The words are barely above a whisper, but cracked and rough, still thick with the grogginess of slumber.

The fan of reality begins to spin its blades of clarity, clearing the fog of sleep from your brain. Is this real? Is everything you remember real? You’re here in Namjoon’s bed, wearing his t-shirt, wishing you never have to leave. You’d wager it is. His dark brown irises disappear behind the heavy shades of his eyelids and reappear slowly as he takes in the beautiful wonder in your expression.

“I don’t think I can,” you admit, smoothing back the hair falling in his face.

He leans into your touch, letting his eyes close. You allow your palm to slide down his cheek and he turns his head to press his lips against it as it descends to cup his chin.

“Me neither,” he murmurs, slowly turning his slightly more alert eyes back to yours.

Why do I feel so nervous? We kissed. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him. The hard part is over. I wanna do it again. So why do I feel like I’m gonna throw up? Why can’t I bring myself to move?

The longer you stare into his eyes, the more terrified you feel. Frozen in place, you begin the mental gymnastics you’ve grown accustomed to performing while thinking about him. Last night was emotionally charged. Maybe he was swept up in the moment. Did he really mean what he said? Maybe he was trying to make you feel better. Maybe now that it’s morning he regrets everything. Maybe that look in his eye is pity and you just want it to be awe.

He’s too good for you. He’s always been too good for you. Isn’t that the real reason you’ve never entertained this idea for longer than a millisecond? Because if you drop every defense mechanism you have and let yourself be raw with him, he’ll see he deserves far better. He’ll leave. The way he takes care of you, talks with you after bad days, assures you when your confidence wanes, massages your shoulders when he reads your tense body language, it’s all too good for you and he deserves someone who can do the same for him. But god. You still want it. You still want him. You’ve been ungrateful and clueless, but you can’t stop yourself from being selfish. How can he accept you being subpar when he consistently goes above and beyond for you?

“You’re holding your breath,” he comments, already aware you’ve got something big caught in the cogs of your brain.

You turn your head away to exhale, forcing a laugh. “You’re lucky. I’m sparing you my morning breath.”

As soon as your hand leaves his chin and it looks like you’re about to roll away, he makes the split second decision to catch your wrist. “Maybe I want it.”

“Don’t be gross Joonie.” You don’t dare look at him because you know you’ll only wilt under his gaze, but you allow yourself to be guided back against the safety of his chest.

“What? I’m dead serious,” he replies, releasing your wrist in favor of gliding his fingertips gently down your side. His gut is living in turmoil, preparing itself for the moment you say you want to call it off, that you want to forget everything again and pretend like nothing happened. He knew it was coming. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. Breathe.”

You want to tell him everything you’re thinking but the words won’t form. You take a deep breath in through your nose, choke on the exhale and flop your body around to face him.

“You can tell me. It’s okay. I’ll still be here. It’s okay.” The pit in his stomach threatens to pull tears from his eyes but he holds them in, rubbing your back instead and fighting the sickness building in his throat.

“I’m selfish, Joonie.”

The words are broken as they escape you and that stone in his stomach wrenches every last bit of dread it can from the dark tendrils around his heart, causing it to sink. He doesn’t speak. He can’t. He’ll break too. You’re crying as you look up at him and he feels himself cracking, falling to pieces in the moments between your words. Last night was too good to be true. He swallows and dons a mask of stone.

You swallow down the fear and embarrassment stinging your cheeks as you lay here trying to gradually pry your heart out of your chest for him. He waits with an unreadable expression, suffering without allowing a single complaint to pass his lips, despite your frequent hesitation. How does he have so much patience for you?

“You’re so good to me all the time. You know what I need before I do. And I… want to be that good for you. But I don’t know how.” A choked sob makes its way out and you stutter out an apology before continuing.

“You deserve someone who can pick up on things the way you do. I’m afraid that I’m not good enough for you… but I want to be. I want to be so badly.” You sniffle, sucking in the snot threatening to drip from your nose. “I know it’s selfish, but please. Let me try to be half as good to you as you are to me. I know I’m a mess but I promise I’ll do my best. But I’m scared...” You swipe at your tears as his hand settles on your back, unmoving.

“I’m scared you’ll think I’m not worth the effort. Spending the night with you like this… Finally letting go of my fear... it was pretty much everything I’d been dreaming of for weeks, but now I just feel guilty because it's like I'm waking up next to an actual Saint and… you’re waking up next to a mess of a human. I’m sorry that I’m not… " You search for the perfect word, but fall short, just like you always do. "... better.”

A relieved laugh bubbles from his throat. “Oh wow. Me? A Saint?” Another string of laughter follows. “Is that what you’re worried about? Do I need to start teasing you again? Will that help?"

He pokes your side and you squeak. As much as he wants to pull more of the same sound from you by digging his fingers into your side, the urge to reassure you is stronger.

"I told you being messy is human nature. I mess up all the time… I’m just a human,” he says, smiling as he lifts your chin so you meet his glossy-eyed gaze. “...You erode all my edges and make me into love.”

He said that last night too. What else was it he said? It was so poetic but you’re struggling to remember. You grab his hand and press it to your chest. The t-shirt is a little wet from your tears, but it’s warm from the heat swirling in your chest. You hope he can feel your heartbeat beneath his palm.

“Something, something… and it becomes a heart?” you ask with a sheepish grin and a sniffle.

“Something like that,” he laughs, causing the tears wading in his eyes to crash down against his cheeks. “Listen. I didn’t fall for you because I want you to be some pinnacle of perfection placed on a pedestal. I fell for the you that you are. Every flaw is just another part I love. You’re... a lot of things, but selfish isn’t one of them. Seeing you as you are and not who you pretend to be… It’s more than I can express. But ‘I love you’ comes close.”

All the noise in your head scatters in different directions as he sweeps a path of clarity through your thoughts with his words. Your heart swells with the big inhale you take, causing his hand to rise with your expanding chest.

He pauses to roll his eyes and cut the tension. “At least not in this case. Trust me. If anyone’s selfish, it’s me.”

“You? Really? I don’t believe that. You're always too good to me. There's no way.”

You smile at the adoring look in his eyes, melting into a puddle when soft dimples form just outside his lips. How did you manage to not fall for so long? You look down at the shape of those luscious, velvety smooth lips spreading wide to expose a set of beautiful teeth. Your tongue absentmindedly swipes along your mouth as you try to purge thoughts of how good they felt nipping at your neck last night. As you swallow and bring yourself to focus on his eyes, he grins wider. You really have to work at being less obvious because this whole getting caught ogling him thing is becoming increasingly more embarrassing.

“Mmm. I think you’ll find I’m very selfish because I don’t want to share...” he trails, bowing to rest his forehead against yours. “I want to keep you to myself. Morning breath and all.”

Tingling goosebumps ripple across your body like an electric chill as you slip your hand around the back of his neck and shiver. You're pretty sure you have the biggest, dumbest grin on your face. When did you become so fucking smitten? “It’s yours then."

Allowing your head to drop back against the pillow, you gently encourage him to chase your lips, twirling locks of his hair in your fingers.

"I'm yours," you correct yourself with a whisper, need filling the cracks that uncertainty doesn't cover. "If you want me? Please say you want me still."

He uses the opportunity to slip his arm out from underneath you and uses it to prop himself up. His long fingers curl around your jaw and he tilts your chin up as he moves in closer. He pauses to skim his lips over yours before he speaks those reassuring words. "I want you. And I'll tell you as many times as it takes for it to sink in."

He closes the distance between you before you provide another insecure rebuttal for him to combat. He presses down on your mouth hard with his own but keeps his tongue to himself, simply allowing you to feel the heat of his lips against you. There's that chill again, wracking your body, hardening your nipples, facilitating the transfer of the hot, sticky wetness from your folds to your panties.

It's not enough. The fireworks in your head and the butterflies swirling a storm in your stomach leaves you euphoric and eager to consume more of him. You start to tease your tongue along him and he greedily reciprocates by pushing his tongue past your teeth and into your mouth. You gasp at the intrusion and he moves back, but you're not about to let him go. If he’s hungry then you’re starving.

He has to steady himself when you twist his hair in your fingers and yank down, earning you a guttural growl from the back of his throat that fades into a weak moan. The sound has you clamping your legs together, trying to contain the thin layer of slick coating the crease along your inner thighs right where they meet your underwear. You'll have to peel them off and wring them out if he keeps it up.

"So rough," he chides with a chuckle, almost taunting you back as he slides his fingers around the back of your head,

"Sorry," you mumble, dropping your palms flat against his back.

But you're not, not really. Letting him back off now would be truly devastating. You're already moving back in to drag his bottom lip through your teeth, earning another gravelly growl.

“I know you’re not,” he laughs as his lip snaps back to him, your smile giving you away.

He gives a small tug on the strands of your hair he's started twisting between his fingers. He doesn't know what he expected, but the soft moan that pulls from you isn’t it. The sound travels through him like a tuning fork and sets his nerves alight on a path that goes straight to his dick. Without hesitation he fists his hands deep in your hair, twisting as much as he can in his fingers and squeezes. Your mouth falls open and you gasp out a louder, needier moan against him. He presses his mouth harder against you, tongue claiming the space inside yours as its new home.

Your back arcs up off the mattress, arms curling around his neck as if to hold him in place so he doesn’t disappear like he has in so many of your dreams. The heat of his bare chest bores through the thin fabric of your borrowed shirt, firm pectorals squishing the soft flesh of your breasts. It feels like you’re going to explode if you don’t relieve some of the pressure associated with such salacious desire.

“Namjoon,” you pant in a whisper, rolling your body towards him in a frenzied need that drives the shirt up past your panties.

He groans a deep sound into your mouth, trying not to give in to every last lustful thought telling him to put his hands all over you. He knows it’s a delicate balance, exploring this new territory with you, but it’s so hard to rationalize actions with his dick leading his thoughts. He knows he has to reel it in or he is going to go too fast. When you roll your hips against him a second time, he lets himself get lost in the way your hand glides down his back. Your fingertips barely dip below his waistband before they’re coming back up and making their way across his arm. How is it you can make him want you more with every touch, every pant, every pass his tongue makes against yours? Suddenly both your hands leave his back completely and he’s about ready to start weeping. Fuck. You’re killing me.

You can feel the new bit of exposed skin rubbing against his sheets and you allow your body to relax its deathgrip on your thighs, desperate to feel any other part of him touching you. Just as you’re about to pull the sheet down for him to see what you’ve done, he hooks his leg over yours, wedging it between the previously immovable limbs. Oh fuck. I’m in trouble.

He’s about to expose how ridiculously wet you are and you two are just making out. If he doesn’t realize it, he’s still going to be wearing you all over his sweatpants.

“Wait, I…” Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding hard enough to burst through your chest.

He pauses to prop himself on his hands, towering over you. The knee between your legs sinks into the mattress as it supports the majority of his weight. He’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, pupils so blown out that you can’t see any of the color surrounding them anymore. “What do you need?”

Don’t say your dick. Don’t say your dick. Don’t say your dick.

You’re frozen, terrified that he’s somehow gained the ability to read your thoughts. He exhales a soft sigh and his expression morphs into raw compassion. “Do you wanna stop? It’s okay. We don’t have to move so fast.”

He says that like anything the two of you have ever done has progressed at a pace faster than paint drying. You manage a conflicted sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. Wow. That’s oily. Becoming aware of your appearance, even in the relatively dark room, leaves you feeling insecure.

“Ah, it’s not that,” you begin, trying to explain without revealing just how embarrassed you are. You place your hands on the knee between your legs, feeling his body stiffen at the sensation. Your wrists are quickly pressed into the slick of your thighs when he shifts his knee forward. Oh fuck. He’s too close.

“What is it? Tell me,” he prods when your fingernails dig into his thigh.

You open your mouth to speak, meaning to use the cop out excuse of having to pee, but fall silent when you realize just how muscular his thigh feels beneath your palm.

“What can I do?” he asks, practically seeing the wheels turning in your head.

You nervously swallow, blinking furiously like you’ve forgotten how normal eyeballs work. “Nothing.”

“Okay, why are you being so weird?” he laughs, reaching down for your hands and pulling the blanket back as he moves. “You’re cutting off my blood flow with those little daggers you call nails. Have you been biting them again?”

Panic sets in when you realize you have nowhere to hide. You pull your hands away from his leg to avoid letting him feel how slick your wrists have become just rubbing against your inner thighs. Your shirt has risen up enough to bare your belly button, showing off the lacey black panties below. His eyes slowly drift down, fully taking in the way you look wearing his shirt before they get stuck on the flesh exposed for his consumption. He swallows hard and finally takes in the mouthwatering sight below. The band of stretchy black mesh bordered by a fine red lace encircles your hips, making you look like a gift presented specifically for him to start unwrapping with his teeth.

“Fuck me,” he mutters to himself in a low breathy tone.

You nervously laugh, feeling like your chest is about to cave in on itself. “I’m too embarrassed to do that.”

With his eyes focused elsewhere his hands reach out to clumsily grasp at yours. He drags his lip through his teeth as he draws the back of your hand to his lips. You freeze, knowing that you’re done for.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says."I know it's not that simple, but try it anyway."

He kisses your knuckles sweetly and starts to slowly work his way across the back of your hand, applying more passion to each kiss he plants on your skin. The closer he gets to your wrist the more tongue he offers, kissing, nibbling, and sucking at the slick partially dried against your flesh there. You’d be mortified if you didn’t find it so fucking hot.

Your chest heaves in silent waves as you watch him. He locks eyes with you, pressing his lips to your arm one final time with a coy grin.

“Is that what you were trying to hide from me?”

"Yes." Your voice is small as you admit defeat. You turn your head into the pillow so you don't have to look at him anymore. "I'm sorry. Can I just... Take a cold shower or something?"

Namjoon laughs. "Why are you apologizing? You really don't have anything to be embarrassed about."

Why are you apologizing? Your ex had ingrained in you that you were some freak of nature, but you've known for years now that he didn't know anything about women. Still, it seems that insecurity stuck with you. You bite your lip, mind wandering back the way Namjoon looked sucking your arm.

"Besides you taste amazing from what I can gather," he murmurs, rolling to lay flat on his back, folding his arms behind his head. "But if you really want to shower, I won't stop you. I don't recommend cold water, ever. I mean if you wanna, knock yourself out. If you go hot though, the ventilation can get kind of bad, so keep the door open a crack. I can try my hand at making breakfast. Don't think I haven't been picking up some skills."

You sit up, eyes traveling helplessly down his torso, roaming over his hardened nipples and raking in the divots along his stomach indicating muscles hidden just below the surface. A thin trail of dark hair below his belly button grows thicker as it disappears below the band of his gray sweatpants. Even in the darkness you can discern the bulge slightly tenting the fabric over his crotch. When you force them back up to meet his gaze, you find yourself distracted by the swell of the triceps framing his face. Have the back of his arms always looked like this? Has he always looked so fucking good?

The lip you've held in your teeth for the last minute or so has begun to pale from the pressure. You don't even realize you're giving him that deer-in-the-headlights stare until he reaches over to poke you in the belly.

"Are you going or what?"

You blink at him a few times. "Huh?"

"Shower. Yes? No? Or you gonna keep looking at me like that and tempting me with that bedhead?"

Your hand instinctively flies up to smooth down your hair, even though you know it's no use. How many times has he caught you staring at his body now? You've lost count, but it's still equally mortifying.

"I'm sorry if I seem like a tease," you mumble, eyes darting away. "I know you're the same person as before I said the words out loud, but my brain has decided it likes you too much and it's making me stupid nervous. I feel like I'm undergoing a critical system update. So like... bear with me while it finishes installing?"

He leans his head back against the pillow, rubbing his forehead with tented fingers. "Wow. Why is it the nerdy talk that gets me every time? How do you make it so sexy?"

A nervous laugh dissolves into a hum within your throat. "Sexy? Hmm. I think you've got the wrong girl."

He looks over at you, cheek flush against the pillow. "Nah, I've got the most perfect one."

"Ha. Well. You know what I got?" You continue nervously laughing as you slip out of bed.

"What?" He grins as you pause in the doorway, fabric of his shirt dangling against your thighs.

“I got youniverse,” you tease in a deep voice with a smirk. Deflection by humor is all you know.

“I was being romantic.” He groans, looking for something to throw at you. “Fine. I’m never doing anything like that again.”

"Please be patient while this update installs!" you call from the bathroom, already closing the door behind you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It's been a few minutes since the shower has been running and Namjoon can't stop thinking about how beautiful you looked beneath him. He stands at the stove with one hand tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants, the other holding a spatula so tightly his knuckles pale. Even the sound of bacon crackling can't distract him from the sight, the smell, the taste of you. He doesn't dare to peek his head around the corner.

He's still hard without imagining the way the water is rolling off your body. He doesn't need to go into the daydream of standing under that shower with you, pressing your tits against the glass and fucking you senseless. He definitely shouldn't be thinking about the water spilling onto your ass, your wet soapy hair knotted in his fist as he uses it to arch your back up towards him, or the sounds you might make as his cock disappears inside that tight little--

"Ah! Fuck!" he hisses.

The grease that splatters across his bare chest pulls him from his reverie. He turns off the burner and crosses the room, grabbing a shirt wedged between the couch cushions. As he turns around he freezes when he sees the bathroom door is wide open. That door doesn't move on its own. You did this, didn’t you? Are you trying to kill me, Geeksquad?

“You okay, Joonie?” you yell, voice echoing off the tile surrounding you.

His eyes are stuck on the blurry flesh tones peeking out from behind the textured glass, silently cursing each divot in its surface for the obfuscation of your form. The door slides open and you crane your neck to poke your head out, briefly swiping your hand over your eyes to clear the water from them. Suddenly your gaze is fixed on him, causing his teeth to clack together when he snaps his jaw shut.

Get it together, pervert, he scolds himself. The last thing he wants to do is screw this up and make you uncomfortable, but holy fuck he could cry at how hard you’ve made him again.

“Fi--ne.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, walking towards the open door and fixing his gaze on the floor while clutching the shirt in his hand. “You, uh, left the door open. Do you want me to uh… shut it a little more?”

You shake your head, but realize he’s doing his damndest not to look. Saint Namjoon strikes again. Now it’s your turn to clear your throat. “Joonie.”

“Hmm?” His eyes dart to the tiled wall just outside of the shower. Close, but not close enough.

Come on, you plead, hoping he can read your mind. You roam your fingers through your soapy hair, swallowing the anxiety in your throat.

“Joonie, can you… look at me?”

His eyes waste no time racing to your face, taking a brief detour to the rippled glass clouding the details of your body. Feeling braver when his lips lazily drift apart, you slide the shower door open just a bit more to expose the outer curve of your breast.

“I left it open for you. I thought you might want to…” you purse your lips, feeling your chest tingle with uncertainty. This is so new and so hard to navigate, but you want it so badly you could cry. “Watch?”

“Watch...” He blinks slowly, brow furrowing in confusion like you’ve given him some complex equation to solve. “...you shower?”

Oh no. This is dumb. This isn’t hot. What are you doing? Forget it. You don’t know what sexy is, Y/N. Abort. Abort. Abort! Your eyes dance around the room, trying to focus on something else to calm the ringing in your ears, but your mouth keeps going anyway.

“I-I just thought, hey you know what this is a really nice bathroom. And this shower? I mean…” You don’t even pause as you grip the metal to slide the glass door shut, watching his obscured form hover in the doorway. “...look at this glass. So pretty! It’s like. Wow. Talk about craftsmanship. I’m actually surprised it’s still so clean considering how you live, y’know? Anyway I was just like hey, you know what would be a shame? Not letting Namjoon see his own shower. Yup. Just. I think you can really appreciate how it looks from the other side for once. Ha. It’s nice in here too, like from this side, but I think it’s good to see things from a new perspective every once in a while. Heheh, heh. D-Don’t you?”

His mouth splits into a grin and he drags his lips through his teeth, trying not to laugh. “Yeah it’s pretty great to see it like this. But uh… For a second it seemed like you wanted me to appreciate more than just the construction of my shower. Maybe the sexy woman in my shower? I could do that too, if you want.”

Sexy? The hot water nearly scalds your flesh as you turn the heat up, forcing steam to rise up and over the divider between the two of you. There’s that nervous laugh again, spilling out of your lips as you wash the suds from your hair.

“Eh? Oh no, the steam is too much I can’t see you. Namjoonie?” You lick your lips and slide the door to the side just enough to poke your head back out, allowing steam to billow out in puffs around your head. Your fingers stay curled around the opening, ready for the moment you feel brave again. “It’s not too much watching me… warm up?”

He wants to say it’s not enough, but he’ll gladly take what you give until you’re comfortable. He cocks his head to the side, dragging his lower lip through his teeth.

“I could watch you warm up all day. Though, I may suggest some other ways to do it so we’re not breaking my bank account with the water bill.”

Offering a shy grin you push the glass aside to reveal a sliver of your body for his thirsty eyes. Your palm glides up your body to cup the breast you’ve partially exposed. You angle your thigh towards the wall to show the water cascading down your skin. “Can you see me? Do you-Do you wanna get closer?”

It’s no use telling himself not to be so eager. He’s wished for this for such a long time that he can’t help the automatic steps he’s already walking across the vinyl flooring. He licks his lips and leans against the granite counter, preemptively brushing his fingers over the shape bulging in his sweatpants. “Is it okay if I do this?”

A longing sigh morphs into a strangled moan as it attempts to leave your throat. “Yes, please.”

At your sound those gentle strokes of his fingers turn into a palm roughly squeezing and tugging himself over the fabric.

Oh. Fuck. Me. That’s his dick. Your brain threatens to short-circuit at the sight of him palming himself over his pants. You can’t accept that the long shape beneath is actual size or you’ll fucking die. It has to be a trick of lighting, the bunched up gray material, or even your own mind. He doesn’t get to be attractive, smart, funny, and have a big dick. It’s in the laws of the universe. You refuse to believe it.

Even in your crisis your body responds to the sight of him. Shirtless, back slightly rounded as he uses the counter behind him for support, long fingers cupped around the shape of his cock, touching himself over his gray sweatpants like they’re not even there, and just watching you stand there like a statue with your breast hidden behind your hand. Taking a deep breath to gather your courage, you bump the metal frame on the slider with your elbow as you reach down between your legs. Smoky tendrils of water vapor reach out to draw Namjoon’s attention to the motion of you rubbing your swollen clit.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

His lips part in longing and his eyes roll back in his head for a fraction of a second. Your thumb works its way around your nipple as you massage the supple flesh in a circular motion, revealing a hardened peak in short bursts.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, chest heaving as he plants a palm on the counter behind him and leans back on it as his other dives below the band at his waist.

If the vision of him palming his cock above the surface of his pants wasn’t driving you crazy enough, the sight of him pumping his cock below them sure fucking takes it to another level. The shower drowns out the sound of his fist frantically working himself from tip to base, but you’ve watched enough porn to be able to imagine it. You scan him up and down. His furrowed brow, half-lidded eyes, and open mouth have you leaning back against the wall for support, but it’s the fervent motion of his arm stretching his sweatpants that has your legs quaking beneath you.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, needing to pull the orgasm out before you collapse. Why did you think doing this in the shower was a great idea? Trying to focus on your orgasm while keeping yourself upright is torture. So close. So fucking close.

Your body is shaking as the water hits your torso, hand roaming your body for something more to help release the tension. Namjoon’s eyes are fixed on your chest, watching the water assail the flesh surrounding your nipple.

“That’s it, baby. You got it.”

He would scold himself for using a term of endearment he’s never used with you outside of his own fantasies, but you’re so fucked out he’s hoping you won’t call him out. The words of encouragement edge you towards release. You exhale a loud breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Fuck, Namjoon. I can’t...”

His eyebrows seem permanently knotted together, as though begging you for his own release. He can’t even think straight anymore. “Do it for me, baby. Please.”

The sound of his pleading has you on the brink of letting go. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling that surge coming. It’s going to hit you hard; you can tell. You straighten your legs, whole body tensing up.

“Oh fuck. Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Joonie. Joonie. Joonie. J--”

Your foot slips.

The cause of your pained cry is multifaceted. First of all, the universe is a dick and loves to remind you that everything you do is forever shrouded in embarrassment and shame. Secondly, that orgasm was going to undoubtedly be the best in your fucking life and it was stolen from you by that fall. Thirdly, your hip feels like it’s been dipped in lava and no amount of biting your lip can help you play things cool.

Namjoon is hovering over you in an instant, shower spraying his back. “Are you okay?!’

Embarrassment floods your features as tears trickle down your cheeks. You want to nod in reassurance but you can’t help but shake it no. His hands cup the back of your head, forcing you to look into eyes that are too concerned to think straight.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No,” you manage to choke out between strained breaths. “Just my hip. Gimme a minute.”

You wail out a long sound, mostly just to vent your frustration at the situation. It makes him feel guilty even though he knows it’s not his fault. You sit up with a wince, but quickly burst into laughter when you notice he’s couched down in waterlogged sweatpants.

“Na-Namjoon, turn off the water,” you say, trying to hold back the giggles as you point up. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

He raises his eyebrows and blinks at you and then he looks down at himself. His mind was so preoccupied…

“Ah! Shit.” He reaches up to turn the knob and the water stops pouring through the head, though his sweatpants have already absorbed a massive amount. At least it made you feel better.

“Towel please,” you say, clutching your knees to your chest to try and cover your body.

He shakes his stupor off and leans out to grab the fluffy white towel hanging nearby. “You know, you can’t blame me for not thinking straight,” he grumbles, handing it over. “We were... having a moment.”

“I know,” you admit with a smirk, wrapping it around you. “I was enjoying it. Too much obviously.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He helps you into his bed and encourages you to lay back against the pillows, despite your protests that your hair is soaking wet and will dry before that pillow ever does.

“It’s fine. Relax,” he says rummaging through a drawer nearby. He disappears for a moment, the wet squelching beneath his feet indicating he’s going back into the bathroom, but you can still hear him. “You should probably rest your side.”

When he returns he’s sporting a pair of black oversized basketball shorts and he’s got both hands stuffed in his pockets. His golden brown skin seems to glow under the soft LED candles, shadows carved into muscles you never realized he possessed. The mattress sinks when he sits down on the edge of the bed beside you and you gulp.

“I’m fine. I’m just a clutz.”

“That makes two of us.” He smiles, eyeing the place where the two ends of the towel meet at your thigh.

“Can I look?” he asks without a second thought.

Your face burns with the flames of embarrassment. “Wh-What?”

His eyes widen as they snap to your face. “Uhhh, your injury! I definitely wasn’t asking to see your clit again. I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to see it again. I would. I just, uh…” He coughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You grin like a smitten fool, glad to not be the only one struggling with composure. The sound of the rain pelting the window nearby has become comfortable padding for the moments of silence you’re unsure how to fill. Slowly, you reach down to pull the towel aside just enough to reveal the red welt at your hip.

He grits his teeth and cringes. “Ouch.”

“It really doesn’t hurt that bad now,” you try to reason.

“Yeah, that’s bullshit.”

“No, really, it’s just a little…” you feel along the reddened patch of skin and flinch when your fingers make contact, allowing a little hiss to pass through your teeth. “...tender.”

“Hmm.” He looks at it closely, trying to figure out if there’s anything he can do. “Ah. Hold tight.”

He leaves and returns with an ice pack, gently pressing the cloth into your side to offer relief.

“That’s better, thank you,” you say, overlaying your hand on his and holding the pack in place. “But there is one more thing you can do, if you want.”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss it better?”

“I don’t think it works like that,” he says with a smirk, already pressing his lips to the skin outside of the ice pack.

Your eyes close and you roll your head back into the soft pillows. The sensation of his lips skimming the outside of your hip is driving you crazy, but he never lifts the pack. Instead he skirts around it and begins kissing down the outside of your thigh.

“Hold this in place, okay?”

His hand slips out from beneath yours and you look up just in time to catch him running the flat of his tongue in a line to your knee. As his dark eyes check in with you, he bends your knee enough to dip his head beneath it and press his lips to this side. Your calf rests on his shoulder as he begins to suck on the tender flesh at your inner thigh. He lightly nips at the skin and pauses, seeking your approval.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes, please, yes.”

He smiles, sucking your skin between his teeth and basking in the delighted sigh that passes your lips in response. You wiggle your hips as he works his way up, anticipating those big soft lips finally pressing where you want them the most. He climbs onto the bed on his elbows, positioning himself between your legs to get more comfortable. He pauses to admire the string of marks he’s left behind.

He grins when you hook your other leg around his shoulder and buck your hips towards him with need. “What, impatient already?”

“I was so fucking close, Joon,” you whine.

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll get there. Chill,” he laughs, turning his face back to your thigh and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses into it.

Despite this being everything he wants, he’s worried if he goes too fast, he won’t be able to enjoy it. He wants to take his time with you. You moan as he sucks another bruise into the soft flesh, inches away from your dripping cunt. He can practically taste that sweet tang on his mouth as he breathes in. To think you were embarrassed about this earlier… Ridiculous. Feeling the heat of your sex so close, he pauses to rest his cheek on the inside of your thigh and swipes his tongue out a few times to tease your labia.

You ball the edge of the towel in your fist and swipe the material away from your body. It’s useless to you now anyway. “Fuck. Namjoon. Please. Just do it already.”

“Do what?” He plays dumb as he smirks, lapping at your outer folds with the tip of his tongue.

You turn your head to the side and whimper against the pillow. The words are both breathless and desperate as they come out. “Please, eat this fucking pussy.”

So much for taking his time. He wraps his arms around your legs and drags you down just a bit meet his hungry mouth, groaning into your clit as he presses the flat of his tongue against it. Heaven. You taste like fucking heaven. He’ll eat you out every day for the rest of his life if you let him.

“Oh, god, yes,” you cry out, forgetting about the ice pack you’re clutching at your waist.

Both of your hands shoot down to tangle in his hair and he has to stop himself from grinding his hips down into the mattress as you tug. While he doesn’t want to cum in his pants, he allows himself to steal a glance up at the way your breasts have pushed together with your arms like this. Another breathy groan sends vibrations rippling from your clit up to your belly and it earns another weak moan from you in return.

“Fuck,” you whisper, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of the man eating you out better than anyone ever has.

You squeeze at your breasts, trying to keep yourself from pushing his head against you even harder. Just when you think he can’t be any more sinful, you feel the first finger glide into your pussy. You tense and take a loud inhale. Holy shit.

When you don’t make the pornstar noise he expects, his ego deflates a tiny bit. He lifts his head to look at your fucked out expression, noting the almost pained way your eyebrows come together and your eyes snap shut, rolling your head to one side.

“Nonononono, don’t stop, please.”

Based on that reaction, he already knows the answer and he feels foolish for asking. “Are you enjoying it?”

It’s not that he’s insecure. At all. You’re just not making the sounds other girls have made once he’s gotten them here. Okay, maybe he’s a teeny bit insecure. He continues to pump his finger into you, feeling the tightness in your walls clamp down on him. It’s hard not to imagine what that might feel like surrounding his throbbing cock. There’s the subtle chase of your hips coming down to meet his palm every time he thrusts his finger up into you. Watching it disappear inside you makes his eyes roll back.

“Joon, do you think I’d be this wet if I wasn’t enjoying it? Please. Keep going.”

He wets his lips, tasting you on them again before sucking back down on your clit. When he realizes how effortlessly his finger is gliding inside you he decides to add another, smiling when he feels your pussy clench and adjust to the newest intrusion.

“Na-Namjoon!” you cry out, throwing your head back.

“Mmm?” he hums innocently against you, flicking his tongue against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Each pass he makes in tandem with his fingers causes that tingling heat in your belly to grow.

Your legs are shaking but your clit is starting to go numb, and a nervousness swells inside of you, blocking out all sensations of pleasure. You told him you’re a mess. You warned him. There’s so much you wish you could change about your brain. But the anxiety over letting go, of not being able to soothe the ache of another person’s shattered confidence ensures you won’t be able to reach that finish line without some miracle. It feels incredible at certain moments, but every time start to let yourself give in, your body tenses, reminding yourself there’s so much riding on making him feel good by reaching that climax.

If he’s anything like the guys you’ve been with in the past, he’ll focus on it. He’s not though, is he? Now you’re focusing on it. Now you definitely can’t cum. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. Could you just fake it? Would he know?

You’re unaware of the worry plastered on your face and as he looks up to read your expression, it tips him off. Ego only slightly battered, he removes his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean before climbing up the mattress beside you. Thankful for his ability to read your body language, you grab the towel and cling to it, clamping your legs shut and turning to face him.

“You’re anxious,” he says plainly, though you can’t help but take it as an accusation.

“You’re hot,” you fire back with a nervous laugh.

“And you look like a goddess right now, but that’s besides my point. Talk to me, Y/N. What’s wrong? Did I do something you didn’t like? You can tell me.”

You feel so fucking guilty. He’s too good for you.

“Look, you know I have trouble letting things go. Pleasure is… no different. I start to and then—”

“You panic?”

You nod and hug the towel close to your chin. “The last person I was with put a lot of stress on making me… you know, finish. And it was always, always my fault when I couldn’t. There was so much pressure over it that I forgot how to relax with another person. I couldn’t because I was thinking about how mad they’d be if I couldn't.”

“You know you don’t have to worry about that with me,” he says, pressing you towards his chest in a hug. “All I care about is whether or not you’re having a good time. I only stopped because I could tell you weren’t.”

“I just...I forgot how to let go. It’s been a long time since that person and still. I can’t do it unless I’m the one with my fingers…” You clear your throat, feeling embarrassed at having to have this conversation. “I know you’re not like them, but it’s hard. I feel like I failed you already.”

“Okay, one? Too much pressure on yourself. This is a partnership so let me take some responsibility. Which feeds into point two. It’s been…” He sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck as he counts the years. “A while for me too. You know, my skills could probably use some work. We should probably practice if we want to get better at making each other feel good.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, about that. Are you gonna stick your dick in me or what? I want to make you feel good too.”

His cock twitches in his pants and he presses his lips together. “Okay, for real? We were having a real, deep, thoughtful conversation about overcoming obstacles together and you just want me balls deep.” He can’t help but crack a smile. “I see how it is.”

You wave your hand in the air dismissively. “No, no. If you wanna plan it out in excruciating detail how you’re gonna make me cum all over your fingers and your tongue, be my guest. I just figured it was time I offered something other than my tech services. But, whatever, man.”

He swallows hard, deciding to play into the game a little more. “Great. We’re on the same page then. First of all that’s your humor defense mechanism and I will not be tricked into believing you’re just gonna--Ah...”

His words break off into a moan when you nip at the brown, pebbled nipple practically calling your name.

He groans. “Playing dirty?”

“Well, I am a dirty girl, right?” you ask, playfully planting a string of hot, wet kisses across the firm muscles on his chest.

“Hobi’s nickname for you is that accurate huh? Think he’ll abandon it now that you’re mine?”

“Oh, I’m yours, huh?” you tease, kissing lines down his stomach.

“Those love bites on your thighs say you are,” he says with an amused grin as you sit up straight.

“That’s just one thigh. The rest of me is fair game, don’t you think?” You giggle when that smile turns into a frown and you move to tease the band of his shorts down.

His hands grip the back of your neck and he pulls you down into a kiss. “I’ll just have to leave my name all over you then, hmm?” he whispers in a low, breathy tone that makes your pussy clench. “Is that what you want?”

He pulls on your hair, forcing you to expose your neck to him. He latches on, sucking and laving his tongue across it. You moan, reaching down for his waistband once again, fumbling to get it down past the erection sticking straight up. He helps wiggle them past his butt and kicks them down his leg, making sure he has freedom of movement he needs. You gape at the sight of the dark, veiny cock standing at attention as he sucks another bruise into the crook of your neck. You gasp in a hungry breath, trying to keep your mouth from watering at the sight of precum beading atop its dusty pink head. You’ve never wanted to ride someone’s dick so hard in your life. You move to straddle his waist, allowing him to dive down your collarbone and suck at the soft tissue leading down towards your nipple.

He grins against your breast, trying to subdue the tremble of his fingers as they settle on your hips.

“Ah!” you wince, realizing that welt from your fall is still pretty tender as his fingers ghost over them.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your nipple, teasing it with his tongue before sucking it in his mouth.

“It’s fine. Is it okay if I…” you position yourself over his dick and let it rest flat against his stomach. You slowly settle yourself on top and rock yourself back and forth, grinding your soaking clit perfectly on the head of his cock.

“Use me,” he grunts, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you down so he can get his mouth back on your nipple. “Please.”

There’s a dull pain in your side as his arms graze that spot and the way you’re grinding against him certainly doesn’t help, but you’re so fucked out and needy you’re pretty sure you could walk through fire for this man. It feels like his cock was made for sliding against your folds like this.

Your panting only grows more frantic as he switches his attention to your other breast. He nibbles at the neglected nipple and digs his fingers into the small of your back to keep from shaking as you roll your body against him.

“You feel so good Joonie,” you whine, fingernails digging into his chest.

He flinches at the daggers leaving crescent impressions over his heart and forces air through his teeth. If you keep this up, he’s going to be making a big mess all up his chest.

“Condoms. I have condoms,” he mumbles.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper. “We don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he whispers, pulling you down into a kiss as your clit continues to grind against his girthy length. You can feel his abs tense as his tip kisses your opening. “Ask me again when I’m not already so fucking close to putting it in. I can’t think straight.”

“That means we should. Where are they?” You whimper as his fingers reach down to rub tiny, gentle circles against your clit and he points to the nightstand beside the bed.

He sucks air through his teeth as your pussy spasms in response to his fingers touching you. You lean forward to reach for the drawer and he sucks your tit in his mouth, working his mouth over the flesh and letting his tongue leave trails all over your chest as you move forward.

“Joonie, you’re making it really hard to concentrate,” you chide, reaching in the drawer and pulling out the little box thankfully sitting on top of whatever other oddities he keeps inside that drawer. “How old are these?”

You flip the tiny box over in your hands, trying to read the packaging while he kisses your neck. Fuck, why is the type so small?

“Mmm bought em a few weeks ago,” he hums into your neck. “After the whole sleeping in your bed thing. Just in case.”

“3-pack, huh? Think you’d get that lucky?” you tease, ripping open the box. “You didn’t even open it yet. What if I asked you to fuck me when we were out?”

“You wouldn’t. You’re too shy.” He laughs, yoinking the condoms from your hand.

You puff your cheeks out at him. “But like… I could have though.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” he reminds you, eagerly tearing the foil in half. “Firewall.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You right.” You roll off him to give him space, chewing on a nail as you admire his form.

He breathes a soft sound through his teeth, trying to calm the nerves racing through his chest. You see the way his fingers tremble as they struggle to roll the latex down his shaft so you place your hands on top of his and help him. Yours aren’t much better in terms of stability, but you want him to know you’ll be nervous going into this together.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to worry with me either.”

A jagged breath escapes him as he leans into you. “I know.”

He breathes out trepidation before moving in to claim your lips with his own. The weight of his body presses you down into the mattress as he gently wedges himself between your legs. You can feel his tip poking at your entrance and you can’t help but wiggle your hips, hoping he’ll guide himself inside soon. You want to feel that delicious stretch with Namjoon filling you to the hilt and holding you close.

His hips are still as he dives his tongue in your mouth, cock offering only the slightest twitch at the way he can feel your walls pulsing, threatening to pull him in at any second. There’s no way he’s going to last if he goes in now. He just needs a second to compose himself. Maybe a few. Maybe a minute? His fingers trail shaky lines over your jaw, trying to distract you with the passion in his kiss.

“Are you okay?” you ask, breaking the kiss and watching his eyes carefully. “We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts. If you’re not in, then neither am I. We can go watch a movie instead.”

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head with a dramatic sigh, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “You feel too good.”

“But you haven’t even… I mean, not really—”

“This feels too good,” he corrects himself, running a palm up and down your arm. “Being with you.”

“How is that a problem?” you ask, confusion marring your features as you run your fingers through his hair. “I feel like I’m floating, like I wanna keep chasing this high because I never wanna come down off of you. I want to feel even closer. ”

He exhales a long breath. How does he phrase this? “Uh, it’s a problem because I’m too excited. I want this to last and—”

“Oh you’re worried about cumming too soon?”

He swallows his embarrassment, saying nothing as he kisses at your collarbone.

“Don’t be. I don’t care how long you last. I just want to make you feel good. We’ll go for as long as you last and we have two more condoms for later, hmm? We can always get more if you’re feeling wild. My treat.”

“Sugar momma?” He looks up at you with adoration, your grin spreading to his lips as he presses them against you.

“Ew.” You laugh against him. “Me and my five dollars are going home, sorry. I’m out now.”

“Don’t play, come on.” He laughs softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, pulling him into a deep kiss.

That’s when you feel his tip teasing your hole, slowly entering like he’s afraid he’s going to break you. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he sinks in, sighing in ecstasy against his lips. Your pussy squeezes him tight, already threatening to milk him dry before he’s even bottomed out inside you. Your walls pulse around him and you moan his name softly in his ear. Oh.Shit. Shit Shit.

He panics, sinking the rest of the way down as though burying himself inside you can hide the orgasm cresting too fast to stop. You cry out, clamping your arms around his back at the sudden stretch.

“Oh fuck, baby.” His breathing stutters and he pulls maybe halfway out before he slams his hips back into you, balls tapping against your ass. “Shit. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m cumming.”

“Joonie, I love you. It’s okay. I love you,” you whisper between passionate kisses.

His dick twitches inside you as he grunts, letting your tight pussy squeeze the cum out of him until he’s pretty sure he’s spilled everything he has into the condom. He’s breathing heavy, peppering your jaw with soft kisses. He’s growing soft inside you and it’s so fucking sensitive to subject himself to staying, but fuck, he doesn’t want to leave the comfort of your warm cunt.

With a defeated sigh, he ties the condom in a knot and tosses it in the trash before laying down beside you. “I swear I’m not a failure at everything.”

“You’re not a failure at anything. Come here, Joonie.” You gesture towards yourself, smushing your tits together for him as though he needed more incentive to climb on your chest.

He grunts but obliges, resting his head on your breasts and allowing you to comb your fingers through his hair. You place a chaste kiss on the top of his head. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He turns his head into your skin and gives you a wet kiss right outside your nipple. When you shudder he grins.

“This was just… practice. I learned a lot already,” you shyly comfort him. “Like. Wow. Vaginas are amazing. I can really take that much dick. Crazy.” You pause to watch him smile. “Ha, knew I could get you to laugh. Don’t worry. I have a feeling we’ll do even better next round.”

“You want another round after that?”

“Mmm-hmm. Very much,” you giggle and lean in, voice low. “Now that I know how sexy you sound when you cum, how am I supposed to resist you? What, I’m just supposed to forget and let that memory go? Uh-uh.”

He looks down at his flaccid dick and sighs. “I need time to recharge.”

“That’s fine. I mean, you’ll give me some time to get worked up again too. Didn’t you mention breakfast? Weren’t you gonna show me your mad cooking skills?” you tease, poking his sweaty side with a finger.

He jumps up, not remembering if he turned the burner off or not. “Oh shit. The bacon!”

You start cackling as the image of Namjoon running out of the room stark naked sears itself into your brain for eternity. You reach over for your phone, debating texting Jennie about everything. You quickly decide you want to keep this to yourself for at least the rest of the afternoon. Tonight is Saturday, after all and it’s bound to come out once everyone is together.

You roll on your side and listen to the rain falling against the window. So this is love, huh? It’s nice.

#moonchildnet #smutcentralnet #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fluff #bts scenario #love bytes

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nyangibun · 7 years

Text

Little Wolf: Part V

@jonsa-countdown

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV - AO3 LINK

PART V: SONGS

January 10, 2016

“I feel like a frozen watermelon,” Margaery complained. She had a protective hand over her engorged belly and another one pressed over her eyes.

It was a typical frosty winter, no different than the last. Snow blanketed the rolling hills and mountaintops, driving most of Winterfell and its neighbouring towns indoors. The temperature had dropped into the negatives late last night. Sansa had come over to watch over Margaery, while Robb, Jon and their team traveled further north to help search for missing hikers. Every year, there was always a couple who thought they could brave the Scottish weather, and every year, the Fire and Rescue team would have to go out and save them. Sansa didn’t want to think badly of people she didn’t know and who were probably already scared beyond their wits, but every time it happened, it was her brother and her friends’ lives on the line and it angered her that there were people that foolish.

“I can heat up a hot water bottle for you.”

Margaery removed her hand, blinking at Sansa, and smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not that uncomfortable yet. Give me a few months though and you might just have to move in. God knows your brother is useless.”

Sansa chuckled. “Robb tries, but…”

“He’s easily distracted?” Margaery snorted and shifted so she could lean against the sofa. “I know. Trust me.”

It had taken awhile for Sansa to warm up to Margaery when they first started dating three years ago. The brunette was kind and sweet, but Sansa always had the underlying sense that she never said what she meant. This proved to be true the more Sansa got to know her, but Margaery was an ambitious woman in a male-dominated world. She learned a long time ago that in order to succeed in life she had to keep her cards close to her chest; otherwise men will try to undermine her at every given opportunity. Sansa could understand that. In fact, learning to steel oneself away from the world was a lesson she had learned all too well, and that had been the defining moment in their friendship. Knowing that about Margaery made Sansa like her infinitely more, and knowing Sansa understood made Margaery more open to her as well.

But being close to Margaery Tyrell-Stark also meant the woman was as shrewd as ever in reading her.

“What’s going on with you and Jon?”

No holding punches; just blunt interrogation.

Sansa resolutely kept her eyes glued to the tv. “We’re friends.”

“Don’t. You can fool Robb, but c’mon. Friends don’t eyefuck each other from across the room.” At Sansa’s groan, Margaery made a triumphant little noise. “Indulge a pregnant woman.”

“Jon is Jon, Marg. I don’t know what you want me to say,” she sighed, already feeling exhausted with this conversation. It was one Jeyne brought up quite frequently, and even Theon at one point, but that was a drunken awkward conversation she’d rather forget. “He’s…”

“Your perfect soulmate?” Margaery supplied. She squealed with laughter when Sansa kicked her foot. “Okay, fine. You’re friends. Do you want something more?”

“No,” she answered a little too quickly. “After Petyr, I just…” She hesitated. This was something she hadn’t ever told anyone before, not even Jeyne, but maybe it was time to confess. “The thought of anyone touching me makes me feel dirty and I don’t want to feel that way about Jon.”

Margaery’s hand slipped into Sansa’s. She squeezed lightly. “You know it’ll pass, don’t you, Sans? That feeling will go away.”

“When?” she demanded. “When will I stop looking over my shoulder and imagining his face there? Because it hasn’t stopped and I just – Jon means too much to me, Marg. I can’t let this taint him the way it has everything else in my life.”

“So, he’ll wait.” Her friend looked at her with such sincerity in her words it made Sansa’s heart ache because it simply wasn’t true.

“And I’d be a bitch to ask him to,” Sansa pointed out. “Jon deserves better.”

“Better than you?” Margaery snorted. “There’s no such thing, babe.”

Thankfully, Sansa was saved from replying when the door burst open. A swirl of snow swept into the house, as Robb and Theon carried a limping Jon over to the adjacent sofa. Sansa immediately stood up, panicked and worried. Jon’s face was contorted in pain.

“What happened?” Margaery asked. She wiggled, but then decided standing up was too much of an effort for her. “Are you alright?”

Jon sighed. “Slipped. It’s nothing.” When Sansa moved towards him, he put up a hand, his smile fond but tired. “Sans, I’m okay I promise.”

She rolled her eyes as she settled on her knees to take a look at his leg. “Where does it hurt?”

“We already checked. Nothing’s broken, but he probably twisted his knee, the prick.” Her brother had his arms crossed over his chest. The Robb Stark sign of abject displeasure. “We told him not to be a hero, but he just had to go and do it anyway.”

“What did he do?” She glanced towards her brother, whose eyes betrayed his anger. He was just as concerned as her.

“Their knapsack got stuck on the side of a cliff with their cameras inside. Apparently, it had a year’s worth of photos.” Robb didn’t sound impressed, and neither was Sansa.

“So you decided it was your job to save it?” she demanded of the man before her. Jon had the good sense to look regretful. Sansa still stood up and smacked his shoulder. “You numpty.”

He caught her hand before she could pull back and circled his fingers around her wrist. “I’m sorry, Sansa.” Jon’s eyes looked earnest, but he also looked like he was more sorry for worrying her than getting injured. “Hey, forgive me?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No.” Sansa turned back to her brother and friends. “I assume you brought him here so I could drive him home?”

Theon looked sheepish. “His flat is on the opposite side of town. We just figured you’d want to since you two are –”

Margaery kicked him harshly in the shin, causing Theon to yelp loudly. She smiled sweetly back. “Since you two are such good friends.” She turned her smile onto her husband. “Robb, honey, can you help me up the stairs? All this drama is making me sleepy.”

It wasn’t the most subtle save, but Robb was all too eager to please his pregnant wife, so he nodded and quickly went over to help Margaery up.

“Let yourselves out. Night!” she called as the two disappeared up the stairs.

Theon rubbed his leg and sighed. “My cue to leave too. Call me tomorrow, Snow. And uh, sorry, Sans. Bye.”

As the door clicked shut and the voices of Margaery and Robb disappeared behind their bedroom, Sansa sighed, running her free hand through her hair. Jon laughed and tugged her towards him. “Don’t,” she said. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m fine,” he emphasised. He still had his hand wrapped around her wrist, soothing the worry that he was in any danger tonight. “There was a moment when I thought that this might be it,” he admitted quietly. He watched her carefully as he spoke. “It was a split second truthfully, barely worth mentioning, but in that second I thought, ‘god, I can’t die. I still have to take Sansa to the Chelsea Flower Show.’”

Sansa laughed. “Really? That was what you were thinking about?”

“Yeah,” Jon smirked, as he dropped her hand and leaned back against the sofa, a picture of ease. “I can’t disappoint my favourite girl.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, the kind of unbidden hope and affection she didn’t want. Sansa stepped away. “We should get you home. It’s getting late.” If Jon noticed the abrupt change, he didn’t comment on it. He merely nodded and stood up shakily on one leg. Sansa immediately went to shoulder his weight. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to A&E?”

“If it doesn’t get better in a couple days, I’ll go. Will that make you feel better?”

“Make it twenty-four hours.”

“You got it, Princess Sansa.” He bowed his head and tugged on the end of her hair like he always did when he thought he was being cute. Sansa snorted. Together, they half stumbled their way to her car.

Once they were on the road, Jon began to fiddle restlessly with the car radio. He changed channels so many times Sansa was two seconds away from hitting the brakes and throwing him out into the cold. Finally, he stopped, a bright smile pulling on his lips.

“I love this song.” He turned his whole body so he could look at her. “My mum used to sing it to me, but she’d replace ‘girl’ with ‘boy’.”

“With your curls, Snow, you could easily have passed for a girl,” Sansa told him, winking.

He laughed and shook his head. “Actually, people used to think I was a girl. Mum said I had such a full head of hair as a baby that people just assumed. I guess it didn’t help she dressed me in pinks and yellows all the time.”

“I bet you were a cute chubby baby.” And she bet he had the rosiest cheeks and the sweetest eyes. Oh, how she would have loved to see baby pictures of Jon. Unfortunately, the fire that took Lyanna’s life had also taken a good chunk of Jon’s childhood. So many memories lost in the ashes.

Jon shrugged, adorable little spots of pink on his cheeks. He didn’t say anything for awhile, but then suddenly in an incredibly off-key pitch, he started to sing. “Well I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?” He leaned forward. “My girl. Ooh, talking about my girl. My girl!”

“Jon Snow, you are absurd.” But even so, Sansa couldn’t help the laughter bubbling through, as he continued to sing loudly and very badly. He even made hand gestures. And she was embarrassed to admit that every time he pointed at her when he sang, ‘my girl’, hundreds of little butterflies flapped their wings excitedly in her stomach.

For the first time in months, as she sat here driving in the middle of the night with Jon singing beside her, Sansa felt free and unburdened by life’s realities. In this very moment, nothing could touch her. Not her past; not her insecurities; not even the knowledge that this was likely all there would ever be between them, because it didn’t matter. Jon was her best friend, the one person she counted on to always be there for her, and that was enough. She didn’t want or need any more.

May 14, 2017 - Present Day

It was getting warmer. The weather report said there would be a heat wave soon sometime at the end of May, which worried Sansa. She didn’t want Chloe to overheat. From all of the books she’d read about parenting, that was dangerous for a child as young as her. At the earliest opportunity, Sansa headed out to buy Chloe a fan for her room. It wasn’t hot enough yet for there to be a fan, but she wanted to be prepared in case the heat wave hit a week or so early. Weather reports weren’t always accurate after all.

Only half of the shops were opened this early on a Sunday. The first two stores she went to didn’t even sell fans yet, and by the fourth, Sansa’s irritability was at an all-time high, so of course that was the exact moment her arch nemesis at work decided to call after her from down the street.

“Sansa, dear, it’s so nice to see you!”

She grit her teeth and forced a smile onto her face. “Melissa, hi. It’s lovely to see you too.”

“We’ve missed you terribly at work,” the dark-haired woman said in her false dulcet tone. Sansa loathed her. Melissa Ferretti had been eyeing her job for the past year. It was one of the reasons why Sansa had such a hard time going on maternity leave at first, but in the end, Chloe always came before anything else. Still, she hated Melissa.

“I miss everyone there too,” Sansa said politely, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt.

Melissa smiled broadly. “When do you think you’ll be back? I hope it’s soon.”

She very well knew that Sansa was taking close to a year off. She wasn’t going to half-arse raising Chloe. If she needed to, Sansa would rather quit her job than neglect her little wolf. “I can’t say yet. Chloe is still adjusting, so we’ll have to see.”

“We?”

It had been second nature to her for the past four months to refer to Jon and her as a ‘we’. She forgot most people still knew her as Single Sansa. She should tell Melissa that Jon was simply her co-parent and platonic housemate, but the surprise in her eyes made Sansa feel a little smug.

“Jon and I,” she said casually. “Actually, he’s with her right now and I promised I’d be home as soon as I’m done with my errands, so I’m afraid I have to run now. We should catch up sometime, Melissa.”

Sansa gave the other woman a perfunctory hug and quickly sped away before Melissa could start asking questions about who Jon was. “Okay, um… I’ll see you around!” Sansa heard from behind her. The smile now on her face was anything but insincere; it was perfectly self-satisfied.

After another ten minutes of wandering through town, Sansa finally found a sizeable fan and began her journey back home. The storm from a month ago appeared to have cleared Scotland for summer. The grass looked brighter and the sun more prominent even on cloudy days. She had lived in London for four years, but being down there had only cemented her love for the north. People up here were kinder, more generous with their feelings and there was a sense of community here that London lacked. Most importantly, this was home. Growing up, that had never meant much to her, not in the way it did for the other Starks. Sansa had always felt different, a runt in a pack of wild wolves. She left for London in the hopes that the dreams she harboured as a child would come true – glittering lights, new adventures and all the culture and art she could digest. In the end, Sansa found only heartbreak and an aching desire for home. Winterfell would always be where she belonged. Small as it was in comparison, it was the best place she knew, and driving through the hillside now towards her small little house, Sansa had never been more sure she made the best possible decision. If she hadn’t come home, she never would’ve had those last precious years with Robb and Margaery.

Pulling up into her driveway, Sansa noticed the window was open in Chloe’s nursery. Jon must be up. She hadn’t expected him to be awake yet. He got home at nearly three in the morning last night after what she presumed was a very late shift. She heard him stumbling about in the dark for a few minutes before his door shut and then silence. Late night shifts for them usually meant harrowing rescues and a part of her longed to speak to him about it, just to make sure he was doing okay, but they hadn’t really spoken much since that incident in town. She knew she didn’t have a right to be angry with him. Jon hadn’t done a single thing wrong except greet an old friend. It was Sansa with the problem, but confronting it seemed too complicated. It would only bring up things neither wanted to talk about right now.

Sansa left the fan on the floor in the lounge as she made her way up to Chloe’s nursery. The door was ajar, his voice drifting to where she stood frozen at the top of the stairs.

“I've got so much honey the bees envy me. I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees. Well I guess you'd say, what can make me feel this way?” Chloe giggled loudly, clapping her hands together, and she heard Jon’s responding chuckle. “That’s right, lil’ wolf. It’s you. You’re my girl. My favourite girl.”

Tears welled in her eyes. A part of her still thought of Chloe as her niece and resisted the idea of calling her Sansa’s daughter, but not for Jon. The moment he found out in the will what Robb and Margaery wanted, Chloe was his. And that became so crystal clear to her now. She was his daughter. It wasn’t Chloe Tyrell-Stark any longer. It was Chloe Snow-Stark. She was as much apart of Sansa’s family as she was apart of Jon’s.

And whatever happened in their past, they owed it to Chloe to figure out, as complicated as it may be. Sansa needed to move forward.

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