Summary:Sometimes distance isn’t a space between two people, but cracks and crevices that build up over time. It’s what you learned after being married to Namjoon all these years. But all it takes is a trip back home and the acknowledgement of what your relationship has become, and the realization that it might be the final puncture that would make everything else break.
A/N: No excuse, just Instagram Namjoon and being husband material. But shoutout to my philosophy professor whose lectures on love and relationships have stuck with me (even if I never actually read Max Scheler’s work), and credits to our brilliant, loveable Namjoon whose words are too beautiful not to write about. This was supposed to be part of a ‘Coming Home: Short Story Collection’ inspired by the guys going home for the holidays but… the holidays passed, my hands slipped, and this happened. I still hope you enjoy it, though!
BTS scenario/reaction - Sex/Sexual acts while one is asleep
Warning: blowjobs, sex with the unconscious, consensual sex, female oral, fingering.
Smut under the cut
Namjoon
It was clear you had tried to wait for him but they’d been delayed
You’d fallen asleep in sexy lingerie
A book by your side and reading glasses askew on your face
Mouth ajar with a little drool
You still looked undeniably sexy all dressed up or rather down for him
He placed your book to the side careful to keep your page
He slipped the glasses away desperate not to wake you before having a little fun
You had had an agreement for a long time that he could touch you however and whenever he liked provided there was no safe word used.
He turned you gently onto your back and spread your legs wide enough for him to lie in between
He slides your panties out of the way and flattens his tongue against your folds
You start to stir as he sucks on your clit and pumps one finger into you
“Hi Jagi, sorry I’m late.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he is diving back in to make you moan for him
Seokjin
The clingiest man when he comes back from tour
Wants to do everything with you and for you
Cockwarming was something you did a lot during this time
An extra layer of intimacy you could share
Working from home, watching TV, playing video games
However this is the first time you’ve tried whilst asleep
Cuddly sleepers anyway it made sense
Until you’re awoken by his thrusts
Once you figured out what was actually happening you couldn’t help but be turned on
Jin was still asleep
Some wet dream being lived out in real time
You roll so he is on his back
Riding him through the dream and kissing his bare chest until he comes to
He doesn’t open his eyes, but you know the moment he wakes as his thrusts go from shallow languid rolls to deep forceful jolts
“What a wonderful way to wake up” he murmurs after finishing
Yoongi
You worked out early on in the relationship the best way to wake Yoonig up and not have to deal with a grump was a blowjob
He’d worked through the night again
Fast asleep his mixing desk
You squeeze yourself into the space underneath the table and unzipped his shorts
It’s so routine now that you can free him without him so much as stirring
You pump your hand along his hardening length before leaning in to kiss the tip
His breathing hitched as you tongued his slit his eyes flickering at the sensation
You could tell he was close to consciousness when he started to moan
His hands laced into your hair just as you took the last inch down your throat
“Good morning, Princess” his voice was still heavy with sleep
The sound mixed with the way he was petting your hair made you moan around his cock
Moments later he came undone deep down your throat.
Hoseok
Hobi was awoken by all your wriggling
At first he thought you were having a nightmare…
Until you moaned his name
He pulled back the covers to reveal your hand inside your pjs trying to provide some relief
Being the wonderful caring boyfriend he is, he thought he should lend a hand
He carefully removed your hand chuckling a little as you whimpered change your nose at the loss of friction
He cuddled close nibbling your ear lobe as his hand replaces yours
Your features straighten out again when he applies pressure to your clit
He whispers dirty words in your ear to influence your dreams
Dirty girl, so needy for me even in your dreams
Gonna come for me without even knowing
So wet for me
You mumble back “For you.” And Hobi has to check that you’re still asleep
You are
He gets more daring leaving his thumb on your clit and sliding his index finger through your folds dipping it inside
He thrusts the digit shallowly
Enjoying the little ‘o’ your mouth forms when he plays with a second finger
Every noise you make his music to his ears
He keeps his eyes on your face
Adding a third finger inside and curling each one as you stretch
The only change in you is the pleasure on your face
You cum in your sleep and Hobi isn’t sure he has ever seen anything sexier
He pulls his hand away and licks it clean taking note of how heavy a sleeper you are
Jimin
You awaken from your nap very disorientated feeling the heat pulling in the pit of your stomach and hands kneading your spread thighs
You can’t help the scream you release when you see the dark head of hair between your legs Jimin’s face peaks up smirking at you, lips covered in your cum
“Fucking hell Chim! You scared the fuck outta me” You half heartedly smack the side of his head
He was blonde when he left this morning
“Sorry baby. I’ll make it up to you.” He winks before reattaching his plump lips to your clit and sucking like his life depended on it
Two fingers scissor inside you
You’re not sure how long he’s been going at it but judging by the knot pulling in your stomach you wouldn’t need to go for much longer
The orgasm shudders through you
Thoroughly fucked out and oversensitive you hear the sound of a zipper
“My turn” he chimes lining himself up and you groan loving the overstimulation so soon
Taehyung
He woke so needy and desperate
In his half-asleep state he does the only logical thing
He put his leg across your sleeping body and starts using you for relief
You wake up when it starts to feel like you’re on a boat
You are unsurprised to find Tae with lidded eyes rolling his hips against your leg impatiently waiting for you to wake up
He has a way of asking for what he wants with actions and not words
You roll your eyes as he nudges into your arm
His boxy smile lights up his face when you agree
You rollover pressing your bum into him having forgone panties in favour of a long T shirt
He fingers you slowly for a while the motion relaxing enough to lull you back into a shallow sleep
Once he’s satisfied with your stretch, he hooks your leg over the top of him and lines himself up to you and rocks gently, finally content
Jungkook
It starts as a drunken bet between friends with benefits
“I bet I could make you cum in my sleep” he sounds so cocky
“But wouldn’t I be doing all the work? That would make you a glorified sex toy Hun.”
“OK, I bet I could make you cum in your sleep then”
“Without me waking up?.. You’re on”
Weeks go by and you forget but he doesn’t, plotting his time
You’d fallen asleep on his sofa after movie night and everyone else had already gone home
Through all the guys talking (and him accidentally hitting your head against the door frame when he moved you to bed)
It was now or never
He was careful removing your jeans scared to lose he hates losing
He starts tentatively rubbing your clit and watching your face for every reaction
The longer it goes on the braver he gets
Pinching your clit
Watching his index finger into you and feeling for the spot he knows drives you crazy
Your eyes flutter but you stay asleep
Finally he peels his gaze from your face to the matter hand
Just seeing how what you are for him gets him ridiculously wound up
All caution thrown to the wind as the blood from his brain go southbound
He slotted himself between your legs
Lapping hungrily at the juices
Diving his tongue in when he needed more
He ground himself against the bed seeking friction
Two fingers in
Sucking desperately at your clit
He felt you start to tense, a sign you’re as close as he had managed to get himself
He came in his pants as he felt you release on his face
Panting for breath he was a little relieved that you haven’t seen how easily he’d come all over himself…
BTS Reaction to your pregnancy test finally coming back positive.
Warning: Vomit (Morning sickness)
Namjoon
He waits anxiously in the living room as you take the test, wringing his hands.
When you don’t come out after 15 minutes he starts to worry and goes to find you
You’re sobbing on the floor when he walks in
Immediately he is at your side telling you it’ll be okay you can try again
You’re crying too hard to tell him, so you hand him the test and he freezes his soothing motions
Tears well in his eyes as you watch for his reaction
Suddenly you’re being lifted off the floor and carried towards your bedroom he lays you down carefully, but he doesn’t let go.
His hands trail down your sides and lift the hem of your shirt.
He leans down and presses hundreds of kisses into your tummy as you giggle, trying to wriggle away from your husband’s affectionate assaults
Seokjin
You find out while he is on tour
There’s only a month left so you don’t tell him
He would only want to fly home immediately and there’s nothing for him to do yet
Hiding from him is torture when he checks in everyday and all you want is to spill the secret and see the joy on his face of finally…
But you know it’ll be worth it
He comes home to string flower petals leading to your closed bedroom door
He opens it to find a tray of goodies laying out for him and a jewellery box with a note that says ‘find me waiting in the bathroom’
He doesn’t open the box too eager to see you after so long he takes the box and heads straight for you
He is more than confused to find you sat on the closed toilet lid in a fluffy bathrobe instead of in a bubble bath like he was usually greeted with
You roll your eyes and gesture to the unopened box he still looks very confused at the little white stick displayed under new cufflinks that read “daddy”
Eventually you just stand letting the robe fall to display your rounding belly.
The shock finally hits him, and he sweeps you into his arms, cradling you close with one arm, the other hand on your stomach.
Yoongi
You are out shopping with your little boy
Daddies black card burning a hole in your pocket as you treat the birthday boy
You’d just finished lunch when the overwhelming urge to vomit hit
The next three days you struggled to keep anything down
Yoongi eventually convinces you to go to the hospital even though you think he’s being a bit dramatic for a stomach bug.
The news you are six weeks pregnant hits you like a truck after what the doctors told you last time
It’s one of the few times Yoongi lets you see him cry off stage.
Hoseok
It’s a joke when he says “maybe you’re pregnant” after developing a weird craving for spray cheese on salt and vinegar crisps
This wasn’t even that weird
You laughed
It’s not exactly out of character for you to try weird food combos
Except spray cheese is disgusting
You still feel a little silly when you go out to buy the test
Lo and behold the little plus mark appears and you are left in shock
Fully on autopilot you walk into your kitchen test in hand
Hobi looks up confused, glancing at your outstretched hands and makes one of those noises only he can
He sweeps you off your feet and dances you around the kitchen pulling you out of your shellshock.
Jimin
You’d never seen someone so excited yet so close to an obvious breakdown
There are 30 swatches of paint on the wall of the spare room by the end of the week
Trying to remind him that if there is still 32 weeks to go does not slow down the process
He enlists the boys while they have time off because he is worried he won’t be around to help as much when their schedules pick up again
Every detail is run by you before it’s placed in the nursery
And he has a baby shower party planned long before your second scan.
Taehyung
The moment the at home test comes back positive Tae has booked you in for a hospital scan
You sit in the private hospital room twitching as you wait for the ultrasound technician to come in
Taehyung squeezes your hands reassuring you after so many negatives and false starts
This time feels different though
Eventually the doctor comes in and you lie back ignoring the discomfort that comes with a transvaginal ultrasound
It was early on and you needed to be sure
The doctor’s brows furrow and you steal your nerves for the news that it was another false alarm
“Are you prepared for the possibility of multiple births?”
Taehyung can’t contain his excitement head whipping to look at your pale complexion
The doctor doesn’t get to say triplets before you’ve blacked out
You thought you were around 12 weeks and starting to show
Nope! Six weeks and very bloated
Jungkook
Five nights into your private luxury yacht honeymoon you are vomiting over the side of the rails while your very confused half naked husband watches on
You’re taken to the doctor at the next port
You laugh when he suggests pregnancy you’ve only been off birth control for a month now
Everyone said it would take forever and you’d already waited for so long
Turns out the universe just didn’t want you living in sin
They did several tests
Each positive
You do wish the little bean could have waited to make you sick when you weren’t living on a boat for a month
You cut the trip short
But JK already had you rebooked for six months after the due date for your first family holiday
A collection of soft scenarios with each of the BTS boys
Namjoon:
Imagine spending the day in a botanical garden somewhere. The day is overcast, but still warm. You’ve gotten to wear your favourite sundress or shorts for the first time in ages. Namjoon walks just a little ahead of you excitedly talking you through plants he recognises. He spent a while researching the plants he’d find just to impress you. Anything he doesn’t know he reads on the little plaques. He spends a little longer lingering around flowers that look like they are about to bloom just in the hopes of seeing the buds unfurl.
You’ve packed a picnic for the two of you to enjoy. Little cakes and sandwiches, homemade lemonade, and a couple packets of crisp all wrapped neatly inside of a blanket so you don’t have to perch on itchy damp grass. You eat quickly and lie back to admire the sky above you, clouds shifting just enough to allow little slivers of blue to peak through. One arm rests behind his head, the other curled behind you as you lay on his chest.
A perfect moment interrupted by one of the gardens loose peacocks getting a little too curious. The bird kept inching closer the longer you lay and eventually you had to move in order to keep your distance. Joon rolls up the blanket and puts it away into a bag before taking your hand to continue your tour. The afternoon carries on much the same as this morning, except this time Namjoon holds you close as you admire the array of flora. As you leave through the gift shop, he can’t help but pick up a new exotic plant as a challenge for himself, as well as a ‘paint your own pot’ kit for the two of you to complete together later.
Jin:
Imagine attending a cocktail making class. He gets mockingly jealous as you watch the attractive host a little too closely for his liking. He jokes about it for the rest of the evening, feigning hurt feelings. Each drink the two of you make comes with varying degrees of success, but regardless of aesthetic execution they taste delicious.
You get tipsier with each cocktail you are taught 6 drinks in total, but anyone watching would’ve thought you’d doubled it. You descend into maddened laughter at each pun and innuendo Jin throws your way, much to the chagrin of the other guests, who seem to have avoided tasting all of their drinks, saving them for the end. However the two of you decided they were all just being boring.
As the class comes to an end you are offered the opportunity to buy the recipe book and all of the ingredients used. Jin does so with no hesitation with the intent to replicate the fun you’ve had somewhere a little more private…
Yoongi:
Imagine visiting the 'That That’ set and getting to make fun of him with Psy. Watching him go from a producer role to co-star. Giggling with Psy as you two suggest more and more ridiculous cowboy options for Yoongi to wear.
Yoongi giggling every take so they have to shoot multiple times. You not helping the situation when your laughter becomes the loudest amongst the crowd.
Him taking off his cowboy hat and giving it to you in between filming so he can claim you as his. He makes sure you get to keep that hat when they wrap because you’ve become so attached to it.
Hoseok:
Imagine the most chilled out evening of your life. Both of you in sweats and oversized jumpers on opposite ends of the sofa. Your legs outstretched, he sits on your feet to keep them warm. A bowl of snacks rest on your legs for you both to be able to reach.
He sets up a series you had been wanting to watch together but had never found the time before now. You’ve set aside the whole night just to binge watch your way through as much as possible. When the snacks run out, Hobi moves the bowl and slides down in to your lap instead. You remain stretched across the sofa but he has wiggled into the space between the back and your legs creating a nook for himself.
A cold hand snakes under your sweater and lays innocently on your bare stomach as the two of you continue to watch TV for the rest of the night, falling asleep at some point midway through.
Jimin:
Imagine going to pick Jimin up from a dance practice. He is working on a solo piece for the new album, similar to serendipity but it’s a faster piece. Still his movements are just as fluid, he doesn’t miss a beat as he follows the rhythm across the room, too caught up to notice that you’ve come in yet. All of the boys move well, but there is a liquid quality that is uniquely Jimin’s, a quality that shines when he gets to put all of his energy into his own piece.
He eventually catches your eye in the mirror with a look that suggests he know you were there. Still his effort somehow increases, each move crisper, smoother. He crosses the studio to you and takes your hands leading you clumsily through an unprepared partner performance to a beat you’ve only heard through headphones until now. It’s hard to focus on his body and his voice despite how badly you want to be truly absorbed by both.
He laughs as you stumble, catching you every time your feet fail to keep up with him. He twirls you around long after the song finishes, filling the silence by humming new melodies. The boys from TXT eventually shuffle in sheepishly to claim the space they rented and you and Jimin bow deeply in apology. He takes your hand and leads you from the room.
Taehyung:
Imagine going to paint a pot. You both choose animal shaped money boxes. The idea to create something to save for your future together, even if its more symbolic than practical with the amount of money he makes. You give yours an ethereal garden theme, tiny flowers and vines wrapping around fur patterns in varying shades of green. Taehyung goes a little more abstract.
He paints in primary colours only. The fox he chose is covered in blue and yellow tiger stripes over a fire red base. Something that by all means should be ugly, looks like a masterpiece in his hands.
Each figurine take pride of place in his home, on the shelf next to the TV where everyone can see his most treasured possessions.
Jungkook:
Imagine attending a trampoline park. Watching Jungkook attempt more and more impressive flips from high platforms into foam pits, only to have to help him escape the foamy clutches when he gets stuck from diving too deep.
The two of you would compete to see who could jump the highest, who can do the best flip off the wall, who could do the most swivels. Any game he and you can come up with is played until your calves ache from the effort. Until he plucks you from the air, pushing you into a foam pit.
You can barely avoid him as he tries to jump in top of you, pouting as he realises you moved. Spending time trying to catch your breathes by lying back in the pit and watching the other couples and kids bounce past for a little while.
(I know the boys haven’t performed in China… I just wanted a Disneyland date next chapter and I know more about the Chinese one)
There is a whirlwind of movement as soon as the plane lands in Shanghai airport. The flight had been delayed due to problems on the runway. You had been in the air for two hours longer than planned, meaning everyone was now two hours behind on concert prep. You are rushed through immigration. A confusing blur of Mandarin and Korean being yelled around you as people try to figure out the best way to get you all through in time. In the confusion you lose Namjoon. You jump to the next nearest familiarity. Jungkook looks very surprised as you grab onto his arm, immediately searching around for your missing man.
When he comes up empty, he links his arm through yours and signals for you to use your hood to cover your face as best as possible.
“Okay… uh how..? hold on to me.” You do as you are told, better securing your facemask with your free hand. He pulls you through the throng of people. Trying to avoid sasaeng fans and paparazzi as you made your way to the front of the building. You almost make it through without incident. Jungkook tried coaching you to make it seem like maybe you were a stylist. You might’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for the girl who managed to run through the security team. She wasn’t passed the barrier for long, but it was enough time to rip the hood from your head exposing you as a foreigner to all the prying eyes around.
Mutters start to rumble through the onlookers. Rumours already spreading amongst them as they try to work out the identity of the mystery girl clinging to the youngest member like her life depended on it. You pull the hood back up, knowing its useless but not wanting them to take any more photos. You keep your eyes on the floor and keep moving forward. You’ve loosened your grip on JK knowing it’s futile but still wanting to come away without too much speculation. He doesn’t let go of you though. His grip tightens as he keeps moving, unwilling to lose you.
As soon as you are out of the main doors Namjoon is at your side. He puts an arm around your waist, peeling you away from your previous protector and ushers you straight into a waiting car. You don’t see the look he gives Jungkook. A look that suggests he is lucky to still be alive. You don’t get a chance to thank your protector as Joon slams the door in his face.
“Are you okay? Did she hurt you? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to leave you, they dragged me away. I’ll never let that happen again.” He cradles you into his chest, not giving you a moment to reassure him. “I’m going to get you your own security team. Maybe it would be best if for Shanghai you didn’t start working. No one else is ever going to lay a hand on you.” He keeps rambling on petting your hair as if you are the one that needs calming down. You let him. It’s clear he fills guilty for disappearing but there is nothing you can do to assuage that guilt when he won’t even take a breath.
You barely get to see any of the city rushing past the window on the way to the hotel. Its not a long journey, 30 minutes at most from Pudong airport. You are let out of the cars in an underground parking lot, far away from anyone that might’ve been waiting for the band’s arrival. There isn’t a lot of time between now and when everyone had to be at soundcheck. Luckily the tour manager had collected all the boy’s passports in order to check them in and the hotel staff had allowed them to head straight to their rooms to set up. You follow Namjoon into the ornate elevator and he presses the button for the right floor. All this time your hand has been firmly clasped in his. You glance down at where you are joined to see his knuckles turning white.
“Joon, it’s okay, I’m okay. You need to calm down.” He refuses, holding firm. “Namjoon look at me.” He reluctantly meets your gaze. “If you are going to be this worried about me, maybe I shouldn’t have come, after this concert… I should just go home.”
“NO!” the sudden volume scares you a little, he sees you flinch and immediately his usual cheery demeaner is back. “Come one it’s been one day, it’ll be okay. I was just scared because I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want you to be afraid. You’ll be alright, I’m just being protective. Please stay, you have to stay.” The elevator dings before you get a chance to address the sudden shift in personality. It’s a short walk down the hallway to your room. Another gorgeous five-star accommodation. The bed was huge, the view spectacular, and there was even a balcony complete with a small garden. There was only one problem.
“Joon, there isn’t a door on the bathroom…” he places his backpack on the bed and looks in your direction.
“Oh yeah… I completely forgot about that. It’s a common feature in Chinese hotels unfortunately. It’s alright though, I’m going to be so busy for the next 48 hours you won’t have to worry about privacy.” He comes back to kiss you on the forehead and slide your own carryon off your shoulder onto his. “Let’s relax for a little while. I have some time before we need to go.” He sets your stuff down and slides on to the bed, patting the empty space next to him. For the next hour you sit in near silence, catching up on social media with a movie playing in the background. Just being able to sit with him is so oddly comforting. For someone you idolised for so long, it feels like it should have been harder to slip into routine, but he made it so easy. It was almost like he thought of you in the same light, something unobtainable.
The band’s deadline came around all too quick. Namjoon packed all of his concert necessities into a bag and kissed you goodbye. It had been decided it was best for you to distance from the band for tonight. Start fresh the next day. This left you with over 9 hours to yourself. First you skimmed through films on the TV, but it was hard to tell which were in English. Next you read through a book on your kindle, it kept you busy for a little while, but it was getting harder and harder to focus. You kept thinking about the stern voice Namjoon had used when you suggested leaving. So deep. So authoritative. Just the memory was proving a very powerful aphrodisiac.
Running a bath and taking care of yourself seemed like the best option, especially if Namjoon wasn’t going to be back for a long time. It’s not like you could ask him to help you anyway, not yet. You fill the large tub with scalding water and find some bath salts amongst the toiletries. You swirl them in before carefully dipping your feet into the water. The bath could easily be big enough for two. The heat and space help you to unwind from the long flight, helping to soothe all of the post flight ick.
Its not long before your finger trail in between your legs working on the other tension you had been feeling. Luckily for Namjoon, this is when he decided to check the room’s cameras.
→fireman!namjoon and paramedic!y/n au (warning: drunken sex, oral, etc.) → 11k words; part 01|part 2 |fin. → As a surgeon forced to volunteer as a paramedic in the Seoul Fire Department during an unfortunate probation incident, your one and only goal was to get to work, do your thing, and get the hell home and back to your original high-salary job. But when the SFD’s Chief is the incredibly attractive, cocky, and persistent Kim Namjoon, things start to get heated.
You wake up to the feeling of sweat running down your skin, and then the inability of moving your arms and legs. As soon as you start moving your head, you hear Yugyeom’s voice.
“Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me?”
Your hazy vision focuses finally as you squint into the bright red light in the room. “Yeah,” you croak out, your throat feeling like a desert. “Where am I?”
“Holy shit,” Yugyeom collapses into a chair beside you, and as you look around the room, you notice that you’re in your own hospital, and you are completely wrapped up in a foil blanket, with two heat lamps shining down on you.
You cringe, forehead beaded with sweat. “Can you get me out of this?”
“Oh yeah,” Yugyeom jumps up and begins unwinding you from the foil blanket, reaching up to turn off one of the lamps and then handing you a towel. You frown as you see another gurney wheeled in next to yours, but the curtain is blocking your view. That gurney is also surrounded by heat lamps as well. “What happened?”
“You should apologize to your pussy right now, it’s her funeral.”
Yugyeom was all of us in that first part and I loved it, I loved him! His dynamic with OC was so fun and entertaining. But ok, part 2 surprised me in so many ways (not the smut, though; I just knew it was going to be divine). OC unraveling was a sight to behold bc even then, she’s straightforward and I know that’s attractive to many (her whining was hilarious).
But the angst hit me here - the fear, the worry, the desire for something to last. You ached for them but I totally loved the commitment of namjoon, to his job and to her, and how at the end of the day, he just wants to be happy with her. He’s so commanding but tender and loving. He’s certain but vulnerable, and I liked how they complemented each other. And their intimate moments were to die for this was quite the read and something I really enjoyed!
→fireman!namjoon and paramedic!y/n au (warning: drunken sex, oral, etc.) → 10k words, part 1|part 2|fin. → As a surgeon forced to volunteer as a paramedic in the Seoul Fire Department during an unfortunate probation incident, your one and only goal was to get to work, do your thing, and get the hell home and back to your original high-salary job. But when the SFD’s Chief is the incredibly attractive, cocky, and persistent Kim Namjoon, things start to get heated.
Hi! this is a reupload, and i figured i’d vamp up the title and the header in the meantime! Thank you to the user who managed to save this just in time, after I accidentally deleted it T___T I am forever indebted to you, and I lost your username, so if you see this pls dm me i’d love to write something for as a token of my appreciation!
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair as the lawyer continues to lay out the demands.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you huff, glaring at the idiot gangster who’s at the other side of the room. He cringes a bit at your glare, nursing an ice pack against his bruised cheek.
“I swear, he slapped my ass! I was just retaliating!” You cry, frustrated. Your surgery chief huffs angrily at your behavior and you settle back, clenching your fists on top of the table.
The lawyer snarks back, “You also managed to cause damage to the victim’s body in the process. He’s demanding full reparations. Let’s see,” she muses, flipping through the documents spread out on the table between the both of you. “A broken nose, bruised cheekbone, fractured wrist from when he fell, and muscle strains on his lower back, and psychological damage from framing him for sexual harassment and from the physical assault. In total, it would amount the hospital to about $50,000 to cover the hospital costs and the time he would need to talk off from his job, and the continued physical and mental therapy sessions to follow for around 6 months.” She closes the file with a grin. “So, Dr. Y/N, what’s it gonna be?”
No but shit, when he said this, I lost my mind this first part was oh so sexy. The description of Namjoon - from respectful guy to wild rough one - was so good, and even more when we learn more of him in captain mode.
He’s a little cheeky and playful but serious when he needs to be, and I like his push-and-pull dynamic with OC, whose shameless and blunt and no-nonsense attitude is refreshing. They’re fun and captivating and ok, let’s not forget the scene of shirtless bangtan in a fire department like??? IS THIS A DREAM? That was probably one of my favorite parts but eeeek cliffhanger ending!
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut
Chapter 1.
A/N: This is the first chapter of the newPatreonexclusive book! I already love these two characters more than most things in life~! It’s gonna be a rollercoaster!
It’s always the wee early hours of morning when people tend to see themselves the clearest. When the morning haze and the dewy air coat blades of grass and leaves on trees, people can see their souls in their purest forms.
Sometimes their souls are cacophonously loud, echoing out and over for millions of miles. And for some their souls sit quietly in a corner as if asking to be rescued like some grand princess trapped in a tower.
God, you wish your soul made any noise. You wish you could see yourself so clearly, but your whole being becomes entangled in the morning haze and the dewy drops that fall silently on the land. It’s a prison half of the time and the other half is just silence like mourning.
But as always, when the early hours of the morning pass, you pretend much like others that your soul never actually existed in the first place and you shroud yourself in the daily mask that gets you through life.
Although everyday is the same, you wish just something would change… anything.
When you wake up, the estate is silent. Your wing is silent.
Apart from your groaning, there is not a noise uttered. The maids and butlers are usually talkative, you can sometimes hear random spurts of gossip through your gold trimmed French doors but today there is nothing.
Which means he’s here.
He’shome.
How horrible.
Slipping out of bed, you can only pray that by the time you make your way from your wing of the estate to the kitchen, he’ll be already on his way to work.
Muttering nonsensical words to yourself, you grab your Gucci robe. Draping the fine fabric over yourself, it’s almost reminiscent of a warm hug you probably received once when you were very little. It gives you the gumption to leave your room, no matter how much you’re actually dreading it.
You haven’t seen this man who you have to unfortunately call your husband in almost two months! Why couldn’t you just stay on your vacation for the rest of your life?
With a sigh, you step out of your room, slowly sliding the door shut to make no noise. Your bare feet tip toe down the newly polished white flooring and you keep your arms crossed in the defensive stance that only takes place when he’s around.
Sometimes you appreciate how big the house you live in is. The time it takes for you to actually reach the sitting room is so long that usually your mind begins to wander pleasantly.
You can admire the beautiful pieces of art that you’ve put up around your wing and you can also take in the scent of finely cooked food that permeates the air with ease.
Especially after being away for so long… you missed this place. You missed Pierre and his wonderfully enthusiastic takes on the headline news, you’ve missed Blanche and her home cooking, you’ve even missed–
When you turn the corner of your wing, you see him. He’s sitting at the breakfast nook, in your seat, decked out in an expensive Italian suit. He hasn’t noticed you, he has his attention solely on the newspaper in front of him.
His black hair is combed back perfectly and his glasses perch sweetly on his nose as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips.
“Mm mm, no,” you hum to yourself, turning around to retreat back to your wing.
“Madam! Good morning! You look ravishing!” Pierre announces loudly, watching as you go to scurry back down the hallway.
You stop mid step, turning on your heel to brandish a wickedly frustrated smile in his direction.
“Morning,” you hiss through your teeth, flitting your gaze to your ‘husband’.
He simply looks away from his newspaper to take you into his sights before returning to the black and white sheets of text. He seems deeply unamused, sipping his coffee with about as much happiness as a wet paper bag.
“A latte to start off your day? We did miss your presence around the estate!” the older butler cries, rushing over to pull the seat across from your husband out for you.
“Sure, yeah,” you accept, pulling out the bar stool instead for you to sit on.
You look down at your nails, picking at the gel polish for something to do so you don’t stare aimlessly ahead of you at the mirror.
“How was France?! I do miss my old country sometimes! Did young masters Taehyung and Jeongguk enjoy their time?”
Pierre is always so good at making you feel at home, when you look up at him with a small smile and nod, you can see the Italian suited man looking at you through the mirror.
He clears his throat immediately, looking back at his breakfast plate with dead eyes.
You scowl at the reaction, folding your arms with a huff.
God, he’s always so fucking stoic and pissy. Jesus Christ.
“Let me go grab some more matcha from the storage. I’ll be right back,” your butler announces, wiping his hands on a pristine white towel.
“Wait!” you call quickly but he’s already off.
You press your lips into a thin line, looking down at the golden bar beneath your hands.
“Welcome home.”
When you look back through the mirror, your husband is standing and buttoning his suit jacket.
“Mhm,” you droll, pursing your lips.
“How much of my money did you spend while you were away?”
“I wish I spent more,” you hiss, turning the bar stool to look at him confidently.
“Of course you do,” your husband mumbles, finishing the last of his coffee.
You can’t believe you’re married to this man, you really can’t even fathom it.
As he steps towards you, his perfectly polished Italian shoes echoing with each step, you find your gaze weakening to the point that you simply look away. You stare out the open bay doors to the luscious gardens you’ve had designers make while you were away.
“I would say I’m pleased to see you… but we both know that would be bullshit. Now that you’re back… just stay out of the news, okay?”
You laugh sharply, rolling your eyes.
Your gaze snaps to his, blood boiling at his simple words. “Mind your fucking business, Namjoon. Don’t you have surgery to go perform?”
He looks down at his Rolex, smoothing out the side of his hair. “I always have a surgery to do.”
“Fuck off then,” you beam, pointing to the grandiose front doors.
“Incredible,” he chirps, taking off with the shake of his head.
You simply close your eyes, already feeling your temples throb with an unwanted ache. How the hell did you even get here?
“Stay out of my wing while I’m gone,” Namjoon calls to you, opening the front door.
You give no reply, only folding your arms as you stand. When the front door shuts, Pierre reappears with matcha in hand.
“We really are all so happy you’re home, madam. It has been a long while since we’ve enjoyed our work,” the butler coos, rounding the bar to hug you.
You welcome him with open arms and smile as he pats your back just like he always has throughout your life.
“Was it really that bad while I was gone?” you inquire, leaning against the bar with your elbow and tucking your fist beneath your chin.
“I don’t know how devils are allowed to get medical licenses, you should keep sharp objects away from beasts like him,” your butler hisses.
You can only smile then, shaking your head at how sad your life has become.
When the front door opens back up, you find yourself grimacing in its direction before seeing who it is.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Taehyung chirps, shrugging off his leather jacket with a sigh.
The man you’ve known since childhood stands before you in a floral Gucci shirt and brown corduroy pants that scream fashionable.
You stand up fully, closing the distance to meet him and he immediately plants a soft kiss on your lips.
“I saw him leave so that must mean that you’re all mine,” he murmurs in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist.
You giggle gently then, allowing him to lift you off your feet without another word.
“Latte to your wing, I presume?” Pierre quips, winking at Taehyung who only beams a large smile in reply.
“Yes, please,” you squeal as he takes off with you in tow.
Hanging his suit jacket up in his office, Namjoon slowly rolls his head on his shoulders.
His life has been so peaceful without you in it for the past two months. He wishes France would just fucking keep you. He has too much work to do to be worried about how much disaster you’re causing.
“Bone dry cappuccino,” Yoongi announces, stepping into his office.
“Thanks,” Joon mumbles, grabbing the warm cup and staring past him through the glass windows as resident surgeons run around ragged.
“You seem really happy to be here today,” Yoongi deadpans, laying down on the clean bed beside his desk.
“She’s back from vacation,” your husband hisses, running his hands over his face.
“I think you meant to say, ‘my wife is back from the honeymoon she had to go on by herself because I decided to back myself up with surgeries those two months,’ right? That’s what you meant.”
Joon grimaces, shaking his head in disagreement. “She didn’t want me there. You know how she is… she’s… a bitch.”
Yoongi laughs loudly, covering his face with the pillow beneath him. “Joon, we’ve all known each other since the day we came out of the womb! She is not a bitch! She just fucking hates you because you’re a prick.”
“I’m a prick because I’m the chief of neurosurgery?” he asks with a laugh.
“You’re a prick because you’ve always been that way. It’s no secret to anyone. Maybe only to you,” his childhood friend quips, pulling the pillow off his face.
“Look, if she hated the idea of getting married so much, she should have just told her father that she refused,” Joon breathes, sipping his cappuccino.
“Oh my God,” Yoongi breathes, rolling his eyes, “You know it’s never that simple in our lives. Don’t act like you’re so high and mighty Joon. I’m sure she’s really lonely.”
“She has Tae and Guk,” Joon retorts, standing up.
As he grabs his scrubs, the office door swings open and he stands up just a little taller when he sees the intruder.
“Namjoon, good morning.”
“Good morning! I was just going to change into-”
“Did my daughter come home yet?” your father inquires.
“Yes! She got home last night!” Joon breathes.
“Oh… good. Did she… seem alright? Her mother is worried about her, Lord knows why, Y/N is an adult and is quite capable of using a phone if she wanted to.”
“She’s doing well. She saw me off to work this morning.”
Yoongi simply sighs, standing up off the bed.
“Did she have that horrible boy with her? That Taehyung?”
“N-No. She was in Paris and at home all by herself.”
Your husband did in fact see the pretty boy’s car coming down the street as he was leaving. But he fears that that fact might not be welcome right now.
“Good… Maybe she’s growing up after all. I too never went on my honeymoon, I was too busy with work. But that is the way of arranged marriages, isn’t it? You grow to respect your partner… I’m not sure about love but I certainly hope you will respect one another like Y/N’s mother and I,” your father drones on, only noticing Yoongi after his speech, “Dr. Min, don’t you have patients you should be attending to?”
“That I do! See you later Joon… Chief,” Yoongi announces, leaving the room with wide eyes and the shake of his head.
“Is Y/N… getting everything she wants?”
Joon chuckles then, nodding his head. “Oh, she always gets what she wants.”
“That I do know. Alright then, have a good surgery, Namjoon. It’s a great day to save lives.”
“Indeed it is, sir,” Joon replies, unbuttoning his shirt.
When he’s in his red scrubs, he steps out of his office only to see Jin and Yoongi waiting for him.
“And that is why you married her,” Yoongi announces, patting Joon on the back.
“What’re you talking about?” he mumbles, putting his glasses on.
“Oh, are we talking about the only reason why Joon married Y/N was because her father is the chief of surgery for the whole hospital and he’ll be next up if he put a ring on it?” Jin beams, folding his arms.
“Bingo, my friend,” Yoongi chuckles, high fiving the plastic surgeon.
“Oh my God,” your husband mumbles, rolling his eyes.
“Do you remember when we were in high school and Y/N swore that she would never, ever marry a surgeon or a doctor or anything that had to do with medicine? You really fucked her over,” Jin muses.
“Yeah, well… get over it. She has.”
“That’s why Tae is slipping her some pipe…”
“Yeah… fucking Guk too,” Joon hisses, opening up the OR doors.
“Guk too?!” the surgeons yell at the opening of the doors as Namjoon puts on his mask.
Joon simply shakes his head before he begins to sanitize himself for surgery.
“I missed you,” Taehyung coos, running his hands over your thighs.
He always gets like this after you both fuck. He’s way too happy and too content to do anything but dote on you.
Sighing softly, you stare out your windows as you comb your fingers through his long black hair.
“I wish we could go back to Paris and just stay there. I wish I could steal you away forever,” Tae mumbles, drifting the tips of his fingers over your smooth skin.
“No you don’t,” you laugh, rolling your head to look at him, “you would end up missing all the girls you fuck. Like Natalie and Amanda or Taylor or Callie or–”
“I stopped fucking them to just be with you… you idiot,” Tae chuckles, drifting his lips over your shoulder.
Your eyes flutter closed at his admission and you curse softly under your breath. “Why would you do something stupid like that?”
“Because I love you,” he breathes, grabbing the bottle of lotion off the side table, “and you love me.”
When he squeezes some of the lotion out onto his hands, you simply shake your head. “I’m married, Tae.”
“Yeah, but not by choice, baby. I know it’s alright,” he replies sweetly, coursing his hands over your thighs.
You smack his skin sharply, opening your eyes. “Do not touch me with the lotion down there. You know I don’t like feeling like a slicked up dolphin.”
“Sorry, princess. I forgot,” Tae apologizes, kissing your temple.
“Also don’t put all your eggs in one basket with me… you know it won’t work out,” you try to reason with him.
Now with the sun high in the sky, it shines through your window almost blindingly. Taehyung’s usual dark chocolate eyes are softer from the sun’s rays and you can see the gentle flecks of cinnamon within them.
“I can still dream about it… I’m not ready to face reality yet… I’m not ready to lose you,” he breathes, massaging your muscles as he goes.
“I’m not ready yet either,” you mumble, but you know you’re not talking about him.
You’re talking about yourself. Being married to Namjoon is going to make you lose your way. You’ve only been married for three months but for the past two you didn’t have to see him. The first month of marriage… it was fucking horrible. You’ve known Joon all your life, never intimately or friendly, but you still knew him and you expected him to have just an ounce of niceness to him. But he was not that way, you don’t suspect he ever will be.
When you push open the estate doors with Pierre by your side, you give a small smile at the grandiose architecture and how pretty it all is. You’re used to fine things, you get fine things everyday by the bucket load, but this is amazing! And it’s yours!
“Wow, madam, this is-”
“Welcome home, here are the rules,” Namjoon interrupts, brushing past both of you and taking off his suit jacket, “you, Y/N, will not ever step foot into my wing. Mind your business. This isn’t a museum, you can’t just inspect my living space whenever you feel like it. Your wing is to the right, make sure you keep your shit over there. As a surgeon, like many other surgeons, I have OCD. Keep this place clean. I know you’re a little princess and everyone does everything for you like a bunch of slaves but maybe you can be an adult and look after yourself too. Who knows, surprise me. I’m almost never home so we will not spend time together, we will not eat together, we will not bask in each other’s presence. If you are in a room, I will avoid you and it might be polite of you to do the same. This is an arrangement, it’s not love. You don’t have to get a job or a hobby, I will take care of you but just… stay out of my way. Also, when Guk or Taehyung want to come over, make sure I’m not fucking home. They’re rowdy and loud, and they will almost surely bother me. Especially after I’ve done ten to fifteen hour surgeries. So… that’s it, if I think of any more rules, I’ll email them to you. Have a good night.”
You open your mouth to speak but your new husband is already marching down the hallway to his wing and you’re stuck there in the entrance completely flabbergasted.
You can only guffaw to yourself at the audacity of him and you turn to Pierre with wide eyes.
“Is he fucking serious?!” you screech, stamping your foot on the pristine floor.
Pierre simply blinks, taking your Prada coat off of your shoulders with a shrug.
“I’m sorry, madam. Really I am.”
You simply fold your arms, mind swimming at how completely ru–
“What’re you thinking about, baby?” Taehyung mumbles, interrupting your thoughts.
Now you’re in a pissy mood just at the simple memory of it.
“Nothing… lick my pussy so I feel better,” you whine, bunching your fingers into his soft hair.
“Anything you want,” Tae coos, kissing down your body.
Peeling off his mask after seven hours of surgery, Namjoon rolls his shoulders with a sigh.
He doesn’t wanna go home… he doesn’t like that his space has been invaded.
It wasn’t his idea to get married but he accepted immediately when he talked to both his father and yours.
“I don’t wanna get married. I just became the Chief of Neurosurgery last year! Wh-”
“You will marry her and you won’t complain. Men with lives like ours… we need someone there even if it’s not as real as you would like it to be. Y/N’s father… he wants you to marry her. You! Do you know what that could do for your career? For your–”
When the office doors open with your father standing square in the middle, Joon feels as if all the blood in his brain slinks away. He stands there a mere shell of himself as your father enters.
He diligently shakes hands with Joon’s own parent before sitting down in one of the large armchairs. “You’ve been showing quite a lot of promise, Namjoon. I hear all about you all over the hospital. You have some of the steadiest hands I’ve ever seen.”
“Wow, that’s an amazing compliment. Thank you so much.”
“You can only go up from here, which is why I would like you to marry my daughter. She’s reckless and spoiled, she needs to learn how to be an adult and she needs to get the fuck away from that brat Kim Taehyung.”
“I don’t see why that’s on me to-”
“I will make you Chief of Surgery if you do this and become a better surgeon,” your father offers immediately.
Namjoon has known you for as long as he can remember. He hasn’t had long conversations with you or even tried to but his best friends Yoongi and Jin constantly go out on the town with you and your friends to blow off steam from the OR. Joon has never had any particular interest in you, per se. You’re hot, he knows that much, he isn’t blind but from the stories he hears… you’re trouble and rowdy, the complete opposite of what he needs in his life.
But to be Chief of Surgery… That’s all he’s ever wanted. That’s all he’s strived for since he wanted to be a doctor himself. Not even his father is as good of a surgeon as he is.
Is marrying you worth it? Is the stress you’re going to add to his life too high of a price?
“She isn’t for me. I mean… she’s wild compared to wh-”
“That’s why you should marry her. Tame her,” Joon’s father immediately counters, not even letting his son finish his thought.
Namjoon can tell his father wants this. He’s chomping at the fucking bit for it.
“What does Y/N think about it?” he asks, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
“She doesn’t get a say. She’ll do as she’s told, no questions asked,” your father hisses, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently.
Joon cringes softly, looking up at the framed doctorate in his office. “She’s gonna fucking hate me.”
“She doesn’t even know you to hate you,” his father offers.
He doesn’t need to know you to know that once your freedom gets taken away there’s very little else he can do. Seeing you around before… you won’t handle this well.
Namjoon lays down on the bed beside his desk in his hospital office.
Maybe if he just takes a long nap then you’ll be asleep by the time he gets home.
Laying out by the large pool you’ve had installed out in the backyard, you bring your gin and tonic to your lips. The fire pit roars with life beside you, red hot embers trailing off with the wind towards the man at your side. With every heartbeat-like thump of the roaring fire it illuminates Guk’s features.
“Master Guk, here’s your drink, sir,” Pierre breathes, stepping up beside your best friend.
“Thanks Pierre, you’re the best,” Jeongguk hisses, taking off his leather jacket with a sigh.
When your butler of so many years enters back into the house, Guk lays back against the chaise lounge with a groan.
“My company is mad at me,” your best friend huffs out, bringing his whiskey sour to his lips.
“Why?” you inquire, not taking your eyes off the raging fire.
“Because I was in France with you and Tae for so long that I completely missed out on going to Seoul Fashion Week or New York Fashion Week,” he rolls his eyes, taking a sip.
“We went to Paris Fashion Week,” you offer, folding your arms.
“Yeah but I got too drunk and got pictures taken of me when I vomited on your couture dress,” Jeongguk hisses, staring at how the water of the pool drifts with each summer’s night breeze.
“You still owe me five thousand dollars,” you muse, finally looking over at him.
“I know, princess. I’ll send it to you when they take the investigation off my bank account.”
You raise an eyebrow, watching him shake his head dully. “And why are they doing that?”
“The bank doesn’t believe I could have possibly spent five hundred thousand in two months in Paris. Which is ridiculous because I’d spend more than that at dinner if they let me,” Guk breathes, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
You can only giggle then, shaking your head at his antics.
It’s always been the three of you. It’s always been Taehyung, Jeongguk and you as this little group of rich brats that do anything and everything they want without thinking of consequences. And you honestly love that more than anything in this world. But after Tae’s words to you earlier. You can’t help but feel like at some point, everything is going to crumble.
“What’s that face? What happened?” Guk inquires, lifting his pierced brow.
“I just… ugh…” you begin only to stop yourself by pounding back your alcoholic drink.
Tucking your legs underneath you, you turn to your best friend.
“Here we go,” he mumbles, inhaling some smoke and dragging a tattooed finger over his forehead curiously.
“He said it,” you breathe, leaning in closer to whisper.
Guk leans in as well, just a few mere inches away from your face. “Who? Said what?”
“Tae. Earlier he told me he… he told me he loved me,” you whisper softly.
“Oh dude!” Guk whines, throwing his head back and exhaling the toxic smoke from his lungs, “We all promised! We made a fucking promise not to say that shit romantically!”
You simply nod, looking down at your newly bejeweled nails.
“Goddamn, he’s such a pussy! I cannot believe him!” your best friend booms, standing up with wide eyes.
You did, in fact, make this promise years ago. When you were first getting out of highschool, when you first started dating Tae, you knew that you couldn’t offer up your heart so easily. And it’s not because he wouldn’t accept it, it’s because with the lives you all live they’re never really yours to do anything with.
Taehyung, at some point, will have to get married to an heiress to keep his father’s business alive and Guk, at some point, will have to get married to another musician to not piss off his fanbase.
You don’t own your lives. You never have. And those three words hold a lot of weight to them that you can’t just throw at anyone.
You, of course, are not just anyone, which in actuality makes this so much fucking worse.
You can understand Guk’s anger, you can understand his annoyance. The youngest hates when people break promises because he’s been lied to all his damn life.
“And what the fuck did you say?!” he hisses, pointing at you with an accusatory finger.
“Nothing,” you reveal, staring off past him to the darkened wing that Namjoon resides in, “I’m married.”
“Good girl,” he mumbles, shaking his head.
“He stopped having sex with all his other girls too,” you muse, holding up your empty glass towards the house.
“Oh my God!” Guk yells, bunching his hands in his hair as his cigarette dangles from his lips.
“Madam?” Pierre calls from the French doors.
“Make me a pitcher!” you call back, waving your glass.
The butler simply nods, entering the estate once more and once he’s out of sight, Guk folds his arms.
He downs the rest of his drink without so much as a word or glance to you before he’s scoffing.
“Y'know, Taehyung has always fucking been this way. Just like when you were told you were getting married. The overreaction he had… I knew he was going to be like this! He can’t stand the fact that you’ve been taken away from him!”
“I’m literally married to the biggest asshole in the world who pretends that I simply don’t exist,” you mumble, turning back to look at the fire.
“Doesn’t matter to him! You know that, Y/N! Come on!” your best friend yells, tossing his cigarette into the metal bucket filled with sand beside his lounge chair.
You can’t disagree with him, so you simply nod.
While Jeongguk can be hot headed, he does usually have a point.
“I could have fucked you so many times over the years and I haven’t. Why? Because I’m not about to catch feelings for my best friend and destroy everything we’ve built together!”
“Are you blaming me?” you inquire, raising your eyebrows as the embers of red float ever higher.
Finally, he takes a deep breath. With a scoff, he throws himself back into his chair. “No. Never. I would never blame you, princess. You know that.”
“Good,” you murmur, closing your eyes.
“I’m blaming the dumb idiot that practically broke down the moment you said you were getting married,” Guk hisses.
Oh, how could you ever forget that…
With shaky legs, you enter the private room of the restaurant. You feel as if you’re a mere shell of yourself, you probably look it too. Not even the most heavy makeup could probably cover how pale and horrendously shocked you are. You feel like you’re dying.
“Hey, baby girl,” Tae chirps at the sight of you, standing up to pull the chair out for you.
You don’t reply, you don’t look at him. You can only plop yourself down in the chair he draws back. You feel as if you have lead cinder blocks attached to your feet and when you go to set down your purse your hands shake something fierce.
“What’s wrong?” Jeongguk immediately asks, taking you in over the steaming hot pot in the middle of the table.
You simply stare at the boiling liquid, lips parted to speak but sound refuses to leave your body.
You pour yourself a glass of soju, simply sipping the smooth liquor and squeezing your eyes shut.
All of the yelling and all of the screaming you just did, your throat feels raw.
“Is something the matter?” your boyfriend inquires, smoothing your hair back behind your ear.
“Obviously, she looks like she’s seen a fucking ghost,” your best friend hisses, pointing at you.
Your hand shakes as you bring the glass to your lips and both of the boys wait patiently for you to speak.
“Baby?” Tae sings softly, kissing your temple.
You simply pull away from him, opening your eyes once more.
“Don’t touch me,” is the first thing you mumble.
“W-What’d I do?” your boyfriend scoffs, blinking at you.
“You’ll never touch me again,” you sigh softly, voice breaking with raw emotion.
“What are you talking about, dude?” Jeongguk chirps, sliding his fist beneath his chin.
“Y/N, if something happened you can tell us. You know th-”
“I’m getting married,” you whisper softly, looking down into your glass.
There’s heavy silence that creeps along the restaurant walls for such a long time that you can’t help but think of your miserable future. You envision every single horrible thing that will happen from now until kingdom come before glass shattering rips you out of your own thoughts.
“What?!” Taehyung bellows, throwing his chair back.
“Bro,” Guk hisses, covering your face with his hand as Tae flings more breakable objects towards the walls with a fury.
You can only weakly glance at the man you’ve been spending your time with for years. His neck is fire red with anger, veins and muscles bulging with venom as he lobs objects that are close to him.
“Y/N,” Guk whispers softly, pulling your arm until you’re seated in his lap.
He hugs you with such warmth and intensity that it breaks you down. Sobbing hopelessly into his black hoodie, you cling to him desperately. His large tattooed hand drifts soothingly over your back, he whispers soft words in your ear as he rocks you back and forth like a child.
“Who the fuck is taking you away from me?!” Taehyung booms, pressing both his fists into the table to simply hold himself up.
You simply shake your head, burying your face deeper into Guk’s clothes.
“Answer me!” Tae screams at the top of his lungs.
You jump frightened and Jeongguk narrows his gaze sharply at the handsome man before him. “She’s upset! Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking to her! It’s not her fault!”
“Just…” Tae hisses, taking a deep breath, “tell me who it is, Y/N.”
“Kim Namjoon,” you hiccup softly into Guk’s neck.
“Who?!” your boyfriend asks your best friend.
“Namjoon,” he mumbles, petting the back of your head sweetly.
“Oh fuck!” Taehyung cries out, sitting down in his chair with a heady thump.
With the memory of it all still running through your mind, you watch as Pierre pours you another drink from the newly made pitcher.
“Are you sad to be back?” Guk inquires, trying to change the subject.
“I’m sad that I live here. I’m sad that I have to be married to-”
“Good evening.”
Both you and your best friend turn to the intruding voice as Namjoon makes his way down the long path towards the pool.
“Hey Joon,” Guk acknowledges, turning away from him to widen his eyes.
“Can I speak to my wife for a moment?” your husband inquires softly.
You grab your drink, already irritated at the kind voice he’s putting on. You have too many things viciously vibrating in your brain for you to handle this as well.
Your best friend simply shrugs, looking away from the both of you to give you privacy.
Namjoon heads off before you towards the house without another word and you sluggishly follow behind him with a sigh.
As you enter the estate, you watch as Pierre flees the scene quickly almost as if he doesn’t want to witness you murdering your husband.
When Joon closes the door behind him, he turns to you sharply.
“Didn’t you get my email? I said I was on my way home,” he breathes tiredly, looking you over.
You can’t stop thinking about what Guk said, you can’t stop thinking of the memory you experienced in that hot pot restaurant. Everything you forgot about while you were having fun with your friends in France is coming back in waves.
“Hello? Y/N? Did you hear me?” Namjoon inquires impatiently, beginning to tap his Italian leather shoe to the pristine flooring.
His voice draws you in and you finally look up at him with curious eyes.
“What? Sorry,” you mumble, sipping your drink.
Your husband glances over you and he can tell your mind is elsewhere. Something about you has been shaken to its core and he tilts his head curiously. He’s never seen you like this. You’re usually so callous and brazen.
“I emailed you that I was coming home. I’m tired, please don’t make any noise so I can get some rest. I have a lot of surgeries tomorrow.”
You simply blink at him, too tired to fight after the emotional stress of earlier.
“Yeah… sure. Sorry… I’ll tell Gukkie to leave or whatever. Goodnight,” you mumble, heading back outside in a daze.
Joon narrows his eyes at your shaken behavior and he folds his arms at the sight.
“Is this an act?” he mutters to himself, watching as you step outside.
“Hey!” he calls to you, when you tilt your head to him, he simply sighs, “Are you… okay? Where’s the brat I married?”
You roll your eyes then, continuing to walk back towards your best friend. “I’m fine.”
Even with him being dead tired, he still watches you for a moment more. He watches how you tap Guk on the shoulder and how you half ass all your answers. Then he watches how your best friend nods and affectionately pets your head as he stands.
Before you were both married, he never said more than twenty words to you. He had heard you were superficial and bratty, you were snippy and selfish but as he watches you now… he doesn’t get that feeling about you.
Something about your eyes, about the way your mouth moves… It looks lonely. You look lonely. You even look fragile if he squints his eyes hard enough.
You hug Jeongguk tightly, burying your face into his chest and the surgeon simply blinks at the interaction.
Maybe you love Guk… maybe you care for him deeply on a level that Joon could never understand because love isn’t a word within his vocabulary.
Clearing his throat, he waves down Blanche. She simply smiles kindly at him, awaiting his order.
“Decaf coffee with whisky, please.”
He sits down in one of the large armchairs that dot this grandiose sitting room, pretending to look down at his phone as the both of you begin to walk toward the house.
“Later, Namjoon,” Jeongguk breathes casually, shrugging on his leather jacket.
You don’t even spare your husband a glance, your eyes are cast down picking at the jewels that now litter your nails.
Even just waltzing by the tall surgeon, he catches your scent strongly now. It’s a Chanel number, he knows that much to be certain, but he finds the scent pleasant enough.
He keeps an ear out for your conversation, rolling his eyes to himself at how completely ridiculous this is. Since when is he a nosy fuck? He should care less and in some way he doesn’t, but then why is he still sitting here?
“I want you to make sure you take care of yourself for the next few days,” he hears Guk softly whisper to you.
When you don’t reply, he simply assumes you’re nodding along with the handsome singer.
“Don’t you dare let him come over, you need to punish him for what he said,” Jeongguk hisses, opening the front door.
“Alright,” you mumble, your tone sounding submissive to a fault.
“Good, I’ll see you when I can,” your best friend offers, kissing the top of your head and leaving.
When you’re finally alone in the grandiose entranceway, you slowly turn to the surgeon you married who stares down at his tablet. You’re so mental and physically exhausted that you can’t even bring yourself to grimace.
All you can do right now is slowly trudge back out to the courtyard to grab your pitcher of alcohol and then head to bed.
As you pass by the surgeon who is now accepting a coffee from Blanche, you pay him no mind.
In a way, you’re punishing Taehyung for doing nothing wrong. It’s not wrong for him to love. It’s only wrong of him to love you.
You’re not in a position to accept such grandiose feelings. You’ll never be happy and you shouldn’t pretend you can be. That’s just your reality.
Namjoon watches you, he watches how you drag your feet over the steaming cup of black coffee.
He’s not a psychologist, by any means, he’s so far from that but he does know that your emotions aren’t normal at the moment. From what he’s seen of you so far, you’re usually kicking and screaming like a fierce brat.
You wrap your hand around the pitcher, closing your eyes for just one more moment to let the night chill course through your bones. Even with your eyes closed, the roaring fire pit lights up your eyelids with bright red hues every once and a while. It calms you further, it makes you think harder.
“Madam, would you like me to carry the pitcher to your wing?” Blanche inquires sweetly, cleaning up around you.
“No, thank you, Blanche. I appreciate it, though,” you mumble, taking off to a space of your own.
When you enter the estate once more, brushing past the surgeon without a word. You’re surprised when his large hard, clasps onto your arm. You’re stopped at once and even though your eyes are dead you try your hardest to give him a scowl.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks briskly, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.
“We don’t know each other well enough to let each other into one another’s lives, don’t you think?” you mumble softly, pulling away from him.
“Is what you’re going through somehow going to disturb me down the line?”
You can only give a half assed chuckle, shaking your head at how completely alike both him and your father sound.
“Great,” you muse somnolently, taking off towards your wing.
Even with the great big pitcher of gin and tonic that was supposed to lull you into a peaceful sleep, you get no respite throughout the night.
Your large comfy bed simply feels like it’s swallowing you whole.
Hours and hours tick on and on, you toss and turn, squeezing your eyes shut harder and harder to try and will yourself to sleep but that peace never comes.
Your mind is restless, your heart is restless and you can only think of horrible memories that eat away at your soul little by little.
With a huff, you sit up in your bed, hair flying every which way.
You haven’t divulged in your hobby in a long time but now with all these overwhelming emotions, you can’t help but get out of bed and put on your slippers.
Even at four in the morning, with the dark blue sky still painting the horizons outside of your window, you make your way to the kitchen.
Pierre taught you to bake when you were younger, it was an outlet for you to channel and focus your negative energy into and something sweet would blossom from it.
Since the estate is silent, you find yourself comfortably trudging down the halls without so much as a peep of noise.
The kitchen is in Namjoon’s wing but he’ll never know you were there.
As you enter the massive kitchen, you sigh at all of the things you can possibly make.
Maybe you could bake a cake or even a pie? Maybe you could do a plated dessert with precision that would take your mind off of anything.
“Poached apples in caramel sauce?” you muse silently to yourself, “With a shortbread biscuit base and vanilla ice cream?”
You begin the process, gathering your ingredients with a soldier-like mindset. And when you grab the chef’s knife out of the utensil drawer, the world kind of seems to slip away.
You’re a brat to most but in the kitchen, you find no such luxury. You appreciate that.
When you begin to cut the apples, when you make the poaching liquid, there’s no room for error. You aren’t this bratty spoiled thing that makes people recoil from you, you’re a machine. You’re textbook perfect.
But when you start to make the shortbread cookie crumble base, when you watch the stand mixer begin to hypnotically churn to produce the product, you begin to think again.
Even as you pile the shortbread crumb onto a sheet pan to put in the oven, you remember.
“Good morning, mommy! Good morning, daddy!” you chirp, kissing your mother’s cheek as you sit down to breakfast.
She gives you a small smile, one devoid of any true happiness to see you and your blood practically stops within your veins.
“Is everything okay?” you ask her, grabbing for an orange at the middle of the table.
She doesn’t even look at you, turning to look at your father instead who simply continues to read the morning newspaper.
“Y/N, when you feel ready to have an adult conversation this morning, let me know,” he breathes, turning the page of his paper.
You grab your glass of orange juice, looking between your parents curiously.
Your mother seems as if her favorite animal has died and your father is… well he’s the same as always.
“I’m always ready for an adult conversation,” you breathe, tilting your head.
The air of the room is somehow palpable and you’re confused as to why. Even Pierre is nowhere to be seen.
“Daddy? Did I do something wrong?” you inquire softly, sipping the bright, tangy liquid.
“No! You did nothing wrong, my love! Isn’t that right, dear?!” your mother assures you quickly, leaning over and putting her hand to your father’s arm.
He simply hums, setting down his newspaper. “You didn’t do anything wrong, per se. But you still have to grow up sometime, Y/N… I feel as if my hand is being forced with you, you’re making all the wrong decisions with your life.”
You simply blink, setting down your juice just in case you drop it. The sudden shift in tone, the way this conversation seems to be headed… this isn’t good.
Are they threatening to cut you off?
“What kind of decisions? I don’t underst-”
“You clearly wouldn’t begin to understand because you’re so comfortable with your life being the way it is. So your mother and I have decided to take the next step of your life for you…”
You can hear the blood pumping thickly within your ears now, you feel almost lightheaded in a way.
Where is the fucking oxygen in this room? Why is it so difficult to breathe?
“Wh- Daddy? What are you talkin-”
“You’re getting married, Y/N. It’s that simple.”
The silence bleeds for aeons until it all starts to click together. The scream that your memories emit, comes through to reality in waves.
You shriek loudly in pain, pulling your now burnt hand out of the oven with a gentle cry.
You weren’t even paying attention to what you were doing in your daze. You pushed the tray of shortbread too far in until your hand was meeting the hot grills below.
You don’t know how long you were burning your hand, all you know is the pain is so severe that you cry out loudly. Your fingers shake with pain and adrenaline and you cup your mouth to silence yourself.
Somehow during the painful fit, you found yourself on the floor and now with your back against the wall, you sob.
You rest the back of your hand on your knee as you draw your legs into yourself. Burying your face into your thighs, you cry.
You cry from the pain, this is true but you find yourself crying for other reasons as well. All the emotions of the day simply built up with no outlet and here it is right now.
You should get up and run it under cold water, you should do something but you’re simply stuck where you are.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!” Namjoon booms, shoving open the double doors.
With bleary eyes, he takes in the kitchen. All the ingredients are neatly piled up on the counters but the oven doors are open wide. He scans the room once more, noticing how you cower in the corner.
“Jesus Christ! What the f-” he quiets himself when he sees your hand and how it shakes from the pain.
“Oh my God!” he hisses, rushing over to you and kneeling down on one knee.
You don’t even have the energy to look up and when he delicately pulls your wrist off your knee, you cry out softly.
“Okay,” he whispers softly, standing up and turning the faucet on, “Don’t move, alright?”
When you don’t reply, only continuing to weep, he rushes back to his room to grab his glasses and his watch.
“What the fuck was she doing to be so careless?!” he hisses to himself, fumbling over the pieces of furniture to get back to you quickly.
“Sir?!” Pierre croaks, peeking his head out of your room.
“Bring me gauze, a chair, antiseptic and pain meds,” the surgeon rattles off quickly, slipping a shirt over his naked torso.
“Is it Madam, Sir?! Is Y/N okay?!”
“Now!” Joon booms, shoving open the kitchen doors.
You haven’t moved a muscle, still crying and shivering completely.
“Y/N? Hey,” Joon whispers softly, turning on the sink beside the one already running. He sterlizes his hands completely, tilting his head to look back at your frail stance.
When he’s finally done, he crouches down beside you.
“Y/N? I need you to speak to me,” your husband speaks calmly, tapping the underside of your chin gently.
When you lift your head, he can see how bloodshot and stressed your eyes are and his heart thuds sickly within his chest.
“I’m gonna lift you up and we’re gonna run your hand under cold water for a few minutes. Alright?” he asks, searching your eyes for any sense of understanding.
You simply sniffle, nodding minutely and he breathes just the slightest sigh of relief. “Alright. Good girl, come on.”
He verbally counts to you, putting his hands beneath your arms and lifting you slowly.
When Pierre enters flustered, Joon curses softly at how frightened you jump within his grasp. The butler isn’t a professional, he wouldn’t understand how to deal with the situation.
“Madam?!” the butler gasps.
“Set it down and get out,” Joon orders strictly, putting your hand in the cold water.
You whine loudly at the feeling, letting your head lean forward to press your forehead against the cool metal of the basin.
The butler makes no move to exit and the surgeon tilts his head.
“Keep your hand under the water, I’ll be right back,” he promises, letting you go for a moment to see if you can stand yourself upright.
When you do, he walks briskly over to the supplies Pierre has brought.
“I said get out, I won’t repeat myself. I have a handle on this,” the surgeon hisses softly to the older man.
“But she’s-”
“She’smywife. I can handle this. I’m trained to do this,” Joon says, walking back to you without another word.
Sliding the folding chair behind you, your husband presses a gentle hand to your back.
“Can you sit down for me? Is that okay?”
With a small shrug, you do as told. Cringing at the singular heartbeat your hand now carries.
Namjoon crouches before you, staring deeply into your eyes.
“What?” you mumble, clearing your throat uncomfortably.
“I’m just doing my job,” he replies, watching your dilated pupils become smaller. Wrapping his hand around your other wrist, he looks down at his watch.
“Why’re you taking my pulse?” you croak, brushing your tear stained cheeks against your shoulders.
“Because you were experiencing a little bit of shock earlier and I’m making sure it’s not getting worse,” the surgeon whispers, looking back up into your eyes.
“I’m sure it is,” you sigh softly.
“Why do you say that?” he inquires, pulling your burnt hand away from the cold water.
“Because you’re being nice to me,” you mumble, looking over at the open oven.
Joon simply shakes his head. If you have enough energy to joke around you’re going to be just fine.
“What were you doing? You got a pretty nasty burn,” he inquires, following your gaze.
“Is it third degree?” you ask, looking back at him.
Your stomach is weak to a fault. You know that if you look at it… you’ll become an even sicker mess. You can remember how disappointed your father was once he realized you’d never make it as a surgeon like him.
“No, not third degree. It’s pretty nasty though.”
“I was… baking. I like baking,” you whisper, looking down at your slippers.
“You clearly weren’t paying very much attention,” he mumbles, starting to wrap your hand in gauze.
When his gaze meets yours once more, he can see the pain of not only the burn but of earlier etched across your features. He can see it in the way your eyebrows knit and he can see it in how your shoulders slump forward.
The rumors he heard about you don’t seem to define you.
“I can be nice,” he breathes, shushing you softly when you whimper as the gauze wraps tighter around your hand.
“What?” you whine through gritted teeth.
“Earlier, you said you were surprised I was being nice to you. I can be nice,” Namjoon clarifies, finishing up his wrap.
“You left me at the altar to go do a surgery not even three minutes after we got married,” you announce, leaning back in your chair.
“Yeah, I did and the four month old baby got to live,” he replies, standing up to grab the pain medicine the butler brought in just minutes ago.
“You are just like my father,” you mumble, standing up slowly.
“He’s a good man,” your husband states, handing you two pills.
You snort softly, putting the pills in your mouth and angling your face to drink straight from the faucet of cool water that’s still running.
“To others and not to his family. You wouldn’t know how he is. Just know that you’re very much like him. I’m sorry I caused you trouble. Pierre will clean everything up,” you state, sniffing and clearing your throat to right yourself.
“I know he will. I don’t care about that. Do you need help getting back to your room or to-”
“No… No, thank you. Sorry I entered your wing without permission,” you breathe softly, heading towards the kitchen doors.
“I’m still going to check your hand tomorrow and change the dressing,” Joon announces, turning off the water.
You don’t reply, shouldering the door open with a sigh. Even when you try to clear your mind of the horrors that live within them… nothing helps. You’re so deep in the shit that it’s gonna haunt you forever.
The surgeon feels as if he can finally breathe again and as he tucks his hands behind his back, he looks over the kitchen once more.
Once the butler finally enters and he hears your bedroom door close in the distance, he nods to himself.
“Does she bake often?” he asks your butler, heading towards the doors.
“Only when she’s upset, Sir,” Pierre replies briskly, turning off the oven.
“I see,” he muses, heading back to his room.
Once he’s alone in the space he deems the most relaxing, he throws himself down on his bed. His arm finds its way over his hair and he leans back against the headrest with a groan.
“To others and not his family. You wouldn’t know how he is.”
It echoes through Joon’s mind at a haunting speed, the hollowness to your voice, the way it was so devoid of emotion… It makes him shiver.
Leaning over to his bedside table, he pulls open the drawer. The leather box he’s looking for practically screams for his attention and he shakes his head softly.
Grabbing it, he pops it open only to be greeted with his wedding band that’s only been worn for all of five minutes.
Pulling it out of the velvet slit, he takes off his glasses.
This small little band of silver and diamonds feels like five thousand pounds within the palm of his hand.
The way his heart thumped at the sight of you, the way he immediately became nervous at the sight of your pain… that’s just unprecedented. That just never happens. Especially to him.
He can’t let these feelings get to him, he can’t afford it.
“Fuck it,” he hisses, putting the ring back in the holder and tossing the now closed box back into the drawer.
“Joon, we’ve all known each other since the day we came out of the womb! She is not a bitch! She just fucking hates you because you’re a prick.”
He doesn’t know what love is and he couldn’t possibly offer it to you even if he did.
But somehow as the surgeon falls back to sleep, he can only see the look of pain in your eyes that made his heart thump wildly in his chest and he only dreams of a woman baking to quell her sadness.
pairing: fbi agent!namjoon x soft-bodied/plus-sized female reader
genre: strangers to lovers, an attempt at crack??, little bit of angst, smut
summary: All Namjoon wants is some peace and quiet after a long, shitty day at work. Thanks to a party upstairs and Jungkook’s sticky fingers, he’s stuck with you instead.
rating: 18+ for weighty topics and explicit sexual content
word count:3.7k
Warnings: Swearing, always. Sweaty and rumpled Namjoon wearing a shoulder holster. Unruly neighbors. Legal alcohol consumption. A bachelor party. Reader is plus-sized/has a soft body. This will be more apparent during smut scenes, but there are tiny details here and there too. Side pairing 2seok. Strippers? An important comment about the marksmanship and negotiation skills of law enforcement. Agent of Chaos!Jungkook. Non-sexual use of handcuffs. Strippers! Namjoon hates being in the FBI and doesn’t trust the police. Conversations about law enforcement and crimes within the jurisdiction of the FBI. Safe handling of a firearm. Allusions to Reader having an unnamed medical condition, but they’re subtle, blink and you miss them. Big Joon make brain go brrrrrrrrr. “There was only one bed” trope if you squint.
Notes: Hello!! What a week it has been. I’m dropping this a little earlier than anticipated but hey, I don’t think anyone will mind! I’ll have a masterlist with a schedule coming out tomorrow! I’m thinking part 2 up next week and then part 3 up that next week before comeback. I’ve only got two scenes left to write on part three so I’m not anticipating a delay. I want to again thank @reliablemitten and @vyduan for beta-reading, and and also thank Vy, @sunshinerainbowsbts, and @thatlongspringnight for helping troubleshoot the conversation about law enforcement. And then also a bit of extra love to @minttangerines (for planting this seed to begin with), Julie, husbeard, and all the possums for holding my hand while I write this. It’s been a bit of a journey, but I’m excited to share it with yall!
series masterlist|next (up next week! mlist coming 5.28.22)
All Namjoon wants at the end of a long day is a hot soak in his tub with a beer. It’s all he wants. It’s simple, really, but he’s a simple man. The most complicated things about his life aren’t really about his life at all, and are easily compartmentalized, provided he gets his hot bath and a beer.
pairing: fbi agent!namjoon x soft-bodied/plus-sized female reader
genre:chaos/crack/humor, bit of angst, bit of fluff, and smut
summary: Namjoon’s upstairs neighbors are notorious for being loud. After an especially long day, the last thing he expects is his roommate’s betrayal. Now he’s stuck with you, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.
rating: 18+ for explicit sexual content and heavy themes
word count: estimated total 15k, draft is currently around 12.3k. There is a very good chance that I’ll break it into parts for ease of reading; if that happens, I’ll post them in quick succession!
TEASER WC:1.7k
warnings for completed fic: There’s a lot, so umm, stay tuned! Didn’t want to make this longer than it needed to be, I’m sure y’all understand.
WARNINGS FOR TEASER: Namjoon is tired and needs a nap, also Sweaty and rumpled Namjoon wearing a shoulder holster. Swearing. Bachelor party. Drunk people. Alcohol use. An important comment about the generally poor marksmanship and negotiation skills of law enforcement (hint: it is not kind, in fact it’s rather scathing). Agent of Chaos!Jungkook. Non-sexual use of handcuffs. Content is lightly edited and subject to change in the final posting.
notes: So first of all, this is all @minttangerines’s fault. She wanted sexy cop Namjoon breaking up a bachelorette party and getting mistaken for a stripper and well … It spiraled out of control. I’m only kind of sorry??? I don’t think anyone will complain about the unbridled Namjoon thirst! This has also been a bear to work on for whatever reason. It’s been a lot of stop and start. I think somewhere I mentioned that I’d written Sodium Vapor, No shade in the Shadow, and a handful of spin cycle drabbles all while pointedly avoiding this WIP. No shit, I think it’s because this is the most mind-numbingly attractive Namjoon I’ve written yet; I short out when I try to work on this for long periods of time because I just want to let him ruin my life. That is all to say: a LOT of handholding has happened while drafting this! Husbeard, @thatlongspringnight,@vyduan, and @sunshinerainbowsbts helped me work out how to better depict a law enforcement agent, and then Vy and @reliablemitten both beta-read the first 10k while I was at a stopping point and kind of hating it. I wouldn’t feel as confident in this without their support and screaming! There’s a lot that’s gone into this fic, and I’m really excited to share it with you. Also!!!! I just wrote a whole little essay about “soft-bodied” reader character and I ended up talking about some important stuff! So consider checking that out! You can read it here, or by clicking through to my disclaimers or masterlist.
Drop me a comment or an ask if you’d like to be on the tag list for this! I will either reblog this with a posting date or I will have a masterlist with a schedule if I break it up into parts to post. Thank you for your patience and support! The plan, barring catastrophe, is to have this out before comeback :)
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.
=====
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
=====
-
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.
A/N:As soon as I saw BTS at the White House, I KNEW I had to whip something up. So proud of our boys today
Badge in one hand, iced coffee in the other, tote bag slung over your shoulder, you hurried through the long halls toward your desk. Your sensible business heels clicked against the tile floors, past dignitaries and politicians gazing down at you from their portraits lining the walls. You were greeted by the sounds of excited morning conversations and frantic typing on laptop keyboards as you pushed the door to the press office open. Since the announcement went public, the entire team had anxiously awaited this day. You just hoped you made it out in one piece.
Throwing your bag in your desk chair, you leaned against the wooden surface, taking a long sip from your straw as you finally caught your breath. Of course, today of all days, would be the day when your commute was worse than usual. You had considered camping out here last night to avoid the morning traffic, knowing that the roads to the White House would be crazier than ever, reporters wanting to arrive early to get good seats in the briefing room for their photo ops.
“Y/N, you ready for today?” your coworker, Annie, asked as she dropped a stack of papers on your desk.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, relishing in the adrenaline and buzz that only came with working in such an important building, privy to the most important news in the country before anyone else.
“Aren’t you a fan of theirs?” Annie teased, shooting you a finger heart as she walked away from your desk.
“You’re going to lie and tell me you’re not?” you laughed, responding to her finger heart with one of your own.
“BTS to go on in 10 minutes,” the intercom speaker in the office sounded. You smoothed your dress, attempting to collect yourself.
This is just like any other day, you thought to yourself, trying to keep your inner fangirl from squealing. You sat down, paging through the edits Annie left for you on your desk, eyes scanning over the words on the typed pages, wanting to do work to distract yourself from the upcoming press conference happening around the corner from you.
You looked up when you heard the sudden commotion of one of the summer interns running into the office, a panicked look on his face.
“Who here knows how to sew?” he said. “Actually, scratch that—who here has a needle and thread, like, right now?”
You stood up, waving for the intern to come over.
“Hey, Robbie, take a breath,” you watched as he took your advice literally, breathing deeply to try and calm down. “This is hardly the most significant emergency you’ll have here on event day. Now, I have a travel sewing kit with me. What do I need to fix?” you asked, pulling open a desk drawer to pull out your kit.
“One of them. They lost a button. They are supposed to go to the briefing room any minute now!”
“Robbie, what did I say about breathing?” you scolded, before walking toward the door that would lead you to the room where BTS was prepping before going out with the Press Secretary. “I’ll take care of it.”
You took a deep breath of your own before pushing the door open, met with a flurry of stylists trying, and failing, to find a needle and thread.
A security guard of the band looked at your badge, before ushering you over toward a group of seven men, dressed in black, tailored suits. “Someone told me there was a sewing emergency?” You asked into the group, trying to feign casual indifference.
“Oh, that would be me,” a deep voice responded. You immediately recognized it. Namjoon stepped forward, an embarrassed smile on his face, making his dimples indent his cheeks. You swallowed hard, wanting to maintain your relaxed composure.
“What happened?” He silently answered by holding out a black button to you in his palm, no longer attached to his suit jacket. You laughed quietly, grabbing it from him, ignoring how warm his hand felt as your fingertips brushed against his palm. You didn’t notice the way his eyes lit up at your reaction. “Easy enough to fix,” you responded, already looping black thread through the eye of a needle, eyes concentrated on the task. The other members were talking amongst themselves, practicing their speeches with each other as you stood with Namjoon.
“What’s your name?”
“Y/N,” you said, glancing up at him with a soft smile.
“Well, Y/N, you really are saving the day.”
“It’s no trouble, happens more often than you would expect,” you said, stepping toward him to start sewing the button back on. You took a deep breath to steady your hands, not wanting to poke the international superstar with your needle. Oh my god, he smells so good, you thought, inhaling the scent of his cologne as you pushed your needle through the thick fabric.
“Do you save the day often?” Namjoon asked quietly, his voice dropping because of your proximity.
“I wouldn’t call sewing a button ‘saving the day.’”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that. I would have been pretty embarrassed to go out there in front of all of those reporters with a missing button,” Namjoon teased. You pulled the thread together into a knot, finishing your work. You subconsciously patted the suit jacket to let him know it was finished, cheeks burning as you pulled your hand away from his solid chest. You did not mean to do that. Namjoon cleared his throat as you stepped back, embarrassed.
“Looks like you’re all set,” you said, ignoring the flush in your face.
“Thank you, Y/N, you were a huge help,” Namjoon said, disappointed that you had moved away so quickly. He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted to hear you laugh again. To make you smile.
“Any time,” you breathed out. You were about to turn to walk away when Namjoon took a step toward you, making you freeze.
“Will I see you again?” Your eyes went wide. “After the press conference, I mean,” he asked quietly.
“I’ll just be hiding in the back, watching you on television like the rest of the world,” you shrugged your shoulders, attempting to convince him you were nonchalant about the whole situation. Namjoon tilted his head to the side slightly. You looked at the way his dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, the visual of his slightly tanned skin contrasting with it distracting you for a moment.
“What if I wanted to take the beautiful woman who saved the day out for a drink tonight to thank her? Could I see you again if that was the case?” He said it so confidently, like he knew she would say yes. But his eyes were soft, like they were waiting for the blow of rejection.
“I-I um…yeah, I think that could work,” you stammered.
“Great, I’ll be sure to wear an outfit that requires less repair work this time,” Namjoon said with a wink, making you giggle.
Genre: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, (one-sided) idiots to lovers, best friends to lovers ♡, college au
Warnings: Namjoon is a flirt, buff namjoon, oc is pretty bratty but in a cute way, everyone loves her, she’s kinda dumb tho in a sense that she’s very oblivious but very smart irl, smart besties, cute drunk confessions, very slight angst if you squint, some slight insecurities showed up, excessive use of the word ‘baby’, namjoon is very in love, just prepare to be smitten ㅠㅡㅠ
Date Posted: April 20, 2022
Summary: You and Namjoon have been best friends since high school. Namjoon has been in love since but you’re too dumb to realize that you love him too.
A/N:this is my first fic,, idk i just tried writing because I have so many ideas in mind, just fluffy scenarios. I am not a writer at all so I’m not really sure how to write (despite reading fanfics for years lol) this is pretty self-indulgent but to whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy! Lemme know what you think ♡
—
“Namjoon!!”
You barged into his room fuming at 7 in the morning. Namjoon was still in dreamland and before he could wonder why you were mad, you went on, “You were supposed to buy some chocolate milk,” a cute pout on your face while walking towards his bed.
summary: Exactly one year before one meets their soulmate, their love’s first words spoken to them appear as a tattoo on their wrist. When Namjoon’s tattoo appears, however, it’s not of words, but of the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen.
pairing: Namjoon x reader
genre: smut, fluff, soulmate au
word count: 14k
tags: soft dom namjoon, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, just a little bit rough, overstimulation, first time, spanking (only a little), loving possessiveness (i.e. lots of “you’re mine” during sex), like 10k of this is just smut
pairing: scientist!Namjoon x f!reader genre(s): smut, angst, drama, mystery, slight horror au(s): based on Frankenstein word count: 460 words for the teaser warnings (teaser only): mentions minor character death rating:18+
summary:Kim Namjoon had always been a curious child, with a strong desire to understand the world. After a tragedy strikes his family Namjoon is left heartbroken. Grieving, he seeks to create a companion in the most unorthodox way. But what happens when the very life he created turns against the master whom she was supposed to love?
a/n: i’m still working on the hyung line classic lit stories! this one is quickly spiraling out of control, so I’m just sharing this to keep myself accountable bc I need to finish this damn fic. I’ve already written and deleted so much from it T_T this also very unedited
The rain pummeled against the window, striking the glass panes with such brazen force that Namjoon thought his whole studio would shudder and splinter underneath the weight of tonight’s storm. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he lets out a deep breath, one he did not even know he’d been holding for the past few years. It was done.
A crack followed his sigh, like a bone being set into place, and then a great groan, and his creation sprung to life. Namjoon stood there, paralyzed, the awe beginning to melt away, and shock and horror setting in as he took in the sight of this new being. It was a woman, and yet it was not. For every feature he’d selected, eyes, lips, nose, and everything that was beautiful in its own right, fit together in the most grotesque of ways, and instantly his heart plummets. This was no human. This was nothing worthy of his love, or the labor he’d undertaken for the past two years. The empty void that had settled in his chest after his mother’s passing grew wider and wider, and Namjoon watches all his hopes and dreams become swallowed by the gaping vortex.
A bead of sweat trickles down his neck, escaping underneath his shirt, and Namjoon turns on his heel, running out of the room.
Panicked, he closes the door behind him, rushing across the hall to his own bed, drawing the scratchy covers over his head. His eyes flutter, willing for sleep to claim his restless frame, but it never comes. Instead, he lies awake, the pounding of his heart melding with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, creating a haunting rhythm to represent the doom that has begun to loom over the house.
A loud crack jolts Namjoon awake from his miserable sleep - the lightning illuminating the room in a silvery glow, and there, at the foot of his bed -– the figure of the being he’d created! Round eyes, if they could even be called so, staring at him curiously, like a lost child. Mouth moving as though it was trying to speak, but no sounds escaped.
Namjoon softens at the sight of the poor creature, looking lost and confused. He reaches out towards it, hands shaking, and nearly jumps when he feels two leathery palms take his hand in between them. His heart thrums at the gentle display, amazed at how soft-natured the creature was, despite its extraordinary appearance.
Tightening his hand in the creature’s, he realizes that he cannot give up now. This dream, this vision, it must be worth something. For the beauty of creation lied not in the dazzling appearance of things themselves, but their ability to provide hope.
Summary- Results of a pregnancy test lead to heavy conversations.
word count- 3.6k
pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader
rating- PG 15
genre- series, idolau, fluff, smut, angst
warnings- unwanted pregnancy, talks of abortion, allusions to depression and anxiety, panic attack (brief), SO MUCH ANGST.
a.n- well after 2952905209582 years im back with an update and all I can say is im sorry but the angst is upon us! hopefully the next update won’t take me too long to finish! hope you enjoy this chapter and stay with this couple. I really do love them and im looking forward to you following the rest of their journey (as slow as it may be)
A special thank you to @casuallyimagining for hearing me screaming about this wip for ages and @m-yg93 for beta reading this for me! Love you both!
As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask!
You stared at the tiles of the cold bathroom floor as you sat next to Namjoon, timer on your phone counting down the seconds to your fate. Your thoughts were dramatic, loudly knocking around your brain, but all you could focus on was the little grime between the white tiles that was missed by the cleaners. You had half a mind to get up to scrub it out just to give you something to do, but Namjoon’s hand was holding yours tight, his eyes glued to the pregnancy test placed in front of you. You had left it upside down to save yourself from the suspense – not that it helped.
“Are we… are we excit-” Namjoon began only to be cut off by the shrill alarm from your phone. The two of you stared at one another for a while, too scared to look at the results. With one hand still in his, you reached for the test, flipping it over to see the results
Two lines.
Positive.
You exhaled loudly, your heart pounding as you looked at Namjoon who was still staring at the little white stick on the floor, his mouth falling open. When he looked at you, his mouth turned into a huge smile, one that deepened his dimples and scrunched his eyes till they were invisible. While waiting for the results he didn’t know what he wanted it to say, but as soon as he saw it, he couldn’t help the way joy bubbled through him. You were pregnant. He was going to be a dad and before he knew it his hands were cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss, gentle and reverent, as if he was pouring all the love he had into it.
“We’re pregnant,” he sighed, his forehead on yours, his fingers gently stroking the nape of your neck.
“We are,” you replied, but instead of the exhilarated tone that Namjoon sported, yours was almost empty, devoid of any emotions. It made him startle, pulling away from you to gauge your neutral expression.
“Are we not happy about this?” he asked, only for you to stand up and walk towards the living room where you sat on the couch, staring into space. He followed you, sitting beside you, hesitant, a hand holding yours. You fingers remained limp as he entwined them, caging his heart in his chest as it banged against the walls, faster and faster.
He didn’t know how long you stared blankly at the wall in front you, unblinking, frightening him beyond belief. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, your eyes pointed to the latest painting he had acquired decorating the blank wall. He looked away from you after a while, taking in the abstract as well, letting the rusty hues embrace him, comfort him like they did the day he ran across them at a gallery. But the smoky haze around the rust pounced on him, coloring his thoughts with fear he hadn’t seen in the artwork before, the fear of the inevitable, the fear of the inescapable. It clouded his lungs, making them heavier with each breath, stepping on his trachea, until suddenly you were moving, leaving his hand and reaching for the laptop on the coffee table in front of you, typing away.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, scared that if he spoke any louder you would shatter, or shatter him. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred.
“Setting up an appointment. Need to confirm with the gynaecologist,” you replied curtly, face vacant of any emotion, eyes scrolling the screen, searching.
“Oh… yeah of course. Yeah,” he murmured, trying to gather all his patience till it ran away from him and he was turning towards you fully, a leg coming up to rest against the cushions and hands moving to your shoulders. He traced your cheek with a finger, wanting you to let him into your head, searching your eyes that looked at him listlessly. Mustering a smile, he tried to reassure you, “But hey listen. We’ll be okay. It’s us. We can do this.”
“Namjoon. We’re not having a baby,” you said, firm and final. You didn’t want to fantasise about maybes, you needed solutions, a way to fix what might destroy your life, and for a moment, you didn’t care what Namjoon thought. He would be okay. You would make him understand eventually.
“What?” His voice was sharp, cracking through the silence, hands falling away from you, face tightening into the hard lines you rarely saw. And somehow you felt angry. You knew he wanted kids, he had always wanted kids, cuddling you in bed and waxing poetic about someone you’d both create, but he had to realise it was too soon.
“We’re not ready! Think about it. We’ve barely been together for two years! Having a baby right now is insane,” you ranted, tossing your laptop back on the coffee table just so you could look at him, make him understand how drastically your life could change. You expected Namjoon to fight, but instead he moved closer, cupping your face between his palms, gazing at you softly.
“What does time have anything to do with it? I love you, you love me. That’s all we need,” he assured. He knew that this was not the plan, he was supposed to give you the ring first, he was supposed to learn how to cook your favourite dish and surprise you on your honeymoon first, he was supposed to buy the house with the large yard that reminded you of your childhood first. But who was he to reject fate when it came knocking on his door?
“The timing isn’t right Joonie. You know it’s not,” you pleaded, tone softened to match his, but you could see the frustration growing within him, the tell tale tightening of his jaw sparking your earlier anger. Anger that ignited at his next words, spitting out of his mouth as he dropped his hands from your cheeks to your shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into you.
“Oh come on Y/N! Why are you acting like we’re sixteen and got pregnant? We’re almost thirty. We’re both financially stable. The timing’s not the issue here.”
“Of course it is! Or do you not remember crying on this fucking couch about your year long tour?” You brushed him off, standing up to give yourself some distance, but he followed suit, coming closer, confusing you with the whiplash of him yelling and then pleading all in one go.
“I’ll get them to move it around!” he insisted, running his hands over his face before he hugged you close, murmuring in your ear, “We’ll figure it out. It’s our baby.”
“It’s not a baby! It’s a collection of cells,” you pushed him off once again, trying your hardest to make him understand the gravity of the situation. Having a baby wasn’t a one time thing, it was something that could change all of your plans, that could change the course of your lives. “You can’t move around the tour! It’s impossible. We can have a baby in the future. It’s just not right.”
“Then I’ll fucking quit! It doesn’t matter. I’d do that for you,” he promised, determined, jaw clenching, fists balled at his sides.
“I don’t want that,” you implored, voice strained, goosebumps running up your spine. “I can’t get pregnant. Harry quit, I need to be in the comp-”
“Fuck the company! It’s our baby,” Namjoon yelled, startling you as he came closer. “If I can quit, so can you. We can still be happy!”
“I can’t quit! Are you insane?” you matched his volume, wanting so badly to knock some sense into him, your fists gripping his shirt at his chest.
“You have majority shares, you’ll be fine,” he promised, holding you, trying to comfort you but he just didn’t understand. How could you prove every misogynist that sat on that board that you were indeed who they predicted, just a woman abandoning her hard work to build a family?
“No,” you said, pushing him away once again, unaware of your strength as he stumbled back, a look of betrayal marring his features. “You can quit, but I can’t.”
“Why?” he protested.
“Because you’re already successful!” you yelled, feeling all the energy sapping out of you with your retort, leaving your knees shaking, your entire body quivering. “You’ve already reached your dreams. I can’t abandon mine. Joonie, please.”
The way you pleaded made his heart shatter, made him fall into a million pieces as he felt his eyes burn, his sinuses clogging with the dissonance of empathy and selfishness, because to Namjoon his dream wasn’t being an idol, it was you and now your unborn child.
“That’s not my dream… not anymore,” he declared softly, head bowed as if you had slapped him and you couldn’t take it anymore, sitting back on the couch to book the appointment.
“Let’s talk about it after the appointment,” you whispered, heart beating against your chest, clawing at it as you ran through contingencies, figuring out where you could get an abortion in a nation that had them criminalized. You knew you were breaking Namjoon, and you hated it, but he didn’t understand what was at stake for you. How many endless nights you had spent working to make a name for yourself, to make something out of nothing but your ideas and relentless grit. How you had faced rejection after rejection before uprooting your life, leaving your family behind, and now you were on the cusp of where you had envisioned yourself in your tiny dorm room so many years ago. How could he expect you to throw it all away? All for some fault in your birth control?
You ignored Namjoon as he sat on the couch next to you, his body as drained as yours, defeat pouring out of every pore. He couldn’t help silently weeping, hoping that you’d change your mind, that you’d suddenly tell him you were joking, wrap him in your arms and tell him congratulations. Then he could laugh, joke with you about scaring the life out of him, kiss you and run to his closet and pull out the ring. But the real joke was that you just sat there long after you had shut the laptop, the distance between you growing.
He hated it. He hated that somehow you felt like a stranger in that moment. He understood you, knew the pressures that threatened to bury you at every moment, but he still couldn’t help wishing that you would listen to him. He wasn’t alone when he fantasised about kids, you were there with him in the nights after he had exhausted your body, holding you warm between the sheets as he talked about the family two of you would create. You would tell him the names you wanted, about how you hoped your child wouldn’t lose the little shoes he had gotten so long ago now.
He wanted to reach out and comfort you, even though you had just broken his heart. It was stupid how you were also the only one who could heal him, reassure him that his dream wasn’t futile, that wanting you, wanting a family wasn’t as far off as it seemed in the moment. But as he gathered the courage, slowly inching his hand closer to yours, you stood up walking to the kitchen, leaving him frozen on the couch.
Cutting the vegetables for a meal always calmed you, but each time the knife hit the cutting board, you felt your heartbeat in your ears, your breaths getting shorter till you were squatting on the floor, head between your knees. You knew you would lose Namjoon, in all this time, there was a niggling thought at the back of your mind that he would wake up and realise that what he thought was love was an infatuation, much like others before him. However, you hadn’t thought of how you would push him away, how you would cut his heart out and present it to him. Your words ran through your head, harsh and selfish as you pictured the man you love getting more and more dejected, tears falling down your cheeks. You tried to compose yourself, control your breathing, remembering to count the rise of your chest. You breathed in for five seconds, letting the air inflate your lungs, holding it for another five, before expelling it out with your doubts.
It didn’t take long for the panic to subside, for your tears to dry – years of practice had that effect, and soon you were standing up once again, trying to dispel the disappointment that washed over you when Namjoon was still sitting in the living room, still staring at the wall like you had left him. You were disappointed in yourself, but you were still firm in your decision. You couldn’t give him what he wanted, not now.
Cooking dinner helped you collect your thoughts, get brave as you called him to the kitchen, yet not brave enough to hold him like you wanted to. Dinner was spent in silence, the tension of the fight lingering in the air like acid, peeling off your skin and leaving it raw. Every moment felt hesitant, laced with anxiety, heavy like gravity had increased tenfold. In bed, the two of you faced away from each other, an ocean between you of worries furrowing your brows and sinking your hearts.
But Namjoon was brave. Or maybe he was too scared to let the argument take roots in the foundation you two had worked hard to build. He could feel it seeping in, trying to lodge its claws in, and so in the silence hanging like tendrils of a willow, he said your name, letting it act as an anchor as he tentatively turned around, his hand reaching out for you, fingers gently grazing your back. When you ignored him, not knowing how to face him after the way you had acted, he tried again, mature and persistent.
“Can I hold you?” he whispered, his index finger poking your back ever so softly. It ached your heart, his timid tone making your lip wobble as you shrugged. He took that as an agreement because you had barely moved your shoulders before his body was around you, long limbs wrapping you in a safe embrace. The breath you released was hallowed, a shaky exhale burning your lungs and stinging your eyes. You grasped his hands tightly in yours, criss crossing your arms around your body and he moved closer, head almost on top of yours, needing to be closer.
“I love you.” His proclamation was comforting, even when his voice was waterlogged and his tears tracked from his cheeks to yours.
“Even if I don’t want this baby?” You needed to know. You didn’t know if you would change your mind. You were in no position to bring a child into the world, not yet. You needed the reassurance that he trusted you, and would wait for you. He was quiet for a moment, more hesitant than he had ever been with you and it made your heart pound beneath your chest, begging for an escape.
“Even if you don’t want this baby,” he confirmed, his nose tracing your cheek and you couldn’t help a tear escape along with a flurry of apologies that he kissed away. Sleep was elusive and his snores never came to comfort you with their lullabies. Lost in your own thoughts you stayed wrapped in each other till the sun was fighting to peep in through your drapes, alerting you that in a few hours you both would have to make the biggest decision in your relationship.
It was quiet in the little hospital room, bright lights and the plants secluded in the corner of the pastel room not bringing any comfort to the two of you as you sat stiffly in the plush chairs behind the large oak desk. The receptionist had quietly escorted you to the room to wait till the doctor was ready, and you were glad that Namjoon had less of a chance of being spotted in a gynaecologist’s office.
He held your hand as you sat together, grip unfaltering even when the nurse came in to draw some blood. He watched over his glasses as you drew in a sharp inhale when the needle pricked through your skin, your fingers around his tightening just a little. He wished he wasn’t in this situation, that time had been kinder and given you the successes you wanted at the same time as him so you felt ready to start a family to truly be with him. But nothing ever went according to plan for him, and even when it did, it didn’t work like he had thought.
He had experienced it in his career. The poetry he used to write in his childhood bedroom on his scattered desk had now transformed into lyrics echoed in strangers’ bedrooms. He had worked harder than anything to ensure that, put his youth as collateral, put his relationships as collateral for his success and he had achieved it. Yet, each moment felt frayed. He never had the opportunity to sit still long enough to actually relish the fruits of his labours to enjoy it before he was working on the next thing, trying to block out the voices that told him he wasn’t good enough. He worked to prove them wrong and when he did, they always relegated his efforts to luck. It was frustrating. This was not how he thought reaching his goals would feel like, bittersweet and fleeting.
It was the same with you sometimes. He never imagined a partner was in the cards for him, never imagined that someone would ever care enough about him to love him despite his flaws, but you had. You showed him that it was okay to break down, to let down his walls, and so he worked hard to ensure he never lost you, read books on how to be the perfect partner, a “female-written male character”. But even with your voice telling him he was enough, he was eager to move onto the next step to prove even further how perfect he could be for you. You didn’t pressure him into, you didn’t need to, he was conditioned to want more, to always want more. He just didn’t think you wouldn’t want more with him.
However, when the doctor walked in, he wished that he could convince you otherwise. Maybe if you could see the bundle of cells the two of you had created together, you could envision the future with him. He held your hand as the doctor talked, barely registering what she was saying because he was too anxious, too impatient for her to do an ultrasound. You wouldn’t want an abortion if you saw it, right? But nothing ever went according to plan for him. There was no ultrasound. The movies he had watched had lied to him. All the doctor did was look at a report on her tablet, smiling sadly.
“So Y/N, I’ve got some bad news,” she began and Namjoon’s heart pounded in panic, a sheen of sweat already appearing on his forehead. Her tone made a chill travel up his spine and he tightened his grip on your fingers, bracing himself. “Unfortunately, you are not pregnant.”
He knew he should’ve been relieved, just like you seemed to be, your shoulders relaxing and a breath escaping your lips, but his throat ran dry, all the moisture seeming to deposit into his eyes. You smiled at him and he reciprocated, happy to see you happy. He had to be happy, right? There was no reason to mourn something that was never there, but with every question you asked the doctor, he felt more helpless. Folding his hands in his lap, he stared at them solemnly. Apparently pregnancy tests could be wrong if they’re expired. He didn’t even know they had an expiration date, but then again did he know anything at all?
Turns out he didn’t even know you, feeling irrationally annoyed at the sudden pep in your step as the two of you made your way to the car. You were already on the phone scheduling something or the other with Siwon, oblivious to the tears in his eyes as he stared at the passing blur of the streets.
“Joon?” your voice broke him from his thoughts and he cleared his throat, humming in response. “You okay?”
He should’ve told you the truth, enlightened you to the flurry in his head, but when he turned to you, you seemed so relaxed, so happy that he didn’t have the courage to dampen the bright smile on your face. So he lied, “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”
You didn’t believe him. Somehow in your relief you had failed to notice how closed off your boyfriend had become. Sequestered in the corner, he seemed impossibly small in the seat, his shoulders hunched, his hands resting in between his joined knees. He seemed to be almost closing in on himself. You thought he would be relieved too, relieved that you didn’t have to make a monumental decision, that you didn’t have to change the trajectory of your relationship over a mistake, but his dejected aura made you forget about your earlier joy, your arms wrapping around him.
You were almost afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate your gesture but soon his arms were wrapping around you too, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled deeply. It was as if the edge of last night’s fight was still there, threatening to pop the bubble the two of you had created in the backseat of the car, but you were stubborn, holding him tighter and refusing to let the agony manifest again.
“We’ll be okay,” assured him as he straightened, his tired eyes staring at you.
“We’ll be okay,” he promised, a hand cupping your face before his lips met yours, gentle and loving.
i have to say, mr. kim is the smoothest husband material out there, and did i mention he is so soft! yes soft, but not with sex coz how kinky is the 1st installment of this series??? there is just the right amount of smut and romance and softness but a hell lot of humor - from mint ice cream to down under to IKEA… i would love to be married to this KNJ but i know i have to fight the author for that role…
Creative Content Contributor:@baebae-goodnight (her mood boards are amazing - like all the damn time)
Rating: M - explicit sex, cursing, drinking
Word Count: 6k
Summary: Married by obligation, weighed down by circumstance. Except for those nights when you’re both drunk, falling into bed with one another and realizing you’re human. Occasionally this happens, occasionally you fuck. Until your life changes and you realize Namjoon, the very man you’re obligated to, might just be the very man that you crave.
☝this right here, is the story why i am here in tumblr. I stumbled upon Fal in WP but i always have a feeling that there’s more content from her (and eventually Shanna, too)…
i love this story so much!!! 6K words that tells you the story of 2 complete strangers, who made a conscious decision to choose each other inspite being force to a marriage. the whole story is so emotional for me coz its shows me how they feel, what goes on into their head… from both their POVs. i don’t have the proper words to describe how this story affects me. in just 6K i felt such longing, want, jealousy, frustration, love & desire to be there for someone. the story is so direct & straight forward that sometime it left me dizzy but at the same time i truly i understand how the 2 characters feel.
its impact is so great that after more than a year of being Fal’s follower, this story has become a sort of comfort story for me - the one i read after a bad day & im finally in my bed. the kind of story that i go to when i dont want to start a new story but would still like to read something.
Pairing: Kim Namjoon x f!reader (with a side of Hoseok x reader and Taehyung x reader)
Summary: Namjoon never wanted a Sugar Baby, no matter what Yoongi and Hoseok said. You never wanted a Sugar Daddy, despite the insistence from Jimin. Until your life takes a turn and you really need the money, fast. What was supposed to be a one night thing, a birthday present for a big time rapper and producer, turns into so much more when you find in each other what you never thought you had been looking for.
Genre: Fluff, angst, so much smut, strangers to lovers, sugar daddy au.
Chapter warnings: TIME AND DATES MAKE SENSE DURING THE STORY! Keep an eye out for them. Drinking, mentions of being drunk, angst, jealousy, SMUT!
“Are you alive in there?” Jimin was calling for you. “I’m coming in.”
You pulled the covers over your head as the door to your bedroom opened. You heard shuffling, then felt the pull of the covers off of you. Protests didn’t matter with Jimin, so you were left huffing and trying to grab for a pillow.
“I could be naked, you know.” you warned him.
“Yeah, well, nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Jimin was using his no bulshit tone, Busan satoori thick on his pouty complaints.
You didn’t blame your best friend, you had been in bed for the past three days; skipping classes and barely leaving your room for meals. The trip to NYC had absolutely drained you, the jet lag only actually hitting you with full force once you made it back to Seoul. Plus, you couldn’t remember a night on the short weekend trip that you got more than five hours of sleep.
Not that you were complaining, you still thought it had been one of the best weekends of your life. Even with all of the ups and downs and the way your last night ended.
“I got you food.”
“What kind of food?”
“The kind you eat, now sit up and talk.”
You groaned loudly, eyes fighting to get used to the new clarity in the room from the blinds having been pulled open. Jimin wasn’t actually mad at you, he was merely a believer of tough love. And after being in bed for so long, you had to start reacting to life and getting back to your normal routine.
Sitting against your pillows and headboard, you received the paper bag and coffee cup that Jimin had gotten for you from the cafe near SNU.
“How was class today?” you asked while pulling out the cinnamon roll from the paper bag.
“Everyone is going a little crazy with the expo coming up, most teachers are just letting us work on it.” Jimin sat across from you, folding his legs on his lap.
“See? I’m not even missing much.”
“Mr. Min asked about you.”
“Who’s Mr. Min?”
You didn’t remember having any teachers with that last name. Unless the jet lag had messed you up so bad you were forgetting things.
“Min Yoongi.” he said with a giggle. “He picked me up from class today, just to give me a ride home before going back to work.”
“What a dedicated sugar daddy.”
“He is. But I think he was on a secret mission.”
You ate a few more bites of your dessert and took gulps of the iced coffee. Jimin eyed you suspiciously before saying:
“I was under the impression Namjoon hyung sent him to get news from you.”
“He could have texted me himself.” your shoulders moved up and down.
Jimin reached for your phone on the nightstand beside your bed, trying to wake up the sleeping device. He waved the ‘NO BATTERY’ sign lighting up on the screen before going black again.
“Oh shit, I thought I had plugged it in!” you cried out, pulling the charging cord and finding it dangling, not stuck to the wall like you thought. “Alright, my bad. I’ll text him later.”
“Later? Alright, what happened? Last thing I know you’re texting me plans for a confession, and now you don’t even care about seeing or talking to him?”
“Of course I care about all that, Minie. I miss that goofy giant so much!”
“Then what’s the problem, babe?”
You took a deep breath, scrunching up the paper bag after finishing your food.
“I don’t know how to act around him right now.” you admitted.
“Did he not reciprocate your feelings?”
“I never told him about my feelings.”
Jimin’s small eyes grew round as he raised his eyebrows and pushed his plush lips into a glossy pout.
The three days you spent in bed –and away from Namjoon– were enough to help you put things into perspective. You weren’t mad, nor upset with Namjoon. You understood that his ex showing up wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t interested in pursuing things with her. But you were put under the impression that things were still fresh between them, that maybe he wasn’t ready to start a new relationship, maybe he wasn’t even interested in one.
So you told your friend about Aecha and everything you knew about her, as well as the few encounters you had with her, which culminated on her surprise visit to your hotel room and asking Namjoon to get back together. You left out all of what Namjoon had told you in bed that night, things much too personal for passing along, but Jimin still got the jist of things.
“So you’re just not saying anything anymore?”
“How can I say anything? I’m not sure I want to get in the middle of whatever it is that’s going on between them.” you sighed. “Besides, if Namjoon feels something for me, he can tell me himself.”
“I’ll support whatever you want to do.” he smiled softly. “But you won’t stop seeing him, will you?”
“I don’t think I could do that even if I wanted to. I guess things will just stay the same.”
“That’s better than nothing, I guess.” Jimin started getting up from your bed. “Now text him, or I’m going to start feeling jealous of all of Yoongi’s questions.”
“Oh, please, that man is a simp for you.”
NOVEMBER 25TH | 12:35
“Bzzzzzzzzzz.”
Namjoon jumped in his chair, reaching for the phone on the table in front of him. Only to see no new notifications on the screen and Hoseok laughing his ass off next to him.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Namjoon mumbled, eyes almost coming to a complete close.
“She still hasn’t texted?”
“She has, we’ve been talking nonstop.” he deadpanned. “That’s why I jumped when I thought my phone was buzzing.”
Hoseok fell into a fit of laughter again, having a great time at his best friend’s misery.
They were both sitting in a private room of a restaurant they liked to go to every now and then. It was one they would walk past during the years when Cypher was only a dream and they barely had the funds to eat three meals a day. Ever since they grew big and successful, the two of them –and Yoongi, who should be arriving soon– made a point of coming back and having a hearty meal at least once a month.
“Do you want me to text her? Maybe she’ll answer me.” Hoseok meant well, but his sly smile wasn’t helping.
“Not the time for you to hit on her, hyung.”
“I didn’t even mean it like that–” the shorter man tried bulshitting his way through, but Namjoon’s pointed look showed he didn’t even get to try. “Alright, I did. But I actually need to talk to her about sending me hers and that Jungkook guy’s portfolio.”
“Do you think you can fit them in for Seokjin’s mv?”
“If they’re good.”
Namjoon didn’t know anything about Jungkook’s work, just that he had a good heart and was mostly excited about music and filming. But he knew you, and he knew you were good at what you did. This could be an opportunity for you to start off the career path you wanted, the first step towards the success he knew you’d have.
“So if I text her, I can ask her to come to the building and you can talk to her then.” Hoseok tried, and this time he didn’t have any ulterior motives.
“I don’t want to have to lure her in to talk to her.” Namjoon scoffed behind his water glass. He really wished it was alcohol instead.
“You know what I don’t get?” Hobi was saying as he fixed his slouched posture and leaned over the table. “Why are you so pressed about her answering you if you just told me this morning you weren’t confessing anymore?”
The last conversation he had with Aecha that night in New York had put a damper in his plans to tell you how he felt, to ask you out for real. It made him realize that he had issues within himself that he needed to work on before starting a new relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to you, and it wouldn’t be fair to him, to just jump into something now when he wasn’t ready.
“Because just because I don’t think I can be a good boyfriend to her right now, doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep seeing her.”
“You mean you want to keep fucking her?” Hoseok felt into his chair again, eyes staring at nothing as his head leaned to the side. “Can’t say I blame you. I miss that mou–”
“Watch it.”
“Yah, you two bickering like an old married couple already?” Yoongi was throwing himself into the last empty chair across from them.
The elder looked tired, as he always did, but his lips were slightly red and his pale skin had a fresh purple bruise on his neck. Yoongi wasn’t even trying to hide the fact his morning had been a lot more exciting than theirs.
“So?” Namjoon perked up at the arrival of his other best friend.
“Jimin said your girl is fine. Messed up from the jet lag, not avoiding you.” Yoongi explained and Namjoon felt a little relieved. “Also, she forgot to plug her phone in, so she didn’t get any of your texts.”
“Ah. Silly baby.” usually he was really good at masking his stupidly fond reactions to you, but he hadn’t seen you in three days.
“Yikes. Is that how I get about Jiminie?” Yoongi grimaced.
“You’re worse.” both boys said in unison.
The waitress came over with a new glass of cold water for the newcomer and took their orders. They had been over so many times that no one even had to look at the menu. After she was gone and they were left alone again, Yoongi sighed.
“You might have bigger problems than a discharged phone.”
“What is it?”
“You remember how Mr. Lee has a spot at Cypher, since he’s one of our main investors?” he started, and both Hoseok and Namjoon frowned.
“Don’t tell me he wants to start working for us.” Hoseok scoffed.
“No, not him. He wants the spot for Aecha.”
“Absolutely not.” Namjoon was shaking his head. “What happened to her job?!”
“He said she’s trying to branch out.” even Yoongi didn’t believe that.
“Well, tell her to branch out somewhere else.” Namjoon was starting to get agitated.
It was obvious to the three of them just why Aecha wanted to be a part of Cypher. Now of all times.
“We can’t not accept her, Joonah.” Yoongi said, even if he felt for his dongsaeng.
“Yes we can.”
“Yeah, if you want to start taking in any artist, and not only the ones we like and believe in.” Hoseok pondered. “Are you ready to become –how do you put it– a producer whore?”
NOVEMBER 25TH | 17:46
As it turns out, talking to Joon –even if through texts– did help lift your spirits quite a bit. You hadn’t talked about anything too serious, but you had made plans to meet tomorrow. He would give you a ride to classes in the morning and then pick you up again for lunch. And maybe, just maybe, you’d ask to come over to his penthouse later that night with the excuse of seeing Monie.
You missed Joon today. But not seeing him until the morning would give you time to psychologically prepare yourself to see Namjoon. You’d have all night to make it clear to your head –and more troublesomely, your heart– that all that you felt for the man needed to stay locked inside a drawer until told otherwise.
But the universe had other plans for you.
Just after your shower, when you were still towel drying your hair and leaving the bathroom you shared with Jimin, the doorbell to your small apartment rang twice.
“Minie?” you called, twisting the key to unlock the door. “Forgot the key– Oh, Joon!”
“Hey.” he smiled, albeit a little awkwardly. He eyed your wet hair and the towel in your hands. “Did I get here too late?”
A giggle was breaking out of you, and suddenly things were okay between you two. You opened the door wider for the big man to fit through, only now realizing you were wearing a pair of old Pokémon pajamas and you hoped he wouldn’t mind it.
“What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” he sighed, letting you notice his heady shoulders and tired stance. “Wanted to see you so bad.”
Step one: Controlling the butterflies in your stomach. Mission status: Failed.
“And a little duckie told me you haven’t been eating right.” Joon said, showing you a takeout bag from one of your favorite restaurants you had gone together once before.
“Little duckie? Is that what you call Jimin?”
He shook his head, following you into the kitchen. “Yoongi hyung calls him that. It’s kinda cute.”
“That’s funny, Minie calls him kitty.”
“Okay, that’s starting to be a little too sweet.” he laughed, resting the takeout on your small counter. “Why won’t those two just admit their feelings and get this suffering over with?”
Step two: Ignoring the pang in your chest. Mission status: Failed.
You nodded at his words, wondering if there was more to the statement or if it was just wishful thinking on your part.
“Maybe they are scared that taking that step might change things too much. Maybe they aren’t ready.” you said without looking at him, tearing through the plastic bags.
“And it’s okay to keep things how they are, as long as they still have each other.” Joon said, absentmindedly.
Again, you agreed with a move of your head, focusing on opening the lids of the takeout containers without getting burned with the steam. Namjoon had picked your favorite from the little italian restaurant in Hongdae; tomato sauce pasta and crispy chicken.
“Fuck, that looks delicious.” you almost drooled on the spot.
Namjoon’s low chuckle was right behind you, freezing you in place. His hands went to each side of you on the counter, chin resting on the top of your head.
“Thought you needed something good to heal the jet lag.”
“It’s great. Should I put it on a pan and make some sauce splashes, or is it okay if I just put it on plates?”
“Aish, you’ll never let me leave it down, will you?”
You looked up right in time to see his dimples poking at his cheeks.
Step three: Not melting from his face. Mission status: miserably failed.
“I’ll forget about it when you actually cook for me.”
“I already told you I’ll make you that cereal ice cream you loved so much.”
Your nose twisted as you walked away from Namjoon to pick up the plates and serve your dinner. You already missed his warmth and at that point you gave up on your missions for tonight. It was a lost battle from the moment he stepped into the apartment.
The two of you ate the delicious food on the small kitchen table, talking about nothing and everything. As it turns out, Namjoon was a big fan of Pokémon and even told you about his card collection. He said he kept it hidden, for reasons you could guess, but he could show them to you whenever you wanted. In return, you told him you had a couple decks yourself, but they stayed behind at your mother’s house.
He was very disappointed about that, telling you he had some you could trade.
After the food had been consumed, you got up to gather the empty takeout containers in a trash bag and Namjoon looked around with a confused wrinkle on his forehead and the dirty plates on his hand.
“Looking for something?” you laughed while tying the knot on the trash bag.
“Your dishwasher?”
“You really don’t remember what it’s like to be a broke university student, do you?” you snickered. “Fame changes people.”
“It’s alright, I can just wash it by hand. Like we’re back in prehistoric times.”
You laughed louder, fondly watching the man walk around your kitchen picking up everything that was dirty and bringing it to your too-low-of-a-sink and start washing them. And you were a weak woman. You see a tall man in sweatpants and white shirt, doing home chores, and you get a little silly.
“Just leave it there, I can wash them later.” you were saying as you hugged his middle, face smushing against his back.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” you kissed his spine, feeling how his muscles contracted as he moved. “Wanna show you something in my room.”
That was an easy fight to win, as you heard the faucet closing and felt Namjoon wiping his hands on his pants, even with the perfectly good tea towel hanging just beside his head. When he turned around, so did you. Namjoon stuck to your back, much like you had done to him, and followed you closely into your bedroom.
He sat on the edge of your bed without you even needing to tell him, the poor thing must have been so tired. You walked to your small study desk, unzipping your backpack that was all ready for tomorrow, producing a black folder. You gave it to Namjoom, who opened it curiously and flipped carefully through the pages.
“Is this your work?” he sounded impressed, but not surprised at all. “Wow, this is really great.”
You had prepared that folder with a few of your styling jobs you did in the past. They had been few and far between, but you weren’t as inexperienced as he might think.
“At the end I added a few collages of pieces I think would look good on Jin.” you told him, helping him reach those pages.
Namjoon studied the choices, nodding and pointing to his favorite sets and picks.
“You got the concept perfectly. How did you guess?”
“I can’t take all the credit, Hobi did tell me a little of the concept you guys are planning for the music video.” you received the folder back and zipped it up, leaving it on top of your too cluttered desk. “Will you bring it to him tomorrow, please? I’ll get Jk’s flash drive in the morning and give it to you at lunch?”
“Yeah, sure.” Namjoon nodded, but all he could think about was: “When have you talked to hyung?”
“You mean, today?”
“No, I mean when did he get your number?” he tried sounding casual, even matching his words with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Oh. He asked me for it on Jimin’s birthday.” you said as you organized a little of the mess on your table. “You know, after the three of us…”
Had sex. Together. All three of you.
At the time it had been fun, and Namjoon didn’t regret it. If the situation was right, he wouldn’t mind doing it again, even. But right now his brain was conjuring up the memories of Hoseok laughing at his phone, being secretive about who he was talking to, and even the times he excused himself from the room to pick up a call in the hallway.
“Joonie.” he looked up at your call, only now noticing you were standing in front of him. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of him too.”
“Me? Jealous?” he scoffed.
It sounded fake even to his ears.
You bit down your lips to stop a laugh, pushing him back by the shoulders to have him sit up straight and you could swing your legs to each side of his hips. You fit so nicely on his lap, it felt like home to you.
Namjoon didn’t think twice about circling your waist with his arms, looking slightly up to your face.
“You don’t have to be jealous of Hobi.” you said with a small hand caressing his cheek. “He’s just a friend.”
“Okay.” his lips puckered in a way of asking for a kiss.
“A very hot friend.” you continued, kissing his pout that turned into a thin line. “A friend that has seen me naked.” another kiss. “A friend I wouldn’t mind fucking again–”
“Shut up.”
He said without any real bite, but some fake annoyance. Namjoon pulled you by the back of your neck to shut you up himself. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was kind of hot to have you saying those things, teasing him with the ideas of a new threesome, even if it did make him a smidge jealous. He just loved how fun you were, how there were possibilities with you.
He never had that before.
And as you melted into his kiss, giving back everything he was giving you, he knew that at the end of the day you were his. Not Hoseok’s.
DECEMBER 3RD | 14:09
Rkive, just like Namjoon’s penthouse, was becoming a second and third home to you, with how much time you had been spending in both places. Initially you had been a little hesitant in coming over to the Cypher building, not wanting to intrude or to be on the way of his work. But Namjoon always insisted that your presence calmed him, so you came over every time.
That Friday afternoon wasn’t any different. The moment he was texting you to come over after class, you were agreeing.
Which is how you found yourself sitting on the small space between his couch and wood coffee table, with papers and coloring pencils scattered in front of you. It wasn’t the Nakashima he had bought yet, which is why he wasn’t complaining about the risk of scratching it.
You were doing your university work, and Namjoon was across from you. He had heavy headphones over one of his ears –so he could still hear you, should you need him– and would sing the lyrics out loud every now and then.
He might not be the best singer, but his words were deep and heartfelt, and grabbed your attention each time. You were about to compliment them on it when your phone buzzed on your lap.
Taetae [14:10]:It’s throwback night at Burn. Who’s down?
JK [14:10]: I have boxing class in the morning
Minie [14:12]:I’m going out with Yoonie tonight
Taetae [14:12]:Yn? cmon don’t leave me hanging
You [14:13]: Who else is coming? Can I bring Joon?
Taetae [14:13]:Some friends from class, sure you can bring the bodyguard.
You [14:14]: Be nice!
You closed your phone after texting your friends’ group chat and turned to Namjoon. He was scribbling quickly onto a piece of paper with a pen in the shape of a cactus, so you waited for him to be done.
“Joonie.”
At the sound of your voice he was turning around on his chair. “Yeah, baby?”
“Wanna go out tonight? We are going to a club.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” he pushed the headphones off his head to rest on his shoulders. “I have this boring business dinner later.”
“Okay then.”
“Why don’t you come over and stay with Monie?” he countered, pushing back against his flexible chair to stretch his long limbs. “So I’ll have a reason to rush home after dinner.”
The old lady in you wanted to agree to that, but you hadn’t gone out to a club in so long; plus Tae’s crowd was usually really fun.
“I already told Tae I’d go with him.” you pouted.
The chair creaked with the harsh movement as Namjoon asked: “Taehyung? Is it only you two? Will his boyfriend be there? Or Jimin?”
You giggled at all of his questions, picking up a green coloring pencil to fix a spot on your sketch. “Jimin is going out with Yoongi. Funny that he doesn’t need to be at that boring work dinner.”
“That’s my part of the job.”
“And Jk has boxing practice tomorrow.”
“So it’s just you and Taehyung?” he pushed. And, frankly, you didn’t like his tone.
“Problem?”
Yeah. “No, of course not. You have every right to do whatever you want.”
Namjoon was absolutely right, you did have every right to do what you pleased. But you didn’t like his borderline challenging tone. It would have been so much easier if he told you it would bother him if you were going to a club with Taehyung. Then you could assure him that more of his friends would be going, and that he had no reason to worry.
But the way he said it made you want to act out on purpose. If he was so bothered about the possibilities of something happening between you and Taehyung, then he should do something about it. But so far he hasn’t.
You turned your focus to your work, changing colors and drawing away, all while you could feel Namjoon’s gaze boring into you. If he was about to say something else, he was cut off by the knocking on his door.
“Can you get that?” he asked you, since you were closer.
“Yes, sir.”
You crawled the couple meters to the door, not bothering to get up as you pulled down the doorknob to open the studio to whoever it was that was visiting Rkive.
“Already on your knees for me?” Hoseok was laughing as he saw you there in that position.
“Hi, Hobito.” you smiled brightly, accepting his hand to help you up and pull you into a tight hug. “Come in.”
“I’m not interrupting anything, right?”
He wanted to make sure, since Namjoon’s jaw was clenched and he looked a little annoyed. But you were shaking your head as you walked back to your spot by the center table.
“And how’s my favorite little stylist?” Hoseok sat down on the couch behind you, watching you draw away over your shoulder.
You giggled in response, and if you were just a little sweeter, no one said anything. “I’m good.”
“That’s not for Seokjin hyung, right? Not that I don’t think he can pull off a dress.”
“No, that’s for the exposition at her university at the end of the month.” Namjoon told him in a matter of factly tone, as if him having that knowledge gave him Yn points.
And Hoseok noticed it too, so he ignored his friend.
“Are you excited for next week?” he asked while pressing the back of your neck in a massage that made you close your eyes.
“I’m buzzing! Very nervous too, but good nervous, I think.”
For the past week you had been working on finding, choosing and buying –with Cypher’s company card– the pieces you thought would look cool and match Seokjin and the music video for his new single.
The actual filming was happening next week, and you were super excited to be a part of it. Even more since Jungkook would be there working too.
“Are you going to the business dinner too, Hobi?” you asked while turning around to face him, chin resting on his knee. “I’m going to a club tonight, if you wanna join."
Namjoon was watching the bittersweet exchange. On one hand it warmed his heart to see you so close to his best friend. On the other, he wondered just how or when you had gotten so close to him in the first place.
He wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you and his hyung, but right now he was feeling a little left out.
"Sorry, pretty girl. Next time though, yeah?” Hoseok pinched the tip of your nose, making you scrunch it cutely. “Got a date tonight.”
“With that girl you were telling me about? The one with the nice tits?” you did your best not to cringe at your words, wondering if it was obvious you were trying to appease your audience. Hoseok laughed, but nodded. “Well, if you get bored or want to bring her, we’ll be at Burn in Itaewon."
"Noted."
Namjoon’s chair creaked again, on purpose this time; his way of getting attention.
"Do you actually need anything, hyung?"
"Nah, Yoongi said you had the pretty girl in the studio and I came to say hi."
"Hi.” you giggled, batting your pretty eyes at the hyung.
“Well, you said hi, now I need to work, please."
Hoseok and you exchanged amused glances and the man left a kiss to the top of your head before getting up.
"Good luck with your date tonight!"
"Thanks, you too.” he teased on his way out the door. “Bye, Joonah.”
Namjoon seemed to visibly relax when it was just the two of you in the room again. But instead of going back to work like he said, Namjoon got up and walked the few steps to reach the couch.
You turned around to get back to your work, pretending to think really hard about which colors you’d use next.
“How’s the inspiration going, little one?”
It was more than unfair the way he managed to melt you with simple words and a soft tone. It didn’t help that you understood his past traumas and his reasons for jealousy, but at least you could see he was trying to break out of them.
“Really good.”
“Yeah?” his hands were on your shoulders as he tried to see better.
“I guess your studio is really inspiring.” you leaned back against the edge of the couch, between his legs.
“I’m glad to hear that. You’re welcome here at any time.”
Namjoon pressed on your shoulders, wanting to relieve some of the tension he could feel under his fingertips. He nosed at your hair, smelling your strawberry and lily shampoo. He was ready to ask you if you’d like him to come meet you at the club after the dinner, since it wasn’t supposed to last that long anyway, when the beeping at his door made him pause.
Not many people knew his code, one he had been meaning to change for a couple months now, but it always slipped his mind. He just hoped to God it wasn’t–
“God, I thought Hoseok would never leave.”
Aecha was opening Namjoon’s studio door without knocking, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. All of the calm he had managed to install within you flew out that same door. The woman was clearly very surprised to see you there too.
“What are you doing here?” you asked before you could check yourself.
“I work here.” she said, delighted with your surprise. And to put the nail on the coffin, she repeated your own words from before: “You’re the one who keeps showing up.”
“What to you want, Ms. Lee?”
Namjoon asked her, and you had never heard him sounding so cold. It wasn’t enough to calm your racing heart or your trembling hands as you picked up your spread coloring pencils and papers.
“I have this contract for you to look over, Mr. Kim.” the jaunty way in which she said the words was annoyingly suggestive. “And I have to say, this studio used to be better frequented.”
“Who I have inside my studio is my problem, don’t forget that I’m still your boss.”
Namjoon was standing up now, trying to block you from her view.
“Okay, Mr. Boss Man.” Aecha pressed the folder she was holding into his chest. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”
The woman left, and with her went the air from your lungs. Namjoon was breathing heavily, as if to calm himself, and you finished shoving your things inside your backpack in a rushed and careless manner.
“I’m sorry about– Where are you going?”
“You hired your ex?” was all you said.
You wanted to follow it up with: After all she’s done to you? After all she continues to do to you? After telling me there was nothing there? How was he expecting to heal from her abuse and mind games if he was seeing her everyday?
“It’s more complicated than that.” Namjoon sighed.
“And you’re going to dinner with her tonight?”
“It’s not dinner with her, there will be more people there.”
He tried to make it make sense to you, and you might understand it if you let him get two sentences in.
“She’s your ex isn’t that against some kind of corporate rule?”
“At least I’m not going to a club with her.”
It slipped out before Namjoon could hold back the words. But when he felt cornered, he ended up saying things he didn’t mean. And he desperately wanted to take the spotlight off of him.
“Is that how you want to be?” you asked, defensive.
“You started it.” he said it like a child who ran out of comebacks.
“Yeah, and I’m also ending it.” you picked up your backpack and slung it over your shoulder. “Goodbye, Namjoon.”
You passed by him, bumping your shoulder into his as you reached for the door. Namjoon wanted to go after you, make you listen, talk it through. But you were both hot headed right now, both had enough on your plates. It wouldn’t do either of you any good to continue this right now.
DECEMBER 3RD | 22:12
Taehyung was usually surrounded by a big group of people. And if he didn’t go somewhere with an ensemble, he met them while waiting in line, on the dance floor, by the bar; once you even saw him leaving a club bathroom with a new best friend! In your years of friendship you had met so many new people through and because of him.
And they were always a little weird, but so much fun.
You usually liked to hop from group to group with him, laughing at his clownery and weird antics that just made him who he was.
But not tonight.
You were feeling a little left out. The whole thing with Joon and Aecha had hours to sink in with you and it could have gone one of two ways:
You could be understanding, as you always were, and call him to make sure things were okay between you. Let him explain, or at least make up excuses. Could let it slide that he was always acting a little jealous when it came to you and other boys, but the second you turned it on him, he acted out.
You could get over the fact that you weren’t together, not by a long shot; partially through a fault of your own, since you had decided not to confess. You were still in a Sugar Baby/Sugar Daddy arrangement that made you both free to do whatever you wanted. You could go to a club with your ex, and he could go to dinner with his, hire her to work alongside him, give her the password to his studio, and not tell you anything about it.
It was safe to say you had gone with the second option, accepting the feminine urge to act a little petty. As you stumbled into the club after waiting too long out in the cold, already regretting having drank half a bottle of Soju during the pregame at Sohee’s place, you grabbed Taehyung by his arm, pulling him closer to you.
“Tae, will you stay with me tonight?” you were saying to his ear, lips ghosting his tanned skin to be heard over the blaring music.
“Of course.” he agreed with a smile, arm instantly finding your waist. He threw a look over his shoulder as he regarded two girls he had met in the line to get in. “You heard her, ladies.”
Both girls pouted and groaned, and you giggled. You could have told them you weren’t asking for a hookup, could have said you just needed your friend to look after you and then send you home safely whenever you grew tired. Then he would be free to go home with whoever he liked.
But you needed to feel like a priority, at least for a few hours, so you liked the way Taehyung didn’t even think twice about accepting your request and focusing his attention on you.
“We’re going to get a drink, you coming?” Wooshik, one of Tae’s classmates and close friend, called for you.
“You’re offering?” you asked as you were led to the bar by the man stuck to your back.
“If he isn’t, I will.” Taehyung was saying with his lips to your ear, much like you had done.
“Aww, you don’t have to pay for me, Tae.”
“Why do you say that to him, but always make me pay?” Wooshik was looking a little offended.
“Don’t pretend you aren’t loaded, hyung.” Tae laughed, the rumbling of his chest warming up your heart.
Minsu and Sohee were already slipping to the dance floor; you knew the girls from passing, both art students like Tae and Wooshik, and you vaguely recollected a comment about them working at a tattoo shop in Myeongdong. Seojoon and Hyungsik were seniors in the performing arts course.
You leaned over the counter of the bar, as the only girl remaining in the small group, it was usually easier for you to catch the attention of the barman. On a good day it would annoy you and you’d refuse to be part of the disgusting men agenda, but you could already feel the effects of the Soju running out.
“Two shots of tequila, please!”
You ordered first, having all three boys shouting their orders before the guy could walk too far.
“You okay, babe?” Taehyung asked you, arm still on your waist.
If this was happening a month ago you would have melted, but right now you just missed the extra weight around you.
“Yeah, I’m great.” you forced a smile on your red colored lips. “Why?”
“Don’t lie to me.” Tae said as you turned around in his embrace, back resting against the bar counter as his body leaned closer to your as more patrons crowded the bar. “You only drink tequila when you want to forget or fuck it up.”
“You think you know me so well, don’t you?” your fingertip traced the ugly colorful patterns on his shirt. It was an eyesore, but somehow he made it work.
“I know you more than you think.” he left a kiss on your forehead. This was your friend Tae, not your ex, not your occasional hook up. “Where’s the bodyguard? Didn’t want to come?”
You shook your head, not really in the mood to talk about Namjoon. Tae pinched your cheek and gave you a tight hug, only letting go of you when the busy bartender came back with your drinks.
The two shots of tequila turned into four, that turned into sips and chugs of whatever the other boys were drinking and offered to you. When you were positively buzzing, brain a little foggy and your legs threatened to give out, you pulled Tae by the collar and said:
“I’m gonna go dance with the girls, yeah?”
“Don’t you wanna have some water first?” he countered, but you shook your head. “Stay in my line of sight.”
“Okay, dad!”
It should have been a joke. You should have laughed at it, just as he had. But it only brought a bitter taste to your mouth and a pang to your stomach. You walked away from a smiley Tae, balancing yourself on your heels and bumping into people more intoxicated than you were.
Minsu and Sohee opened up space for you to dance closer to them and away from any dingy strangers. The dance floor was packed with sweaty bodies, the DJ was playing throwback songs all night, the kind that everybody knew the moves to; like PSY’s Gangnam Style and Super Junior’s Sorry Sorry.
As Gee played loudly from the many speakers spread around, you moved your body to the upbeat song. You felt light and airy, thanks to the alcohol you had consumed. You thought that drinking tonight would help you forget, but all it was doing was making you miss the one person you didn’t want to think about tonight.
The thump of the bass brought back memories from when you met Namjoon, months ago, in a setting similar to this. It was just supposed to be a one time thing; you’d be a Sugar Baby for the night, use the earned money to pay for the first month of your university’s fee and move on.
Yet here you were, tangled up, body and soul belonging to a man you hadn’t decided if deserved it or not. As you closed your eyes and threw your head back to the song, it was Namjoon’s beautiful face and adorable dimpled smile that you saw. When you opened them back up, you searched for him in every tall man in the room. You looked at the door, drunk brain wishing to see him walking in.
But of course he never did.
“Hey, what’s up with you and Tae?” Minsu was asking you. You always thought she had a crush on the man.
“We’re friends.” you told her, slightly slurred speech. “Why?”
“You’re friends like he and Jungkook are?” Sohee laughed.
“He doesn’t have eyes for anything else when you’re around.” Minsu explained.
You looked around, finding Taehyung still by the bar. He had a glass in his hand, but his eyes were on you. You did ask him to take care of you tonight, so he was only looking out for you. At least that’s what you thought until his eyebrow raised and he licked his lips.
Well. Since forgetting on your own obviously wasn’t working, maybe you should try it with a little help.
A giggle slipped past your lips as your pointer finger beaconed him over. Taehyung flipped the rest of his drink into his mouth, pulling an exaggerated face, and marched over to you in the rhythm of Rain’s Rainism.
Tae bumped into you on purpose, making you lose your balance and hold yourself by clinging to his shoulders as he held you strongly by arms around your waist. You were laughing, but stopped short when his face went to your neck and he licked a stripe of your sweaty skin.
Your hand tangled in his long curly locks, pulling him back so you could clash your lips against his. It was rare that you started a kiss, but tonight you needed it. Taehyung reciprocated it with fervor and a little desperation, always greedy for whatever you were willing to give him.
DECEMBER 4RTH | 02:01
Namjoon couldn’t sleep. Guilt had been eating him up all night, so he had given up on trying to fall into a slumber when the clock hit midnight and he was accomplishing nothing but tossing and turning in his cold and empty mattress.
The business dinner had been annoying, with the way Aecha forced herself into the seat next to him and kept attempting to hold his hand, to touch his thigh under the table, and being overall obnoxiously sweet in an attempt to butter him up. In the past that would have been enough to have them rolling in the sheets by the end of the night, and after they were done, she wouldn’t even wait for the morning to break his heart all over again.
But tonight all it made him feel was disgust and anger. It was supposed to be a professional setting, one where he should be talking business with investors, telling them about the growth Cypher had the last six months and talking about future plans.
Not to mention that, if it wasn’t for the woman, he would still know where you and him stood. You wouldn’t be upset and he wouldn’t be worried about you being out there in a club. It’s not even that he was bothered by you being out with Taehyung either, Namjoon was mature enough to understand you didn’t technically owe him anything. He had given up the exclusivity when he put his plans of confessing to you on the back burner.
A decision he was starting to regret.
The thing that was staining his thoughts with guilt is that he knew this could have been avoided. Namjoon could have told you about Aecha having to work for Cypher Prod., explained it wasn’t something he actually had a say in, he could have remembered to change the password to avoid her just barging in, he could have defended you better, he could have told you she would be part of the dinner tonight because taking notes was part of her job.
Namjoon knew how this all looked, so he didn’t blame you for walking out of his studio, nor for anything you might choose to do tonight.
He was sitting in bed, with his latest book on his lap, reading the same page over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate, when his phone dinged with your notification sound.
You [02:03]: I hate you ;((((((
You [02:03]: You knwo I was dncing wth tae and we were kissing bc I CAN and you were hving dinner wit your gorgus ex
You [02:04]: But I cant stop fckijg thinkng about you 1!!11!!! Why!!!!!! I jus want you
You [02:04]: Ugh wish u were here to fck me in the bathroom
You were clearly drunk in your texts, never one to leave any typos in. Not to mention the context of the messages. It was rollercoaster of informations, since the knowledge that you had kissed Taehyung again brought an uncomfortable clench to his heart. Yet the way you ended the shower of texts saying he was the one you actually wanted helped alleviate his jealousy.
But the texts continued:
You [02:06]: Why cant things be easy joonie why
You [02:06]: Ugh i wont even rember this in the mrng lol
You [02:06]: Opsie I cnt find my friends
You [02:07]: Theres a guy loking over maybe he saw my frinds
With a worried sigh, Namjoon left his bed. He was already texting his driver, uncaring for the late hour, as he looked for sweatpants and a hoodie to wear. Picking up his wallet on the way out, he was satisfied that Mr. Choi answered almost immediately saying he’d be coming over and would arrive in five minutes.
The man would definitely be getting a hefty Christmas bonus.
Namjoon wouldn’t be going after you if he didn’t think you could potentially be in some kind of danger, and texting or calling you to make sure didn’t sound like the best idea either.
Exactly five minutes later, Namjoon was slipping in the backseat of his car, telling Mr. Choi to drive to Burn Nightclub in Itaewon.
“Forgive me for the intrusion, sir, but you don’t look dressed for a night out.”
Namjoon chuckled, because he agreed. Gray sweatpants and a mismatched hoodie didn’t scream party-goer.
“We’re just picking someone up.”
“Is it your lady friend?” the nice old man looked at Namjoon through the rearview mirror, with a friendly, albeit sleepy, smile. “Miss Yn?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” the driver was saying as he followed the car GPS towards their destination. “I like that girl. She’s very nice.”
“That she is, Mr. Choi.” Namjoon kept checking his phone, but you didn’t send anything else.
He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not being at that club anymore. Or even at all, in case your plans had changed earlier in the night and you ended up going somewhere else entirely.
“Can I offer you a piece of free advice?” the driver asked and Namjoon hummed in response. “You should keep her. She’s a nice girl. I know this isn’t my place but I’ve been driving for you for many years and I’ve never seen you so happy.”
“Even if you have to get out of bed at two am to go pick her up?” he laughed with slight amusement.
“Miss Yn always treated me with kindness. Did you know she always has coffee and pastries for me when I’m sent to pick her up for you?” Mr. Choi told him, and Namjoon had no idea. “That other lady you almost married didn’t even look me in the eye. So I don’t mind the late drive.”
Namjoon hummed, mind filled with thoughts of you.
The streets were almost empty, even in the Itaewon district. Mr. Choi found a free spot to park and turned the hazard lights on to inform other drivers that he wouldn’t stay there long. Namjoon was rushing off the car and into the night club.
He received weird looks for his attire, but pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie to look at the time while simultaneously flashing his Rolex seemed to do the trick. He was let into Burn after paying an absurdly high fee.
The inside of the club didn’t match the outside. While the streets were cold and barren, the inside was warm and busy. Drunk people everywhere, having the time of their lives, dancing as if there was no tomorrow. His height allowed him to see above most people as he scanned the dance floor in hopes to find you there.
Namjoon wasn’t having much luck, until a tap to his shoulder made him turn around.
“So you did show up, huh?” Taehyung had a blonde girl under his arm, both with red bitten lips that made it obvious what they had been doing. “She’s been asking for you. Come.”
Namjoon didn’t say anything as he followed Taehyung past the dance floor and the bar, eyes scanning the sitting area for you. He found you easily once he knew where to look, sitting between two girls, and with a jacket too big to be yours draped over your shoulders. Your eyes were sparkling and you looked so sad.
“How’s the sweet girl doing?” Taehyung asked the girls.
“She’s been asking for her dad?” the one with colorful hair looked confused as can be.
Namjoon held back a laugh, knowing exactly who you had been asking for. He watched as Taehyung let go of the blonde girl to crouch down in front of you, a hand caressing your face with more gentleness than he expected. The boy was saying something to you and your face lifted, gaze lost until it found him.
You were getting up from the couch, letting the jacket fall off your shoulders, as you walked to Namjoon. He opened his arms for you, not letting you see the twist of his nose with the heavy scent of alcohol and smoke that was stuck to your skin and clothes.
“Are you really here?” you murmured against his chest, his ears straining to hear you.
“Yeah. Let’s get you home.”
“Nooooo, I don’t want to go.” you pouted, but squeezed him harder.
“I’m not asking you, baby.”
Namjoon hadn’t seen you drunk that many times, but the little instances that he did, he picked up a thing or two about how to deal with you. Your pouty and bratty side came out to play, one he knew how to handle.
“Say goodbye to your friends and let’s go.” Namjoon instructed. “Mr. Choi is waiting outside.”
“In the cold?” your pretty eyes blinked with concern, a deep crease forming on your forehead.
“He’s warm in the car.” he told you, watching you nod and wave to the people you had come with. “Where’s your coat?”
“Didn’t bring one.” you shrugged exaggeratedly.
It was minus three degrees outside and you were dressed in a short, sleeveless dress. Namjoon wanted to nag you for being so careless, but now was not the time. Instead, he removed his hoodie and dressed you with it, ignoring the ‘whoops’ and ‘wows’ he heard while revealing his tight cotton t-shirt. He wouldn’t mind the cold as long as you were warm.
“Tell her to text when she’s home.” Taehyung asked.
But Namjoon didn’t answer. You’d have more pending matters once you arrived home; like sobering up, for starters. He held you closely against his body, pulling your tumbling body out of the club and onto the streets.
Mr. Choi had moved the car closer to the entrance of the club, so the two of you were able to slip to the back seat before either of you froze in the cold weather.
“Good morning, Miss Yn.” Mr. Choi was saying with a smile.
“Hi.” you waved with heavily blinking eyes.
“Where to, sir?”
“Bring us to the penthouse. After you drop us off you can keep the car over the weekend, and we’ll see you again on monday.” Namjoon instructed. “Take the family for a ride.”
“There’s no need for that, sir–”
“I insist.”
The driver thanked him with a nod and got back onto the street to drive the two of you home. As Namjoon looked you over, he noticed your tightly crossed arms and pushed out bottom lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m still mad at you.” you were saying with half slitted eyes.
“Good, because I’m mad at you too.”
You gasped and stared at him in absolute shock. High pitched voice as you said: “What are you mad at me for?!”
“Going out without proper winter clothes? Getting lost from your friends and worrying me? Hooking up with your ex?”
Quietly, as the car stopped at a red light, Mr. Choi turned around to pull the flimsy curtain that separated the front seats from the back of the car to give you the false impression of privacy.
“Well, I wouldn’t need to hook up with my ex if you had been there!”
“You know I couldn’t be there.”
“Yeah, because you were with your ex!”
Namjoon took a deep breath, he knew this was pointless. Your words were slurring together and you wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. He had apologies ready to offer you, but he wouldn’t waste them on deaf ears.
The car fell into a deep silence that felt like ages, but it couldn’t have been five minutes until you spoke again. Softer this time.
“For the record, I don’t want Tae.”
“I don’t want Aecha either.”
Another beat of silence passed until you turned sideways on the seat, pout heavy on your lips.
“Then prove it.” you challenged.
You were trying to seem so serious, so menacing. But Namjoon just thought you looked adorable. Red cheeks, sleepy eyes, wobbly bottom lip. You might just be the cutest thing he had ever seen. A little sparkle around your neck brought his eyes down, noticing the necklace he had given you in New York was still resting on your collarbone.
Even while mad at him, you never took it off.
“How do I prove it, baby?”
You tapped your chin, thinking hard about your options. “Fuck me right here, right now.”
Mr. Choi started coughing from the front seat and Namjoon went absolutely red in the face. You didn’t waver, a challenging lift to your eyebrow.
“I can’t do that right now.” Namjoon tried reasoning with you. “Let’s get home and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”
“I knew it.”
You turned away from him again, your side profile being illuminated by the warm yellow lights from the lamp posts outside. You were so beautiful to him, so precious. Even without knowing it, you gave him the push he needed to want to fix himself, to be a better man. Firstly, you made him want to be better for him. You were showing him how he deserved to be treated, the kind of happiness he should strive to have.
But you also made him want to be better for you.
Namjoon didn’t want you to be mad at him, rightfully so or not. He also couldn’t give you what you wanted right now, not with Mr. Choi in the car. But he could try something.
He slid closer to you, pushing your hair away from your neck. You didn’t move, still ignoring him. Namjoon bent down to reach the side of your face, kissing your jaw, under your ear, moving down to your neck. His hand rested on your naked leg, fingertips dancing on the inside of your thigh.
Your breathing grew heavy, lips parting with a pant as you melted into the seat.
“Don’t be like this, babygirl.” he said against your warm skin, lips sucking on the spot under your ear.
“Please–”
“Shhhh. Be quiet for daddy.”
He was whispering, hand slipping between your legs and under your dress. You covered your red stained lips with small hands, parting your knees for him. Namjoon gently ran his fingertips over your clothed core, applying light pressure.
"When we get home, I’ll take care of you."
"Promise?” you whispered.
“Did daddy ever lie to you?"
You were shaking your head. Namjoon had never lied to you. He might have omitted a few things, but never lie.
The view outside showed the car was already driving up his street, the speed decreasing to a stop. Namjoon pressed harder over your clit just to tease you a little more before removing his hand completely.
"Ern… Sir, Miss.” Mr. Choi called, a little chocked up. “You’re home.”
“Thanks. Have a good weekend, okay? Get home safe."
Namjoon opened your door from the inside, tapping on your legs for you to get out of the car and followed after you. You were still a little wobbly walking up the steps to the lobby, but Namjoon held you steady.
The moment the doors to the elevators were closing, you were all over him. Uncaring for the cameras you started kissing his neck and grabbing for his shirt before he could even press the button to the penthouse.
He laughed while holding your hands to your back, halting your attack.
"You promised!” the little horny drunk that you were protested.
“Yes I did, but we’re not home yet, are we?"
You seemed to think hard about that, looking around yourself and finally calming down.
When Namjoon unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you were already trying to climb him like a tree again. He had to laugh at your desperation and clumsiness, almost tripping over an excited Monie and eyes filling with tears when you thought you might have hurt him.
Namjoon started leading you to his bedroom, returning your kisses as best as he could while trying to walk you into the bathroom. He was on his knees as soon as the door closed behind you, kissing the tops of your thighs as he undid the clasps of your shoes from your ankles.
You groaned in relief as your aching feet rested flat on the cold floor, busying yourself with removing his hoodie and letting your purse fall to the floor with a careless thump.
Namjoon was kissing your neck as his able hands looked for the zipper on your back to remove your dress.
Your panties and strapless bra went right after.
He had you so focused on his hands and kisses that you didn’t notice he was walking you backwards into the shower. Nor did you realize Namjoon flipped on the knob to turn the water on, pulling away at the last second to avoid getting hit while he still had his clothes on.
You squealed with the cold temperature of the water hitting your body. As you tried to escape and flee the shower stall, Namjoon held the glass door in place.
"Joon!” you whined your displeasure. “You promised!”
“I promised I would take care of you, and I am!” he held back a laugh. “I’m not fucking you until you’re sober, baby.”
“You’re no fun, drunk sex is great.” you crossed your arms and Namjoon had to look away from the way your tits were pressed together.
And he had to agree, drunk sex was a lot of fun. But not when you still had issues to talk through.
“Just have a cold shower and come meet me in the kitchen when you feel a little more sober.”
“Have I told you I hate you?” you asked with yet another pretty pout.
“At least twice now.”
Namjoon gave you a pointed look when he let go of the shower door, holding back a fond smile from how annoyed you looked. You showed him your tongue like a child and he laughed.
DECEMBER 4RTH | 03:59
Raiding Namjoon’s closet for a shirt sounded like a better idea than going into your room in the penthouse to find something to wear. You didn’t feel completely like yourself yet, but your head was in the right place. Enough for you to be extremely embarrassed about your earlier behavior.
As you walked into the kitchen, per Namjoon’s request, you weren’t sure what you were going to find. He had every right to be mad at you, he had left the comfort of his home in the middle of the night to pick up a brat from a club across town because you missed him but was too hard headed to admit it. Not to mention everything else.
But what greeted you was a dimpled smile and a glass of water.
“Feeling better?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.” you laughed without any real humor, taking long sips of the first drink you had tonight that didn’t burn on the way down. “What’s that?”
“Toast and cheese.”
Namjoon pushed the plate towards you as you sat down on a stall by the kitchen island.
“You cooked for me.” your smile was sincere and bright, as his cheeks turned pink. “Like, you actually cooked.”
“That is hardly a Michelin.”
“It’s better, because you made it.”
You looked down as you said it, picking up the toast and taking a small bite to the corner. You did feel a little hungry, and this would definitely help with your inescapable hangover tomorrow. But chucking it in at once would only make you sick. And you were really good at holding your liquor, but today wasn’t the night you wanted to test that.
Namjoon crossed the island to come closer to you. He pulled your wet hair back so it wouldn’t fall on your plate and kissed the crown of your head before sitting down next to you. You were eating slowly as he watched you intently. His finger slipped under the chain around your neck to lift it from the inside of your shirt –his shirt–, so now the diamond heart would be on show.
“We should talk.” at least he had the decency to wait for you to swallow your last bite.
After washing down the food with the rest of the water you said, in a small voice: “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? I’m the one who needs to apologize.” Namjoon’s forehead creased.
“You can, just let me say something first?” you turned around on the bench so you could look at him as you spoke. “It’s not fair that I get upset with you about something, and then go ahead and do the exact thing.” you sighed, playing with your fingers on your lap. “I know we’re not together, this is just an arrangement. You have every right to
Summary:Namjoon takes a walk on a snowy day and decides to spend the day getting to know you.
—
Namjoon looked outside the window of the empty bookstore, taking in the sight of the small flurries of snow falling to the ground. It was hard not to admire them, each individual snowflake different from the rest. Pretty intriguing actually, if you asked him. It wasn’t snowing that much right now, but there was a huge blizzard the night before. How he got through the streets to get to the bookstore he was sitting in now was beyond him.
Deciding he’d spent enough time sitting at this table, he put a bookmark in between the pages he was reading and stood up to leave, but not before saying goodbye to the workers at the front desk while wishing them safe travels back to their houses.
Stepping out into the snow wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. The sound of the crunching of the snow beneath his feet filled his ears, giving him satisfaction. Although it was cold, it was a perfect day to take a walk, so that’s exactly what he did.
While he took a detour through the park, Namjoon started to look around at his surroundings. The path he walked on had trees towering over it, all of them covered with white snow. This was by far his favorite view. The way the winter stripped the trees completely of their leaves, signaling the end of an era. Soon, the spring would come and give life to those trees once again while new leaves made their homes on their bare branches.
The ground on which he walked was covered in a sheet of snow. Namjoon could tell no one had walked through here today, since his footprints were the only ones he could see. One of his hands reached up to pull his mask off of his face, his nose taking in a deep breath of cold air despite the freezing weather. That’s when he spotted the park benches, which were covered with a thin layer of snow. He made his way over to one of them and took a seat, not worrying about the snow getting the bottom of his coat wet.
Of course he was cold, but he enjoyed this moment of fresh air he was getting. Namjoon’s busy schedule almost never gave him this much time throughout the week, so he wanted to bask in this beautiful and snowy Sunday morning. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the sound of the wind blowing lightly.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” A soft voice pulled him out of his trance. His eyes opened to see someone standing in front of him. You had your arms crossed over a thick winter jacket, your legs wrapped in sweatpants, and to finish the look, black Ugg boots on your feet. Your face was clearly visible to him, and so were your red nose and cheeks.
Namjoon wondered why you didn’t choose to sit on one of the other five benches that were empty, but he nodded anyway and moved over to make space. You sighed and sat down, immediately sticking your hands in your pockets. Silence surrounded you two for a moment. He didn’t mind, the silence was a comforting one.
It was when you spoke up that the silence was finally broken. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”
“I thought I’d enjoy my free time and get some fresh air before I go back to working.” He glanced at you to find that you were already looking up at him. Your already red cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of red once you realized that he was looking back at you.
“What do you work as?” You asked him, seeming genuinely interested in what he did for a living. Usually no one was really interested in Namjoon’s work life, so this really came as a surprise to him. People in this town usually liked to keep to themselves. So you had a conversation about his job as a music producer, his hectic schedule, and the fact that he was finally on his long awaited two month break, starting tomorrow.
“Sounds like a lot of work.” He nodded, a soft smile plastered onto his face. “And it’s good that you love what you do, there’s not many people who follow their dreams like that.”
He looked down at you, a surprised look finding its way onto his face once again. It was something about the way you said it that caught the boy’s attention. You sounded…sad. As if you had a dream, but weren’t able to pursue it.
You were noticeably shivering in this cold weather, and he couldn’t blame you. You’d been sitting out here for about twenty minutes already, and the temperature was definitely in the single digits.
“Do you want to get some coffee?” Namjoon listened as you let out a sigh of relief, nodding eagerly. He guessed that you wanted to get out of this cold just as much as he did. Plus, you were good company. He wouldn’t mind taking some more time off of work.
You both stood up and started down the snowy path until you got to a local coffee shop. The interior was almost empty, only a few customers scattered around the shop. The two of you walked up to the counter and placed your orders. Before you could even think to pull out your wallet, Namjoon took out his credit card and paid for both of your drinks. As much as you protested, he insisted that you didn’t pay for anything.
The two of you sat across from each other at a booth in the corner of the shop, your coffees in hand. Thankfully it was warmer in here, but it was nice to look out at the snowy view outside of the window. Namjoon could see the few people that left their houses walk hurriedly to their cars or nearby stores, desperately trying to get away from the cold. His gaze shifted back to the girl in front of him, who was staring back at him in disbelief.
“It’s so weird to be sitting in this cafe with a complete stranger.” You let out a laugh as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“I’m Namjoon, what’s your name?”
The red in your cheeks came back, and he knew it wasn’t from the cold this time. “Y/N.”
“There you go, now I’m not a stranger.” The ends of his lips turned up in a playful smirk. It was honestly adorable how you instantly became flustered because of how close his face was to you. Not only that, but you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the dimples that made themselves known on both of his cheeks. Namjoon leaned back in his chair and grabbed a napkin, writing his phone number on it with a random pen he found in his pocket.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
- I think we’re past strangers at this point (by the way, it’s Namjoon)
He watched as you eyed the numbers written on the thin sheet of paper, a small smile making its way onto your lips. It was just now that he noticed how cute your smile was.
“I meant to ask you this earlier, but what’s your dream?” Namjoon asked you, causing you to freeze for a second. You folded up the napkin and put it in your pocket as you thought about the question he had asked you.
“Don’t make fun of me,” You looked at him warily. After he promised he wouldn’t make fun of you, you continued. “I’ve always wanted to be a photographer.”
Namjoon’s eyes widened. But he could tell you got the wrong idea, since your face was twisting in worry. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“No no, I’m not making fun of you. I just think that photography is really cool. I have a camera I like to take pictures on too.”
“I think it’s amazing how, by using a camera, the most beautiful moments in life can be captured and saved forever. The way the world’s beauty is seen from a small lens is something that can’t be copied or plagiarized.” Your eyes sparkled as you went on about photography, and it was the cutest look Namjoon had probably ever seen. He could already feel his lips turning up into a smile as he watched you talk about your passion.
“Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”
There weren’t many people who had a mind like yours anymore. The way you saw art for more than just some pictures on a screen, it was something he hadn’t seen in a really long time.
“I wish I could follow my dream like you, but I’m too scared of failure.” Your voice grew softer as you moved your gaze to look at the snow flurries on the other side of the window. Reaching his hand out towards you, Namjoon placed it gently on your forearm, which made you look back at him with glossy eyes.
“If you do fail, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you pick yourself back up and keep trying. Success can’t exist without failure.” You smiled at his words, mumbling a small ‘thank you’.
“Walk me home?”
The two of you walked back through the snowy streets, the flurries finally having stopped from earlier. Throughout the walk, you talked about random topics that just popped into your heads. He learned little things about you, like that you were a night person, you’re allergic to carrots, and that you once accidentally killed your pet goldfish when you were seven. Before either of you knew it, you were standing in front of your apartment building.
You looked down, biting your lip as if in deep thought. Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, but he was met with your lips on his cheek.
His eyes grew wide.
You smiled while starting to back away towards the doors. “Get home safe, Namjoon. It was nice to meet you.”
That was the last thing you said to him before disappearing into the tall building.
—
A/N: I hope you guys liked this, this is my first time posting my stories to Tumblr so bear with me! More stories to come :)
