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dambaepuff · 3 months

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STRAW-BEAR-IES

☆Pairing: BearHybrid!Namjoon x GN!Reader

☆Genre: hybrid au, fluff, one-shot, pg-13

☆Warnings: none!

☆Word count: 4.3k

☆Summary: You noticed the strawberries in your garden started going missing a few weeks ago, the bushes often being smushed as if something big stepped onto them. Slowly you start to find other parts of your large garden in disarray as well. Who might be this crop thief stealing from you?

☆A/N: Hi!! This is the first time I’ve ever posted onto this account, I hope you’ll like it. I’m thinking of making it a series potentially? Feel free to let me know your thoughts and suggestions and/or if you have any sort of criticism and tips. Also beware of the fact that I do not have a beta reader and English isn’t my first language so there might be some mistakes!!

You sigh as you step into your garden and close the gate. It seems as though someone payed it a visit again last night. The once beautiful green grapes you had growing were now gone, the vines torn down, the trellises bent in funky ways and all the leaves crumpled. You take off your gardening gloves and stuff them into your apron’s front pouch. Your bare hands softly touch the now ruined plant, trying to examine the damage and determine if it’s salvageable. With a huff you bend down and grab onto the plant’s support structure, making sure your footing is firm you get to work with lifting everything up and fixing it.

“Hm, I need the toolbox for this one.” You mumble to yourself, letting go of the structure and tumbling backwards a little. Set on repairing the trellis, you start walking towards the shed. With a pep in your step you start to whistle a random tune, stuffing your hands into your pockets and fishing around for the key to the shed. As you pull out the keys and start to fumble around with them, trying to spot the square silver key, you catch movement in the corner of your eye. At first you brush it off as wind rustling branches, but then you register a large brown lump moving around. Your head shoots up and you immediately freeze up. About ten meters away from you stands a large grizzly bear, sniffing around in the bushes on your property. With fear coursing through your veins, the sudden adrenaline makes your thoughts turn hazy. Starting to fumble with the keys faster you decide it’s best to hide in the shed till it leaves, however once the jingle of the metal clinking resumed the bear’s head rose. It’s black eyes landed directly onto you. Your hands shook and you dropped the keys, your panic starting to become more prominent.

Just as you thought the wild animal was going to pounce, it turned around and ran in the opposite direction as if it was the one scared to death. You halted all your movements in confusion, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Wiping the sweat that accumulated on your forehead you picked up the bundle of metal from the ground and finally found the right key. Quickly shutting the door, you let yourself slump against it. Thumping your head against the wood, you let out a sigh of relief.

After that day you were on edge for a little while, but it wasn’t long till you went back to your usual routine. One morning you had gathered all of the produce that was overly ripe into one large bucket. Now wanting it to go to waste you fed part of it to some of your animals and the rest you had left out in front of the garden in hopes of the thief taking from there instead of ruining all your hard work. You had been carving away at a small piece of wood whilst laying on your hammock when you heard rustling behind you. Slowly turning around you spotted the same brown bear eating away at the produce you had left in the bucket. Your heart started to pound in fear, not knowing what to do you laid back down and tried to be as still as possible, hoping that the beast would be gone soon. The munching noises you could faintly hear stopped at some point and everything went quiet. Tightly shutting your eyes you prayed it was going back to where it came from, but instead you heard heavy footsteps coming towards you. A tear brimmed your eye, your skin prickled with goosebumps and your blood pumped so hard you could hear it. Shallow breaths took over your body, each one of your muscles tensing. The footsteps stopped right beside you, a warm breath tickled your face. The animal let out a deep groan, curiously starting to sniff you. Unable to open your eyes from the terror you used sound and your imagination to be able to tell what the bear was doing. It’s sniffing stopped at your hands, it’s wet snout nudging your skin. You cracked one eye open and saw the large beast staring at the small wooden figurine you had been carving. It’s eyes held no hunger or malice, it looked interested and almost kind? Unsure if you were seeing right, you fully opened your eyes, gawking up at the creature. It looked down at you and then back at your hands, almost as if it was asking what you were doing.

“Uhm, this?” You asked, your voice coming out weak as you held up your creation. The bear grunted and nodded its head. “Oh it’s just a little figurine I was making, it’s supposed to be a dog.” You said wide eyed, to which the bear nodded. “You can… You can understand me?” You squeaked out. The bear nodded again and let out a small grunt. Your confusion only doubled, yet your interest was piqued. You set down the carving onto your stomach and reached out one of your hands, slowly bringing it up to the bears head. Hesitantly you set it down, the fur feeling softer than you’d imagine. Slowly, your hand started to stroke its head to which the beast let out a content grumble and leaned into your touch. Completely stunned, all you could do was continue petting it. The bear lowered its head and let it rest in your lap, the warmth emitting from it surprisingly comforting. The mammal’s big black eyes started to blink slower, its entire body seeming to relax. You however, still felt a bit on edge. It started to nudge your hand with its nose, ‘This is it, I’m going to lose a hand now!’ you thought, expecting to get bitten. However, to your surprise all it did was give your palm a few licks, as if thanking you. It stood back up with a grunt and started to make it’s way towards the wooded area on your property.

After that exchange you had started leaving fruit and leftovers from your dinner on your front porch each evening. Every morning you’d wake up to the food gone and a little gift left in its place. The presents varied from pretty rocks and flowers to money and shiny jewelry you assumed the creature stole from someone. Scraping the remnants of sauce into the container you hummed along to a song playing on the radio. With leftover pasta in one hand and an array of fruits in the other, you made your way to your front door. Pushing the handle down with your elbow and kicking to door open with your foot, you prepare to place the food down onto the steps. A familiar set of black eyes startle you, almost making you drop everything you were holding. “Oh! You scared me.” The bear huffed out something that sounded similar to a laugh. “I got you food. Sit down.” It obliged and plopped down with a grunt. “I got you strawberries, I know you like those.” You say as you place everything down and pick up a strawberry, throwing it towards the bear. It catches the berry mid air and happily chomps down on it. “Bon appetite.” You grin at it and make your way back inside. Sparing the beast one last glance through the window, you turn off all the lights and make your way to bed.

The bear started showing up for dinner early more often, letting you feed and pet it. Tonight was no different, you fed the creature, talked to it pretending it understood you and bid it farewell. Loud claps of thunder awoke you from your sleep, looking out of your window the rain was pouring down like no tomorrow, wind wildly throwing around leaves and jostling trees. Immediately your mind jumped to your furry friend. Without a second thought you got up from bed, quickly shuffling into your slippers and pulling on a robe. With hurried steps you made your way downstairs, looking out onto your front porch you saw the same lump of brown fur laying outside your door, finding shelter from the rain under the gable roof. For a moment you hesitated, what could you even do? Would it be absurd to let the wild animal into your home? It definitely would be. So, you unlocked your front door and opened it. A gust of wind immediately hit you in the face, carrying rain water with it. Not far from your house, a bolt of thunder struck the ground, echoing loudly and flashing before your eyes. The beast startled awake, looking around it shivered in fear. Trying to get it’s attention you yelled over the wind and thunder, flailing your arms around like an idiot. The ears on its head lightly perked up and it turned its head to face you. Large black eyes landed on your figure, watching as you beckoned it inside. Without a hint of uncertainty the creature got up and started walking towards you. Reaching around in the dark and running your hand along the wall, you found the light switch and turned it on. The second your friend entered the house you shut the door, sighing as the storm’s noises faded into a mere hum.

“Wait here.” You instructed and quickly made your may to the bathroom, taking two large towels and scurrying back to the entrance. Unfolding the fabric, you draped it over the bear and got to work with drying it off to the best of your abilities. When you got to its head, you became more gentle. Gingerly rubbing out the moisture from its ears and cheeks, you looked into its eyes. They held a warmth you couldn’t explain, a sort of gratitude no regular bear could express. Its large snout twitched and it blinked up at you slowly. “You’re such a cutie.” You said softly and wiped its forehead. It let out a grunt and looked away as if it were embarrassed. “Come, you can sleep on my rug.” You said and started making your way toward the living room. Heavy footsteps followed behind you, the old wooden floor of your house creaking underneath its weight. “Sleep here, just don’t break anything please.” You told the beast with a small smile and bid it goodnight.

Sounds of birds chirping and the soft howl of the wind woke you up. Sitting up in bed you yawned, stretching your arms out above your head and twisting your torso around to release tension. Your feet made contact with the cold floor of your bedroom, sluggishly getting up to open your window. You leaned outside and took in a big breath of fresh air, the smell of rain still present in the morning chill. The peaceful moment was cut short by loud clanking coming from downstairs followed by a thump. Startled, you quickly made your way towards the source of the noise. Expecting to find the bear you’ve come to know as your friend, you’re alarmed to see a fully grown man standing in your kitchen with all of your pots and pans spilled onto the ground. You quickly grab one of your kitchen knives and firmly hold it towards the intruder. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” You ask calmly. The man’s eyes widen and he puts his hands up. “Uhm uhh...” He mumbles, clearly taken aback. “I’m Namjoon.” He says and raises a brow, sounding more like a question than a statement. “How did you get in?” You question, tilting your head up and straightening your posture, trying your best to intimidate him. “You let me in last night.” His response takes you off guard, before you can reply to it his hand goes up to his head and he points at a pair of brow ears you hadn’t noticed before. That’s when it clicks. The large grizzly bear you had befriended wasn’t entirely a bear after all. Everything made sense now.

“Why did you steal from me?” The sentence flies out of your mouth before you can think about it. “Uhm, I was hungry.” The man replies, his ears drooping and his arms coming back down to his sides. You soften at his words knowing he never meant any harm. Putting the knife back you crouch down to pick up all the pots, he follows suit and the two of you quietly clean up. “So you say your name is Namjoon?” You asked as you began to gather ingredients for breakfast. “Yes.” He responded with a nod of his head. “I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to officially meet you.” You gave a small smile which he returned, adorable dimples appearing on his face. “Would you like some breakfast?” You asked as you rummaged around the kitchen. “Yes!” He responded eagerly to which you chuckled. After a beat of silence he spoke up again. “I’ve been thinking…” You let out a hum, encouraging him to continue. “You’ve kept me fed for so long now and I’ve done pretty much nothing in return. Let me help you with all your farm work to pay off my debt.” He said in a low voice. “You have no debt Namjoon.” You responded and looked at him over your shoulder. “However, a helping hand is always welcome here.” You started cracking eggs into a bowl. “Plus it would be nice to have someone around to talk to, y’know to keep me company.” You said as you started whisking the eggs. “You’ll let me stay?” He asked in disbelief, his voice full of hope. “I don’t see why not, you don’t look very weak and that’s certainly a plus.” You stated as you looked him up and down, giving a playful wink. His eyes winded a bit, but he didn’t comment on it.

After eating together you had decided to give him a proper tour of the property. He seemed particularly interested in your garden and your sculpting workshop. Once you showed him everything you began doing chores together, occasionally chatting and getting to know each other more. You had found out he was a stray hybrid, living on the streets for three years now. He had tried hitch hiking from one town to another about four months ago, when he suddenly got weird vibes from the truck driver he was traveling with. Not wanting to risk anything he ran away once they had pulled into a gas station, never looking back. After wandering through the woods for ages he came across the fence of your estate. At first he wasn’t going to cross it, scared someone would hunt him down and kill him if he entered private property. However, once he had smelled the pie you were baking his hunger got the better of him and he jumped the barrier. Realizing you were a stable source of food he continued to sneak around and eventually ended up here with you. Feeling grave pity for him you decided in that moment that it was your mission to help repair this man and give him the comfortable and fulfilling life he never got the chance to experience. He also told you about some of his friends who were stray hybrids as well, hoping to reunite with them one day. Apparently there were six of them, seven including Namjoon. They helped each other survive when no one else would.

After a long hard day of labor, the two of you came back to the farmhouse. You gave him some of your old oversized clothes and pointed him to your bathroom. He took his first proper shower in a while, enjoying using all of your different products and being pampered. Whilst he took care of his hygiene you got busy with making dinner. As you were grabbing all the ingredients you needed from the refrigerator, you noticed the vanilla tarts you had made the day before. Debating on serving them as dessert your eyes landed on the last couple of strawberries you managed to salvage from your garden, seemingly the bear’s favorite kind of berry to steal while you weren’t looking. Lighting up at the idea of combining the two foods for your friend to enjoy, you giddily got to work with dinner, the idea of surprising Namjoon lingering in your mind the entire time. Once he came out of the bathroom your eyes raked his form. Admiring how the large clothes fitted his frame and the way he did his best to dry his damp hair and ears with a towel. It only now dawned on you how handsome he was, this being the first time you truly took a moment to observe him since you initially saw his human form. His eyes caught yours, before you could get lost in their dark color you cleared your throat. “You hungry? I’m almost done with making dinner.” You asked and quickly started stirring the pot of sauce you were making. “I’m starving. Need any help?” He replied to which you instructed him to set the table.

The meal was fairly quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When both of your plates were empty and your bellies almost entirely full, he was about to get up from the table. “Not so fast!” You said with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear I was gonna help you clean up!” He replied briskly to which you laughed at him. He tilted his head in confusion, still thinking you were trying to scold him for bad manners. “There’s desert.” You said, your smile widening. His eyes lit up and his ears perked up. You could hear clothes shuffling, but he wasn’t moving an inch. That’s when you realized his tail small was wagging underneath his shirt. Trying to bite down your smile, you served the tarts on a plate with your strawberries. His nose moved as he sniffed the air, clearly eager for the treat. “What is it?” He asked in wonder, pointing at the baked good. “It’s a vanilla tart, try it.” You responded, handing him a fork. He eagerly dug in. Once he tasted it he started nodding his head vigorously, a close lipped smile spreading on his face. “You like it?” You asked. “Mhm!” He almost purred out, his taste buds not used to such delicate dishes. “Have a strawberry, I know you like those. Plus it goes well with the vanilla.” You picked up one of the red berries, thoughtlessly bringing it up to his lips. He shyly opened his jaws, holding eye contact as you inserted it into his mouth. His lips closed around it, faintly brushing your finger tips as you pulled your hand away. He slowly chewed, still looking at you. “Good?” You inquired, he leisurely swallowed. “So good.”

Namjoon had been living with you for a few months now. He had started stealing from your garden during last year’s spring and you let him into your home around summer time. It was now late January, your entire property covered in a blanket of crystal white snow. During this time of year you never have much work around the garden, more so focusing on taking care of all of your animals, letting yourself be consumed by reading and sculpting more often than not. “Namu, we’re running out of firewood, we should go chop up some more before it gets dark out.” You said as you poked around the fire you created in the fireplace, not realizing the nickname that slipped from your mouth. “Namu?” He questioned, testing it out on his tongue. “Hm, Namu. I like it.” He looked up in thought, lowering the book he was reading onto his lap. “Wait what was the question?” He suddenly sat up straighter, realizing you said something he didn’t quite comprehend. “I didn’t ask you a question, I said we needed to go get more firewood before it gets dark out.” You plopped down onto your butt from the crouch you were in a moment ago, chuckling at the bear hybrid. He watched you closely, playing with one of the pages of the open book sitting on his thigh. You leaned back on your palms and raised an eyebrow at him, awaiting his response. “Oh, yeah sure. You wanna go now or…?” He broke the eye contact, looking around at nothing in particular. “Yeah, let’s go.” You got up and dusted your hands off, walking up to where he was sitting on the sofa you extended an arm, helping him get up. The two of you got to work with preparing the firewood, Namjoon doing most of the heavy lifting. When you finished with it he turned into his bear form, stating that it’s easier to stay warm that way. He laid on his side on the floor, you leaning against him and petting his soft fur. It was to reserve heat you told yourselves, not being able to admit that the soft touches served as more than just a source of physical warmth.

One night you laid in your bed, covered in heaps of blankets trying to warm your body up, but it just wasn’t working. No matter how many layers of fabric you put onto your body you were still freezing. You crawled out of bed, shivering as the cold air in your room hit your whole body. Shuffling around in the dark for your slippers and robe, you hazily pulled them both on and made your way to the guest room down the hall. Lifting your fist up to the door you softly knocked, a sleepy grumble could be heard from the other side. Taking it as a sign to come in you pushed the door open. “Namu, I can’t sleep from the cold. Can I come sleep in your bed?” You quietly said into the darkness. The lump in the middle of the bed grumbled something, his arm extending and lifting the duvet he was under. You eagerly entered the room and took off your robe and slippers, shimmying into the bed. His arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into his warm chest. Finally heating up, you let your body relax into his embrace, letting sleep take over.

Following that night it became a routine to share a bed, the excuse still being the need for warmth. Namjoon had especially grown accustomed to holding you in his sleep. So much so that one afternoon when you went to a nearby town to buy some necessities, he decided to take a nap. He couldn’t find a comfortable position if his life depended on it. Tossing and turning in his bed, he realized his arms felt too empty. He tried hugging one of his pillows, but it wasn’t enough. Huffing in annoyance he decided to go sleep in your bed, the thought of your scent enveloping him made his tail wag immediately. He walked over to your room, plopping down onto your bed and nestling into your sheets. Burying his head into your pillow he inhaled your scent, letting out a satisfied hum at the familiar smell. Though he partially found the comfort he was seeking he still wasn’t fully pleased. He laid in your bed for what felt like hours, missing the way your hands would gently play with his hair and scratch behind his ears. The moment he heard your car pull up into the driveway he shot up from bed, running down the stairs and almost tripping over himself. You entered the house with arms full of bags, setting them down to take off your shoes and jacket. He didn’t even give you a moment to register his presence, immediately enveloping you into an embrace and starting to scent at your neck. “Namjoon, that tickles!” You giggled as his nose brushed against your sensitive skin. Upon hearing your voice he only hugged you tighter. “You okay?” You asked, placing your hand atop his head, suddenly worried by his behavior. “Yeah, I just missed you.” He mumbled into your shoulder. “Was I really gone for that long?” You questioned as you pulled away, trying to get a proper look at his face. Realizing how clingy he was acting, he became embarrassed. He let go of you and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uhh no.” He said, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. “You can come with next time.” You stated, sensing his shame. The small ears atop his head perked up, a lazy grin spreading on his face. “Yes please.” He responded, a light pink forming on his cheeks.

Eventually the two of you unpacked all of the things you bought. The second you were done Namjoon tugged at your sleeve. Wordlessly, you let him pull you along to wherever he wanted to go. He brought you to your bedroom, laying you down onto your bed. “Sleep.” He mumbled, nosing at your throat and laying down onto your chest. Your hand instinctively rose to his head, scratching at his scalp lightly. You felt a low rumble coming from Namjoon, at first you thought he was just clearing his throat, but then it hit you. “Namu are you purring?” You asked. “Yeah.” He simply responded. “I didn’t know bears could purr.” You chuckled, pleasantly surprised by the discovery. “It doesn’t happen often, but it is possible.” He muttered, nuzzling further into your skin. You grabbed one of his hands, intertwining your fingers together. Slowly you brought it up to your face, placing a gentle peck onto his knuckles. His purring abruptly stopped. “Is this okay?” You asked, your heart dropping at the prospect of making him uncomfortable. He didn’t reply verbally, only placing a soft kiss onto the bare skin of your collarbone, his purrs resuming twice as loud.

#bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #rm x reader #rm x you #rm x y/n #namjoon x reader #bts x gender neutral reader #hybrid #hybrid bts #hybrid au #bangtan x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfic

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uarmymoonlight · 3 months

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after the afterparty

pairing: nerd!namjoon X ex-mean girl!reader

genre: frenemies (? sorta) to lovers, rivals to lovers, college!au, one-shot, angsty, smut,

summary: after a night of partying with your (now ex-)classmates, namjoon finds you alone in the kitchen and unspoken feelings and desires come rushing to the surface

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, reader’s a bit of an asshole, namjoon kinda idolizes her, lots of untold backstory for the #angst, tit/nipple play, biting (lightly)

words: a little over 4.8k

taglist: @kyglover @luaspersona

crossposted on AO3: here.

image by @/chimigraphic on twitter

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You finally take a deep breath of the cold night air. Eyes closed, beer in hand, hip leaned in against the kitchen counter. Another deep breath.

This night took a real toll on you: 2 hours of pre-game plus 4 of partying and an unbelievable 2 and a half more of after-partying, all in the name of socialization and redemption. But it’s over now.

You let the silence embrace and erase you. The outdoor lights paint the room with a faint blue and the only sound is a car passing by and the sink leaking. It’s just you there. The rest have gone to bed – their own or someone else’s - or back to their own airbnbs. But, as tired as you are, you stay there in the kitchen. This last moment of silence before you leave this place for good. And these long nearly 9 hours of today won’t matter. The people at the party won’t matter. Not even that award-stealing, headache-inducing, infuriating, dimpled assh–

A noise stops your thoughts. You turn to your right to see Namjoon kneeling down to catch the water bottle he’d dropped.

“Namjoon.”

“Hey”, he licks his lips “I...I thought everyone else was gone or sleeping.”

“So did I.”

A beat of silence goes by and then another, a longer one. You could almost laugh at the silence that sets between the two of you. Had this happened a while back, you would’ve already told him to fuck off and probably insulted him somehow. Then again, had this been back then, he would’ve been vexing you endlessly by refusing to let the silence just be, doing that nervous back-and-forth on his heels he used to do all the time and talking your ear off.

This isn’t back then, however. So now, you’re just looking at each other.

Alright. You said you’d change your attitude, didn’t you? Here’s a test for you to prove you did. Your chance to do something to Namjoon you’ve never done before: be nice.

“Congratulations.”

He scoffs, incredulous.

“You’re congratulating me?”

You can’t say you’re surprised he asked. There was a time you’d rather have eaten your own two feet before ever complimenting Namjoon to his face, a time you’d have done anything to not stay in the same room as him. Let alone just the two of you together.

“Well, I did tell you I would, when you deserved it” you remind him “You won the academic decathlon, graduated top of the class, and you got the girl. You deserve it now, so there you go: congratulations.” you raise your glass slightly to him.

He hesitates.

“I got a girl.”

You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. You keep staring at him with those piercing eyes of yours. He hates them. Hates how much he’s always been so aware of them. Hates how much he’s always been so desperate to understand the emotions behind them. But, most of all, he hates how beautiful he finds them, how much they make him feel so on the spotlight, so special.

He watches you open and close your mouth. Once. Twice. You’re speechless? Now here’s one for the history books, he thinks. You’re probably debating whether you should ask him or not about what he meant by that. And God, he hopes you do. He wants you to ask him, he so desperately does. He needs you to want to know what he means. He needs this opening to tell you exactly why Seulgi isn’t the girl, he needs this one chance to tell you what he’s been holding in for so long, the feelings that are always on the tip of his tongue.

Namjoon waits for you to ask. But you don’t. You look away.

You can’t ask him, because that question leads to things you’ve already shut the door of, a long time ago. And he should know better than to try and get it out of you. But he’s Namjoon. Namjoon, always the hopeful idealist, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. And you, always the scoffing pessimist, the egotistical cold bitch. So, you take the coward’s route and when you look back at him all you say is:

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” So there’s no point in talking about any of this, is what you don’t say.

“I know.”

Again, neither of you talk for a while. In silence, you simply look at each other. The air between you is tense with something neither could name exactly. Namjoon breaks the silence this time.

“Dance with me?” he extends his left hand to you.

“There’s no music.”

He shrugs and insists “Dance with me.”

You look at his still stretched hand towards you and it’s almost a perfect flashback of that one night so many nights ago. When he had also reached out for you, in ways more than just physical. When Namjoon had laid out so much of himself for you and all you did was spit it back at him.

“You owe me this one”, he says. Maybe he’s an ass for insisting on this, but God knows you actually do owe him at least this one. You do, and you know it. “You didn’t even talk to me at my party earlier”, he adds.

And it’s just another time that you realize he really is a much better person than you are for using the party as leverage, and not…Well, everything else you’ve done. It’s something you’re not sure you would’ve done for him.

You softly put down your beer on the counter, looking at it while you do so. Anything to not look at him just yet. You need those extra few seconds to…You don’t know what for. To prepare? To breathe? It isn’t to think, surely. Maybe that’s it. You need to not think about what you’re going to do. When the can touches the counter, you spin it a couple times, staring at the label.

With your peripheral vision, you can see Namjoon’s offering hand still out. Again, you remember another moment, a long time ago, when he offered his hand too. You had refused it. God, you suck at this not thinking thing. Andnd you suck at not being a coward.

You finally peel away from the counter and walk quietly to namjoon. You stare at his hand and, taking your time, you slide yours in it. Feeling every inch of his skin until both of your hands are completely touching, and when that happens, you feel a breath you didn’t realize you were holding come out. You feel a bit pathetic for it. The worst part is you hear Namjoon doing the same thing.

Namjoon is smart, you know that. You and everyone who saw him beat you at everything academic-related year after year after year. He’s smart. But he’s not truly smart. If he were truly smart, you think, he’d pull away right now. If he were, he’d turn his back away from you for good.

He doesn’t. He slides his hand from yours to your elbow, caressing your forearm on his way and pulls you in. His fingers on his right hand brush against you, starting with your fingers and going up until he settles it on your waist, pulling you in even more. Not letting go of your elbow, he places your hand on his chest and you complete the action by sliding both your arms around his neck.

You still haven’t looked in his eyes, focusing on his shirt. Actually, his chest. You’d rather not think about that.

You feel his presence all around you, feel him on your skin even though very few parts of you are really touching the other. You feel his head close to yours, your feet almost touching. The two of you stand locked in place.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes?” His voice is little more than a breath.

“Move.”

You hear him scoff lightly and get brave enough to glance at him through your eyelashes. Only a shadow of a smile rests on his lips, so his famous dimples are nowhere in sight.

As he begins to lead you, that quivering bravery you felt moments ago vanishes. You go back to staring at his shirt while embarrassingly hoping you don’t step on his toes. You'd count your steps, instead of just hoping you're doing it right. That is if you knew how to do that. Shouldn't there be music in order to properly count the steps? Isn't that how it works? You count by following the beat of the song, right? But, then again, there's supposed to be music when you dance regardless of the counting. God, what a stupid idea. Why did you agree to this anyway?

Namjoon pulls you even closer, joining your chests and your thighs together as you draw in a surprised breath and let out a sigh. Now, your nose brushes against his lips.

Ah, right. That is why.

You really can't do this not-thinking thing. Product of years over worrying about your social status and over analyzing every interaction you had to make sure you came out on top. It’s actually a lot of hard work being the main top bitch in the area.

Briefly, you wonder what people would think if they saw you right now in his arms. You wonder what Namjoon thinks of this whole scene.

And what an interesting scene it is: the dim lights covering you like a blanket while you quietly embrace, a dance that is little more than just swaying softly to a soundtrack of whispers and wind. You can see your pale reflections on the window. The image akin to that of ghost lovers lost to time, only united by the sound of emptiness when time is frozen. Maybe is because of that image of emptiness and stillness, and because you already decided to leave that you tell him:

"I'm sorry.” It's said so softly, so hopelessly, that Namjoon nearly misses it.

There’s so much he could say to that and yet…He puts a hand on your chin and pulls you away just enough to look at your face. With your eyebrows frowning and your beautiful eyes wide scanning him, you look as scared as Namjoon feels. Namjoon traces your face with his thumb: eyebrow to temple to cheek to your lips. This last caress makes your lips part a little, enough for only a thread of air to pass, and eyes flutter.

There’s so much he could say, but there's only one thing he wants.

Your lips touch in a strong kiss. A kiss that is like that first leap of courage into a cold pool. You know the water will be cold at first, but you also know that if you don't jump, you'll never get into the pool. And just like in a pool, neither of you breathe for a while. Just like in a pool, Namjoon is terrified of that first splash of water, scared you'll push him away.

The kiss ends and you catch your breaths. Not for long, though. You grab the lapel of his jacket to pull him in again and relock your lips. Now, you make sure it's a proper kiss, you take your time learning how to kiss him and how you two fit. After a swirl of your tongue, you feel his hand on your lower back put more pressure and pin you closer. Your legs open slightly and he puts one of his legs a little in between yours, his crotch rubbing against yours as you kiss. As you sink your finger deeper into his jacket, Namjoon firmly grabs the back of your neck and presses his hold. The shivers all over your body and your moan encourage him.

A surprised gasp leaves you when Namjoon, with one hand grabbing your neck and the other around your waist, moves you until your back is against a wall. The cold surface touching your back provides a small break from the hot and heavy air between you and him. A small part of you - the part that isn’t busy kissing him - is a little shocked at how strong he got. When you first met him, he was all height and bones. You’d heard he’d started going to the gym some semesters ago, but you sorta refused to really acknowledge it and, when your eyes and body acknowledged that independently, your brain made a conscious choice to ignore it. At the moment, you don’t have much brainpower to make any choice besides making out with him.

Namjoon likes to think he's self aware enough to not be an arrogant prick, but he can't stop the feeling of pride taking over him as you touch him with such clear appreciation of his new physique. He responds to it with his own devotion, intoxicated by your trademark perfume, the same lingering scent that would always tempt him whenever you left a room.

You feel his toned chest and your hands travel along his strong shoulders. And you feel a bit stupid, a bit clichè, because you put your hands on his upper arms and squeeze his biceps. Kinda like in those stupid movies where the sweet bimbo cheerleader fakes coyness as she fawns over the totally not humble quarterback’s muscles. Okay, so, yeah, maybe it’s a bit eye-rolling worthy, but God! his biceps! If his biceps weren’t enough…his thighs! His thighs are huge and strong and you think you’re not really ashamed of how you gladly let him put one of them between your legs. Also, you don’t care that you two are unabashedly dry humping each other, like two horny inexperienced teenagers. Well, suppose that goes with the cheerleader-quarterback thing. Besides, Namjoon certainly doesn’t seem to mind, guiding and motivating your movements by stroking your ass.

Jesus, dry humping someone should not feel this good. You keep going, more, more and more, feeling yourself get wetter with each move, feeling Namjoon get harder each time you feel his dick brushing against your lower belly. He lifts your leg and repositions himself at a better angle so it isn’t just the friction that’s doing it for you, but the hard pressure of his dick too making you nearly lose your mind in need of him - and he's barely touched you. How come you're affected by him like this?

You open your eyes to see him leaving messy kisses along your skin, making his way down your neck past your collarbones. When he reaches your cleavage he makes it a point to maintain eye contact and lazily kisses the space between your breasts. Again, Namjoon isn't particularly conceited, still, he shows a boastful smirk at your eyes rolling back in pleasure. He continues his way down your body, his hands trailing its contours and feeling the soft silk of your dress he wished you weren’t wearing.

To him, you’re beautiful like a queen: proud, imposing, and powerful. You’ve always been. He thinks it’s your sharp, intelligent eyes, your intent look, but it’s also your straight and confident posture. Looking at you at the moment, though he can still see that spark of intelligence, your eyes are heavy-lidded. Your posture is not insecure, it’s solicitous, fully ready to give in to him. But you’re still you and because you’re still you that there’s still a hint of royal impatience in the way you press yourself against his body, demanding more out of him.

The vision of him going down past your belly button makes you take a breath and arch your back in anticipation. You'd sooner kill yourself before saying you felt butterflies in your stomach, but you do feel something. It takes all your little sense of self control to not grab his hair and lead him straight to where you want him. You don’t have a chance to actually do this since he’s already dipping even lower, eyeing you with malice and desire and nearly driving you crazy with need. You feel your nipples harden when he strokes your folds through your panties with his thumb before pushing the clothing aside.

“Namjoon”, you moan.

He lets out a low growling sound at that and begins exploring your pussy. Fingers and tongue take turns touching and tasting you. His fingers open and stretch you while his mouth sucks on your clit. You think you mumble something along the lines of “yes” and “there” a few times. Your fingers curl in response and your hips move following his rhythm. He licks and sucks and tastes and touches and strokes and you feel yourself closer to cumming with each movement.

Once more, you catch a glimpse of yourselves in a window. The sight is one of pure depravation. You see how dishelved you look, your lips swollen from the kisses and hair an entangled mess on your head, dress hiked up as one of your legs is proped up on Namjoon’s shoulder, a hand of his squeezing your thigh.You’re a bit impressed at how he’s still at it, when your last few hook-ups seemed to want to eat you out as quickly as possible only to say they did it. You’ve never really seen a man who seems so happy to eat pussy like Namjoon. You watch your reflection for a little bit longer while he continues edging you.

Enough. You need all of him now.

“Namjoon”, you say breathlessly. It was a command, but your mind can only think about his tongue on your pussy. You try again. You forcefully pull his head back “Namjoon.”

He hisses a bit due to the force of you pulling his hair.

“Yes, Your Highness?” you squint your eyes in annoyance hearing the mocking nickname he gave you so long ago. You hated the nickname, because you knew it wasn’t a compliment, just a veiled insult of his. However, hearing it while he’s on his knees for you…not bad, you think, not bad at all. Especially when his already deep voice sounds deeper and raspy, the words coming out with a drawl.

“Bedroom. Now.”

He’s up in a second, leading you upstairs. The way up is confusing and chaotic, with the two of you nearly running but barely letting go of each other, hot and lewd kisses exchanged while you walk. You have no idea how Namjoon finds the right door. He stops kissing you only to open the bedroom’s door, which you quickly shut behind you. He tries to put you against it, but you flip him and press him to the door instead.

For a moment, you only look at him. Spreading your hands on his muscular chest, you listen to your heavy breathing.

“Y/N.”

You kiss him again. You put your lips on his neck and take your time there, busying your hands with taking off his jacket and then unbottuning his shirt. When you finish, you stroke his bulge through his pants. Namjoon lets out a hungry hiss that has you rubbing your thighs together. The point of stroking him was to tease Namjoon, you wanted to see if you could get him so worked up as he’d done to you. Unfortunately for you, you find out that that’s a double edged sword and it’s sharper end is pointed towards you, because the more you touch him the more you feel yourself get hotter. Having him in your hand only makes your mouth water.

There’s only one thing you can think of right now. You pull his member out of his pants, stroking the full length once before you turn him and push him down on the bed. Namjoon watches you crawl onto the bed and fully take off his pants and underwear. It’s not slow and sweet or careful. Every motion of yours is aggressive and fast, eyes gleaming with a hungry determination Namjoon is sure is mirrored in his own eyes. You’re beautiful, so so beautiful. On all fours over him like a fucking lioness ready for her meal. Just looking at you like this makes him even harder.

Maybe the gentlemanly thing would be to stop and tell you there’s no need to repay the favor of earlier. But, well, maybe Namjoon isn’t a gentleman, after all. And he’d surely never deny you of anything, not when you so clearly want him. The idea of you wanting him just a fraction of how much he wants you is the best feeling in the world. Or rather, the second best. Because the first is definitely the feeling of your mouth on him.

You take his full length in your mouth, coating his dick with your saliva. Namjoon watches as you alternate between teasing kitten licks on his cockhead and properly sucking him off, your hands griping the base of his cock. God, you’re not simply beautiful, you’re gorgeous. He fights against the urge to roll back in his eyes in order to watch you going down on him. Your hair is thrown around, some of it tickling his thigh while your head keeps bobbing up and down, your makeup is smeared and your dress is a crumpled mess. And you’re gorgeous.

You make eye contact with him with your lips still wrapped around him and he thinks he’s gonna die. Or cum. Probably both. Maybe it’s his dick talking, but he thinks he’d die happy right now.

“Tell me what you like”, you tell him.

“You.”

The immediate blurted out answer shocks you a bit. You scoff.

“You really can’t keep it in.”

In the split second you don’t move, Namjoon starts to deflate. He ruined everything. He waits for you to get up and leave.

You don’t.

You lean forwards and kiss him. The kiss is nothing more than just the press of your lips together. You ignore the still lingering doubt in Namjoon’s eyes. Reaching past him, you go through the drawers on the nightstand. As you look for condoms, your tits are hanging above Namjoon’s head and he peppers kisses on them. After a few seconds, you get the condom out the drawer.

Namjoon tries taking it out of your hands.

“Give me, I can do it.”

“No”, you stop him. “It’s fine.”

You kiss him lightly on the cheek. Namjoon has to stop for a bit. You’d never been so…soft with him before. Not even in those few months long ago when you had been something akin to friends.

Not wasting any time, you put the condom on his cock. You quickly take your panties off and guide his lenght to where you want it. You two stare at each other as you sink yourself on his cock. Moaning at how he stretches you out. You love how full he makes you feel. He’s so big, his cock makes you feel so good. Having him in your mouth was one thing, having him inside you was heavenly. You place a hand on Namjoon’s chest.

“Lay down.”

Because you personally believe feminism is about having a buff hot nerdy guy under you while you get yourself off.

Head on the pillows, he watches you move your hips, leading him in a slow sensual rhythm. Moaning, your head rolls back in pleasure, mouth open to help you breathe better. The two of you pick up the pace, you bouncing on his cock a little then reverting back to grinding.

“Y/N, your dress. Please.”

Understanding what he means, you pull your dress above your head and toss it to the side. With both hands holding your hips, he only gives your tits a dazed glare. He keeps watching when you take your own hand and play with your tits. Namjoon growls and thrusts his hips upwards harder when you lick two of your fingers and use them to play with your nipples, caressing and pinching them, your palms massaging the rest of the soft flesh.

“Like that?”

The raspiness of your voice, that sparkle of meanness in your eyes, that one raised eyebrow on your face…it’s all almost too much for Namjoon. You are gorgeuous. And he’s so impossibly hard.

“Yeah.”

The word almost doesn’t come out. You shake your head and giggle at him. Only you. Only you could be bouncing on a guy’s cock, suck him off, have him eat you out, and, with just a little giggle, make the guy blush. Still, if feels so good to make you laugh. Even if it’s at him. So good.

Almost beats being inside of you. Almost.

Namjoon flips you and lays you down on the bed. Immediately after you hit the mattress, he’s already on you, mouth licking and sucking on you tit. His pace gets faster, more franctic, more desperate. Hitting deeper and deeper. When he hits a sweet spot, you moan louder.

“Yeah, there. More. More. Yes. Yeah,” you repeat the words like a mantra.

“So beautiful”, he tells you. “Almost there, baby.”

God, the pet name. “Can’t take it anymore”, you say.

“Yeah, you can, baby. You can take it all.”

He knows you can. You - open wide for him, hair spread on the pillows like a halo, nipples hardened for him, pussy clenching around him - can take it. You are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

On top of you, Namjoon looks like a fucking beast, in the best way possible. Eyebrows furrowed and barring his teeth, his honey skin sprinkled with sweat. A drop of it slips from his forehead and falls on your cheek and you finally cum. Moaning his name over and over. He put his mouth again on your tit, gritting your nipple between his front teeth. With a final moan out of you, Namjoon empties himself inside the condom.

For a few seconds, you don’t move, just listen to each other breathing. Namjoon feels himself getting softer inside you and, on the back of his mind, he dreads the moment he pulls out from you. Dreads the moment you realise whatever you were doing was over, and so was your business with him.

Still, he can’t stay inside you forever. He pulls out.

He busies himself with taking the condom off him and throwing it away while he notices you get tissues from the nightstand to clean yourself up. He mentally kicks himself for not doing it for you, but then again, maybe you don’t want him doing this for you. That’s another kind of intimacy you haven’t given him the greenlight to do. Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

You put your dress back on and his heart aches. “First door to the right. Hey, uh - “ he begins before you leave “I’ll go get water. Do you want some?”

You shake your head and leave the room.

Silently, he puts his underwear and pants back on and goes to the kitchen, trying all the way down to not think of you.

He stays a little bit longer than needed in the kitchen. Even after everything, he still can’t feel sure of anything with you. There’s still that ugly feeling of inadequacy whispering in his head that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Tonight was just a fluke.

Namjoon goes back to the bedroom expecting you to not be there anymore. He imagines you jumping out of the bathroom window to escape him or sneaking off through the roof. If he wasn’t busy feeling sorry for what you two could’ve been, he’d probably laugh at the scenarios he made up.

When he opens the bedroom door, though, he finds you there. Curled up under the sheets on one side of the bed. Your eyes are closed and your face is serene. He hesitates.

“You’re not gonna sleep?”

You ask without opening your eyes. Namjoon doesn’t answer, but he climbs onto bed behind you. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close enough that you feel his warmth beside you and his breathing on your neck.

A while of silence goes by. He’s not sure if you’re already asleep. However, there’s one more thing he needs to say to you, even if you don’t hear it. Something he was too much of a coward to say before.

“Stay.”

You open your eyes. You’re careful to make no move to alert him you’re still up.

You think about his request. Stay. Part of you wants to, part of you - a very small and recent part of you that is hopeful, a part that is only there because Namjoon coaxed it out of you - says you could stay. Stay. You could stay with him. Stay in his bed. In this city. Stay…

Like you said, though, that is a very small part of you. The biggest one is a coward.

When Namjoon wakes up to an empty side of the bed the next day, he instantly knows what happened.

You left.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

author’s note: my first attempt at writing smut (at least full on smut, star to finish), hope it doesn’t suck :DDDD any and all feedback/comments are appreciated

#kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon imagine #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon fanfic #rm x reader #rm imagine #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #my writing #kim namjoon #namjoon #rm #bts

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kyph3r · 4 months

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BOYFRIEND NAMJOON HCS ♡

paring: bf!namjoon x fem!reader

genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

AN: my first post 😭😭😭 hopefully people like this!! also this is like barely edited so if there are any grammar mistakes i'm so sorry

SFW HCS-

• when you guys first start dating it's kinda awkward, but as time goes by he gets better

• loves going on dates with you, favorite places to go would definitely be the museum or just a stroll around a park, loves being in your presence

• sitting down and having long drawn out conversations would also be something he enjoys, probably one of the reasons you got together

• his confession was probably a scramble of words, him cutting himself off and stuttering until you grabbed him and said you felt the same way

• will accidentally just sit and stare at you, no conversation at all and be very embarrassed when you catch him

• “joonie, is there something on my face, why are you staring at me like that?” “oh uh there's nothing on your face, i was just zoning out” and his face is beet red

• after all of the awkwardness he becomes very flirty and bold, it kinda knocks you off guard

• will come up to you and flirt just to see you get flustered, finds it very amusing

• loves using pet names, baby and princess being his favorites, but when he hears you calling him something sweet, a part of him melts

• the word baby comes out your mouth and suddenly he's blushing, kicking his feet in the air like a schoolgirl

• has a jealous streak, if someone looks at you for a second too long he's immediately pulling you closer to him

• not very fond of pda but if he sees someone interested in you or if he is just too needy he'll give you little pecks or put his arm around your waist

• he's just such a gentleman, doing all the basic stuff like giving you his jacket, holding the door open for you, pulling your chair out, it's very endearing

NSFW HCS-

• kinda perverted, you could do be doing the most mundane thing like stretching and he'd already be getting hard

• was very embarrassed about this in the first stages of you guys dating but once he saw that you were just as needy for him his whole attitude changed

• definitely a dom, but focused more on your pleasure than anything else

• likes saying nasty stuff in your ear like “you were just made to take it, huh?” and “listen to yourself, already dumb and i'm not even close to being finished with you” and watching your reaction

• likes getting on top of you and caging you in with his arms, thinks it's cute that you have nowhere else to look but at him

• but also really likes you being on top of him, watching you struggle to ride him and get yourself off, it always ends with him grabbing your hips and doing it for you

• secretly likes making you all worked up and desperate, he’ll walk in before he has to go somewhere and whisper dirty things in your ear, grabbing your hips and kissing all over you, then just leave like he didn't just make you insanely horny

• he always makes it up to you though by fucking you into the mattress when he gets back dw

• always gets harder when you start whining and begging for him, he hears you moan “joonie it's not enough, i need it inside, faster!” and he snaps, folding you in half

• is definitely the type to moan and groan, especially when he's close

• he'll let out little choked noises and start saying the sweetest things in your ears, totally different from the way he's pounding in to you

• while he is usually very rough, he knows when to take it easier on you and can always flip the switch from domineering to caring

• you tell him you've had a rough day and he'll do whatever he can to make you feel better, whether that be eating you out until you forget about what happened or slowly making love to you

• aftercare with him is always sweet, he's always gentle with handling you and will whisper thank yous into your ear until you fall asleep

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #rm x reader #rm smut #rm fluff #namjoon headcanons #rm headcanons #namjoon fanfic #bts

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moni-logues · 8 months

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shit i think i send it wrong... hehe. it was Namjoon plus color pink plus strangers to lovers plus library (i just had to, i have a thing for smart bookworm Nam)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (gn)

Genre: strangers-to-lovers, sfw

Summary: The handsome stranger who's started coming to the library where you work might just one day work up the courage to ask you out.

Content: nothing to be warned for

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I actually ummed and ahhed about posting this as a response to this request because, whilst it was prompted by it, I kind of want to keep the request on the backburner and do something a little more with it one day, maybe? BUT also like, when will I have the time when I have 5000 other things I want to write too 😅😅 so for the time being, have what amounts to little more than a post-meet-cute situation lol. I hope you enjoy it anyway, anon! Thank you for requesting!

Murakami

A book hit the desk to your left and you turned from your computer to look up.

Fuck.

It was him again.

You glanced at the book. Murakami again.

“Big fan?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual as you slid his library card towards yourself across the desk to scan. “That’s your third Murakami in a row!”

The man blinked behind his glasses and paused with his mouth slightly open for a second, surprised. You immediately regretted saying anything and appearing like some kind of stalker in reverse; he showed up at your workplace but you were the one keeping tabs on him.

“Oh, I didn’t mean-, I’m not- it's here.” You gestured vaguely to your computer where his loan history was listed. “It shows all the things you’ve taken out; I'm not-. I don’t... I don’t remember everyone’s loans...”

That was true, for the most part, but not for him.

He had moved recently and your library (well, it wasn’t yours, but it was where you worked) was now his local. He came in frequently; he ordered many books through the inter-library loan system; he reserved books that were unavailable; he picked new things from the displays. He seemed to have an interest in everything. At the moment, that interest was mostly all the novels of Haruki Murakami.

“This one’s my favourite,” you told him as you picked it up to scan.

“Oh really?”

“Yup.”

“What others have you read?”

You looked at him as you slid the book back to him with his library card.

“All of them.”

His eyes widened.

“Really? All?”

You nodded back and he had the decency to look a little impressed.

“Then I look forward to reading your favourite. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Absolutely, but only if you like it.”

He laughed and you smiled, trying not to look like you were about to lose your mind because this was the longest conversation you’d had with this handsome stranger since he first came to the library and your heart fell at his feet. You could feel your shirt start to stick to your back as sticky, nervous sweat pricked on your skin; your face was aflame and you prayed he wouldn’t notice; your heart was beating so fast and so loud, you could hear the blood roaring in your ears like a jet engine.

Let’s be clear, you weren’t usually like this. No one turned your head like this. Ever. You were notorious amongst your friends for being cool – cool to the point of being cold. You were hard to win over; you were a stalwart friend-to-lover. You needed that base, that foundation; the safety of familiarity, the uncovering of a person before you were in too deep, that was what you needed from a new romantic connection.

Until a man named Kim Namjoon walked up to the library counter one Thursday morning and you lost your mind completely.

There wasn't much remarkable about him, not really. He was good-looking enough: a little above average height; a little slimmer than average build, maybe; a deep voice which he used to be friendly and polite, a little hushed in the quiet of your workplace; he was just a guy. Just A Guy. With soft, shiny black hair and thick-rimmed glasses that he didn’t always wear. A guy who read anything and everything you recommended to him and-

Was that why he was reading Murakami? You suddenly remembered a portion of his first visit that had been, until now, lurking deep in the darkness of your embarrassment. You had been so flustered by your immediate, intense reaction to him that most of that conversation had been erased from your memory through some kind of automated self-preservation. But out of the gloam, it came. You told him Murakami was one of your favourite authors. You laughed when Namjoon trotted out the usual criticisms of his work—criticisms you didn’t necessarily disagree with but which, nonetheless, didn’t ruin the enjoyment you got from his books. You responded archly, you now remembered, a little curt, a little too strongly. Namjoon caught your tone and changed tack; he promised that he would read Murakami for himself and see.

Your heart raced even faster and you thought it would work itself to arrest if you didn’t find a way to calm the fuck down very, very soon.

Was Namjoon reading Murakami because you said you liked him? If he was, what did that mean? Nothing? Everything?

You spent a week obsessing over it. You hadn’t told a single one of your friends about Namjoon because you knew you wouldn’t be able to stand the ridicule, the teasing, the questions. They noticed you were distracted, tense, a little tetchy, a little weirder than you usually were. You told them it was nothing, you were fine.

You decided you had to take matters into your own hands. You had to ask him. You had to ask him something anyway, get something out of him. You had assumed this was a silly workplace crush; you had assumed, firstly, that you would get over it and, secondly, that it would never be reciprocated.

You’d been wrong before.

“What did you think?” you asked when Namjoon walked up to the desk and handed over the book he had taken last week. “Think you’ve given Murakami a fair shot? Care to make a judgement?”

He had been preparing this answer since before he took this book out last week. He hadn’t intended to read another Murakami, but, when he’d reached the library and looked over at you, with your ponytail and pink, fuzzy jumper that you clearly favoured and which he thought you looked so cute in, he knew he was going to bottle it. So he’d picked up one more book that said Murakami on the spine and bought himself another week’s reprieve.

He had also forbidden himself for chickening out again. It had been too long now and he wasn’t usually this shy about this stuff. He had asked a person on a date before; it wasn’t rocket science and it wasn’t the end of the world if you said no. You just made him so nervous.

“Y’know,” he began, tapping his finger against the book’s cover in a way that he hoped came across thoughtful rather than nervous. “I think I agree with you, actually.”

You face broke into a victorious smile that he could see you try to stifle.

“Naturally... I am always right.”

“Always right in matters of opinion?”

“I’m afraid so, yeah; you’d better get used to it.”

He laughed; this was going better than he’d expected. He couldn’t be 100% certain, but he was fairly sure this could be counted as conversation that was almost bordering flirtation. It was, at least, the most casual and familiar you had been so far. That had to mean something.

“So which one are you taking this time?” you asked him, pre-emptively pulling up the library catalogue to see which Murakamis you had on the shelves.

“Actually, I think I’m going to read something different this week.”

“Oh, you like Murakami so much you want to stop reading him?”

His stomach flipped; you were teasing him. He was used to being teased by his friends but this made him flustered. You made him flustered.

“Yeah, exactly.” He laughed. “No, I just have a new project I’m working on and I need some references, want to do some research, you know.”

You sighed performatively.

“I suppose I can allow that.”

You looked up at him and he had to will the blood from his face; you looked expectant, just a little haughty, and then you raised an eyebrow in question and he was amazed he didn’t pop an entire boner right there in the library.

“What are you looking for?”

You.

That was what Namjoon wanted to say. If he had been a different person, maybe he would have. And maybe it would have come out cool and cocky in a not-off-putting way. And maybe you’d have liked it.

But it wasn’t what he said. What he said was that he had a list of books on the history of fine art that he needed and which you dutifully looked up and pointed him towards.

As he walked away from the library a little while later, laden with books, he cursed himself. Next time. Next time he’d ask you out for sure.

Or he’d pick up another Murakami.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #bts x reader #bts fic #rm x reader #rm fic

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kpopsinsanon7 · 8 months

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This is one of my first published works so please be kind! If you like it giving me coffee would help support me in continuing to write 💜

#bts #rm x reader #kpop #phonesex #nsfwbts #no minors allowed

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jjksblackgf · 9 months

Text

too daring for you? | knj (m)

pairing — kim namjoon x reader summary — Namjoon can't keep your roleplaying idea off his head, so he'll make sure to surprise you with it when you least expect it. genre — smut, pwp rate — 18+ word count — 1.9k warnings — explicit sexual content, role playing, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, teabagging, manhandling, light degradation, cum eating.

Perfume, check.

Leather jacket, check.

Favorite watch, check.

Tonight, Namjoon was a different man. His night would not be the same as the others. No more boring date nights inside his apartment. Today he’ll go to a nice bar, where you’ll be expecting him. But what you’re not accounting for is his intentions.

Today he’s fulfilling a fantasy. One he’s been intrigued by since you’ve mentioned it. But to pull it off, he has to be his best confident self. Be in his A game and catch you by surprise.

Checking himself in the mirror and everything looks fine, appropriate. Except his expression. He’s not ready for this. He can only think of your request to spice things up. He didn’t know they needed spicing up in the first place.

“I’m living my greatest fantasy right now,” he remembered saying. You two were cuddling in his bed after sex. You were cozied up to his chest, and he ran the tip of his fingers through your naked spine. He was almost purring.

“Cuddling?” you asked, sounding surprised.

“Intimacy,” he answered, giggling at your amazed expression.

“Really?” you checked. “But I can’t say I’m that surprised. You’re always so… intense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t really think we have sex per se, I see it as passionate love making. You’re fully committed to it.”

“And you’re not?” he asked. Your last sentence had his alarm bells turned on.

“Of course I am, love. Don’t get me wrong.” you shifted in bed, supporting your weight in one elbow to look at his face. “And I love that you’re passionate, and that you’re into all sorts of intimacy.”

“But?” he pressed, trying to stay calm.

“But… I, personally, wouldn’t categorize intimacy as a fantasy. I swear I’m not judging you.”

“Okay…”

“Are you mad?” you asked, and he watched as your brows furrowed in concern.

“What do you consider a fantasy?” he asked, letting his curiosity get the best of him. You just stayed in silence and studied his face, your brows still furrowed. “I’m not mad,” he clarified, making sure his voice sounded calm enough.

He was telling the truth. Mad was not the correct word to describe his feelings. He was a little worried that he wasn’t satisfying you, so he was worried. He wanted you all to himself — soul and body, especially body — and he wanted you to moan how much you belonged to him, so he was possessive. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of another man finding the weak spots he worked so hard to build, so he was jealous. But mad wasn’t one of them.

You sighed, taking him out of his musings, and you answered sheepishly. “I like roleplaying,” you whispered. He hummed in acknowledgment and changed the subject.

But that night still ran through his mind every time you had sex, and in the ride to that bar he replayed that scene over and over again. He had to know what you were like, who you were, when you didn’t want to be yourself.

That was enough to give him back his confidence in his idea. His curiosity got him into this mess, and it was that same itch that would get him through it.

The slick wood arches over the bar were the first thing to catch his eyes when he entered. The low light above the tables and booths complimented nicely with the black leather chairs. The live band wasn’t half bad with the smooth jazz.

The atmosphere was sexy. He picked right.

He sat on a bar stool and asked for his favorite drink.

“A manhattan for me, please,” he heard a familiar voice say, and he turned around to fall in love with you all over again.

Your smile was big when you looked at his face, and you opened your mouth to start talking, but Namjoon was set on making this night special from beginning to end. After all, he didn’t let you in on his plans for a reason. He wanted to see the desire and lust in your eyes when you realized his idea. Another thing he was curious about.

“Hello, stranger,” he started, offering his hand. When you accepted it, he took it to his lips, planting a sweet kiss there. “I must be pretty lucky to have such a beautiful face sit right next to me.”

“Thank you…” you said. Your tone of voice gave away your confusion, bending at the end, making it sound like a question. Namjoon guessed you were trying to understand his strange behavior.

“Does your pretty face come with a name?” he continued. He was amused by the many emotions running through your face, but he hadn’t quite reached the one he wanted to see the most yet.

“What?” you asked.

“Oh, no worries. I don’t mind a little mystery.” he leaned towards you and took a sip of his drink. “My name is Namjoon by the way. I hope I get to know you better this evening, angel.”

Jackpot.

Your face lit up with understanding, and a sly smile adorned your face.

“You sound intriguing, Namjoon.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” he winked and was pleased when you bit your bottom lip. He made sure the bartender knew he’d pay for the drinks and made a move to leave. “I must leave now. But if you want to have the time of your life, here’s where to find me,” he said.

He handed you a card with the name of a club and some cash for the Uber. “I’ll be waiting for you, angel. I know you won’t disappoint me.” he said, leaning closer to your face and inhaling the scent of your perfume. “Your name is on the list,” he whispered to your ear, before planting another kiss to your earlobe.

Arriving at the club was easy enough. The waiting for you to show up was almost a torture device.

Did he do it right? Did you feel controlled, like he was dominating your decisions? Were you turned on by the idea? At the end, after he handed you the card, was the glint in your eyes just residue from the surprise? Or did you feel your stomach flutter, much like his own heart was beating out of his chest?

The possibilities were endless.

But it was like you had a neon sign pointed directly at you. He could see your face as you looked for him in the crowd. He took a sip of his drink. Should he go after you, or should he let you find him? He twitched in his seat, his leg bouncing. He must do something.

But alas, there you were.

Eyes still filled with fascination. Your lips parted as you two made eye contact, and Namjoon watched you in awe. Shoulders back, and hips moving side to side, inviting him to glare, to stare, to inappropriately lick his lips. He watched every second of your hands as they ran through your body, touching all the places he knew you liked to be kissed. Your neck, your navel, the curve of your hips.

Dancing for him. A show just for him. Other people get to watch and envy him. But he’s the only one that can touch.

Intimacy be damned. He liked this fantasy better.

You curled your fingers, inviting him to dance. He didn’t have to think twice.

He didn’t recognize himself. The Namjoon of yesterday wouldn’t do such a thing. Too timid to dance like this in public. To grab his partner by the waist and ogle at his favorite body parts. But you changed him. Reached his genetic makeup and twisted it to your liking.

He liked it too.

He didn’t last more than a song underneath your touch. Your hands ran upwards through his body, but before they could reach his neck and fist his hair, Namjoon was already kissing you. It was urgent, it was inappropriate, it was too damn sexual. He was sure he’d leave the club with a boner.

His tongue unceremoniously intertwined with yours, and his hands grabbed your ass with fervor. You weren’t so cute either. Namjoon remembered you were in a public setting when your hands reached the front of his pants.

He stopped your search, holding your wrists behind your back.

“Not here, angel,” he said, panting.

“I know where,” you offered, twisting your wrists so you’d be hauling him around the club.

You reached the bathrooms, and you shoved him inside before a line could form behind you. Before he could ask about your intentions, you pushed him against the wall, kissing him again. He allowed himself to go further, biting your neck and leveraging his position to grind his groin against your abdomen.

“Fuck, I can’t take this,” you said, dropping to your knees and opening his zipper.

His cock was already hard when you wrapped your mouth around him. He moaned your name repeatedly as you massaged his length in synchronicity with your lips. He moaned even louder when his tip reached the back of your throat. Your gag reflex made your throat even tighter, and he wanted to scream your name.

But of course you had to surprise him, using his length to slap your face and tongue, and putting pressure around his base. And that was enough for him to be overwhelmed by his instincts. He grabbed a chunk of your hair with one hand and secured your jaw open with the other, inserting himself in and out as he pleased.

He thrusted his hips once more, as far as your mouth would allow. He wanted to feel your throat closing around his tip again. He only let you up for air after you tapped his thigh. But he wasn’t done being rough. The trail of saliva left between his dick and your tongue inspired him even further.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded, his voice almost an octave lower, and you obliged with a smile. He spit on your tongue before placing his testicles inside your mouth. Between the warmth of your tongue and his agile hands, he was close. “Fuck,” he moaned, inserting his dick in your mouth one last time before climax overpowered him. “I want to see you swallow it,” he asserted, already adjusting his pants.

You did as he asked and opened your mouth showing your tongue to prove it. Your smile was as big as he’d ever seen. If he knew you’d be this wild, he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to comply with your wishes.

“Good,” he said, taking a deep breath and helping you get to your feet.

Before you could say anything, or even better, go home to finish the night, there was a banging on the bathroom door.

When Namjoon opened it, he was met with a security guard, followed by an irritated manager.

“Oh, goody,” the manager said, taking a look around Namjoon to find you hiding behind him.

“Would you two please step aside? The bathroom is off limits from certain activities. I’m gonna have to escort you out of the premises.”

“Sure, that’s no problem.” Namjoon didn’t turn around to look at you. He just squeezed your hand as you two walked out of the club, but he knew your whole body was burning from embarrassment. “Well, there’s a story to tell our grandkids,” he joked once you two were on a cab headed home.

“If you tell them any of this, I will slowly poison you,” you threatened. “But I do need to tell them how amazing you are in all aspects,” you gushed, hugging his neck. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime, angel.”

#bts x reader #rm x reader #namjoon x reader #bts smut #namjoon smut #bangtanbathhouse #btsafterdarknet

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sunnebeam · 9 months

Text

before, after, forever.

DRABBLE.

pairing: kim namjoon x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact), unprotected sex (bc of the time period but in today's day & age please use protection), knight au, slight mulan au, other warnings are withheld due to possible spoilers

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: ok ngl i'm not quite happy with how this turned out :( which makes me extra sad bc i was so excited to write this plot/trope 🥲 anyways i hope u guys still enjoy this cute lil knight!namjoon drabble. and as always, feedback & reviews are my lifesource <3

The moon is full.

You first notice it as you're approaching the lake, its circled orb reflected on the water's rippled surface. You let the moonlight accompany you as you arrive at the lake farthest from the base to take a much needed bath.

You're sure everyone else is asleep by now, but still, habit makes you look around in caution before taking your clothes off. Your hands are shaky as you take the wrap off your chest but when it finally falls off, you forego covering your breasts with your hands as you hurriedly run to the water.

It's warm.

You thank your lucky stars that the water's warm enough. Quickly, you scrub your body, making sure to get all the dirt because you don't know when you'll be able to sneak away to bathe again.

It's when you're untangling the tie on your hair that you notice movement in the corner of your eye. Panicking, you open your mouth to scream but the culprit promptly steps into view, hands in the air to show no harm, the moonlight shining on his face.

It's Namjoon.

Your breath stops. You debate scrambling to put on your clothes or hiding deeper in the water to hide your secret. He ends up choosing for you instead, walking towards where your clothes are before speaking softly.

"Are you finished?" he asks. "Don't worry if you aren't. Don't rush on my account."

"It's hard not to rush when someone's watching me."

He smiles, dimples showing. "Better me than them," he says, hand picking up your chest wrap.

You freeze. And you're about to come up with an excuse when he just shushes you good-naturedly.

"Don't be scared. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"How did you find out?" you ask.

He chuckles. "When you've been training as long as I have to look for the missing princess, you have to be able to look at a situation intuitively and spot anything suspicious."

"But why are you helping me? Why are you promising to keep it a secret?"

"I don't know why any woman would pretend to be a man but I can tell you have your reasons." He shrugs, before smiling cheekily at you, adding, "And I can also tell that you're practically in love with me—"

You choke.

"—and I can't have your admiration of me diminishing just because I can't keep a secret now, can I?"

What the—?

"I don't know what to say," you admit, marveling at how he hasn't changed one bit.

"You don't have to say anything. But I do have something to ask you."

You wait. After a few heartbeats, he finally asks.

"Can I join you?"

And that's how you found yourself stark naked in the middle of the lake with your fellow knight, your lips connected like you don't even need air, your hands pleasuring each other under the water.

"Are you ready for me?" he asks, his fingers toying with your clit causing you to moan.

You nod, and without further prompting, he slips inside you easily. And like you knew it would, it feels like home.

Does he know you've been ready for him for a long while? Does he know you've been waiting for this for the longest time? Does he know you've been dreaming of this for the longest nights?

He starts off rough, pressing his lips against your own to compensate for the intensity, but he doesn't need to.

You know he likes it rough. You like it, too, as long as it's with him.

Does he know that you already know he likes it hard and fast? Does he know that you already know what he feels like inside you?

You wrap your legs around his waist and meet his thrusts halfway.

You whimper at the sensations, head falling back in ecstasy. He muffles his groans, mindful of the fact that your companions back at the base might hear the two of you.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Namjoon mutters. "Are you close?"

Without waiting for your answer, he balances your weight on one hand and uses the other to play with your sensitive clit. You whine at the heightened pleasure but also at his action.

His mind might have forgotten, but his body still remembers.

You find yourself nearing your climax at the thought of his body moving and relying on muscle memory to get you off. When you begin creaming around his hard cock, he quickly pulls out to cum as well.

Both your hearts are beating insanely fast, and your breaths are erratic. You both take a moment to calm down, basking in the glow of the moonlight and listening to the peaceful sounds of the night.

You feel a hand on your cheek. Looking up, Namjoon looks blurry and it's only when his thumb brushes your cheek that you realize you're crying.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

Everything, you want to say.

But you can't. So you don't.

Because telling him that you're actually the missing princess will just end up confusing him. Because telling him that you were once star-crossed lovers will just end up hurting him.

Bscause telling him the truth will just end up killing him, literally and figuratively.

And he probably wouldn't even believe you.

After all, the story of an esteemed princess and a lowly knight falling in love, getting caught, and being punished – with the princess banished and the knight wiped of his memories – is certainly not for the faint of heart.

And besides, you aren't pretending to be a knight to trigger his memories. No, you're pretending to be a knight to make sure it never happens.

See, the thing about the royal family's ability to wipe out memories is that it comes with a side effect. If the victims end up recovering their memories, they'll be faced with an even worse fate.

Death.

#bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #bts x you #namjoon x you #kim namjoon x you #rm x you #bts x y/n #kim namjoon x y/n #namjoon x y/n #rm x y/n #cat.writes

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gloriousunknownsong · 9 months

Note

maybe even a jimin having sex with reader on the second date and him calling them his good girl or something while he’s gently choking or namjoon having the reader ride him while his playlist plays in the back

Song: Sweat

Singer: Zayn

Warnings: Riding, choking, there's not much just some sweet love making.

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader

A/n: I tried my best, hope you like it, anon. I luv you <3

Sex with Namjoon has always been so intimate and romantic, with his playlist playing in the background. Just like now. It's 1 am at midnight, it's raining. You both are completely naked, came already 2 times.

Staying up for you

Day and night for you

We've been losing track of time

Reaching higher heights

You're sitting on him with his cock deep inside you. He lip-syncs once in a while looking deep into your eyes.

Only one thing on my mind

Only one thing on your mind

Let me touch you where you like it

Let me do it for ya

He chokes you gently, his other hand on your ass guiding it to move slowly. He brings your face closer to his and kisses you while you grind against him slowly.

Give you all of my attention

Dive into that ocean of your love, oh

Let me show you just how much I want ya

He grabs your neck a bit harder, making you moan. He slides his tongue into you. Your hands gripping his biceps. Both of you are on cloud 9, just feeling each other's bodies.

Oh, dripping down your body like gold

Slowly streaming up the windows

My skin on your skin, again and again

Sweat for me, sweat for me

You pull away and place your hand on his chest, moving a little faster. Your cum slightly dripping down his thighs. He groans at the sight of his dick disappearing into your body.

Oh, love it when I tear off your clothes

Slowly steaming up the windows

My skin on your skin, again and again

Sweat for me, sweat for me

He grips your ass harder. He lip-syncs "Damn, I can't get over your body. Can't take my eyes off you, baby" You blush, leaning forward you kiss his neck. You mark his beautiful chest.

Damn, I could get lost in a heartbeat

Damn, I can't get over your body

Can't take my eyes off you, baby

He flips you over, going harder and deeper, making you moan gorgeously. You held his broad shoulders while he mutters some curse words "I'm gonna come" you say.

"Cum for me, beautiful" he kisses you deeply. You both cum after a few sloppy thrusts.

#namjoon smut #rm smut #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts scenarios #anon ask

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spiceofvy · 10 months

Text

Headboard

Partner hits their head on the headboard

cw: partner accidentally getting hurt during sex (dw Namjoon takes care of them)

Namjoon having this whole "god of destruction" thing going on you can not tell me that he never caused an accident in bed. Probably during an especially rough or passionate moment. Maybe he accidentally pushed his partner against the headboard or slipped on the bed and caused the two of them to fall. This isn't me saying that he's bad at sex, on the contrary I actually think that he and his partner can handle it in a lighthearted way instead of letting it kill the mood.

I imagine Namjoon coming home from the studio or practice. He's a bit stressed and needs to get rid of the pent up energy. His partner is just minding their own business reading on the couch, waiting for him to come home. Just the way Namjoon walks into the living room is enough to tell them exactly what's coming up. And they are ready for it. The next minutes are filled with heated kisses and clothes being thrown to the floor. A couple of buttons meeting their end during that endeavor too. Once they finally reach their bed Namjoon makes quick work of preparing his partner and then it's just mindless fucking. Namjoon waited all day to get rid of this pent up energy and now he finally gets to while also being close to his favorite person.

But in all this passion they get closer and closer to the headrest. Namjoon just goes to town on them, pushing them closer to the headrest. Thrust by thrust until suddenly with a soft thud his partner hits their head on the headrest.

Namjoon would suddenly freeze just staring at his poor partner rubbing their head looking back up at him. With a slightly pained expression. After a couple of moments he starts to apologize profusely, obviously. Maybe even going as far as wanting to call the ambulance just to make sure that his partner is okay. He knows how bad hits to the head can be. While his partner is just giggling about his worry, the pain already forgotten.

After a lot of reassurance that they really are okay and even more apologies from Namjoon, they would proceed with what they were doing. But with a completely different mood, slow gentle lovemaking. Namjoon just telling his partner how much he loves them.

When they're done Namjoon would amp up the aftercare to the max whispering sweet nothings to his partner while also telling them over and over again that he would never hurt them on purpose. His partner just smiling softly telling him that they know that and that they aren't mad at him.

It would probably still be the topic for the next couple of days, especially if his partner chooses to tease Namjoon a little bit about it. And the next couple times they have Sex he would be extra tender and make sure that there is always a pillow between the headrest and his partner's head. Even when they are not in head-hitting-distance.

#namjoon #kim namjoon #rm x reader #rm smut #namjoon smut #smut #rm #writing #writers of tumblr #fanfic #fanfiction #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts smut #smut fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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janethk · 10 months

Text

rkiveㅤㅤ✦ㅤㅤׁㅤㅤ𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑜ㅤㅤ ׅ ㅤ𑁮

𝟵𝟰

#bts namjoon #bts #kpoop #rm x reader #bios #aesthetic #kpop bios #ig bios #btc latest news

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effortandmore · 10 months

Text

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.

Except the one thing you ask him to.

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.

“Whatever you want, jagiya.”

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”

He does.

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.

He thinks they’re love songs.

He hopes you know.

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”

“Are you the peacock or am I?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.

“Spain.”

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.

“About a girl, mostly.”

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.

“But you have these dreams often?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless.

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.

She does. A lot of them.

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.

Like father, like son, as they say.

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”

To his relief, you do.

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.

“So… why the Met?”

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

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