double dare, m | ksj, knj

pairing(s): seokjin x reader x namjoon
— also yoongi x reader, implied ot7 x reader

summary:Kim Seokjin calls to issue a challenge. A (double) dare, if you will. He says you can’t take two dicks at once. Kim Namjoon, his roommate, argues that you can. Well, you never back down from a dare, especially when it involves Seokjin and Namjoon.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, low-key horny crack + chaotic energy; smut (fem reader, doggy, threesome, slight D/s dynamics, mild restraint, nipple play, finger sucking, fingering, double penetration); non-idol!AU - ot7 x sex friend!reader, focusing on Seokjin and Namjoon in this one :D (coughwith some Yoongi)

’journey (to the dick)’ au aka you as the main character in harem hentai and BTS is your (horny af) harem

–

“Yah!”

Smack!

“What? Ah, f-fuck!”

“I need you to get over here. There is a particular matter that needs to be discussed,” came the very serious, no-nonsense tone from your phone, speaking rather sternly for someone who called you three times in a row and forced you to answer in the middle of your, ahem, dick appointment.

You were holding the phone in one hand and your other was on the bed, fingers clutching the sheets, jerked forward periodically with firm, hard thrusts.

Someone was shouting behind the one on the phone.

“I told hyung that you could take dick in both holes and he doesn’t believe me!”

You immediately recognized that deep, sultry voice in the background. Still, you needed to address the accusation first.

“Kim Seokjin,” you panted. “What the fuck?”

You could hearhis exaggerated eye roll. Well, you couldn’t, but you could, you know?

“Namjoon thinks you can take dick in the pussy and the ass at the same time,” Seokjin spat as if that was utter bullshit. “And that’s just not possible.”

Smack! “Why–” Smack! “Would–” Smack! “You–” Smack! “Think–” Smack! “I couldn’t – mmm, fuck, yes right theeere, fuck, so deep and so hard, ugh, you’re so good…”

Seokjin continued like you weren’t in the middle of getting fucked right that very second.

“Because, okay, you could take some small dick, sure, but us? Us? Come on, you totally couldn’t.”

“That was absolutely absurd of you to say so, Kim Seokjin,” you snapped, your words curling into a lustful moan as a firm hand pushed the small of your back down, forcing you to your elbow, leisurely spanking your ass hard with his open palm, keeping you on the edge, so close to hitting your peak but not quite there, thrusting steady but rough.

The headboard was hammering the wall at the same deliberate pace.

The neighbor who lived on the other side of the wall was cursing again.

“Are you both going to be home?” you gasped out, all of your muscles tensing. Almost…

Seokjin snorted. “Pfft, obviously, we are human beings who sleep, you know–”

“We’ll see about that.”

You hung up on him.

“I gotta go.”

Surprisingly, the deep, husky voice behind you actually responded.

“Afterthis one.”

“You asshole, you are holding out – a-ah, wait, oooooooh, fuck!”

-

“I took a shower, Yoongi helped me clean all my bits, I dried my hair, went back home to put on a fresh dress and you’re fucking ASLEEP, KIM SEOKJIN, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Zzzzzzz – guh!”

Total chaos as you threw yourself onto Kim Seokjin’s lap, disturbing the perfect image of self-proclaimed Worldwide Handsome laying on the couch covered with a fluffy white blanket and squishy alpaca plush with a red neck scarf tucked in his inner arm, grabbing said plush and smacking him with it repeatedly as Seokjin lost his shit, flailing about and throwing his arms over his head, wailing at you to stop. His roommate, Kim Namjoon, was unabashedly cackling like a lunatic behind you.

“CEASE AND DESIST!”

“You–”FWOOP! “Bossy–” FLOOP! “Pillow–” BOOP! “Princess!”

“Namjoon, h-help!”

“Hell no,” Namjoon snorted in laughter. “I’m having a great time watching.”

“Yah!”

“First you doubt me, then you fall asleep on me, what’s next, you–”

Seokjin grabbed both your wrists, thinking he had won, already cheering for himself, only for you to plant your tits right onto his handsome face, his nose jammed right into your cleavage because of the sweetheart neckline of your red lace dress, hot breath warming your chest, brown eyes wide, grip on your wrists lessening in his shock. You yanked your hands out and clutched his head, sinking your fingers into his black hair, violently muffling his half-squeal, half-moan with your breasts, blaringly obvious that you weren’t wearing a bra because your prominent nipples were already hard and creating stiff peaks under the fabric, poking him incessantly in the cheeks.

You gasped as another pair of strong hands grabbed your forearms and made you release Seokjin’s head, forcing them up and your back to arch. A deep voice dipped down to caress your ear, not paying attention to Seokjin who did not detach himself from your tits.

He was making the most of it while you were distracted.

“Woah there, what do you think you’re doing?” Namjoon drawled, grip tightening, bending your arms back, elbows up, pressing your wrists to your upper back. “That’s not a punishment.”

You tried to breathe but Namjoon’s heavenly deep voice was taking your breath away.

“You know what punishments are.”

He pressed your head back, leaving your arms the way they were, and Namjoon’s sultry eyes appeared, half-lidded brown orbs completely visible because he had cut his hair very short now, dark gray-brown and spiked up, cocking an eyebrow at you. You whimpered at his gaze, suddenly feeling hotness on the curve of your breast, lips pressed to one of your nipples, and then wetness closing in, sucking you through lace and satin, the short flared skirt rising because of your spread thighs, but there was too much fabric between you and Seokjin’s hardness, the blanket and pajama pants and boxer briefs, so frustrating, about to lower your head to rectify that, but Namjoon’s palm pressed into your chin, fingers closing in around your cheeks, immobile.

“Where do you think you’re looking?”

Every time Namjoon smirked, one of his dimples peeked out at you. Ugh, so sexy.

“I… I’m s-supposed to be punishing Seokjinnie…” you gasped out, feeling said man’s teeth nicking at your nipple through your dress, his large hands closing in on your waist, pulling you closer, causing you to bend back more, unable to escape Namjoon’s grip and gaze.

Namjoon tilted his head, amused. “Yeah? Were you so, so mad that hyung wasn’t awake so you could show off how well you can take it in both holes?”

You didn’t want to whine and be pathetic, but Seokjin’s mouth and hands were all over your breasts and waist, pinching you through your clothes and sucking on the hard nubs, rushes of pleasure clouding your head and making you forget your defiance, remembering all the things Namjoon liked, like when you were so drunk on sex that you just gave into him, now whimpering and opening your mouth, your tongue sliding out, feeling him shift his palm, Namjoon’s finger leisurely tracing your lips. Your tongue followed, licking the pads of his fingers, rolling your body into Seokjin’s mouth, wanting to grab his shoulders but not letting yourself do so because Namjoon hadn’t allowed you to do so yet.

He liked you bad, but he also liked you obedient.

“W… Want it…”

You felt Namjoon’s other hand tangle in your hair, fingers molding to your scalp, sliding two of his long fingers into your mouth and making you suck on them, your eyelids fluttering as he fucked your mouth with his fingers, rubbing your tongue, pushing your arms down, your name growled by that deep, deep voice.

“Look at me.”

You fixated your eyes on Namjoon’s stern expression, shuddering as you felt Seokjin push the sleeves of your dress down, scooping out your breasts, moaning as his lips touched your skin, hot tongue teasing your hard nipples and you couldn’t tell him to do more or less, trapped by Namjoon’s fingers in your mouth and his hand in your hair, tugging at it lightly so you sucked his fingers like a cock, vision hazing out at the helplessness of it all.

Voluntary helplessness, to be clear.

“You want it? You had Yoongi-hyung fucking you earlier and now you want more? So dirty and so insatiable,” Namjoon taunted, not meaning it of course, because how could he mean it when he too wanted it all, knew you were insatiable and loved it as much as the rest of them, addicted to the feeling you gave him, pushing your head down, fingers still in your mouth. Seokjin raised his head, black hair, large brown eyes, pink lips lush and full and gorgeous, meeting the image of fingers sliding in and out of your glossy lips, your eyes glassy and reflected in his.

Namjoon pushed his fingers apart, opening your mouth.

Your tongue lolled out, swiping around his knuckle, staring into Seokjin’s eyes.

“F… Fuck…”

The oldest was dirty-minded but resistant in showing it, clenching his jaw, weakening as your fingers danced up his arms and you moaned his name messily between Namjoon’s long wet digits, tits pushed up by the neckline of your dress straining under them, knowing your sensuality was irresistible and infectious, placing your hands on his broad shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I still… don’t think you can take us both at once…” he breathed, staring into your eyes.

You smirked, Namjoon’s fingers sliding out, saliva smearing onto your chin, the taste of his skin on your tongue.

“Only one way to find out.”

And you leaned in and kissed those perfect lips, soft and passionate kiss, wrapping your arms around him, fingers splaying over his back and in his hair, his name trapped in the kiss, sudden hardness pressing to your back, breaking the first kiss and turning your head to be trapped in another, full lips commanding the lip-lock, two different hands on your breasts, Seokjin and Namjoon toying with them, the rush of pleasure only just beginning.

-

“Whose face am I looking at?”

“Obviouslymine,” Seokjin scoffed. “Do you even have to ask?”

You gasped. “But Namjoon is so handsome.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you want him to make you look at him, so that completely defeats the purpose of being forced when the default is you facing him.”

“Also, hyung thinks he’s the most handsome,” Namjoon chuckled, tugging your dress off, kisses across your chest as it left your body, hands travelling to push your panties down.

“No,” Seokjin choked, affronted as you moaned and gripped Namjoon’s shoulders, enjoying his powerful grip. “I am not that self-centered. I just happen to like how Ilook very much. Namjoon is very handsome, capable, and intelligent.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Namjoon shoved a finger inside your wetness, making you stumble into the sofa, raising your leg to place it against Seokjin’s naked thigh, almost falling if it wasn’t for your ass being suddenly grabbed by Seokjin’s firm hands.

“You are still clumsy, Namjoon,” Seokjin sighed, lowering you slightly to look over your shoulder.

You reached back and held onto the sofa, Namjoon’s mouth on your nipple and his finger in your soaked pussy, thrusting deeply to match his swiping tongue, maddeningly slow but rough, so dangerous, losing your mind at the leisurely pace, trying to buck your hips to get more but Seokjin’s hands were preventing you.

You heard the oldest huff and make a disapproving tongue click.

“Not like that. She likes it faster than that.”

Namjoon knew that. Obviously.

Your eyes widened.

He smirked around your nipple as one of Seokjin’s hands left your ass.

“Seok– oh, fuuuck!”

You gasped as you felt another finger enter your dripping pussy, another finger of a different hand, stretching your walls and a different pace, faster, your eyes rolling back, head hitting Seokjin’s shoulder, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care, your moans in his ear, Namjoon matching the rhythm, oh, shit, they were fingering you together, Seokjin from between your legs from behind and Namjoon from the front, the backs of their hands slick with your juices, Seokjin’s other hand still squeezing one ass cheek and Namjoon’s other hand on your waist, his mouth on your breasts.

“Come on, I know you’re close,” Seokjin muttered, exhaling hard. “I can feel your pussy sucking me in, asking for dick already.”

He was not normally one for dirty talk, but sometimes Seokjin let himself got lost in the lust, lost in the moment of your throbbing walls and shaking body, moans of their names tumbling from your lips, filling up their living room with obscenity and depravity, thrusting in unison, loud and wet and heavy breathing blending with your sound, pushed to the edge, thighs tensing, electricity flashing throughout your nerves.

“Namjoon, Seokjin, fuck!”

Wet squelch, sweet gush of your juices soaking their hands, your eyes rolling back, yelping as Namjoon’s hand retreated and Seokjin stuffed another finger in you. You didn’t need to say it, one glance at Namjoon and he could see it, harder, hyung, she can take it, gasping as Seokjin obeyed and Namjoon’s wet fingers pressed onto your throbbing clit, wild howl at the contact, sparks of sensitivity because it was right after your orgasm, heat at your neck from Seokjin’s cheeks, his teeth finding your shoulder, biting it, maybe from his realization of how crazy this moment was or in the heated moment of wanting to feed you even more pleasure, but the sharp unexpected pain only hiked your moans, Namjoon rubbing your clit as Seokjin shoved his fingers into you hard and fast, the angle a little awkward but there was so much going on that it didn’t matter, already there once again, obsessed with the overabundance of ecstasy, I’m cumming, fuck, Namjoon, Seokjin, a-ah, clit engorged and pulsing strongly to Namjoon’s punishing touch, words jumbled and woven with breathless cries, orgasm crashing down and soaking Seokjin’s hand once more, thick and sweet and honey-like, viscous juices clinging to your inner thighs, painted with your high.

Namjoon leaned in, silencing your shuddering gasps with his mouth, deep kisses and swirling tongue dazing you, aftershocks flinching through your torso as he pressed his fingertips to your jerking core, lowering you from the crashing waves, whispering darkly against your lips.

“We haven’t even started.”

Releasing you, and you were already turning around, meeting Seokjin’s gaze and his panting smile, kissing it, sighing contentedly in his touch, just something about those lips and his large frame surrounding you, something about the way he shivered when you sucked his breath away and drank it, almost innocent, but not that innocent, because the second your wandering hand found the condom on the sofa and pressed it into his palm, his lips curved into a teasing grin, nipping at yours.

“Already?” he teased.

You reached between you and him, fingers ghosting his length, smirking at Seokjin’s gasp, gazing at him under your lashes.

“You get hard from kisses, Seokjinnie.”

“I – gah, d-don’t…”

But he didn’t mean it, of course not, because he was humping your hand that was closing around his hot, hardening cock, stroking him slowly from base to tip, spreading the pre-cum over the sensitive head, his jaw clenching at the feeling, desire and need clouding his eyes, pupils blown-out, ripping open the foil packet, heavier exhales, staring into your eyes.

“You want to look at me that bad, huh?” he breathed against your lips, fishing for it.

You gave it to him, exactly what he wanted.

“Mhm, Seokjin, I want to look at your handsome, perfect face while you fuck my pussy and Namjoon fucks my ass.”

He sucked in a breath, caught in his throat.

“You’re crazy, but so, so hot.”

Eh, you’ll take it.

You moved your hand and he rolled the condom down, yelping as you captured his lips again, addicted to his kiss and his soft cries, his hand and your hand guiding his stiff cock to your quivering pussy, already saturated with slickness, spread knees and lowering body, sinking down onto him, moaning into his mouth and he moaned into your throat, suffocating each other with your noises, rolling your hips and breaking the kiss, both of your faces pointed to heaven with the true heaven between your connected hips, pleasure at being filled and doing the filling, his hands on your ass to push you down.

“Hyung, spread her ass,” Namjoon ordered behind you.

You pitched forward slightly, wrapping your arms around Seokjin’s shoulders, gasping as you felt him tug outwards, sinking his fingers into your softness, your lips pressed to his cheek, his sweet voice murmuring your name, filling you with warmth despite being exposed so vulnerably.

You inhaled deeply, breathing in Seokjin’s clean scent.

Then you flexed your asshole, tightening and relaxing the ring of muscle.

“Fuck, that’s so sexy.”

You gazed at him in your periphery, eyes widening as you realized Namjoon too was naked now, muscular body towering behind you, flicking open a bottle of lube and spreading it over his fingers, rubbing them together as they became shiny and slippery, catching your interested expression.

He smirked, dimple on display. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready since I walked in the door, Namjoon,” you smirked back, enamored with his seductive dark brown eyes.

He chuckled.

“Nah, you were ready the second Seokjin challenged you and said you couldn’t do it.”

Oops, he got ya.

You gasped hotly, feeling his fingers press up against your tight hole, tracing circles and teasing you, pushing into your ass in the opposing rhythm of Seokjin’s rocking hips, your hold on Seokjin’s shoulders tightening, hearing him gasp with you, watching two Namjoon’s fingers dip in and snake into the tightness, both of them inhaling sharply at the sound, wet squelch and your wanton cry, your hips rocking into it, pleasure shimmering all over.

“T-That’s still not a dick,” Seokjin managed to get out, still stubborn but mixed with awe regardless.

“Gotta stretch her out,” Namjoon chuckled. “Don’t wanna hurt our good girl, right?”

Well, if you weren’t in euphoria before, you definitely were there now.

“N… Namjoon-ah…”

“Shh, I got you, just enjoy.”

You arched your back a little more, Seokjin sliding down to accommodate, slowly thrusting and gasping at the sensation, turning to him and intense kisses, needing to occupy your mouth, fullness in your ass and your pussy, whimpering as your felt Namjoon’s fingers flex, nudging your muscles to relax, core throbbing, clenching around Seokjin’s stiff length instead, so good, oh, yes, it was so good, his kisses and slapping your hips down, wanting more, already chasing more, intoxicated by the feeling of both your holes being filled.

You heard the bottle of lube fall to the floor and the slick sound of hand on hardness.

Shivers up and down your spine.

“Say it.”

You broke Seokjin’s kiss, gasping.

“Tell us that you want it,” Namjoon growled.

Drunk on the idea, commanded by lust.

“P-Please, Namjoon…” you breathed, eyes hazy and half-lidded, staring at Seokjin. “Want you to fuck my ass as Seokjin fucks my pussy. Want you two to ruinme.”

The brown eyes beneath you widened, mouthing, you’re crazy.

You grinned, Namjoon’s fingers buried in your ass.

“Told you, hyung.”

His fingers pulled out, pushing the small of your back down with his palm. One a second to mourn the loss and then your eyes widened, the thick head of Namjoon’s cock pressed against your ass.

Wait, maybe you should have asked if Namjoon could be in your puss–

Too late.

“Oh,f-fuck!”

You clutched Seokjin’s shoulders, digging your nails into him as slowly, carefully, Namjoon’s girth entered your tight, tight hole, still tight even through he worked you up and stretched you out, the lube helping him slip inside, your mind going blank, realizing that maybe you went over your head a little, but too far to turn back and, to be honest, you didn’t want to turn back, the fullness already too good to regret it, gasping as Namjoon gripped your hips, holding you completely still as he bottomed out, hot breath on your shoulder blades.

Well.

Your mind wasn’t so blank that you forgot to speak.

“Still…” you panted, slowly grinning at Seokjin’s shocked and stunned face, his jaw dropped as he felt and witnessed it. “Think it’s impossible for me to take dick in both holes?”

“Y-Y-You…” he sputtered, choking a little as Namjoon began to move, his scrambled words mixing with your lustful moans. “Are absurd.”

It was almost too much, but Namjoon did not let you command the pace, instead firmly keeping you in one spot as he nudged Seokjin to move, guiding you both expertly, groaning when you pulsated around the two dicks, able to feel the reverberations from the closeness, body to body to body, trembling from the overwhelming sensation, Seokjin thrusting up from below, his handsome face tense, panting with effort.

“Oh, fuck… it’s so tight… fuck, I can feel it, I can feel his dick fucking your ass, that’s so weird…”

You weren’t quite sure what he expected to feel. What did Seokjin originally think he was getting into when he called you? He was the one who had been touting their superior size! What did he think it would feel like–?!

“A-Ah, y-yes, there, like that, oh f-fuck, like thaaaaaaat…”

You forgot about questioning Seokjin’s brain, refocusing on the feeling of the consistent thrusting and depth of the two cocks, an almost melodic rhythm and substantial fullness. There was a sweet spot, right, oh, there, Namjoon’s hand flat against your back, his deep grunts of effort paired with each smack of hips to ass and Seokjin’s crotch to yours.

Oh, huh, were those loud, pitched moans resonating off the apartment walls you? But the ecstasy too high, too real, too good, so good that you seemed to forget that it was already very late at night.

Surelytheirneighbors would complain – was that part of your brand now? oops – but it seemed that neither Seokjin or Namjoon noticed or cared, pants and moans and groans and chasing carnal pleasure, irrational, wild, heads thrown back, lashes fluttering and lost in bliss, stuffing your tight, wet heat from both holes, kissing Seokjin sloppily before turning your head to make out with Namjoon, his teeth trapping your tongue and sucking on it, gargled moan and shaking body at the mercy of his iron grip, snapping back to Seokjin’s pillowy lips, juxtaposition of hard and soft, crashing pleasure and coiled constriction, letting go, orgasm overtaking you in shudders, not realizing you had been so close, their names falling from your throat between fucked-out, loud, blissful cries.

“Seokjin…Namjoon…”

Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but peak in that gratifying elation, shivers up and down your spine, the lower half of your body throbbing and trembling, chin lowering only to witness Seokjin shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw, groaning out your name as he shot into the condom, jerking cock twitching inside you, vibrating front to back, no, that was Namjoon’s low hiss of your name, his fingernails digging in your hips he shot into your ass, your eyes snapping open, thick spurts of his orgasm so strong that you could feel his cock twitching deep inside, your pulse roaring in your ears, chest heaving, struggling for breath.

Feeling far too proud that they both came with you.

Namjoon’s sweaty chest hit your back, sandwiching you between that big body and Seokjin’s broad shoulders. Seokjin looked to be two seconds away from passing out from the ecstasy of orgasm.

Nice.

“Don’t… question me… again,” you snickered, panting heavily.

Seokjin mumbled and shrugged, incoherent.

“I think he’s saying you could do this, but not the reverse of him in the ass and me in the pussy,” Namjoon clarified, kissing your shoulders with an amused chuckle.

“What?!” you roared.

“That’s n-not…!”

Welp.

-

“We still have unfinished business.”

“Yoongi, I just got DP’ed last night. Have mercy.”

“Mmm.”

Kisses on your neck, lowering the strap of your bra, wrapping his arms around you, purring your name.

“I guess you can buy me dinner and we can watch a movie instead.”

“I have to buy?!”

–

masterpost

thursday’s child has far to go | knj

drabbles inspired by TXT’s album minisode 2: thursday’s child

warnings: language, slice-of-life + a mild existential crisis; starring Kim Namjoon and in his POV, ft Jung Hoseok as his running buddy and our resident optimist

–

acceptance. the fifth stage of grief

-

“Hey, you ready to go?”

“Mmmph, Namjoon-ah… I think I’m going to rest today. I practiced until late last night and I’m still so sleepy…”

“You should rest. Don’t push yourself too hard, Hoseokie.”

Tap, tap. Sneakers securely tied on, gray tank loose and moisture-wicking, breezy athletic shorts. Had his phone in one pocket, and, after some thought, shoved in some cash in the other. Should he bring his water bottle? Probably. Where are my wireless headphones?Ah, here.Wait. These were two different ones. Moreover, they were both left ears only. Ack. Where are the rights? He searched high and low, all over his kitchen counter, messing up the freshly cleared off real estate. He just needed one right to one of the lefts.

“Ah!”

Kim Namjoon plucked the white earbud out of his chopstick holder.

“… Fuck!”

Another left.

He cursed his luck that was mostly his own clumsiness and continued rifling among the drawers.

Moments later, he found two rights literally chilling in his freezer.

“Ah, right… this fridge makes weird sounds sometimes…” Namjoon grumbled to himself, closing the door and shaking the earbuds. He placed one in his ear after warming it up. Synced it to his phone. It crackled. Shit. He tried the other. Oh! This one was fine. He tried all three lefts until he found the pair it belonged to.

One was still missing its partner.

“You’re like me, little one,” he chuckled to the lone earbud, leaving them on his kitchen counter as he shoved a baseball cap on for his morning run. Keys, by the door. Nice.I’m glad I put this hook here. Right before leaving the apartment, he flicked the cap off, letting it fall to the console table by the door. Ah, it’s too hot. I’ll get sweaty if I keep that on. He stretched out his legs and arms, warming up for his morning run. It only took a moment and then he was off.

Namjoon left his apartment, remembering to lock up, leaving his water bottle in the kitchen.

He ran.

It was morning. A little cold, but with the sun on his face and the blood pumping in his veins, he ran to keep warm. He liked to listen to music on his morning run when he was by himself. It gave him a rhythm to move along to. The songs kept playing back-to-back, leading him along as he followed his usual path.

He ran.

When he ran, he felt alive. Any movement of his body, really. But there was something about running. Maybe it was the human condition, the way that running was both going towards and away from something. That was how it was for everyone, in some way or another. Still, something about the physical aspect felt freeing, the satisfying way his feet solidly hit the concrete and yet he felt like he was flying, on the wings of music and sunlight.

Namjoon ran and he missed Jung Hoseok.

He met Hoseok at school. They had been in the same year. It was crazy how positive and happy that guy was. He really was up for anything and he talked to everyone. Hoseok was a dance choreographer so he was already very active, but when Namjoon asked if he wanted to join him on his morning runs, Hoseok agreed, at least on the weekends. To keep his endurance and stamina up. Namjoon enjoyed it, the breathless talks and the after-workout breakfast at some random spot in the city before heading back on the bus. A lot of people thought Hoseok was all about fun, and he was, but he had an introspective side too. It was a duality Namjoon appreciated. Personally, he felt that he was lacking in that department.

Namjoon couldn’t be fun without someone else around him, so he ran.

It was good for the body. Exercise contributed to living a longer, healthier life, both mentally and physically. There were tons of scientific research all about it.

He ran, music in his ears, and Namjoon wondered if this really was helping him. He was pessimistic by nature. That was why he looked forward to his runs with Hoseok, the sunny optimist. When Namjoon believed in the worst, Hoseok believed in the best.

It was hard to argue with that heart-shaped smile, so he didn’t.

His lungs were on fire and Namjoon kept running. It felt like forever, but of course it wasn’t.

Nothing was forever.

Running was less fleeting than that feeling called love.

He skidded on his sneaker, gasping for breath at the park, suddenly feeling thirsty. Ah… Maybe he pushed himself too hard. He hadn’t even been thinking about it. He was following song after song, taking the longer route today. The front of his tank top was already soaked though. Even the back. The sun was climbing in the sky and it was getting warmer. It was about time to drink some water.

Namjoon looked down at his hands.

There was no water bottle.

“Oh… did I forget it?” he mumbled, scratching his head confusedly.

Maybe he could buy a water bottle from a convenience store or something.

Time to start running again.

He briefly thought about the nearest store and started jogging, feeling the heat of the sun on his back.

That’s weird. It’s quiet.

Namjoon frowned, reaching up to tap his earbud. Did he turn it off by accident? It beeped in his ear. Oh. They were dying. Of course. He hadn’t even checked the battery. He took them out and threw them in his pocket, looking around at the still closed shops, the few people on the street hurrying to their destinations.

He could hear the world now.

Namjoon decided a long time ago that the world wasn’t a bad place. It wasn’t great, but nothing was, so it wasn’t fair to judge the whole world by the actions of the few. But the world lacked sincerity. Maybe himself too. Everyone was always thinking about various things, always being tugged this way and that by insecurities and entanglement, and it was hard to be sincere. To be a real one, you had to throw away some compassion. Let go of other people’s thoughts, let go of your own, act a little thoughtlessly, and Namjoon wasn’t sure he could do that.

It made love hard.

He understood fondness. Caring for another. Being by their side if they needed it. But Namjoon didn’t understand love and maybe that was because there was a little magic in it and Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to believe in magic.

“What are you running from?” a voice asked.

He jerked to the side, yelped, and nearly fell on his face.

“Whoa, guy, are you okay?”

He had tripped on a straw broom and skipped sideways, crab-like, attempting to regain his balance. In his search for a store, he had gotten sidetracked in his own thoughts. He snapped his head up, sputtering apologies to a woman with a light cream apron, white headscarf, and raised eyebrows.

She held onto the now crooked broom, frowning at him.

“Are you running from something?” she asked again. “You were in your own world.”

“Wha – oh, no, I–”

You were in your own world.

Namjoon cut himself off, suddenly fixated on those words.

Is that it? Am I just too stuck in my own world and how I see it, stuck in how the others impact my world rather than opening up to integrate with the worlds of those around me?

He suddenly felt something hit him in the chest.

“Oh!”

It was a water bottle.

The woman shoved it into his pecs, clutching the broom with her other hand. “You look like you’re gonna pass out. That wouldn’t be good for business. You should drink some water.”

He looked up and saw it was a take-out noodle restaurant. Not yet open. It appeared that the employee had been cleaning before he barged onto the property.

“T-Thank you. Sorry about interrupting your work.”

She shrugged, letting go when he took the water bottle with a bow. “Just keeping the street clean. So, whatchu running from?”

He gulped down several large sips of water. Gosh. He needed that. Maybe he did look closer to fainting than he thought. His eyebrows knitted together at her repeated question.

“Pardon?” He frowned. “Why would you think I’m running from something?”

She cocked her head, looking at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Out of all workouts, running is picked up by those who always have something to run from.”

Confusion shimmered through him. “What is the evidence that supports that conclusion?”

She laughed, sweeping away leaves from the front of the store. “There isn’t any. It’s only my personal opinion.”

Now Namjoon was even more puzzled. “Huh? How can you come up with something like that?”

She shrugged, leaning on the straw broom, ruining the bristles. “Hmm, I guess it’s a thoughtless thought, then. Based on a weak sample size.” She grinned. “Personal experience, actually. I used to run when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do when I grew up. Getting some big fancy career seemed daunting. But working at a restaurant seemed too simple, even if I liked it. So, I ran track in secondary school and university. I thought, maybe if I’m good enough… but I wasn’t that great, haha!”

She shook her head, brushing away some spare dust by her feet.

“I figured I would work here until I knew what I wanted to do.”

Namjoon held the water bottle, overcome by curiosity.

“Do you have a better idea of what you want to do now?” he asked.

The woman smiled wide, deep-set dimples indenting each cheek.

“Nope!”

She laughed, bright and sunny.

“And I don’t think I ever will.”

Namjoon stared at this pessimistic optimism, feeling enthralled.

She shrugged. “Isn’t it enough to feed people good food? Everyone’s gotta eat. I’ll stick with that.”

His stomach growled loudly, yelling for sustenance.

Namjoon placed his arms over his abdomen, wincing. “Ah, yeah…” he mumbled, embarrassed.

She laughed again, bright and sunny, waving the broom.

“Come on. You like noodles? Of course, you do. Everyone does. Guess I should feed you. If you pass out in front of the restaurant, it’s extremely bad for business, especially a big tree of a man like you. People will think I’m cruel for leaving you there, but if they thought about it, I obviously can’t move a huge guy by myself. Sheesh. People need to think more.”

-

far to go. drabble series

01 opening sequence — myg
03 trust fund baby — ksj
04 lonely boy (the tattoo on my ring finger) — kth, ft pjm
05 thursday’s child has far to go — knj, ft jhs
02 good boy gone bad — jjk, ft myg (collar!AU)

-

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

In His Hands || knj

⤷Genre:romance; fluff; boyfriend!namjoon x girlfriend!reader.

⤷Warnings:themes of insecurity.

Namjoon’s hands were your haven.

And you were simply entranced by them, from the meticulous sculpt of his slim fingers that rivaled the finest art pieces to how they entangled with your own so perfectly.

You loved nothing more than to simply admire them from afar, but once your eyes delved into the perfectly sculpted crevices and nooks of his appendages, little else mattered.

And though they often brought graceless destruction to so much around him, there was no place you felt was safer than when your hands intertwined with his. And when his thumb tenderly rubbed soothing shapes into your palm, there was nothing that could touch you.

So you loved to merely touch them at all times, and every opportunity to hold them within your own was never overlooked; much to your shy boyfriend’s dismay.

Even now, as your own hands delicately played with his lithe fingers, not even the glittering Cosmos could capture your attention.

The image of his deft fingers curling around his fountain pen as he wrote whatever lyrics he conjured was almost far too tempting to merely forget, which resulted in your thievery of his limbs.

It was only once the twinkle of your eyes faded from your lover’s view did he care for your play as you placed your palm against his, seemingly comparing the two.

“What’s wrong, little peach?” His voice spilled from his lips like a soothing tea, waiting to warm and comfort you after a long day.

Your brows furrowed as your fingers hesitantly slipped from his own and a soft sigh pushed past your lips. “Nothing.”

A frown fell upon his dewy lips whilst his broad hands pulled away from your grasp just to wrap around your own that hid from him within your sleeves.

“I know when somethings bothering you, peach. Don’t lie to me.”

Though his demands were delicate to your ears, you winced at his soft whispers, you hated it when his voice gently delved into the soft tone that made you want to open your whole heart to him, and never twist the truth in the slightest.

Namjoon was much like a truth serum, the softest moments with him could easily pour the truth from your lips, without much of an effort from your boyfriend.

“It’s just so stupid, but I’ve been thinking about our hands.” You awkwardly confessed only for a wordless nod and a gentle smile from your boyfriend, that urged you to tell him all that troubled you.

“And how beautiful yours are- just like the rest of you,” you gestured to his strong body, before a quiescent chuckle bubbled from him just to flutter your heart before he beckoned you into his lap, “and mine just don’t feel worthy.”

His strong arms tangled around your waist whilst his nose tenderly traced your cheek, and his fingers you adored so much filled the empty spaces between your own.

“Nothing from you will ever be stupid to me.” He assured you, tapping the tip of your nose with his fingers before he brought your hands between your chests.

“And you should know these are so beautiful.”

He praised ever so softly, as if a breath would shatter the hands his fingertips grazed, before he carefully pressed his lips to your smallest finger and dipped his lips to next, he kissed every imperfection and blemish ten times before repeating his soft kisses ten times more.

Once he drew his velvety lips from the back from your hands, the warmth he placed within your belly burned along with your curiosity.

“Why?”

His head fell back just enough to look into your eyes as his hands rested upon the small of your back and hips, as goosebumps followed the path of his fingers along your spine.

“Because each one of them are yours.” He stated, as if it were an answer so clear, written within classic literature as a fact of life, and you were baffled at just how perfect he was to you.

Your lips parted in the stunned silence he hushed you with, unable to comprehend an answer to his beautiful comforts; but you hadn’t need to say anything at all for him interlace his hands with yours, to emphasize just how immaculately they joined together.

“If they weren’t, they could never fit so perfectly with mine.” He whispered, his eyes never leaving your tangled fingers until his twinkling eyes looked into yours.

“Everything about you is perfect for me, little peach.”

Perhaps it was the sincerity of his eyes locked upon yours, or how his hand that wasn’t wrapped so tightly within your own gently tucked your hair behind your ear, but you were far too wrought with his words to form your own.

So you did all you knew to do, you wordlessly mashed your lips into his own that had simply been pleading with you to kiss them at last.

The hold he had upon your hand tightened as his other hand cupped your cheek with a gentleness you could only expect from Namjoon, as he sweetly returned your shy kisses.

He gave you all of his understanding and love until your fears were irrelevant, all the while your hand remained tightly enclosed within his.

Tag list: @holaaaf@yourwonderbelle@lolalee24

Don’t. (m) | ONE-SHOT | KIM NAMJOON, 4.7k

Pairing:Reader x Namjoon

Summary:He was right. You don’t spend time like this with the others, you don’t sleep with the others. You don’t… And because your thoughts begin to bleed into a dangerous territory, one that resembles feelings, you pre-empt it. “You’re being reckless.”

Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language, smut (fem-reader; fingering; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; but this is v v angsty sex); mega mega ANGST; basically, I oscillate between having tortuous romanic feelings for Namjoon in this capacity or writing him as a god among men in smutty one-shots using his dimples as a plot device, unfortunately this time it’s the former and I will therefore make it everyone’s issue; there’s crying during sex except they’re the ones having sex and it’s actually me who’s crying ha; pwp, as in ‘porn with pheelings’ (the bad kind); if there are errors, I apologise in advance (I was crying, remember?) + please do proofread in your mind as you read haha; the reader is an (implied) escort; non-idol!AU - Chaebol!Namjoon.

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Dkfjlghdskfg ummm, this is very angsty and has a lot of pain in it :]

I was listening to Don’t(eAeon ft. RM) and I was like, huh, what if I wrote something based on that and the vibe of the song but make it 1000x more painful???? And because there is no one to stop me, least of all myself lmao, here we are! :D

Lastly, I would say happy reading but that would be a bit counterintuitive, oops

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-

Teheran-ro or Teheran Valley, as it’s colloquially called, has skyscrapers closer to heaven than the ground. Its windows, uniform and neat, blaze blue, yellow, phosphorescent white. The lights on the ground, headlights of expensive cars, the red tail lights of swaying buses, they follow a straight path up (or down, depending on where you look).

It’s Gangnam, it’s in your face, and it’s reckless.

You knew Namjoon was being idiotic when he picked the grand master suite.

And you knew that he was being totally ludicrous when he offered to walk in together, taking the elevators from the lobby up and up, rocketing to the right floor.

The doors, with in-laid gold, slide open, even the way the air smells here is expensive. You’re still deciding whether to be infuriated or not. He’s being thoughtless on purpose.

Still, you follow him as he shortened his strides, his hand near yours but never touching. Not under the prying eyes of the cameras on the ceiling, nor the unassuming guests meandering the hallways either. You weren’t one to risk an outburst, no, the room would be vast enough for that.

The room would be accommodating for a real conversation; for someclarity to the way Namjoon’s behaving.

It’s quiet, few words are exchanged with the hotelier. You stare at the back of his head, the neatly trimmed line where it fades into tan. There’s a mole at the nape, it’s small but it’s there. That helps focus you a little, helps you ground things into reality. It leads to the intimidating heft of his wool overcoat, the hem is closer to his ankles, its shoulders are a blunt slope.

The door appears rather unceremoniously, the hotelier explains that you simply need to scan a card. Namjoon is gracious and asks a few questions about the room, its theme, the construction. The hotelier manages them swiftly, also pointing out that there were various, personalised items awaiting him.

It’s an honour for someone of the Kim Group to be staying with us and his, uh, guest of course.

As the said guest, you try and hold back a snort as Namjoon laughs. That superficial laugh that he does when he has to represent his family. In this context, you’re nameless, akin to an acquaintance, barring the fact that it’s just you and you’re staying in a hotel suite that models as a decently-sized, luxury apartment.

It takes an age before the hotelier leaves. He’s giving you a brief tour of the space when you notice the folded bathrobe with monogrammed initials, the same gold cursive is found on the corner of the pillows. You see his initials and yours. The gold greets you as soon as you make it past the threshold, floor to ceiling windows giving way to the city. It’s prettier from above, you feel less of an ant.

“We have room service at any time, if you press the designated button here,” the hotelier instructs.

You were sure that he didn’t mean to be condescending in the information he imparts but it’s evident in his tone that he knew he had to pivot. Namjoon smiles politely. It’s polite because he doesn’t show teeth, so his dimples a pressed deeper, his eyes curving up in this faux display of satisfaction.

The bedroom is, by normal standards, huge.The bed rivals it, taking up most of the wall, flanked by floating nightstands, softly lighting its vicinity. Namjoon has shrugged off his coat, his suit is tailored, his tie is a deep burgundy. A final instruction comes in the form of a menu, for what, you didn’t care for. You were burning holes into Namjoon with your stare.

It seems that he can feel it too by the way he’s scratching the nape of his neck, his muscles moulding the sleeve of that expensive suit. He’s wearing the cufflinks you gifted him, it’s a personal gift, his initials were on it in a subtle emboss. The hotelier flits his gaze between you both, his smile is strained. Namjoon picks up the cue and thanks him, noting his name at the same time.

He leaves, disappearing round the corner with haste.

And just like that, you’re left alone.

Seconds transpire as Namjoon sheds his layers, not saying anything at all. You’re still in your coat, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“What?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at your face as he tilts his head.

“Why did you do that?”

He rests his elbows on top of his knees, webbing his fingers loosely, “it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

Namjoon was many things. He was diplomatic, discrete, intelligent. He was raised with all the right tools to take over a company and lead by example. He knew how to operate within certain boundaries and he was clear on yours. He was someone who would heed caution. It didn’t suit him to be so brash.

“I have other clients - this won’t look good for either of us.”

The distance between you remains, an impossible gulf of three paces. You stand, arms crossed, wary.

“I’m not like your other clients.”

He was right. You don’t spend time like this with the others, you don’t sleepwith the others. You don’t…

And because your thoughts begin to bleed into a dangerous territory, one that resembles feelings,you pre-empt it.

“You’re being reckless.”

He considers your criticism for a minute. You stare at each other, the space between oddly stretching. It’s adversarial.

“My father wants me to marry.”

You waver a little, startled by his candour. Marriage was inevitable, sure. It came with his responsibilities, neatly packaged, awaiting him when the time comes. The extravagance begins to make sense and Teheran Valley reveals its talons in the night. It’ll be witness to the last tryst before you part ways. It won’t be so bad, you think, this Presidential suite view on Seoul.

The truth sits uncomfortably between you, the fickle nature of this arrangement.

“That’s good then. You’re finally going to settle.”

Namjoon glares at you with as much vitriol as he could manage. You knew because he juts his jaw out slightly, the tip of his tongue resting on his molars.

“I want to marry you.”

Stubbornness was also his trait. It’s how he’s managed to live under the oppressive shadow of his father. But that led to a lack of foresight and a lack of understanding of reality as it unravels. He’s always been like that, a bit naive and a lot more hopeful than most. Yet, he can still make you smile, despite it all.

“We can’t have that, can we?” You asked, closing the distance in slow strides, taking your time to shed your coat. The air conditioner bites your skin, his eyes survey your body, tracing it under the silken satin. Blue was his colour and he loved it on you.

His hands steady you as you straddle him, arms looping over his neck, leaning back to see him up close. Besides the tan, his skin is dotted with tiny moles, an irregular constellation that wouldn’t make him Namjoon without. There’s some stubble that you scratch, the pad of your thumb on the sharp bristles, they poke out of his smooth skin in jagged spears. They felt better between your thighs. And his eyes, the ones he hated for a while because of the shape, they’re hooded, I hate them.

But you could never muster the same sentiment. It’s different when you’re the admirer, you don’t have the capacity to hate as you would do if it was yourself. Your finger traces his jaw, a smooth slope, tapering at his chin, his features are harmonious, his hair, cropped short. It’s carefully styled now since he came straight from a meeting. It feels better when caught between your fingers, short strands tugged at his scalp, eliciting that deep, grunt that you tell yourself only you can bring out.

Your examination doesn’t halt just because he begins to close his eyes, tilting his head so, a silent hint for a kiss. He gets like this when you’re alone, he gets docile when he doesn’t have to be a thousand personas at once.

(Someone who’s good at his job, someone who’s a good son, someone who’s a good friend, someone who’s a good person.)

Namjoon’s scent is cool. It sits on his clothes nicely. Your nose skims his neck to make the most of the subtle fragrance. Clean and impeccably memorable. His fingers, a steady pressure, slender then curved on your hips, hold you against him, his lips lightly pressing on yours.

It doesn’t take much for you to close your eyes, giving in to him.

(It doesn’t take much when it’s Namjoon, in any case.)

As his lips initiated that shy kiss, he delivers a reverent murmur against them. He says your name, a breathy whisper, his fingers clutching at your back, wrinkling your dress, corrugating the spine of buttons, the fabric tightening around your middle. You sigh softly, pushing closer, grinding your hips to rid yourself of the obvious flutter in your chest. No one is capable of that.

Only him.

But that admissions stays within the walls. In this lonely suite in the middle of Gangnam, high up in a hotel in the middle of street that makes its visitors envious.

When you were young, you were drawn to places with bright lights. You wanted the big city, you wanted it all. But the series of choices you made shaped your path to curve away from the utopia you envisioned, and here you are, far too close to the sun and it burns.

This unbearable heat that, you swear, renders you instinctual. You grab at him, letting your body lead you away from your burgeoning feelings because it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that someone else will walk up that aisle.

It’s unfair that he’ll spend the rest of his life with someone who isn’t you.

It’s unfair that you look at him with love but can’t say it out loud.

It’s unfair that his kiss sticks in the back of your mind, its ghost whispering on your lips in moments of quiet insanity.

“Tell me not to do it and I won’t,” he murmurs, he says it on your mouth, the slip of his tongue is all too distracting, the strength of his arms holding you so that you feel like you’re not entirely boneless. And you think that he’s always been like this. Too pliant, too willing to let you have a say in his life. But the responsibility of making his choices falls heavy on your shoulders, you can’t decide for him as he can’t decide for you. It’s the way the shape of your life has panned out. Namjoon’s path is pristine and predictable, yours is jagged and tumultuous. You envisage that it’s fate’s funny way of bringing you to your knees when all you wanted was to rise up and live.

“I can’t let you do that,” you replied, shoving his jacket off him, the heat of his muscles is immense, it blazes through the cotton of his shirt. You’re surprised that you still sound put together as he tries to fumble at the buttons behind you. They’re clasped tightly on the dress, he almost growls out his frustration, half attempting to tear the whole thing. He deepens the kiss, curls an arm around your waist, lifting you briefly so that you’re on your back. He doesn’t stray for long, reuniting with you in mere seconds, the weight of him is forever pleasant, welcomed.

You miss it already.

(You miss it all the time.)

“Tell me, just tell me,” he begs, tugging at your heart as you yank up your dress. He kisses you languidly, trying to persuade, trying to make sense of it as you were. You shake your head, gasping slightly as he mouths on your neck, you see the pillows as you give him access, your skin burning from him.

“No, I can’t. I can’t,” you repeated, hearing the undoing of his belt, the audible rush of his shirt leaving his body. You wait for him because it never takes long, and he kisses you attentively, makes you feel important, wanted.And because he’s still Namjoon, he still remembers, he takes your words in spite of how they end up spearing you both.

“I know,” he mumbles, placing his hand under the space between your back and the bed. You’re still in the dress, clad in this satin midnight that contrasts with the white sheets. At least you know that the farewell isn’t desire, you feel it in the way you grasp at him, moaning softly as his tongue licks at your mouth. You feel it in the way he slides your dress up, his broad palms and long fingers on your thighs, still treating you with as much care as he did the first time.

Namjoon was still nervous then. He never told you but it was probably because it wasn’t like him to form affection for someone like you. It was meant to be a one time thing anyway, so usual for people like him that his colleagues wanting to get in his father’s good books arranged it for him. You met him under the blue lights of a VIP room. You met him in an underground member’s club. He was still wet behind the ears, his eyes darting to the exit.

I’m sorry, was what he said.

It’s okay, was what you replied.

He didn’t touch you until the fifth meeting. Even then he was fumbling and apologising with each touch. It started with a hand over yours, an accidental brush that had him withdrawing as if your skin was a burning plate. That was easily overlooked. You didn’t know why you kept seeing him. You didn’t know why you didn’t tell him that you never slept with your clients. He figured that out along the way, a small smile playing on his lips as you came out of the shower, your skin raw from the water.

What?You asked, towelling your hair with care.

Nothing,he replied, taking the towel from you and proceeding to do what you have done for yourself for as long as you can remember.

(He still does this on occasion. His fingers, usually brutish and responsible for his clumsy nature of breaking things, lose that edge, combing the wet strands near your scalp to the end.)

His fingers find you wet, you gasp in his mouth as he slides a digit in, his thumb rubbing and rubbing.

“J-joon.”

He kisses you to soothe. The heat ripples through you, transforming into this fortified sensation of pleasure, the satin of your dress turns meddlesome and restrictive. He notices, bracing you against him to curl his fingers over the fabric, pulling out of you once to rip it to shreds. The gasp that comes out of you is sharp as numerous buttons snapped from their place; he swipes them hurriedly. Your skin pebbles from your cold, your nipples turning stiff as you’re exposed. He takes a moment to look down at you, his fingers glisten from your arousal that you rub your thighs together, anything to allay the emptiness. He shoves his trousers down, his underwear too, and it’s bliss, the way your skin feels on his. He supports himself, just enough to look at you, his fingers entering you once more without much ceremony. You throw your head back, lost in it, fisting the sheets below. He drags his mouth along your neck, sending wet kisses that trail your jaw, the filthy swipe of his tongue in your mouth. Your hands yank at his hair, enough to make him groan.

So what if you tug a little harder?

So what if there’s some malice in that act?

His fingers pump inside you, taking advantage of the wetness that drip from your velvet walls. He crooks them in the right way, reaching that spot that has your toes curling, your arms pulling him down because you needed to kiss him, you needed his taste, you needed to know that he’s real.

No sooner than you began, he begins to talk, although his voice is strained, “I have a place in Jeju. It’s next to a small store,” he starts. You’re desperate for the friction to take you higher, your thighs quiver as he holds you down, the heel of his palm connecting harshly where it counts that your body shudders fully.

“W-we can’t,” you whispered, your hips moving on their own in tight swivels, so wet between your thighs that it’s audible.

And because he never listens to you when you want him to, he carries on, “I can man the place, you don’t have to do anything.”

It’s followed by a deeper plunge of his fingers, your moans dying on the crook of neck as you try and fight the inescapable sadness that plagues you as he talks of a future that is shapeless, a future that bears the texture of wishful thinking.

“We shouldn’t,” you faltered, feeling too warm, too good to think straight, “youshouldn’t talk about that.”

He kisses you again, harder this time, you feel him going faster, it sounds lewd, how his fingers piston inside you, so much so that you’re moaning in his mouth, close, so close. Neither of you talk for a while as he brings to you the edge, knowing how you liked it, knowing everything about you.

It’s even possible to think that he knows how much you wanted that.

He keeps going after you came, until you’re pushing him away, wanting something more substantial, wanting the feel of him inside. And when he’s kneeling on the bed, sheathing himself before pushing in, you think that this is one of the last times you’ll be together, like this. The thought gives you an ache in your chest that renders your breathing to be choppy, holding onto him with a kind of desperation in the form of your nails on the muscles of his back.

“You don’t want to?” He asked, starting a slow rhythm, but there’s force behind his thrusts, filling you to the hilt. It’s not disconcerting, it’s right. Neither of you cared if you come away a little battered or bruised, if this is the last time, you wanted it to feel real.

As real as how much it hurt.

You don’t answer simply because you can’t. Namjoon is exceptionally well-versed in your body, he knows the cues you inadvertently give, down to the cadence of your breath when he’s doing something right.

“With me?” He asks, his voice shaking as you clenched around him. You shake your head, holding your breath as he bottoms out again, you feel so full that your legs start to shake. The pleasure makes you wade through it, finding a semblance of enjoyment despite the severity of his questions. Sweat makes you both slippery, the heat radiating off him is addictive, his lips, plush and flanked by dimples every time he genuinely smiles, his laugh, how it starts off small then grows into something unlike his speaking voice, you kiss him to push those feelings away.

It’s not that I don’t want to, you think.

But instead you hear yourself saying, “It’s not that simple.”

He grips your hip with one hand as he curls his arm above your head. Like that, your effectively caged, snug between him and the bed. His thrusts quicken to at point that you’re nearly unable to keep up, your moans mixing with how he groans as your inner muscles pulse over him. Resilient as ever, he slides his tongue against yours, biting your bottom lip, sucking and licking it that your toes curl in pleasure.

“Itis,” he insists, his kisses turning tender all of the sudden, you reel from it, tugging at the shorter hair on the back of his head, nipping at his bottom lip this time, your legs hitching higher. He moans in your mouth, his hand at the back of your knee, stretching you open that you shiver as the side of your knee meets the bed, your hips angle in a way that sends sparks along your body.

“You’re asking for things that I can’t give - you’re father’s not going to be happy.”

His hips stop for a second, he lets out a frustrated grunt, pushing you up further till you’re pushed to the pillows, he dips his head, his kiss is soft, too soft for these circumstances. Something takes a hold in your chest, the warmth is almost too much to contain, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed agains his, the hard planes of his muscles over your soft skin. He gives you another kiss, one on the corner of your mouth, starting to thrust again, groaning as you tightened in response.

“I’m not happy.”

You sighed in his mouth, eyes shutting for fear that when you open them, the tears will come and never stop. The pleasure becomes confusing because apart from the physical response of your bodies coming together like this, everything else hurts.

“Can we pretend?” He asks, letting out a shuddering breath. You’re close and you feel that he is too.

“We are,” you replied, holding onto him.

We always have been.

He groans as you tilt your hips, allowing him to go deeper. You gasped as he braced you against the bed, the air is heady, thick with anticipation.

“Up to this point, I haven’t been. Tell me you’re the same,” he says.

You almost indulge him but its superseded by the feeling that you didn’t want to unearth things you wanted to keep from him. It angers you acutely that you dig your heels on the back of his thighs, pressing him down, pressing forcefully, having him so deep that your words fail you. Everything is so wet, your sweat on your skin, your arousal mixing with his, dripping onto the sheets.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” you reprimand, sighing as he grinds his hips, prolonging friction. You encourage him by rubbing his neck, squeezing the muscles on the nape, he closes his eyes, leaning again, capturing your lips.

“Stop holding back,” he responds, pinning your wrists above your head. You inhaled sharply, totally restricted as he pulls his hips back only to plunge them again. You whimpered, tucking your head, seeing where you’re connected, the sight making you moan.

But it’s never that simple for you. It never has been and you decide then to say it, to make him face reality.

“Use me.”

Because that’s what I can do for you.

“W-what?” He falters, sounding bewildered.

But it doesn’t take much for him to figure it out. He always does when he looks at you in the eye.

“That’s what -”

The realisation makes you push through, gritting your teeth as he delivers a brutal thrust in anticipation of what you were going to say, he bares his teeth, hissing as you shiver, it travels down your core, your inner muscles clamping around him like a vice. His eyes blaze a warning.

“Don’t fucking say it - don’t.”

If he was going to be insistent, if he was going to dream up these fanciful scenarios, if he was doing this knowing how hard it was for you too, you could look him in the eye as he pleads with his.

“That’s what you’ve paid me for.”

He buries his face against the crook of your neck and you cling onto him, letting the pleasure wash over you in ripples.

“It’s not like that anymore.”

You dig your nails on his back, the cord snapping suddenly as you came. It’s painful at the end as you take him over the edge too. You bury your feelings as you muffle your moans agains this mouth in this messy kiss, full of yearning. What he said may be the truth but it doesn’t matter. Neither of you talk as your bodies sought to expel all that was left unsaid, your hair sticks your neck, your temples, he groans as you shake, sensitised from the slew of emotions that you never expected this evening. It’s final, you both knew that.

A while later, when he pulls away from you, carrying you to the shower, and handles you as if it was all other times, you still don’t talk. You stare at each other in the dimness as Gangnam, with all its luxurious possibilities, limits your freedom to the suite. He tangles his fingers in your hair, you grasp at his arm, and you kiss because you simply couldn’t fathom it.

And when morning comes, you’re tired, your dress is in a heap with his suit.

Arrangements are made for new clothes. There’s room service and you eat in silence, eyes avoiding each other in the light. There’s a staleness in the air as you check out, body and mind weary. His lingering touch, as he leads you all the way up to the door of your apartment, leaves you with a kind of tired that sleep can’t fix. But it’s the image of his back, his frame clad in a grey suit, his powerful strides reduced to a timid lope. His hand at the side of the elevator as he gives you one last look, those eyes that you’ve come to love so much were red, like yours.

That’s what you remember.

Months later, you’re in your apartment. The news reports of his wedding. It’s extravagant and his wife is beautiful. You don’t lower the volume, facing it head on while you think back to the first time, when he slept on the chair of the hotel while you were in the bed. Then you think back to when you grew comfortable with each other, learnt each other’s wants and needs. You think back to that one night, he said something and blamed it on the slip of the tongue. To be fair, you were both tired, drunk on the atmosphere of Jeju, coddled in the sheets, the villa yours for two weeks to pretend to be whoever you wanted to be. It was three words delivered quickly, breathlessly. You felt bad for not saying it back, mindful of what it all meant, this temporariness of what you had together. Yet after, you were softer with him and his acceptance of your guarded affection signalled that he knew.

Perhaps it’s because it had been there all along. From the moment you laid eyes on Namjoon, your face feeling all too warm under the blue lights as he rattled on about introductions. He was apologetic that he had to leave a some sort of monetary consideration after the end of the evening. Despite nothing happening, you talked and you forgot who you were. The difference was that it wasn’t a sense of escapism, all the armour you wore was hung on the hook at the door of that hotel for the duration of the night. You learned that those things didn’t matter to you so much when you saw his sleeping face, cramped in the way he slept on the chair. All that really mattered that night was that when he fell asleep first, you fell in love first. That was the last thought you had before eventually falling asleep too.

You wanted to be different to him. And it did end up being like that because he made it feel okay to revisit yourself beneath all the layers you scaffold over yourself. One time, as you laid side by side, holding hands, you told him about your dreams of wanting more than what you have.

It’s silly, never mind. I’m sorry.

It’s not silly. Tell me all of it, I want to hear it.

Persuaded, you told him all of it and he listened. He made it feel real.

As the news nears the end, an image of him appears on the screen. Namjoon smiles that polite smile you’re so familiar with, no teeth and it doesn’t reach his eyes. You watch until the next program rolls over, afraid of the stillness of your apartment. The night arrives and you lay in bed, eyes wide awake. You laugh suddenly, more of a puff of breath than anything, realising that fate was never more cruel than it was now.

You fall asleep like that, hollow and yearning. Those three words stuck at the back at your throat, waiting to be said to someone who’s no longer there.

masterlist (I) | masterlist (II)

Types Of Lipglosses They Like

genre: fluff, sorta suggestive?

pairing(s): bts ot7 x reader (separately)

warnings: kisses, slightly suggestive in Namjoons? and Jungkooks?

word count: 497

{Kim Seokjin}

• I feel like he would adore a nice clear gloss
• Or a slightly red tinted one
• I think he would also buy them for you
• He would sit you in his lap and help you apply it
• While also sneaking a few kisses here and there
• Then would have you put some on him
• Because hello
• Those lips??
• Would look gorgeous in some gloss

{Min Yoongi}

• Maybe a more subtle one
• Like a clear or pinky tone one
• You know the ones with flowers in them?
• I think he would get the for you
• Just for decorating your desk
• Or you can wear them
• I think he would watch you apply it
• But not really help you know?
• I think if you offered some he might use it
• And then tease you about how the indirect kiss should become a real one

{Jung Hoseok}

• He gives me gold/yellow and a metallic gloss vibe
• Though he would get disappointed when he realizes that he can’t kiss you without messing it up
• I think he would enthusiastically let you put some on his lips
• Just because he likes having you close to him
• And seeing your face up close
• It’s a win-win for everyone

{Kim Namjoon}

• I don’t think he has a certain preference
• He just likes anything because it’s you ‍♀️
• Though if he did have a preference
• It would be a non scented gloss with a cooler tone
• He would watch you put it on and then proceed to line your lips with his fingers
• He doesn’t care if he gets it on him
• Just wants to see flustered and putting it on again

{Park Jimin}

• I think he’s more of a lip oil type guy
• Lipgloss is just too sticky
• And he can not go more than 3 hours without kisses
• Plus the lip oils I’ve used have had moisturizer in it
• So you get a nice sheen and non chapped lips
• While he gets to kiss you with it sticking everywhere and some moisturizer as well
• Another Win-Win

{Kim Taehyung}

• I honestly don’t think he cares
• Like Namjoon has a preference at least
• But he genuinely doesn’t care what color, type or if there’s a design
• He might say it’s cute but that’s it
• I also think he would buy any and every lip product he comes across
• He might have a preference towards ones with ‘lighter’ scents instead of the ‘heavier’ ones
• Like a not noticeable vanilla to a strong lemon
• He would carry some around with him just in case you need it

{Jeon Jungkook}

• Doesn’t like it
• He might like to see you apply it but that’s it
• When your at home he needs to be kissing you every 30 or so minutes
• Lip gloss is just to sticky
• He might compromise on a lip oil
• But be warned
• His kisses will end up taking it off
• Especially if it’s those ones that have a slight flavor to them

Genre: fluff? | enemies to friends to lovers au | college au

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

Warnings: my bad writing and my bad drawing,,, | English is not my first language

Summary: you’re starting your first year of college and you’ve never had a boyfriend before. Your brother Jungkook finds three love letters you wrote to your childhood (Jimin), middle school (Namjoon) and high school (Jin) crushes and sends them out. Little did he know all of them were attending the same college as you.

Love. Was there something better than love? You honestly didn’t think so. The idea of loving someone and being loved in return was the source of your inner and more secret desires. Holding hands, whispering sweet nothings to each other, hugging and kissing, sharing a lifetime with your soulmate was all your heart had ever desired. Love was everything to you and, as a famous poet once said, love was so powerful it could move the sun and all the other stars. Love was the essence of the Universe.

‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’

You giggled again, tugging the book you were reading closer to your face. No matter how many times you had read that same passage, your heart still fluttered every time your eyes landed on it. You had underlined that exact passage so many times that the page was now slightly worn out. How many times had you wished to receive those words? You sighed, rereading the passage once again. In truth, you knew that passage by heart.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re reading Pride and Prejudiceagain?”

The voice of your brother startled you and you snapped out of your intense daydreaming. You closed your book and glared at him. “Get out,” you snarled at him.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and, uninvited, sat on your bed. “I will never understand how obsessed you can be with this Mr. Darky.”

“It’s Mr. Darcy!”

He shrugged, “whatever.” He then looked around your room and slowly whistled, “this is an A* mess. Weren’t you supposed to clean and pack everything up like…” he looked at his watch and then said, “fifteen minutes ago?”

You groaned, “I got distracted.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. Dumpy-“

“Mr. Darcy!”

“-won’t mind if you actually start cleaning this mess,” Jungkook finished, shoving you aside with his foot.

You huffed and much to your annoyance, you knew that your baby brother was right. So you got up, but not without gently putting down your favourite book, and started shoving your clothes inside some random box.

“God, Y/N, why do you have to be so messy,” Jungkook groaned.

You rolled your eyes at him because, seriously, why did he have to act like the big brother here? But again, he was right.

“Why are you here anyway?” you asked while this time properly folding the clothes you decided to donate.

“I finished with my boxes half an hour ago,” he said with a grin, “and I had some spare time to use before Taehyung and Jimin arrive.”

At the mention of Jimin’s name, you could not help but blush furiously. You really hoped your ears weren’t as red as you thought. And yes, you might have had a slight crush on your childhood friend, Jimin.

“Jimin is coming as well?” you asked trying to sound nonchalant. Lucky for you, your brother wasn’t exactly quick when it came to matters of the heart.

Jungkook hummed, “yeah, I thought it would be nice since you guys are practically moving in together.”

You shrieked, “we are not moving in together!”

“Relax, Y/N,” your brother said, eyeing you like you just turned into a madwoman, “seriously, what’s up with you?”

How could you tell your younger brother that you have had a crush for your mutual childhood friend since the age of 10 and now that you and said friend were both moving to the same college you didn’t know how to keep your crush at bay? You couldn’t. Truth be told, you didn’t know how to act around Jimin without your brother and Taehyung being there as well. You were too scared that the boy would have found out.

“I’m sorry, Kookie. I’m just stressed with this whole college business,” you said, plopping carelessly on your small puffy chair.

Jungkook nodded, “it’s the end of an era.”

You didn’t mean to, but you started crying. You had tried so hard to not think about that for the whole summer and hearing your brother, who also happened to be one of your best friends, saying what you strongly tried to ignore was like a punch in the guts.

But it was the end of an era. You and Jimin were going off to college, leaving Jungkook and Taehyung behind. Your group, once inseparable, was splitting. No more movie nights, no more gaming, no more spending your days at the park chasing the ducks, eating ice cream together. You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of that, to the best memories of your life. You weren’t ready to close the happiest chapter of your life. And certainly, you weren’t ready to embark into a more obscure, unsure and lonely chapter where your brother’s bunny smile wasn’t there to comfort you and Taehyung’s laugh wasn’t there to accompany you in the journey.

“No, Y/N, don’t cry,” Jungkook said moving closer to you.

You sniffled, “I’m not crying.”

Jungkook ruffled your hair, “sure you’re not.”

“I will miss the gang, you know,” you mumbled, deeply appreciating your brother’s efforts to comfort you. “It has always been the four of us and now we are going to split up.”

“It’s still gonna be the four of us,” Jungkook said with a soft smile and, seriously, when did he grow up so much? Where was your little brother?

“College doesn’t have to scare you this much, Y/N. It’s okay if you and Jimin will get new friends, our gang will just grow a little,” he said, patting your head lightly. You smiled at him, truly grateful for having him by your side when you needed him the most.

“Besides,” Jungkook said with a sly grin, “maybe you’ll manage to finally find a boyfriend.”

You groaned and pushed him away. “You are awful,” you said getting up from the bed. Jungkook laughed, showing you his signature bunny smile.

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll find your real life Mr. Dampy-”

“It’s Mr. Darcy!”

Jungkook shrugged again, “but seriously, how come someone as romantic as you never had a boyfriend?”

You arched an eyebrow, not quite sure why your little brother was suddenly curious about your love life. For a brief moment you were scared that your not-so-oblivious brother had caught up with your little crush and panic started clawing at your ribcage. You decided that the best tactic was to play dumb and play low, trying to be very careful not to spill any valuable information.

“It is a bit hard for a girl to find a boyfriend when she is surrounded by three very possessive boys,” you told him with an eye-roll.

Your brother chuckled, “okay, point taken.”

You snorted. Then, you started sorting out your clothes again, trying to decide what to bring with you to college and what to donate instead.

“But seriously, no one had ever caught your eyes?”

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”

Jungkook looked embarrassed and judging by his ears turning red, you knew that something was up.

“Kookie?” You sounded like you were about to tackle him to the ground to spill everything out of him. To be honest, you weren’t that opposed to the idea.

“Look,” he started, “it’s just that me and the boys are worried about you.” When you didn’t say anything, Jungkook groaned. “You’re always so happy whenever you think about love, we don’t want you to get hurt. Which is why Jimin is being appointed as your guardian.”

“What?!” you shrieked. You could feel all your blood draining inside of your body. Surely, he had to be joking. How were you supposed to forget about your crush for Jimin when he was going to be there every time you tried to talk to a boy?

“It was Tae’s idea,” he said, raising his hands in front of you. “Jimin agreed immediately and, honestly, I think you do need to be supervised.” He then noticed your face becoming painfully red and tried to placate your rising anger, “we just want you to have a good first love experience.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at him. “And then you have the audacity of asking me why I never had a boyfriend! It’s because of you three.”

Jungkook had the decency of looking guilty, “I’m sorry, sis. We didn’t mean to ruin anything.”

You sighed, “do you realise I am the bigger sibling here, right? You don’t need to protect me, Kookie.”

Jungkook looked at his feet and muttered a quiet: “I just want you to fall in love with someone good.”

You tried to stay mad at him but, to be honest, you couldn’t. You know that your brother always had the best intentions and, if it meant you being happy, he would always try his best to work out a way to make that happen. Sometimes his plans had backfired, but his heart had always been in the right place. And that was Jungkook, always going the extra mile to help the people he loved and always trying harder whenever he failed. Truthfully, you loved him for that.

“You know I’m not really into that love thing,” you said, for the first time being truly honest with your brother. His head shot up immediately and the look on his face would have been hilarious if the situation hadn’t turned this dense.

“What? But you always read romance and dream about Mr. Darky-”

“Mr. Darcy!”

“-and you always talk about your wedding day. So, you’re telling me you don’t really like those things?”

You sighed and rubbed your eyes, “I do. But reality is different from fiction, Kookie. In the real world, there is no Mr. Darcy waiting for me and the thought of having a relationship is scary because I’m afraid I will be disappointed.”

You had never been so honest with someone before. You felt vulnerable and hoped that your brother wouldn’t want to carry on this conversation. Your heart ached enough already without the painful realisation that all your books and movies ever did was to make your expectations insanely high. Truth was, you were in love with the idea of love, but it was the kind of love that you could find in a book. Often, real life tended to disappoint you and if there was something that you cherished enough to not get it ruined by it, it was definitely love.

Before Kookie could say anything, your doorbell rang, and you took it as an excuse to exit the conversation. It was a coward move, you knew it, but your heart was feeling too raw for bravery. So, you ran downstairs to answer the door, leaving a sad but determined Jungkook behind.

***

“Is everything ready, Y/N?” Jimin asked.

You tried to not stare at him too much. Seriously, how were you going to survive college alone with him? You felt like dying. Like digging your own hole and bury yourself there without ever leaving it again.

“Yeah, it is. I have few boxes I want to donate first but aside from that I am good to go,” you answered.

Tae cooed, “aww, our baby Y/N is finally growing up.”

You shot him a deadly glare, “I’m the eldest! Show some respect.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” said Tae with a grin, “old lady.”

You wondered if it was socially accepted to murder a friend for being called old. You supposed not, but maybe if no one found out…

“Alright, children! I’m done.” Jungkook had just entered your house with a big grin on his face. Ever since he started working out, he became quite the show off, and what better opportunity to prove everyone his bulky figure than carrying all your boxed in your car? You weren’t complaining.

“Good job, Hercules,” you said, “now let’s go or we will be late.”

“Ah, you guys go ahead,” Jungkook said.

You looked at him confused, “Kookie? Is everything alright?”

Your brother nodded and smiled at you. “Yeah, me and Tae have something to do first.”

“We do?” said a puzzled Tae. Jungkook shot him a deadly glare, so he coughed and said, “ah, yes we do. Very important indeed.”

You narrowed your eyes at them. They were definitely being suspicious, and you did not trust the knowing look that passed between them, but before you could question them, Jimin called your name and the fear of being late overcame your curiosity.

_

“So, how is it going?”

You rolled on your back, resting your phone in between your ear and shoulder while packing your books in the bag. “It’s been alright, I guess. I met a guy, Yoongi, on the first day and now we pretty much always go to lectures together.”

Jungkook hummed over the phone, “nothing else?”

You frowned, holding the phone with your hand. “You’re being weird.”

You heard your brother nervously chuckle from the other end of the phone and if you weren’t sure before that something was up, you definitely were now. You decided that you would investigate later considering that you were done for the day and all you wanted to do was go back to your room and have a nap.

“Have you seen Jimin much?” he asked you.

You sighed, “not much. I guess we’ve both been very busy. It has only been two weeks since we started.”

Your conversation carried on for a little longer and when it came to say goodbye to your brother you felt a pinch of nostalgia hitting you, wishing that both him and Taehyung could be there with you. You weren’t being completely honest with him about Jimin, but you were not ready yet to tell him that you had been trying to avoid since you arrived there. You were scared that being alone with Jimin would cause your feelings to resurface and potentially ruin your friendship.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

You were snapped back to reality by a guy approaching you. You stopped in the middle of the courtyard and blinked once, then you blinked again. Was that really…?

“Kim Seokjin?” you asked, not quite believing that the guy you had liked for awhile in High School was also attending your same college. Seriously, how small was the world?

Seokjin smiled at you, “I almost didn’t recognise you. You know, with the glasses and all,” he said waving at you.

You smiled, and you were quite sure you were blushing a bit. You had not seen Seokjin in months, and even before then you two weren’t exactly friends. Although Seokjin had always being very nice and charming to you, helping you out during Maths and always offering you a cookie whenever you had a bad day. Your crush for him had not been anything serious, you supposed. It had probably been the result of his caring attention and the fact that you had always wanted to believe in love so much that you portrayed your fantasies on the first handsome guy who so much looked at you.

You two started a conversation, catching up on each other’s life, on college. It was so easy to talk to him, especially now without your constant blushing and stammering. Jin made you promise to study together one of these days and, although your heart did not thump harder and no butterfly woke up in your stomach, you were happy. Perhaps this was the beginning of a nice friendship.

_

“I cannot believe that you really showed up hangover on your very first day,” you said to Yoongi, who in turn simply shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.

“Surely is not that unreasonable?”

“Jimin! Don’t encourage him, please.”

You were sitting in the courtyard, technically studying with Jimin, Yoongi and Jin but practically you were all enjoying the sun and getting distracted. It was strange to be again in a group of four where your brother and Taehyung were missing, but Yoongi and Jin were slowly becoming good friends. It has been Jimin’s idea to study all together, he had suggested several times that although the gang would always be the gang, perhaps it was time for you two to expand your friendship group. So, you agreed and offered to ask Yoongi and Jin to come along while Jimin asked a friend of his, Hoseok, to join as well.

“Hello, you must all be the friends Jimin was telling me about.”

You turned around to look at the guy you could only assume to be Jung Hoseok and smiled at him. But before you could say yes, Yoongi mumbled something along the lines of “not sure we can say friends” but you elbowed him slightly and made room for Hoseok who, credit to him, did not lose his sunny smile after hearing Yoongi’s word.

“We are. Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N and Mr. grumpy here is Yoongi.”

And so, your life started taking an unexpected but utterly pleasant turn. You were making friends, you were happy, and there was no talking of love and relationship. All was well.

_

You were late. Terribly, unmistakably, and horribly late. You knew you should have not run in the hallways, but seriously what other choice did you have? Later on, when you would think of this exact moment, you will agree that arriving late for a lecture would have been a much better option than running straight into someone. And not just a random someone, no. Because life could not be kind to you, so the Universe had decided that the person you would knock over on the floor was no one else than your Middle School crush, Kim Namjoon himself, the pain of your existence and your fiercest rival. And of course, he attended your same college, how silly of you to think otherwise.

“Oh no no no, I’m so sorry,” you said while helping him collect his belongings. You didn’t know what to panic for: still being late for your lectures or encountering your nemesis?

“Why am I not surprised that you are here?”

His voice was just as icy as you remembered it to be. Or rather, just as icy with you as you remembered. Because there was a reason why he had been your Middle School crush, aside from the constant banter and the fact that at the time you were really into enemies to lovers type of books. Kim Namjoon had a sweet and calm voice, almost hypnotising. And now, almost 10 years later, his voice was also ridiculously manly. And the butterflies that you thought died inside your stomach? They were suddenly back, storming inside your body. Because his voice was not only manly, but also insanely attractive. And your betraying heart skipped several beats when your eyes landed on him. Kim Namjoon was a sight to see. Not only was he now tall (the perfect height for you to lean your head on this shoulder), but also a man. And you were only human, after all. A very weak one.

“Can you stop staring at me?” he asked not so friendly.

You wanted to hide, far away, somewhere where you would never have to encounter him again. Of course, he caught you staring at him, your luck was embarrassing. “Sorry, I was just surprised to see you here.”

He scoffed, “you surely did not think you were the only one smart enough to be here?”

Yes, maybe Kim Namjoon was now more attractive than you would have liked, but you also remembered how vexed he made you feel. “Does everything have to be a fight with you?” you hissed in return.

He rolled his eyes at you, “only with annoying people.”

You groaned, “you’re just as obnoxious as I remembered.”

“I beg your pardon? You’re the one who clashed into me, knocked all of my things on the floor and then stared at me for 10 minutes-”

“It was not 10 minutes!” you protested. Seriously, he was so irritating.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this. Now because of you I will be late,” he said.

You gasped. Your lecture! You did not even respond to him, you simply sprinted away, hoping that the professor would allow you to enter the class (spoiler: he did not) and that you would never meet Namjoon again (spoiler: you did. Several times).

_

“And he’s so annoying! Why does he have to be friend with Yoongi? He’s infiltrating my group and soon enough they will get rid of me,” you said munching on your dumplings and pointing the chopstick at your screen where two confused Tae and Jungkook were looking at you. “He hates me!”

“Y/N, don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” Taehyung asked.

You shook your head, gulping down your last dumpling. “He despises me! Don’t you remember how he was in Middle School?”

Jungkook shrugged, “Namjoon-hyung was always very polite with me. I actually quite liked the guy.”

Taehyung nodded, “he really was!”

You groaned, pressing your face into your pillow, “I can’t believe you’re siding with the enemy.”

“You know what, Y/N? One might even think that you still like him,” said Taehyung with a smirk.

You frowned, “what do you mean ‘still like him’? What do you know?” You were now incredibly suspicious. How did he know about your, very much past, crush for Namjoon? As far as you were aware, no one knew anything about your love life.

Jungkook chuckled nervously, “he’s just joking. We must go now, bye sister!” And then he hung up on you.

Those two were up to something, and there was only one person that could tell you what was going on. It was finally time to find Jimin and put an end to your avoiding behaviour.

_

You were almost halfway through when you spotted Jin coming towards you, looking quite conflicted. You noticed his posture was strangely stiff and that he could not quite meat your eyes. When he said hello to you, his voice was tense.

“Is everything okay, Jin?” you asked. You watched him huff and fidget with something in his hand. An envelope. A pink envelope. A very familiar, pink envelope. Panic started crawling on you. It could not be real.

“I received this,” he said waving the letter at you, looking the very description of discomfort. “Look, Y/N, I am honoured, really, but I thought we were only friends. I didn’t know you felt differently.”

“Oh no,” you started panting, panic overwhelming you. You could not breathe; your world was spinning around you, and you could hardly feel the ground beneath your feet. “How did you-”

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Seokjin was now seriously worried about you.

You forced yourself to take in a couple of steadying breaths. “I did not send that,” you said with a small voice. You truly hoped this was just a nightmare, a cruel mistake at best.

Seokjin scratched his head, “but it has been signed by you?”

You laughed nervously, “I know. I have written it years ago. I never intended for it to reach you.”

“So… you love me?”

You shook your head, “no. Don’t get me wrong, at the time I thought I did but…I only wrote it to remind myself of how I felt. I don’t even know why you have it.”

He nodded, passing the envelope to you. “I think you should have it back then.”

You thanked him, taking the letter from him. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“Are we still friends?” you asked hesitantly, not daring to meet his eyes.

He smiled at you and bumped your shoulder with his. “Of course we are. Although, I am a bit hurt that I was not the only one to receive such a beautiful letter.”

You froze, terror taking control of your brain. Not the only one?

“Namjoon seemed quite shocked when he read his.”

Oh no. No no no no no.

If Namjoon had received your letter, which was in itself already bad, then that meant that there was a chance that Jimin had gotten his.

_

You needed to find Jimin. Truthfully, you had no idea what to tell him. It was true, you did not love Seokjin, nor Namjoon, but how could you lie to your dearest friend? How could you look at him in the eyes and tell him that it had all been a mistake? But it’s not as if you could tell him the truth either. Perhaps, you thought, he didn’t receive his letter. Maybe, whomever sent them did not find the one addressed to Jimin. But who did send them? The only thing you could think about was that the box in which they were kept had mistakenly being put with the ones destined to be donated. And then the person who had found them had thought that they ended up there by accident when you were actually meant to send them out. It was your own fault for writing down the full address on each one.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

You stopped in your tracks and closed your eyes, hoping that maybe if you could not see him then he would not see you.

“What is the meaning of this?” Namjoon asked. You opened up one eye to look at him handing you his blue envelope. Of course he saw you.

You sighed and took the envelope. “A mistake, that’s what is it. I did not send it out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms on his chest, “maybe not, but you still wrote it.”

Ouch. You scoffed, “don’t flatter yourself. It means nothing.”

“It said you love me. It said, and I quote, ‘I tried everything I could to stop loving the way my soul calls to yours’-”

You pressed your hands to his mouth, not even caring about invading his personal space or that this was the first time your skin came into contact with his. “Ah, ah! Don’t want to hear about it.”

“Look,” you said taking a step back but still watching carefully in case he decided to randomly quote what you wrote at the age of 13. “I wrote this years ago and never intended for it to reach you.”

“You addressed it,” he stated.

“Sorry?”

He huffed, “you wrote my full address. It came to my house and my mother had to send it to me here. If you never intended to reach me, why did you address it and stamp it?”

You opened your mouth to protest but could not think of many things to say that weren’t ‘I don’t know’. So, you stayed silent.

Exasperated, you looked around. Everywhere, really, so that you didn’t need to look at his piercing eyes. That’s when you noticed Jimin walking towards you, a yellow envelope in his hand.

You don’t know exactly what happened in your brain back then, but you had no time to ponder your next move. All you could think about was making sure that Jimin would never find out about your feelings for him. And so, there was only one thing left for you to do.

You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s neck, and you kissed him. Despite the terror that seeing Jimin had caused you, you could not help but notice how warm and soft his lips were, how firm his body was against yours. And how his hand unmistakeably grabbed your waist for a brief second. How his lips had moved against yours.

It all lasted so briefly before he pulled himself away from you. You did not hear him asking you what you were thinking, all that you could notice was that Jimin had left. Your plan had worked, for now. All you needed to worry about now was a flustered and angered Namjoon.

You raised a hand to silence his stream of consciousness, “I need you to be my fake boyfriend.”

“Pardon?”

He was speechless, and rightfully so. You even doubted you were making any sense. But somehow it did, in some deep and twisted part of your brain.

“Jimin,” you started to explain, “he has the same letter you and Jin have. I wrote them in different periods of time and, before you ask, I don’t know why I stamped them. Maybe a part of him wanted one of you to know, to return my feelings. I don’t love you, nor Seokjin for that matter, but I do love Jimin. And he is the only person who can never find out.”

Namjoon stayed silent for several minutes, trying to take everything in. “What is it that you are asking of me, exactly?”

You sighed, “if I could pretend I am actually in love with someone else, if I can show him that that letter belongs to the past, perhaps I can still save our friendship. You don’t owe me anything, Kim Namjoon, but what I am asking of you is: will you be my fake boyfriend?”