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rilakoya · 6 years

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Oh, pt. 1 (m.)

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genre

| Roomie/Bestie!Namjoon x female reader + angst + fluff + smut (VERY light)

— words | 5k

— member | Kim Namjoon

An awkward encounter with your roommate triggers painful memories, but there’s a way you can learn to move on.

— warnings | mention of orgasms

A/N: Special thanks to @lamourche (the title of your blog inspired me to write this, so thank you!), @brie02, @btsspell, @kpurereactions, and @ringsofjoon for cheering me on (and @ringsofjoon for polishing this work for me!) I’m so grateful! This is my very first fic ever, so I hope you all enjoy!

*Y/N- Your name

*Y/e/n- Your ex’s name

What a fucking day.

Shuffling your way up the steps leading to your apartment complex, you pause, looking back absentmindedly to watch as the taxi drives away. The night is surprisingly quiet, with only a few cars streaking by every now and then in relative silence. You scowl in annoyance at the calm around you, the stillness a stark contrast to your brain which is teeming with unrelenting thoughts of looming deadlines, indecisive clients, and fickle subcontractors, despite your attempts to obliterate them tonight with copious amounts of alcohol. You love your work, and being your own boss definitely has its perks, but at times like this, you’re reminded of how all the stress and pressure to succeed falls squarely on your shoulders. Heaving a sigh, you trudge your way to the elevator, pressing the button for your floor as you lean in to rest your throbbing temple against the cool metal walls. The rest of the way to your apartment ghosts by like you’re on autopilot. You don’t remember the doors opening as you exit the elevator, nor the illuminated hallway as you slink toward your apartment door. You have no recollection of unlocking the door. Maybe if you weren’t so gone, so drowned in your thoughts, you would have noticed this happening; you would have noticed the noise. But you didn’t notice; you walked in hazily. And now you find yourself suddenly alert and aware, having emerged from your distracted daze to the sight and sound of- oh my god.

It’s the moans that breach the fog of your exhausted brain first. Throaty, husky groans and blissful whimpers that slice through the cobwebs of your distraction and stop you in your tracks. Your eyes lift to sharply focus on the scene before you: from the doorway where you stand gripping the heels you just finished sliding off your aching feet, a haphazard trail of clothing litters the floor leading to the ebony leather couch, which is currently occupied by a couple so consumed by their lust and pleasure that they don’t notice your entrance. You stand horrified yet transfixed. Your gaze first lands on the girl. Back arched, skin glistening and slightly flushed, she’s completely lost to the glorious feel of her partner. Her eyes are closed, lower lip trapped between her teeth, fingers and thighs clenching as she swiftly approaches her release. You have to admit that in the throes of passion she looks so beautiful, stunning even. Your body and mind respond in tandem and in conflict. You suddenly feel an irrational surge of anger, frustration, and -could it be?- envy, even as sparks surge through your body, heat engulfing the apex between your thighs. You rip your gaze violently from the girl now crying out in ecstasy, eyes landing on… Namjoon. Your roommate whose sensual thrusting gradually slows, body glistening deliciously with sweat as he milks his partner’s bliss. Your roommate who has just looked up. Your roommate who is now staring, mouth agog and blushing furiously, straight at you.

Shit. The full reality of the situation finally hits you, and you realize that you need to get out of there, now. Pivoting quickly, you make your way to your room as unobtrusively as possible in the hopes that Namjoon’s partner at least won’t realize she’s had an audience. You’ve never met her before, but she could be somebody important to him, and you’d hate to make things awkward. Well, even more awkward. You’d just stared your roommate in the face while he dug some woman’s back out, so there was definitely some weirdness waiting just around the corner. But hopefully, you won’t have to deal with it tonight. As it is, you’re struggling, collapsing onto the bed breathing much harder than the situation should warrant, but you can’t unsee what you’ve just seen, and the experience is jarring. You close your eyes to force the newly acquired memories away but instead they come flooding back with violence: the rhythm of their bodies in unison, the clench of her body in anticipation, the expression of sheer pleasure as she hits her release, the satisfaction on his face of having sated his partner… you groan softly as the images shift now, mixing with older memories… the frantic kisses upon your body, the almost-desperate thrusts and gasps, the ever-increasing build and pressure leading up to a sudden, inexplicable panic, the feelings of anxiety, the disappointment on partner’s face, the shame flooding your body…

You feel it now, mixed with hurt, disappointment, and an indistinguishable emotion that feels tinged with both jealousy and rage. Fuck. This is why you don’t watch porn. The torment of watching another achieve what has proven to be an impossible feat for you is pure agony. Tonight was just another painful reminder of what’s wrong with you, how broken you are. You can hear the voice of your ex taunting you from the shadows of your memory. _“How did I ever end up with someone like you? What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of woman can’t come?” _Exhausted from the ravaging torture of your swirling thoughts and the lingering pressures of the day, you sink back into the mattress, a ragged breath shuddering through your lungs. Hot tears falling in rapid succession leave damp pools on the soft sheets beneath you. You don’t hear the muffled voices, the soft click of the front door, nor the padding of feet down the hallway as you struggle in vain to stop the volley of horrors ricocheting through your mind by attempting to sleep. Just as you finally begin to believe you might drift into oblivion, there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Y/N?” Namjoon calls out tentatively.

Fuck. You stifle a groan into your hands as you swipe a tired palm over your face in exasperation. You’ll have to face him eventually, but does it have to be tonight? You ignore him, trying instead to silence the sobs that have begun again in earnest, his presence a fresh reminder of the events of the evening and your pain. A second knock, a tentative pause, and then Namjoon is filling the doorway, looking disheveled and embarrassed, but clearly well fucked. He opens his mouth to speak, but one glance at you has him hastily crossing the room and kneeling beside the bed, brow furrowing in concern, one hand reaching to clasp yours tightly while the other reaches to soothe you by caressing your hair. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I was so caught up that I didn’t even think. I guess I expected you to be home later, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have had to see that. But I doubt that’s why you’re crying, so what happened? What’s wrong?” Namjoon says all of this rapidly, as though he’s afraid he won’t be able to get it all out before you break. He’s not entirely wrong. You look at him, wanting to glare and be angry at him for being inconsiderate. You want to make him feel bad for putting you both in such an awkward situation. But as you look in his eyes, you recall the half-lidded look of lust that he wore as he fucked into her with abandon, remember the sound of her coming undone beneath his smoky gaze and artful ministrations; you flashback to the insults hurled at you by your partner after intimacy, the frustration and shame they made you feel because you were unable to climax no matter what they tried, and in that moment, looking into Namjoon’s eyes, you shattered.

“Hey, no,” Namjoon coos soothingly. He immediately moves himself onto the bed and draws you to himself, cuddling you close and stroking your hair as he tries to comfort you. “I’m sorry I asked. We don’t have to talk about it tonight if you don’t want to. Just know that I’m so sorry for tonight. Please don’t cry.” You know he’s worried at your irrational outburst of tears. He’s never seen you like this before, and it’s frightening to him. You two have been best friends since college, and while you’ve both had your share of ups & downs, this is an unfamiliar side to you, and he’s definitely concerned, but he won’t question you tonight. As for you, you know that you should make him get up, make him leave you alone. A niggling question in the back of your mind wants to know who the girl was, where she is now, why he’s not with her in this moment. But the other part of you, the part that is starving for comfort in this dark moment, is grateful that he’s here for you, just like old times, offering you his support and acceptance without question, and you snuggle closer to his chest, allowing him to shush your weeping with tenderly murmured nonsense and affectionate caresses. You allow yourself to find the rest you crave in his arms, and as you savor the sensations, you soon fall fast asleep.

The warm glow on the back of your eyelids, the sounds of rush hour traffic and the smell of freshly brewed coffee tell you that you really shouldn’t lie in bed any longer. The beauty of the morning nudges you to get up and enjoy the day, yet the coziness of your covers and a lingering wisp of a thought in the back of your mind urge you to sleep in. You mentally grope for a better hold on this elusive thought, and once you have it firmly in your mind, you widen your eyes in recollection and groan, delving deeply back under the covers in horror. As each memory comes flooding back, your reluctance to face the day- and Namjoon- increases tenfold. Immediately, you begin to mentally formulate a plan of escape. I don’t really need to work today since I’m waiting on that subcontractor to finish his portion of the project. Maybe if I just stay in bed until Joonie leaves-

*ping*

Automatically, your hand reaches for the phone to check the incoming message. It’s from Namjoon.

<<Morning sleepy head. I made fresh coffee. Want some?>>

Normally, your “yes” would barely make it to his phone before your feet made it into the kitchen to grab a hot, strong cup of liquid motivation. But you’re hesitant to face him after last night, knowing that he’ll want to talk about it, that he’ll have questions. You remember your plan to hide out and nod, feeling firm in your decision. Your fingers quickly type back a reply.

<<Mmm, still sleeping, Joon. I’ll get some later. Thanks, though.>>

Nestling back under the covers, you allow your eyelids to flutter shut, anticipating a delicious second sleep. A second ping echoes in the quiet bedroom a few moments later.

<<Aww, really? I was hoping you would come to brunch with me this morning. But I guess if you’re not ready to be up I can always just make myself some breakfast?>>

This message is accompanied by a photo of Namjoon in the kitchen dangerously close to the stove with an eyebrow raised. Shit shit shit. The sight alone makes you shoot up in bed as you recall the last time Namjoon was allowed within a 5 foot radius of the stove: fire alarms, a seething landlady and a trip to the emergency room were all involved. It’s a blackmail and you both know it. Nevertheless, you shoot off a speedy response:

<<Oh no, actually brunch sounds great. Be ready in 15.>>

As you stumble out of bed, struggling to detangle yourself from your cocoon of blankets, you hear the faint ping from Namjoon’s phone in the kitchen and a slight chuckle. He then starts humming. Bastard, you think with a shake of your head, the beginnings of a smile creeping across your face. He knows you too well, knows what will get you to do what he wants.

A warm shower, strong cup of coffee, and 30 minutes later you find yourself sitting across from your roommate and bestie awaiting your food and sipping a mimosa. It’s actually your second, and the food hasn’t even arrived, so normally Namjoon would be teasing you right now about drinking so much so fast and so early in the day. The fact that he does nothing more than subtly raise an eyebrow and continue his monologue about the relationship between the caffeine habits of Voltaire and Kierkegaard and their indisputable genius gives you pause. You wonder if you should order yet another to fortify yourself for the confrontation you suspect is not in coming or keep him talking to distract him instead. You choose the latter.

“You know, Joonie, this is why you were a dangerous Philosophy major. I know that you can wax poetic about Fear and Trembling and Candide, but, like, you do remember that arguing the logic and fallacies of classical works isn’t exactly proper breakfast conversation?” you ask teasingly. He shakes his head at your sparkling eyes and mischievous grin, tilting his head to match yours as he teases right back. “Well, Y/N, what should I talk about instead?” he asks coyly, smile darkening just enough to cause you to panic. If he mentions last night… Commence evasive maneuvers. “Well,” you begin quickly, “you could always let me know what you have planned for us for the rest of today. I mean, once we finish this delicious food,” you breathe, pausing to smile at the waiter who has skillfully delivered your food and stalled your conversation with his timely intrusion. Namjoon just stares at you a moment longer, his gaze firm, his smile a millimeter deadlier, before he blinks and looks at his plate briefly. A moment later, he glances back at you, his normal radiant smile back in place, and you know that you’ve escaped for now. “Let’s eat.”

The rest of the day passes peacefully. Namjoon takes you to the movies, the mall, the park- in short, everywhere that’s chill and pressure-free. He wants you to relax because he’s seen you on edge all morning. He expected it to be so, and he knew that the way to get you to open up was to give you some room to breathe. The two of you stumble back into the apartment much later that evening after several rounds at your favorite bar. A few moments later, after collapsing on the couch in hysterics, a calm settles over you both as you recline, your head in his lap, him toying with strands of your hair. You’re supposed to be deciding whether to watch cheesy movies or play video games when you hear Joon murmur softly above your head. “Are you ready to talk about last night? As much as we’d like to, it’s not really something we can avoid forever, and I rather clear the air now.” His tone is gentle and apologetic, but the arm not wrapped in your tresses is firm over your waist to keep you from running away. You heave a sigh of resignation, knowing that he’s right, and move to sit up so that you are better balanced for this conversation.

“I’m listening,” you reply loftily in an attempt to portray indifference. “Talk.” Immediately, Namjoon apologizes again for having sex in a public part of the apartment. You wave this away, ready to forgive him swiftly in hopes that he’ll let it drop, when he grabs your hand and anchors you to hold his gaze as he asks the next question. “Y/N? Will you tell me why you were upset last night? It broke my heart to see you that way, and if there’s anything I can do to make it right, please tell me. And don’t say it was nothing,” he warns with a grimace, “because I’m not stupid.” Mentally, you freeze. What can you possibly tell him? Not the truth! But he’ll know if you lie. So you try to brush it off as best you can. “I won’t say it was nothing, just that I don’t really want to talk about it. Can you accept that?” you ask cautiously. His gaze, if it’s possible, bores even deeper, like he’s hoping to find the answers he seeks in your eyes. Ridiculous. But in response to your question, Namjoon shakes his head softly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. If I hadn’t seen you like that last night- hadn’t felt the shudders that ran through you- maybe I could accept this. But the Y/N I know, the person I care deeply for, that person was completely shattered last night, and I want to do everything within my power to make sure that you never need to be that way again.” The soft but firm gaze from before has now transformed into a fierce stare, and you don’t doubt his sincerity for a second. Still, “it’s not really something you can fix, Namjoon,” you tell him sadly. How could he possibly even understand such a thing? And how could you dare to tell him? As if sensing you closing off to him, he makes one last effort. “I may not be able to fix it, and I may not even be able to understand,” he pleads gently, “but can you trust me enough to tell me anyway?” Maybe it’s the tender lack of judgment in his voice, or maybe it’s the way his whole body inclines toward you, joining his eyes in begging you to confide in him. Or maybe you’re just tired of feeling so alone in your pain and hoping against hope that he might take your side, no matter how fucked up you are. Either way, you exhale deeply while trying to determine how much you can bear to tell.

“Did Y/e/n ever say anything to you about why we split?” you ask. Namjoon looks at you curiously, unsure what this has to do with last night. “No,” he answers carefully, “we never spoke much after you two separated. All I recall is that you were pretty broken afterward,” he continues with a grimace that shows he’s remembering those early days after your relationship had ended. “I was broken before that,” you reply softly, hunching in on yourself to shield your heart from his response to the words you need to say next. “That’s why we split. Because I’m fucked up. Because there’s something wrong with me.” Gathering your strength, you press on before the pain and shame can catch up with you. “I can’t have an orgasm,” you blurt in a whisper, averting your eyes, as you feel yourself ignite with shame. “I’ve never been able to have one, no matter what, and they couldn’t deal with it anymore,” you continue, “I don’t blame them.” At this, your vision is flooded with Namjoon’s compassion stare as he turns your chin firmly toward him. He stares hard and it’s difficult not to squirm under his intense gaze. “You may not blame them,” he says, “but I do. You are more than your physical response to sexual pleasure, Y/N, and if they couldn’t see that, then it’s their loss and your gain. I’m sorry that you were made to feel ashamed.” Releasing you gently, he continues. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” You’re hesitant to agree but curious. Knowing that the worst is over, you nod. “Do you-” he hesitates, “please, don’t be offended by my question, but you enjoy sex itself, right?” He looks so concerned at hurting your feelings that you almost laugh. “I love it,” you say emphatically, flinching self-consciously once you realize how that sounds, but Namjoon encourages you to meet his gaze once again. “It may seem contradictory, but I do enjoy myself. And I guess I used to enjoy myself even more before I felt so much pressure to perform, so to speak. And I’m not really- I’m not super vanilla, either,” you confess, internally disbelieving the fact that you’re really sitting in your living room having this conversation with your male best friend. Namjoon, bless him, doesn’t look horrified, or like he’s casting judgment on your darkest flaw. Instead, he looks saddened, and -wait- thoughtful? Thoughtful Namjoon in this situation is a mood that doesn’t fit, and you feel suddenly anxious as you watch the emotions and thoughts flicker over his expressive countenance.

“Y/N,” he begins tentatively, “what if you aren’t the problem?” Unsure of whether he’s saying this in a show of sympathy or if he’s finally lost his mind, you roll your eyes. “You were listening, right?” you ask in exasperation. “Yes, I was,” he answers calmly. “But hear me out: what if the reason you haven’t been able to is because you feel like you have to? What if the only thing in the way of your pleasure is a mental barrier?” Now you’re up off the couch and pacing. “So it’s not enough for there to be something physically wrong with me, but mentally as well?” you shoot out fiercely. You want to stop him from talking as soon as possible, because honestly, like most of Namjoon’s ideas, the thought has merit, and the last thing you need is false hope. You don your bitchiest ice queen glare as he scrambles to reassure you. “You’re twisting my words, Y/N. I’m saying that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all. Maybe you don’t respond the way people expect you to, but if you’re enjoying yourself that’s what matters. And maybe you don’t enjoy yourself even more because those same expectations don’t allow you to fully relax.” In your pacing, you don’t notice the shuffle of Namjoon rising from the couch, and as a result, you run straight into his chest when you turn around. Catching you by your arms, he tilts you to look him full in the face. “I think I can help you.” There’s no acceptable response to this but to stare agape at your best friend who has well and truly lost his fucking marbles. Help you do what? Seeing your shock, he explains in an abashed hurry. “You know I care about you, Y/N, and I’d literally do anything to see you happy, and right now, you’re not happy. You live with this shadow over you, this false belief that you’re not worthy of pleasure. It shouldn’t matter how you respond to sex. You should feel free to experience and enjoy yourself naturally, without the pressure of expectations. From what you’ve told me yourself, you’ve lost that. You enjoy sex, enjoy experimenting and exploring, but you’ve lost what it’s like to be shown how special and desirable you are, to be cherished by someone you trust. I believe you deserve to feel that again,” His grip tightens, dark eyes smoldering as he leans in closer. “I’d like to make you feel that way again, if you’ll let me.”

Well, fuck. You swallow tightly as his words and intensity send a shiver down your spine that you hope he doesn’t notice. The fact that you’re turned on just makes you even more uncomfortable with this turn of conversation. Namjoon easily reads your discomfort and releases you, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment as he steps back to give you space. Now, you laugh, if only to lighten the mood. “First, you proposition me and now you’re shy?” you cajole. Ready to put this conversation behind you, you smile ruefully. “Thanks, but no thank you. Even if I thought there might be some truth to what you’re saying, which I’m not, I can’t even begin to- I mean-” Floundering for words, you give up. Giving your bestie an awkward hug, you quickly escape to your room, hoping to sleep away the now-budding curiosity. The first rays of dawn grace your window before you finally fall asleep.

The next few days finally seem to settle into something close to your former rhythm. You make breakfast, and Namjoon orders dinner. You clean the common areas, and Namjoon takes out the trash. You both laugh and joke while pretending Monday night and Tuesday never happened, like your best friend didn’t volunteer to try and make you see stars. You are determined never to bring it up again, and Joon is too much of a gentleman to mention anything that truly makes you uncomfortable. You can’t say the same about the insistent thoughts that plague you at night, as visions of Monday’s scene replay in your dreams, only this time, the girl writhing in bliss under Namjoon’s chiseled masculine form looks a lot like you. On Friday, you have a girls’ night planned while Namjoon goes out with his friends, and the subtle tension within you has grown to the point where you’re honestly glad to see him go. You think that some drinks and gossip with the girls would be great to take your mind off of the past week. But you’ve failed to take into account the fact that you and your friends are all vibrant, single, and of the opinion that a bit of promiscuity in the name of fun never hurt anyone. And so, your night has passed with you delving deeper and deeper into your cups, ineffectively seeking to drown out the hollowness of your emotions as you listen to your friends laughingly swap stories about their recent hookups and crushes. In fact, by the time the door closes behind the last laughing girl, you have a massive head- and heartache, and you just want to curl up and wait for it all to pass. So you do, lying down on the couch with your arms around your waist, wishing that there was someone else around to hold you close and comfort you. Your next thought is that you are floating, and it feels so nice, and then you are laid on a bed of clouds. Wait, what? You open your eyes to find Namjoon hovering, trapped in the circle of your arms around his neck as he was attempting to lay you in your bed. After gracefully extricating himself from your grasp, he moves to leave until you grip his wrist and the bottom of his shirt to keep him from going further. “Stay?” He opens his mouth to deny you until he sees the myriad of emotions swimming in your eyes. His only response is to lower himself onto the bed and to pull you tight to his chest. You’re lonely, it’s been a rough week, and you just need some affection, and as your longtime friend, he knows it. As you snuggle closer to him, inhaling his familiar scent, you are grateful for a friend who is so respectful and caring, so affectionate and trustworthy. A whispered “Good night, Y/N,” is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

Saturday morning you awake pensively. As you lie next to your snoring friend, you consider the events, behaviors and attitudes of the past week. Despite all your efforts to the contrary, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Namjoon’s theory and proposition. A twisted part of you dares to hope that he could be right, and you know enough about him over the years as his friend to have heard his stories. You know that, assuming there’s nothing wrong with you, the man can deliver. But would it be crazy to accept his offer? Your gaze grazes his face, with his long, butterfly lashes falling on supple cheeks. The voluptuous lips that you’ve always wanted to bite when he tugs at them absentmindedly with his teeth. This week has served as a reminder of Namjoon’s character. He was so respectful and kind, giving you all the space you needed and respecting your process, never pressuring you. But it really shouldn’t surprise you because he’s always that way. You take a second glance, this time taking in the sleek yet muscular build of his chest and arms, and you remember the way it feels to be in them, even just in a friendly way. You wonder if he’ll be just as patient and understanding while he’s teaching you. Looking at the long, lean fingers attached to his strong yet gentle hands, you also begin to consider what all he could teach you, and you find yourself shivering in anticipation before you gather your wayward thoughts. It’s crazy and I won’t do it, you scold yourself and roll over to face away from the slumbering man. And then, in an instant, it all changes. Namjoon reaches out for you in his sleep and draws you to him. As he pulls you in, you find yourself pressed closely against his early morning erection, and your mouth falls open in an “o”. Even though you’d walked in on him hooking up with the anonymous girl on Monday, it was kind of hard to get an idea of what he was packing when you were in shock and he was balls-deep inside a woman’s vagina. But now, sandwiched tightly in between his taut abdomen and his bicep gripping your waist, you can’t help but notice that Namjoon has dick for days. The perverse thoughts from before are now nothing compared to the obscene fantasies flooding your mind and you’re surprised at how aroused you are becoming with each passing moment. It’s been a long time since you felt like this, and it hits you that it’s because you feel safe. Your soft sigh reaches Namjoon’s ears as he’s waking, and he turns you over to face him. The tender concern on his face pushes you over the edge of your reason. “Joon?” “Mmm?” he responds sleepily, leaning into your touch as your reach up to stroke his hair. “Namjoon,” you say again, wanting to make sure he is awake. “Yes Y/N?” he smiles drowsily, propping himself up on one elbow to be able to look into your eyes properly. For a moment, you two just stare at each other companionably, as though you both have nowhere to be and no one else you’d rather be with. That’s the benefit of knowing each other for so long. But then, you say the three words that you know will change everything, the ones he thought he’d never hear you say. “Namjoon. Teach me.” His eyes widen slightly and his breath hitches before his gaze darkens with obvious desire. “Gladly.”

part 2 part 3

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