#idol Namjoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahundredtimesover · 1 year

Text

Untitled | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: idolverse (no explicit mentions of BTS), strangers au; angst, smut

Warnings: foul language, inexplicit smut (making out, non-descriptive penetrative sex) (18+)

Word count: 16k

Summary: For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.

A/N1: It’s been tough being on a writing slump and not being able to come up with something new, but then Indigo happened. I’ve been so into Closer and been wanting to write something that would encapsulate the song’s emotions, but the more I listened to NJ talk about his album (especially Yun), the more I got to reflect on so many other things. So here we are. This was a quick write (and an experiment, too!) filled with my own ramblings and questions that only one Kim Namjoon would prompt me to have. Please enjoy.

A/N2: I’m not an artist, but I’m fascinated by them and what they create (Van Gogh’s Digital Art Exhibition in the LUME, Melbourne from last September just blew my away). In another life, I probably would’ve been a collector. But the essence of humanity in my professional work links to my own appreciation of art in that sense. All the things that I wonder about life and the essence of being human are reflected here. I’ve taken from Namjoon’s reflections and insights as well, and once again, I was reminded of his brilliance and his heart.

2020, early winter

A little boy with a bucket painting stars in the sky.

That’s what this season’s artwork on the side of the building is. Just this fall, it was a girl raising a paper airplane on this exact spot; in the summer, it was another kid on a swing, and in spring, it was a child with an opened suitcase, their toys falling out and drifting into a stream.

Lost childhood, perhaps. That’s what happens when the world stands still, Namjoon thinks. He’d written a song about it - the things we lost during the time when time froze, and maybe just like these paintings, life continued to go on. The yearning remains, though, and he can see it on the piece that he’s been looking at for minutes now.

Maybe the artist is young, mourning their own youth that slipped from their fingers. Maybe it’s someone a little older, mourning it for others. Maybe it’s just a person who’s trying to understand the situation through a child’s eyes - with innocence, confusion, trust. Maybe it’s—

The sound of footsteps disrupts Namjoon’s thoughts. It’s 2AM and he’s a little surprised that someone is in the area at this time. It’s a busy street during the day and the crowd falls away early. It’s completely deserted by this hour; it’s why he likes taking this route from the office to his apartment. He’s always liked walking home regardless of the distance, but it’s at night when he feels most free, and it’s become something he looks forward to everyday.

He’s about to turn away when he notices a figure run up to the small building where the painting he was just admiring is. The individual lays their bag on the floor and retrieves a paintbrush and a pail, seemingly about to continue their work that Namjoon didn’t even realize was still unfinished.

“Fuck,” the voice curses out. “Fuck fuck fucking shit. Why do I always forget my hot packs!”

The person removes their mask and blows into their cupped hands, rubbing them after in hopes of sustaining the heat from the friction.

“Just a bit more,” they continue, gloved hand now pointing ripples by the boy’s legs as he stands in a body of water. “Just a bit more.”

As chattering teeth and the blowing of air on hands continue, Namjoon decides to make himself known. The stranger is clearly trying to finish their work - and he’s curious to see this all unfold, finding amusement in watching an artist in action - but the cold air is quite uncomfortable.

“Hey,” he says, as the figure stops their movements. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I was just looking at your work but you’re freezing and I… I’ve got some extra hot packs with me.”

You slowly turn around with furrowed brows. This is the first time you’ve come across another person during the early mornings you paint on this specific building. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness of this street at this time, but somehow, hearing this man’s deep, rough voice is giving you comfort. Especially since he’s offering something you need.

“Sure, that would be great,” you say, blowing into your hands again.

He slowly walks forward - clad in a thick hoodie and beanie, his mask covering half of his face. He looks familiar, but you don’t have much time to place where you know him from. You take the hot packs he offers, squeeze one with your free hand while the other continues on with the piece that you want to finish tonight.

“Will it take much longer?” He asks, his voice kind. “I didn’t know it was unfinished and it’s quite interesting to see an artist complete their work. So, uh, can I watch?”

You turn towards him. On a normal day, you’d turn him away. You’re not too keen on anyone on your ass while you finish something, but he doesn’t seem like a creep and he was kind enough to give you hot packs at a time like this, so you nod.

It doesn’t take long. It’s just some ripples and a few strokes left anyway; you were freezing too much last night so you put off the final details for tonight. And then the last bit. You sign your name on the bottom corner, and a gasp leaves the stranger’s mouth.

“Wait, you’re Blue…” he says, the realization dawning on him. “

“Surprise,” you reply, standing up from your squatting position.

“I mean, I figured since you’ve been painting children and their lost youth this past year but… the man in the rain, the distorted face on the mirror, the hand on the neck… those were you, too.”

Namjoon can’t believe he’s finally face-to-face with the artist whose work has been haunting him since he first came across one on an electric post 3 years ago.

They were in other parts of the city. He remembers seeing them on walls and buildings during his walks home or when he was in the car, and then some weeks later, they were gone, either replaced with a new piece of work or just painted over, as if it never existed. He’d seen the signature a few times, and seeing it again reminded him that it was you, too. The one who’d created those masterpieces that got him thinking, feeling, wondering.

“You have a good memory,” you simply smile at him, realizing at this point that you’ve left your mask off. You put it back on and take in his domineering form. “Those were years ago; I’ve almost forgotten about them.”

“I haven’t. I mean, sort of.”

“Good. That was the point,” you reply. “I mean, sort of.”

“The point being? That I find something that speaks to me and then the next minute, they’re gone?” He says, quite defensive. It bothered him for a time that he never got to see those pieces again.

“What did they make you feel?”

“Desolate? Alone? Confused? Desperate?”

“Then you forgot about them, didn’t you?”

“The paintings, sort of. Not the feeling, though,” he frowns. “I still think about them but… I think I’ve forgotten exactly what they look like. Is that what you wanted?”

“Pretty much,” you hum, starting to pack your things. “The stuff I leave on for a few weeks are mostly sad, and I paint over them because I don’t want people to dwell on them. I want people… to forget, to move on.”

“But they don’t, not really. I’m sure they’ve taken photos if it spoke to them so much. At least I did, but then I deleted them because…”

“Because you got over the sadness,” you smirk, knowing that somehow, he proved your point, and he lets out a chuckle at the realization. “It may be on their phones but it’s not the real thing. The image may be distorted, the colors different, the strokes a lot smoother. It’s not the same.”

“They should be preserved,” he voices out. “It’s art. Those things are meant to be immortalized, no matter how they make people feel.”

“Not always,” you counter. “At least for me, I make those to forget. The feelings fade once the art does. I created them that way.”

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, taking this time to observe you, as you’d rendered him speechless.

There’s this softness in your eyes that contrasts the words you say. He doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve gone through to create hauntingly beautiful pieces inspired by feelings you want to forget.

Whatever those are, he truly does wish you’ve let those go. He knows he has. But he still disagrees - he doesn’t think art ever fades. Perhaps feelings do, but he’s come to learn that visual art is eternal.

“So how long will you keep this up?” He asks, wondering when he’d see you again; the allure and intrigue from your words makes him want to know more.

“Until the next season,” you say, picking up your bag now. “It’s been a tough year and I hope the spring brings more hope.”

“But you also don’t want them to dwell on this… the loss of childhood, of youth,” he continues. “You want them to move on from this, focus on what’s to be gained after losing something important.”

“You’re a fast learner,” you wink, and Namjoon surprises himself by the way his heart jumps at the sight. “You must be a genius or something. Or an artist yourself.”

“Neither,” he lies. “I mean, I’m barely anything, really.”

“I doubt it. A guy like you being affected by all this means you’re something, whatever it is.”

There’s something validating about your words, and he smiles behind his mask, something you see, as you smile back.

It’s odd, feeling a sense of connection with a stranger like this, something he’s never really experienced, most times because he’s always wary of who he meets, especially at this time of the night. But you don’t seem to know who he is. And if you do, you don’t seem to mind or want to make a deal out of it, something that he appreciates.

There’s comfort in your smile, and he wants to discover what other things cause it. There’s a dearth of experience in your words, and he wants to know more. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that he wants to mirror; he wishes he can give comfort to someone just by looking at them.

Maybe it’s the cold breeze. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the year and he’s spending it alone again. Maybe it’s spending an entire day cooped up in his studio only to go home to an empty apartment. Maybe it’s knowing what a year it was and what’s about to come. He didn’t think that a stranger in a yellow puff jacket who cursed so crisply would be the one to make his walk back home not feel so lonely. That the woman who’d casually painted some ripples and splashes on the wall was the one who’d make him feel a little less alone.

“So, uh, do you usually paint at the start or end of the season?” He wonders.

“Are you trying to ask when you’re gonna see me again?” You look at him with an arched brow.

“Maybe,” Namjoon chuckles. He’s also just trying to delay your departure, seeing as you seem to be ready to leave.

He doesn’t want to ask your name, not ready himself to share who he is. But perhaps the next meeting won’t be as serendipitous as this.

“It depends,” you tease. “But maybe I’ll see you again, either here, or elsewhere.”

“I hope it’s soon,” he confesses. He’s being bold, but his eyes light up when you reply.

“I hope so, too.”

Namjoon walks the opposite direction of where you are headed, turning back once to look at you, and catching your eyes when he does.

Winter passes. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to take this route for a while, and it’s mid-spring when he sees a new painting that’s been completed - a young girl looking through a glass window to a world outside, her fingers holding onto the latch as she readies to open it. A small smile forms on his face; he at least sees something of you, even if it isn’t you.

The next time he’s able to pass by, it’s the end of summer, and all he sees is a gray wall - empty, undisturbed, as if there was nothing there to begin with.

2021, autumn

The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he’s been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he’s been told, and one of the curators that he’s become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town.

He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.

It’s something he’d seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away.

He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.

Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he’d encountered something similar.

And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee.

He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn’t get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

“Find something that interests you?”

Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He’s definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.

“Samantha Lee,” Namjoon responds. “Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago.”

“Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She’s a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She’s here, actually,” Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. “She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?”

“Ah, that would be great,” Namjoon smiles back. “If she is fine with that, of course.”

Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. “I’ll lead you to her.”

Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she’d untitled all her pieces, and why there’s nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.

He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is,” a familiar voice spits out. “The next time he harasses you, I’m going to impale his dick with my heels and—”

“Ehem,” Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. “Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you.”

He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he’s met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he’s been yearning to see since that cold winter night.

“Blue?” He asks, surprised.

“My favorite color, yes. How did you know?”

You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You’ve seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it’s him, the man who’d saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice.

You thought you’d see him again, seeing as he seemed to want to, but he never came that spring. You even left a small, ridiculous note at the corner where your signature usually is, asking when he’d come, thinking he’d communicate with you there. But the response never came.

The universe is tricky sometimes. You passed up on coming to the gallery yesterday because you felt dizzy when you woke up. And of all days that your winter night man visits, it’s the one where you’re here.

“I just figured,” Namjoon smiles, picking up your hints. “It’s one of mine, too.”

“Perhaps we should talk about the complexities of the color, then,” you smile back, nodding towards one of the sections in the large patio.

You lead him there, leaving Mr. Hong and his warning gaze and your assistant, whose smirk and teasing laughter makes you glare at her.

“I’m guessing they don’t know about you being Blue?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little jittery standing next to you again and being able to see your face much more clearly, your hair tied loosely in a bun and your clothes a nice fit for the cool weather.

“Minji does. She helps me find materials,” you respond. “Mr. Hong doesn’t. He’s not much of a fan of street art.”

“That’s a bummer, especially since one of the artists creates amazing pieces on buildings and posts and then signs them, then abandons them, and leaves spectators like me to wonder where they’d gone,” Namjoon replies, hoping you don’t find offense with his tiny jab.

Your chuckle tells him you don’t. “You never came.”

“I didn’t know when to,” he defends. “Well, more like, I stopped having the time. That place is so far from where I live and I only walk from my office because I like that time alone and I haven’t had that, but then I came back in the summer but you—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you assure him. “That was a chance meeting and I didn’t really expect I’d see you again in the same spot weeks later.”

“Did you expect to see me this time?”

“Oh, not at all,” you shake your head. “Why are you even here?”

“Why are people ever in art galleries?” He counters. “To check out the art. Maybe chance upon the artists if they’re here.”

“I guess,” you shrug, turning a corner to a small maze of an installation. “You wouldn’t have known it was me, though.”

“I didn’t. I was staring at Untitled 56 and realized I took a photo of Untitled 48,” he reveals, earning him a shocked look from you. “It was in LACMA. I saw it a while back. The name rang a bell because I don’t know anything about you. You leave so much to the imagination, Ms. Lee. There’s nothing about y—”

“It’s Han,” you correct him, feeling comfortable now. “I mean, Han ___. Samantha Lee is another pseudonym. Or like a stage name. You know, like you?”

You bite your lip at the slip-up, not wanting him to be uncomfortable at the thought that you clearly know who he is. But he just nods, affirming that he now knows that you know who he is, but he smiles right after, his eyes turning into the smallest, prettiest crescents and his dimples framing his strong-featured face that makes him even more handsome.

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums. “But why blue? And why Samantha Lee?”

“It’s the simpler version of my favorite color. Aegean blue is too complicated to sign every time,” you chuckle. “And Samantha Lee… Well, she was my roommate back in college and she once told me she wanted to be famous and the only way that could happen is if I used her name as a pseudonym. I had a crush on her so I agreed.”

There’s a long pause before Namjoon realizes that you’re not joking, and he comments that it’s interesting but he doesn’t ask again.

“I’m Kim Namjoon, by the way,” he reaches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, internally melting at the feel of his warm and large hand. “So why did you take a photo of Untitled 48?”

“It looked like a clam.”

At this, you burst into laughter.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, just to be clear!” He insists. “It was beautifully made. It was of a neutral color but it somehow stood out the most to me in that section. And it was the 48th; I wondered why they didn't have titles. And your 56th, which looks like—”

“A vulva,” you snort.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “and a flower, yeah - something I’ve been into lately. And well, it was interesting. And seeing your piece here reminded me of that,” he goes on. “And I just wanted to know… why.”

“Why what?” You furrow your brows at him.

“Why those pieces? Why are they untitled? What prompted you to create them that way?”

“We’d probably have to tour the gallery 4 more times if you want to know,” you chuckle.

“I have time.”

“Do you?” You ask, eyeing the phone in his pocket that's been vibrating for the last 5 minutes.

He smiles shyly and excuses himself. When he returns, he has a disappointed look on his face. “Turns out, I don’t have time. But I want to. I… uh, will you be here again anytime this week?”

“I will. I’m just not sure when.”

There’s something alluring with these coincidental meetups. Somehow you want more of those, perhaps to let the universe tell you that you’re meant to constantly meet this man whose time you know you’ll never have enough of, even if he makes it for you.

“Let me see you again?”

“You will.”

You catch his eyes when he turns back as he walks away. There’s a sparkle in them, and you’re afraid to want to see it once more.

The walk to the site of the lost youth is a long one, but not knowing when you’d see the tall man with the prettiest smile again, you head there.

Your last piece was of a child at the brink of freedom, about to take the step outside the cage she’d been in for the past year and a half. You painted over it once autumn started; maybe the next time you’d paint over a building, you’re no longer yearning for lost things. Maybe you’d paint something about finding something new.

“I’m gonna start believing in a higher power if we continue meeting like this.”

The raspy voice is familiar, and you turn around to see Namjoon, clad in a hoodie and a baseball cap, leaning against one of the streetlights across the empty wall of the building you’d been staring at. It’s been 2 days since you saw him at the gallery, about 7 months since the first time you’d encountered him here. You’re unsure what this all means.

“Maybe you should,” you head towards him. “I missed the last bus so I decided to walk home. I’m still far away but this is on the way. Why are you here?”

“Stayed up at the studio,” he replies. “I’m incredibly exhausted but I don’t know, I got the energy for the long walk. Then there you were.”

“There I was, appearing so suddenly again, yeah?” You chuckle, leaning on the opposite side of the pole.

Namjoon merely hums before he nods towards the direction of his apartment. “I’m heading there.”

“Me, too.”

With his hands in his hoodie pockets and yours crossed against your chest, you try to match his long strides.

“Painting came first,” you say, as if answering the question that he’s been thinking of asking. “Painting was everything. We had so many pieces in our home, and it’s as if they spoke to me. I mean, in a not creepy way, it felt like all of my parents’ own pieces spoke to me. And they always told me I wasn’t good enough.”

Namjoon turns to look at you with empathy in his eyes. He lets you speak, and he finds out that both your parents are the artists he’d been researching lately. Your father is a classical painter, and your mother does contemporary. He can’t imagine living in gigantic shadows like that.

“When I was 15, my parents pulled strings to get some of my pieces displayed with theirs,” you sigh, recalling the mixed emotions then. “It was exciting at first, but the patrons wouldn’t mention my name unless they mentioned my parents’. And then one of my favorite pieces that I made was sold to a man who wanted it as a decoration in his summer home’s living room.”

Namjoon slows his walk and you match his pace. You meet his comforting eyes, and there’s that warmth you feel from, technically, a stranger that you didn’t expect.

“I made that piece at a time when I was frustrated living in my parents’ shadows,” you continue. “Someone once told me that art is meant to be shared, that there’s humanity in the community we create when it’s shared, that the meaning deepens when others make their own. That piece had so much of me in there; I felt like the meaning of that piece was stripped away from me the moment that stranger took home that canvas for a select few to look at. It wasn’t mine anymore, it was his; it was theirs. I stopped painting after that.”

There’s a certain kind of pain in giving up something that matters deeply to you, in losing meaning in the thing that’s given your life meaning for most of your life. Namjoon knows a bit about that pain. Many times, he’d found himself questioning all that he does, what he stands for, and what the world expects him to be.

He sees that pain in your eyes, of losing a part of you as the art stopped meaning what you wanted it to. But he doesn’t think that all is lost.

“But your street art,” he reminds you. “That’s still you. That still has meaning. And that’s something that you share.”

“That’s Blue, though,” you manage a smile. “She’s just a part of me.”

“She’s still you,” he insists. “Can you tell me about her?”

And so you tell him - how you argued with your parents about quitting painting, how you were going to turn down the scholarship in a prestigious art university to take up sociology instead, so they shipped you to a foreign country to fend for yourself, and that’s when you learned what loneliness felt like. But that’s also when you learned about people in their rawest sense, what it meant to struggle to survive, what it meant to lose something that mattered, because you studied them - you studied how humans grieved and how they persisted. You studied how they lived and how they died.

“Blue wants meaning, and she still struggles in finding it,” you explain.

“Does she?” Namjoon questions. “I’m in my late 20s but your lost youth series resonated with me. All those paintings of the man in the rain, the distorted face… they’ve inspired me in ways I can’t explain. That’s meaning, ___. That matters.”

No one outside of Minji knows all these versions of you. Except Namjoon, the brightest star you never thought you’d ever meet. Hearing him speak about your work this way makes you feel something - a first in a long time.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say shyly.

“It’s a shame they’re not displayed in galleries and museums, though.”

“I don’t want them to,” you say, surprising him. “People intend to go to museums, but they pass these streets out of necessity. I want them to stop and look, to feel, to think for a few seconds before they go back to their routinary walk. And then I remove them, so they can forget what pain and sadness feel like.”

“Looks like you found your meaning, then,” Namjoon smiles, comforted by the fact that someone as talented as you had found purpose again, something he relates with at a deeper level than he imagined.

“The painter in me did,” you reply. “The sculptor, not so much. “

“Untitled,” he hums.

“Yeah. I don’t think I can name something I understand, or at least, feel,” you say.

“That’s a lot of untitled works for you to not understand what you do,” he chuckles.

“I’m prolific because there’s not much of me I lose when I create them,” you explain. “I just sit in my stool, craft something, then call it a day. Not to brag or anything, but it comes easy. They’re shallow pieces, Namjoon. They don’t even deserve to be in galleries but Mr. Hong insists they do for some reason. I wish this version of me, Samantha Lee, understood why it matters, why someone like him would believe in my pieces, why a Kim Namjoon would think that 48 stood out to him enough to keep a photo.”

Namjoon processes your words. As an artist himself, he believes in the meaning of the pieces that he creates, whether it’s a song or a poem or an album or a concert. There’s effort put into them even if it’s something created in 30 minutes. Your pieces are beautiful, and he wants to explore more - you and your meaning, you and your value.

“Then why do you keep making them? What about it makes you keep sculpting?”

“The feel of the clay on my skin, the way my fingers get to mold and create the details,” you explain. “I get to touch it. I don’t get to do that with painting, you know? It’s the paintbrush and the canvas I feel but with sculpting, I get to mix the materials, I get to shape it, hold it.”

“There’s that intimacy,” he offers.

“Yeah. And it’s addictive because it’s closeness I’ve never felt before.” You turn to him before speaking the next words. “It's an intimacy I’ve never experienced before with anyone or anything.”

“Isn’t that your meaning, then?” He questions. “The piece itself might not have a story on its own but all these untitled works, the process of creating, of it being easy because you can’t get enough of the intimacy you get from creating… that’s meaning. That desire for closeness, for meaning… that’s meaning.”

No one’s ever put it that way for you, probably because you’ve never let yourself be this honest with someone about your art. All your friends aren’t artists because you wanted that world separate, you didn’t want to have to talk about it feeling as insecure and lost as you are.

But Namjoon - he’s one of your generation’s greatest artists. He weaves words and sounds so beautifully to create masterpieces that people consume and hold so closely. He understands.

“I’ve made songs that took me 30 minutes,” he shares. “But I’ve also made songs that took me to dark places, that broke me as I wrote them. But once they came out, once I’ve shared them to others who’ve shared what it meant to them… slowly, I started becoming whole again. Isn’t that an artist’s burden? To break to create, to feel whole after that, and then to break all over again?”

“You are truly one of a kind, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him. “I’ve lived with artists my whole life and they never let me understand art in that way.”

“I’m still figuring it all out,” he shrugs. “I still feel lost sometimes, but I think it’s natural to feel that way, to be unsure or confused. I guess what matters is that we’re still walking on some road to somewhere, even if we don’t know where we’re heading.”

“Is that where you are right now?” You wonder. “On a road to somewhere you don’t quite know yet?”

More than you know, he wants to say. He’s in this period of experimentation, of figuring out his signature style, of figuring out who he is and what he means to his teammates, to the industry, to the world.

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s hard sometimes. Walks like this give me a reprieve. Consuming other people’s art lets me understand things a bit more.”

“Yeah, I get it. I mean, conversing with strangers gives me time to breathe, too.”

“Ooh, so I’m still a stranger, huh?” He chuckles, shyly looking at you. “Our third unplanned meeting, an hour of walking home… and I’m still a stranger.”

“What would you want to be, then?” You turn to him, a little teasing smile on your face.

“A friend, for starters.”

“My nighttime friend?”

“Not just,” he shakes his head. “I would like to see you again, actually. And I don’t want to put this up to chance this time. Like, something planned or—”

“And how exactly would that work?”

“I, uh…” he thinks. “I’d invite you to my apartment. And you can invite me to yours?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay.”

“Are you always this bold?” You giggle, not missing the way your cheeks start to feel warm at the mention of visiting each other’s homes and him wanting to get to know you.

He’s obviously handsome - you’ve known of him since his band made it to your TV screens, being young men who were around your age, singing songs that resonate so deeply with you. But he’s more than that, as you’re learning. There’s this passion for creating that's refreshing, something you seem to lack.

“Not always,” he looks away, the dips in his cheeks something you’re sure you won’t get enough of.

“You should be. It makes a girl flustered but it makes it so difficult for her to say no,” you smirk. Sometimes, you also don’t know where your own boldness comes from.

“You? Flustered? That’s quite hard to believe,” he teases.

“That’s true. But it happens, believe it or not, when a gorgeous, brilliant man asks me over.”

Your heart stops for what feels like a minute, but his sweet, child-like laughter melts away your worry.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask.

“Surprisingly, no,” he replies. “I appreciate your honesty. About everything. I hope we can give that to each other.”

“Okay then, your turn,” you challenge.

“Hearing you curse was kinda hot.”

You try to hold off your laughter, your defense to your true reaction, which is to smile like an idiot and feel like floating.

“That’s interesting. I would’ve thought it’s something to do with my looks or my talent, you know?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.

“It is. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m usually a forgetful person but I haven’t forgotten your sweet smile since I first saw it last winter,” he says, catching you off guard. “And your talent… there’s a reason why I have 48 saved on my phone, and why I sought out your street art these past years. I want to know what intimacy in art is like for you. I guess I’ve sort of lost that in creating my own.”

“Intimacy,” you repeat. “I think we both lack it in certain ways.”

“Maybe we’ll find it,” he says more confidently now, holding your gaze as your eyes trace his face.

“Maybe we will,” you respond, feeling your whole body warm with embers of fire.

He insists on taking you home, another 20-minute walk away from his. But you claim to enjoy that time on your own, assuring him that you do this all the time and the streets are safe.

“Let me know when you get home safely?” He asks, and you give him your phone for him to input his number.

“I will.”

It’s 30 minutes later when you do. It’s 1AM, but you and Namjoon spend the next 2 hours talking some more - about his songs and your pieces, about his plants and your collection of wind chimes.

You didn’t expect to make him laugh as much as you did, and he said he didn’t expect you to think his ramblings are adorable and amusing. You most definitely didn’t expect your heart to beat as fast as it did when he told you, in his deep, raspy voice, that he’s glad he took that long walk that winter, that he visited the art gallery when he did, that the hopeless romantic in him pushed him to go to the place you first met.

“I think I’m crazy but somehow I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” he muses.

“I feel the same way,” you assure him, as you hug your pillow and slowly surrender to sleep.

“Good,” he hums. “That’s all I wanted to know. Good night, ___. And I’ll see you soon.”

2021, winter

There’s a warmth in Namjoon’s home that’s hard to replicate. Filled with his favorite art pieces of all forms, he said he curated it to reflect his emotions just as much as his tastes. It’s clean and well-organized, with books on shelves and stacks on the floor, and an entire area full of liquor - his new interest, he’d said.

He’s had you over several times already; the first one, barely a week after that long walk home. You both spent hours that day talking about his favorite artists, and it wasn’t enough, as he asked you back the next day.

You often talk about your childhood, one that you weren’t always comfortable sharing, but being with him makes it easy.

It’s easy when he looks into your eyes when you speak, as if he’s telling you that he knows you say more than words. It’s easy when he’s got his own stories to share - stories of vulnerability and honesty, of fear and confusion. It’s easy when he still stutters over words sometimes and then gets lost in his own ramblings, then he chuckles when he realizes he’s talked so much, and you tell him that it’s okay because his voice is calming and his thoughts are a breath of fresh air.

It’s easy when his presence is comforting, when his anecdotes about his friends and family make you laugh until your insides hurt. It’s easy when he makes you feel like you can question everything about your art and your purpose and your abilities but he never makes you feel like a failure. It’s easy when he smiles and laughs nervously, when he’s funny without meaning to, and when he makes sure you’re comfortable by always having your preferred tea and biscuits next to the wine you once said is your favorite.

The only time it gets hard is when he stands a little too close as you look up at a painting or a book on a shelf. You could feel the heat from his body; a slight movement and you’d be touching, mere cloths in between you. It’s hard when his arm brushes the slightest bit against yours. It’s hard when he gazes at you when there’s silence, and it’s like he’s studying your face before you call him out and he apologizes because he “can’t stop looking at pretty things.”

It’s hard when he hugs you goodbye and he wishes you a safe ride home. It’s hard when he sends you a message right after, saying he wishes you both had more time.

Being attracted to Namjoon is hard; being attached to him is torture.

“You’re looking for him again,” Minji states the obvious as you walk around the gallery, your eyes darting to the door every time the bell rings.

“No I’m not,” you deny. “He just got back from his trip abroad and he’s tired. He won’t be coming here.”

“Doesn’t mean you wish he would,” she smirks. “But why rendezvous here? You guys go to each other’s houses. And no one goes to your house… aside from me.”

“We can’t exactly see each other in public, you know?” You glare at her. “But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see him look around and talk about what he sees. I feel like I learn more from him. And that’s weird, isn’t it? This is my field. The arts have been my entire life, but I’m learning more about it from him.”

“What is it about him?” She wonders.

She doesn’t say that she’s noticed more life in your eyes since he came into your life. She doesn’t say that she’s noted that you take more time creating pieces, seemingly savoring the process unlike the way you used to. She doesn’t mention the smile that she hasn’t seen in all the years that she’s known you.

“Passion is sexy, you know?” You giggle. “He has so much of it, it’s inspiring.”

“Is that all?” Minji smirks.

“He’s also fucking gorgeous. I try not to ogle him but I think he’s noticed. Fuck me.”

“Maybe he wants to.”

“Shut up. Don’t make me hope.”

“You do that to yourself,” she laughs. “Keep denying that you don’t want to see him or want anything more with him and let’s see how you do.”

The truth is, you know. You know that you’d fall hard if you let yourself go like that, but it’s human to know danger and then still want it, isn’t it?

The vibration from your phone ringing surprises you.

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice booms on the other end.

“Hey,” you reply. “How was your trip?”

“Good. I just got home. We had to stop by the office for a bit. My place is a mess and we have something again in the afternoon,” he huffs, sounding incredibly tired. “Can I come over tonight?”

You almost drop the flute of champagne you’re holding. He’s been to your house twice, but this is the first time he’s specifically asked to come over, especially considering that he just arrived from a trip abroad.

“Of course,” you hum. “Any dinner preferences?”

“Your cooking,” he says simply. “But wait for me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“Okay,” you say, before dropping the call, unable to hide the wide smile that forms on your face, to your assistant’s amusement.

“Why don’t you try to let go this time?” She advises. “Maybe you’ll find the intimacy you’ve been longing for.”

Namjoon overestimates your cooking abilities. Truly, all you know to do is prepare ramyun and fry anything. But, compared to him, he’s said you’re chef level. “The guys” don’t even want him near the kitchen, he tells you all the time.

But instant noodles and pork belly seem enough for him, as he eats with his mouth closed and hums in satisfaction. You take the time to savor the way he looks. A few weeks without him has started to feel like months.

“It was overwhelming,” he finally says.

He knew the moment he landed that he wanted to see you. There’s comfort in your presence that he’s begun to accept, and being with you allows him to be honest, to feel real, to feel human.

“It was great to be able to perform again, to hear the cheers and the sounds and everything. It was also terrifying,” he continues. “I was nervous and excited, I was scared and elated. I felt so fulfilled and satisfied but I also felt like it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s a lot of conflicting emotions,” you hum.

“Are they? Conflicting, I mean.”

“It depends, I guess. They seem up and down to me. Does it bother you?”

“That I felt all that, all at once?”

You nod in response.

“It used to,” he admits. “At the start of all this, I thought, I can’t be scared. Six other guys and an entire company are looking to me to succeed. I have to be strong and confident. And then, an industry is waiting for me to fail. And then, my own country is letting me - us - represent an entire generation, it’s asking me to carry on this cultural wave. It never ends. And I used to think I couldn’t be scared, that not wanting all this anymore means I’m ungrateful.”

“But you aren’t,” you try to assure him. You can’t imagine the burden he feels, leading a group that feels all kinds of pressure. “I’ve heard you talk about your art and your poetry and your brothers and your fans. You’re easily the most passionate, hardworking, and appreciative person I know. I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to give.”

“It’s tiring,” he sighs.

“I’m sure. But you’re honest about it. You’ve always been. Doesn’t honesty unburden you, even just a little bit? Doesn’t it leave you space to feel more, to be more?”

Namjoon hums. For someone who claims to not know much about feeling, you seem to know what to say to make him stop and think, to remind him of why he does what he does. And why ultimately, he’s always going to love it.

“It does,” he finally says, sitting up straight to take a better look at you in your linen pants and soft sweater. “Do you do that, then? Unburden yourself by being honest?”

“I’m not good at doing that,” you chuckle. “If you don’t know by now, I say a lot of seemingly profound things that I don’t necessarily live by.”

“Why not?”

“Honesty scares me. Being vulnerable scares me. I don’t know how to return it.”

“Has anybody ever been all that to you?” He wonders, feeling the tension build a little.

“Once” you say, standing from the dining table and heading to the large window that overlooks your garden. “And I ran away.”

“Is that why you sculpt, then?” Namjoon asks, walking towards you. “Because you don’t know what to do with intimacy so you do it with your art? You want to hold and touch what you walk away from? You don’t give it a name because you don’t want to define it? Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll realize that you actually want it - the closeness, the warm body, the rawness that you can only get from being with someone else.”

You look up at him, towering over you. He came from a short filming, donned in a white, buttoned polo with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see the darkness of his hazelnut eyes and the stubble on his chin. You spot the beauty mark on his neck and the smoothness of his skin, especially on his chest, as he leaves 2 buttons undone.

“Reading me now, Kim Namjoon?” You cock an eyebrow, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the last few minutes.

“I’m trying, because I want to get to know you more, find out what you’re afraid of and ease it somehow,” he admits. “Because I feel the same way. I’m honest but I’m scared, yet with you, I’m honest but I’m brave. I feel like I’m brave. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I met you, I just wanted…” he glances at your lips then meets your eyes again. “I just wanted to know more, to feel more. To understand what it’s like to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know much about it like me. I want to figure it out. With you.”

“How?”

One word is all you get to verbalize, as you feel him come closer, the heat of his body intensifying with every second. You’re backed up against the window, the distance between you and him decreasing and decreasing.

His eyes are boring into you, and you bravely gaze at him back. You mirror his desire, as you lick your lips when he glances at them again. Your chest is heaving as is his, and your heart races even more when he breathes out your name.

You palm his chest, and for a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes at the thought of you stopping him, you instead grip the cloth that covers him, and you slowly pull him in.

His lips are soft. And the way he gently presses against you is tender, comforting, like he wants to savor it and go slow. He angles his head the same time his hand reaches for your waist, and you feel the slightest wetness from his tongue.

You grant him entrance, and the second you do, he takes control, tightening his hold on your body as he cages you, his one arm now propped up against the window. You moan into each other as tongues and teeth clash, and you can’t help your hand that travels to pull on the ends of his hair, brushing your fingers against the nape of his neck right after.

It’s a little sloppy, needy, but there’s still gentleness in there. It’s in the way he cups your cheek, caressing it with his large fingers and letting it slide down your chest, back to your waist. It’s in the way he smiles into the kiss when you moan your pleasure; you can almost feel his dimples as he does. It’s in the way that he asks for more, not with dominance but with care, with understanding, with caution.

You both pull away to catch some air, lips swollen and wet, but your smiles say you enjoyed it. The way your bodies haven’t completely detached from each other shows that.

“Would you let me stay the night?” He asks softly, as if it’s a request he’s afraid to ask.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Be with me tonight.”

Underneath the covers of your bed, you lay in his arm while your fingers trace patterns on his taut chest. You can hear his heartbeat still drumming, and you can feel the care in the way he caresses your cheek, your arm, your waist.

“I don’t know what I can give you, Namjoon,” you admit. “I don’t know how to be as honest and vulnerable as you. I don’t know how to share parts of me that I don’t understand. I don’t know what I can do to ease all your worries and concerns. I—”

“Just give me moments,” he interjects. “Nights like this, days at our homes, afternoons at the galleries, hours on the phone… I just want to feel something that I can actually touch, that I can savor. And I want it to be you, the one I get to hold and taste and kiss.”

He leans forward again, and you capture his mouth in yours. There’s no need to do more - much as you’re wet and he’s definitely hard, but neither one of you is rushing, neither one wants to scare the other.

He’s hot, the kind that burns. That’s how it is with people as passionate as he is - their touch can light a fire on your skin, and you won’t be able to stop it.

“I can give you moments,” you whisper. “Just tell me.”

2022, spring

You can count the moments with 2 hands.

Namjoon stayed with his parents over the holidays but he videocalled you everyday. You both went to a few galleries outside the capital but did so separately, spending hours after that talking about the pieces over the phone.

You’ve come to appreciate your world much more deeply with his commentaries and reflections, and with you, he said he’d gotten to breathe a little longer, laugh a little louder, and feel a little more human.

He stayed over your place 4 more times; you stayed over at his thrice. You debated over movies and recommended each other books. It was common to spend the day wrapped up in each other on the couch while you both read separately. He made you listen to a few songs he’s been working on - some of which were inspired by your many conversations and your own musings, and you’d showed him sketches of your upcoming planned series on sculpted landscapes.

It’s freeing, being able to share about your world with someone else like this, and being part of someone else’s, too. Whatever it is you both have is freeing - kisses included, which never went beyond what you first did. Despite the obvious desire to do more, neither of you ever tried, perhaps knowing what it would entail. There’s distance between you and him but there also isn’t. There’s enough comfort and intimacy that you’ve only scratched the surface of, but this seems to be just enough.

“I have the weekend off,” he pants over the phone. It’s 11PM and they’ve just finished rehearsals for an upcoming series of concerts abroad. “Do you want to do something?”

“A trip to my parents’ summer home?” You wonder out loud. The spring air has come and you love going to the lake at this time. “It’s by the mountains and it’s really private. The estate is like their personal art museum with their works and others’. I visit every year. But if—”

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” he huffs. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“I know I got you at the art museum bit,” you laugh.

“You got me at the really private bit, actually,” he says seriously, causing your heart to race. “And the art of course. And you. Always you.”

“Alright, Casanova,” you tease. “Just make sure I don’t get in trouble for taking you somewhere weeks before you leave.”

“We’re alright,” he responds. “I can’t wait.”

It’s a 3-hour drive to the estate by the mountains. In the far future, your parents want to open it up for private viewing, and so you want to make sure that your art lover more-than-but-not-really-friend gets a first peek.

You spend the entire ride talking about a hundred topics, going off tangent when he rambles again, and you’re the one who circles him back to the original discussion. You hum tunes while he sings songs, and when you find private spots, you take the risk and take photos.

You make it to the estate in the late morning, and as you expected, Namjoon’s jaw drops.

The fountain at the front is an art piece itself. The front door was shipped from Indonesia, and the furniture are a beautiful curation of pieces from all over the world that were gifted to or bought by your parents.

You watch him gently trace the carvings and the details. You’re in awe as he absorbs the sculptures and paintings as you tour him around. And you melt every time he turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, like he’s discovering a secret that only both of you know. It’s breathtaking and absolutely precious.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, as he catches you marvel at him. “I like it when you look at me like you want me.”

“Don’t fluster me,” you say, turning away.

“You’re not denying it,” he counters, walking closer to you.

“I would be a liar if I did.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I only asked for moments but can this weekend be filled with that?”

He looks nervous, like you’d turn him down.

“I… it’s been tough, dealing with a lot of things,” he continues. He’s mentioned some difficulties lately, and you know there’s not much you can do about it. Except, maybe this. “I just want something to hold onto, like being here with you, experiencing all these art pieces, being close…”

He cups your cheek and gives you that look that you’ve become familiar with, his request for intimacy that you both continue to explore.

“Okay,” you respond, taking his hand and kissing it. “Okay.”

You eat lunch, explore the east wing of the property, and at mid-afternoon, you convince him to swim on the lake with you.

“Isn’t it freezing?” He asks worriedly.

“That’s the fun part of it,” you insist. “There’s a hot tub we can stay at after.”

Namjoon gives in. It’s easy to, with a smile like yours that makes his heart race every time. Especially when you come out in your blue swimsuit, shaping your curves and all other parts of your body that makes his own react. He can’t help but marvel at you, even as you tease.

“Hey, big guy, eyes up,” you smirk.

He blushes when you giggle, but he does tease back, removing his shirt to reveal his body that he’s been working so hard on. He does flex a little to give you a taste of your own medicine, and it works.

“Hey, eyes up,” he chuckles.

You feel a shiver when his finger tilts your chin up, and you do the childish thing and bite it before you run to the lake and dive in. Namjoon follows, canonballing and then swimming over to chase you.

You haven’t swam here in years. You merely used to watch the sun rise and then gaze at the sky and imagined doing all this with someone else. You didn’t really think you’d end up here with Kim Namjoon, but here you are.

Namjoon pulls you to him as you swim close, and you both float in the water with your arms around his chest and his arms around your waist. You’re obviously both drenched, and that just leaves so little to the imagination, especially with the cold water a little more overwhelming than you expected.

His hair is swept back, with beads of water lining his face and sliding down his neck and his chest. He’s broad and incredibly built. It’s unfair that his body looks as amazing as his face.

“Does Minji know you’re here with me?” He asks.

“Yes, teased me nonstop until I picked you up. What about the guys?”

“They do. They insist we are a couple.”

“And?”

“And I said that we aren’t,” he says cautiously. “We’re friends who spend a lot of time together and cuddle, and uh, sometimes do a little more.”

“What a complicated way to say we’re friends with benefits,” you laugh.

“I don’t see it that way, though,” he furrows his brows. “I don’t want to reduce what we are to each other to just benefits or something sexual or shallow. Do you see it that way?”

“No,” you say. “I… I’ve come to understand art a lot more because of you. I’ve come to appreciate what I do. That’s not just some benefit.”

“And I… can’t even explain all that you do for me,” he says. “We’re more than that. Less than lovers, but more than friends. And our moments shape this, whatever name we call it.”

“Untitled,” you wonder out loud. “Sometimes artists name their pieces as such when they can’t find a better descriptor.”

“So 58 sculptures in, and you still can’t find a better descriptor?” He teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his hard chest. “I titled them that way because I didn’t have a meaning for them. I just created them. But then I met this man, tall and built with a sexy brain, and he made me realize that the meaning is in the creation, too. So 58 works, 58 times I experienced intimacy, the only times I do.”

“Ah, so what about us?” He nudges you with his nose. “Aren’t we intimate?”

“It’s a different kind, I guess,” you say. You’re not my creation and you’re not mine, you choose not to say. “You don’t break. You’re the one that breaks other things.”

You pass it off as a joke, and he buys it. You don’t want to think much about what you and Namjoon aren’t; you just want to think about what you both are - something that may or may not be fleeting, but something beautiful nonetheless.

The sun shines a little too bright, and you take the chance to get out of the water and into the dock to soak up its heat. Namjoon follows and you both lay that way, just next to each other, catching your breaths.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You ask, wondering if he still carried over all his concerns here.

“Yes. It’s exhilarating,” he responds. “It’s nice to feel this way for a change.”

“I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”

“Not this way,” he turns to you. “It’s different, I guess. It makes me think of all the other emotions I have yet to feel, the ones I’ve felt only briefly before, and the ones that I’ll never feel. I think life’s too short for a person to experience all kinds of emotions. I was it wasn’t.”

“Are humans built for that?” You question. “To feel every possible thing out there? To feel every variation of pain and sadness and joy and elation and pleasure and desire?”

Namjoon thinks. Surely, being able to have emotions and to truly feel is what makes us humans and what makes us different from animals. It’s what marks our humanity, regardless of what emotion that may be. But are humans really capable of feeling everything without breaking? Without it being too much?

“Maybe not,” he finally responds.

You think, too. You’ve often wondered why you were so scared to be vulnerable, to take risks, to love. You thought once that feeling things is overwhelming - what do you do with them? How do you handle them when they get too much? When you become too happy or too sad or too scared or too excited?

You think maybe because like all things in this world, you can never have emotions. You feel them, but you can’t own them, they can’t be yours. Like your art. You can create them but they stop being yours once you share them. Like music, as Namjoon has told you, it stops being his the moment he releases it for others to consume. And it’s scary to not have that permanence; it’s scary to not have that assurance that you’ll always have that joy or that excitement or that elation. And in some way, it’s also scary to know that you won’t always have that pain or that sadness.

“Maybe humans are only built to try to feel everything,” Namjoon states, having thought about your question and his years-long quest of figuring himself out. “But we aren’t meant to achieve it. Maybe our life is about just feeling bits and pieces of it, sometimes longer than others, but we can’t feel it all, and definitely not all at once. It’s like truth; we spend our life seeking and trying to live it, but we might never be able to. Still, we have to keep trying.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to say. “Do couples have deep conversations like this?” You laugh this time, needing his thoughts to linger a little longer.

“They should,” he laughs. “But it’s enough for me that I have someone like you to make me question things. It reminds me that I have more to discover, to feel.”

To feel.

Sometimes Namjoon makes it seem so easy to just do that. He’s able to name what he feels, unlike you. You wish it was easy, like saying that the cold water on your skin is refreshing, like the sun’s heat is comforting, like the clouds in the sky are soft.

You don’t notice your hand reaching up, wanting to just touch them because you want something concrete, something more real than what your imagination says that clouds feel like. But instead, you feel rough, warm fingers interlocking with yours.

“If you want to feel something concrete, I’m here, you know?” Namjoon says, thumbing your hand to let him know he’s right next to you. Somehow he just knew what you were doing, what you were wishing for.

“But this is what couples do,” you tease, yet tightening your hold nonetheless.

“Friends hold hands,” he smirks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They kiss, too,” he hums, lifting himself up only to hover over you, catching you by surprise, but your desire trumps that, as the view of him - damp and natural-looking - makes your insides twist in circles.

“Hmm, like this?” You peck his lips, then his nose, teasing him.

“Sometimes. Other times it’s deeper. You know, like this.”

He dives in, and you welcome him immediately, your mouth already slightly open for your tongue to entangle with his. It’s long and deep, as how your kisses always are, and you feel him shift above you, fixing his position with his arms caging your head for support. He angles his mouth so he can have more of you and control how far he goes, how hard, and how fast.

Your fingers, whose spaces were filled by his just minutes ago, ghost over his neck. They trail down to his chest, gingerly passing by his pecs and his abs, the tips now resting on his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans in your mouth, and you immediately know why he does, feeling his length getting harder by the second.

It prompts him to grind on you, and you meet him halfway.

“Fuck, Joon,” you whine once his lips detach from yours, only to meet your neck when he sucks then licks over the sting. “Fuck.”

He hums in satisfaction at the sounds you make, going south now as he teases by giving tender kisses on the exposed part of your breasts before biting your nipple over your suit.The obscene sound you make turns him on, especially when you pull his hips harder against yours.

“Oh fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans in your ear now, and you might as well have just come from the way he said those words.

And then you remember where you are - in the outdoors, in your parents’ summer home. Private as it may be, you’re still exposed, and you remind him of the fact before he slows down and agrees that you can’t be doing this out here.

“I’m sorry I got carried away,” he says shyly now, as if he didn’t just devour you with his skillful mouth.

“Yeah, this is totally your fault,” you tease.

He chases you back to the house where you both spend another hour in the hot tub, just talking like normal friends, as if you didn’t almost just cross a line. But it’s like that with Namjoon, you’ve come to realize. Everything is easy, everything is natural, like you can just forget that he isn’t him and you aren’t you.

You spend the rest of the day looking at all the pieces on the first floor, with you sharing as much about them that you can remember. You both sleep that night with his head on your chest and his arms around you.

He sleeps soundly, snoring even. And as you comb his hair, you think of how close you were to wanting so much more in the lake earlier. You think of how much you wanted his lips on your mouth, all over your body, and you wanted it everyday. With the way he held you close and breathed desperately on your skin, you had a feeling that so did he.

Living in this dream-like state with him feels surreal, several months in. Because that’s what he is - a dream. Here’s a man grounded by his principles despite the fame that seems to shackle him, yet constantly propels him to new heights; a man whose search for truth and humanity shows you that he just wants to be a good person, and a person who does good.

Beyond his unmatched talent and gift with words, beyond his strikingly stunning looks, is a man who cares deeply, who feels deeply, who submits himself to what he commits to, whether it’s his music, his brothers, his plants, or his interest in art and nature and even whiskey. You have a feeling he’d do the same to whoever he plans to be with. You don’t know if it’s you, and the more you find yourself wanting him, the more you wish it isn’t you.

Namjoon is a dream, and you know at one point, you’re going to have to wake up.

The gallery is buzzing, as it always is when there’s a new exhibition. You’re excited for this, too, as the featured artist is one you admire.

Namjoon admires her as well, which is why he’s here, dressed in a black long-sleeved buttoned top, looking immaculate as per usual. He has a busy schedule but he made time, knowing how special this event is.

The room holds its breath when he enters; as a well-known lover of art, everyone has come to expect him to be a guest in exhibitions and various art shows. He bows at the other patrons and artists present, and they fawn over him, being the famous man that he is.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this side of him. You’re used to him rambling, making jokes he doesn’t realize are funny, and being lost in his own thoughts. You’re used to him in his natural environment - in his home full of books and paintings, and in his studio, which you’ve seen dozens of times through your phone screen. He fits right in here, though - he can easily follow on with the conversations, whether it’s about business or culture or literature. He can charm anyone with his smile and his good looks, and too many times, guests awe at his presence, finding out that he’s much more commanding and handsome off the screen.

You hide a smile as he glances in your direction. You’ve agreed not to talk much today; there are too many people around and any kind of interaction might be grounds for rumors that neither of you are ready to face, at least that’s what you think. You and Namjoon don’t really discuss those things. You always see him in your periphery, though, and perhaps just like you, he just wants to be where you are, even if no pleasantries or conversations are shared.

But Mr. Hong pulls him aside to introduce to Ms. Suh, and you can see from afar how Namjoon is fanboying over the artist whose work he’s very interested in.

It’s nice to see him in his element like this, too. Here, though still a celebrity in the eyes of everyone else, he’s a spectator. He’s told you several times how his trips to these places have made him think about the kind of legacy he wants to leave with his music, with his poetry. And how pieces in museums and galleries are timeless, permanent; they live on regardless, and each person is free to make their own meanings. You know he wanted to comfort you then.

You become involved in your own conversations until someone barrels inside the gallery and makes a scene, of all days. The slightly inebriated man is familiar; perhaps a patron you’ve seen before, but he comes in and starts yelling at the staff, going on about something you can’t understand.

Not wanting to be part of the scene and be involved in something you don’t know how to handle, you slowly step away, that is, until you see him storm towards the room where your art pieces are. He seems to be targeting someone as he looks around, but the security gets to him first and he flails his arms around, eventually knocking over Untitled 56, and the cracking sound rings in the entire building.

“You knocked over a precious piece, you bastard!” You hear Mr. Hong yelling.

You start walking slowly to where you see the shards of ceramic have fallen on the floor, and you’re unsure what you feel. Is it loss? It doesn’t seem like it. Is it anger? Perhaps not.

“It’s just some useless flower anyway,” the raucous man answers.

Shame. You think that’s it, maybe that’s the feeling. Insecurity, sadness. It’s all of that yet nothing at all.

You stand there over your broken piece, the one you created while the rain was pouring and you’d just finished a bottle of wine by yourself because you could. Everyone seems to be as shocked as you, especially with the man finally contained and led out the building. You look up to take your eyes away from the scene, but you see Namjoon’s instead - anger filling his, sympathy, care, all at once.

You shake your head once, instructing him not to say or do anything. And he follows, loosening his clenched fist and stepping away to the back of the crowd. You instruct the staff to sweep the broken piece away, not wanting to see how fragile and temporary your creation is. All that had been reduced to shards and pitiful looks of the crowd.

You don’t really want to be here.

You’re filled with emotions you can’t name. You’re afraid to feel them all, so you cower on your couch and cry to yourself.

It’s just a piece of useless flower. It’s the 56th of untitled works that you couldn’t name yourself because you didn’t know what they meant, what they symbolized, yet it hurts you this much that it’s gone. Hurt. Is that it? You’re still not sure.

The banging of your front door startles you. It’s 9PM and it’s been 4 hours since the incident. Minji offered to tell you the whole story but you didn’t really mind. You wonder if it’s her this time, wanting to know how you’re doing.

But it’s Namjoon, panting on your doorway when you open it. And the first thing you think to do is bury yourself in his arms.

It’s immediate, the catharsis of being in his hold. It’s like you’re enveloped in a warm, protective blanket that you don’t want to get out of. He embraces you tightly, letting you cry on his chest as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling.

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear so that the words don’t get lost in the sound of your sobs. “I’ve got you. Don’t tear yourself. I’m here with you.”

You don’t know for how long you both stand there, but it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling. When you’ve calmed down, Namjoon tilts your chin up to face him.

“Hey,” he greets with a soft smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow you right away. I wanted so badly to punch that man.”

The shift of emotions is immediate, as you see his furrowed brows.

“He didn’t have a right to be there and to ruin what you worked hard for. I asked Mr. Hong to look into him and I’m so sorry, ___. That piece… that piece is–”

“A useless flower,” you shake your head.

“Please don’t listen to him. Listen to me,” Namjoon insists. “You know what I feel about it. That piece led me to you.”

“And now it’s gone.”

The thought hits you hard. That piece led you to each other, and temporary as it is, it’s now broken. Maybe art isn’t timeless, you think. It can burn, it can break, just like all things. Just like emotions. Just like what you and Namjoon have.

“It may be but look what it did for us,” he challenges your thoughts. “A broken piece won’t change us, it won’t erase us.”

Tonight, this is what you want to hear. And with his fingers tracing your cheek, you think that tonight, he is what you want to feel.

You pull him close and crash your mouth onto his. It’s fervent, desperate, wanting. There’s this need in you, this animalistic desire that has you wanting him to prove you wrong again - that some things can be touched and felt and that they’ll stay and won't break, that emotions can be just as real and tangible, that they matter and that it’s worth it. You want him to prove it to you with his mouth, his words, his touch, his body.

He answers back, inhaling you completely, his tongue working on yours right away, doing that dance you’ve both memorized by now. Your moans are loud and needy. You want all of him, all over you, and with the way he groans your name and curses as you grind against him, you think he feels the same.

You’re in a haze, falling into hypnosis as you feel his hands all over you. You guide them to your clothed breasts, down your waist where he sneaks underneath. His touch burns so deliciously, and it’s what prompts you to unbutton his clothes, to feel him bare and naked, his skin against yours - raw, vulnerable, honest.

Things you don’t know how to be.

You pull away, feeling as if you’ve been snapped out of the spell.

And then you’re crying, as you look at Namjoon with his top undone, looking at you curiously before he’s walking towards you in concern.

“No,” you almost scream. “I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t supposed to. We’re not supposed to do this. We’re just… we’re just something that’s temporary and–”

“No,” he replies, surprising you. “Don’t be sorry, please. I wanted it, I still do. I want you. Fuck what we said about being just friends. I want more. I–”

“You don’t mean that,” you insist, not wanting to hear his words.

It should comfort you, shouldn’t it? You’ve known long ago that you’ve fallen for him, but you made yourself believe that all things are temporary, and this one time you wanted something permanent with him, you got scared out of your mind.

“I do,” he counters. “Fuck it, all I wanted to do earlier was hold you in my arms. Fuck the other people around who’d see. I just wanted to be with you. Is that what friends do? Is that what they feel? I have to be honest, right? We said we’d be that to each other. I want you, ___. I want to be with you.”

“I can’t, Joon. I can’t,” you sob.

“Be honest with me this once. Do you want me?”

“Yes, so fucking much.”

“Then why can’t you be with me? Why are you making it so hard for yourself, for us?” He yells.

“I–” you start, but you don’t know how to continue. You cover your face with your hands and fall onto the floor.

You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard, and you’re unsure exactly what you’re crying over.

“Hey,” Namjoon softens, leaning down next to you as he tries to free your face. “I’m not mad, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t even… I can’t even say what I want to say because I don’t know. I don’t–” you sniff. “I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, taking you in his arms again. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some rest.”

He calms you down again and leads you to your room. He waits as you wash up and then he tucks you in bed.

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You watch him eye your lips, and then he looks away.

Namjoon comes over the next day with a basket of pastries and coffee. He knows enough that you won’t have energy to prepare anything to eat.

You can’t imagine losing all this, but that’s what’s about to happen.

You’d been so close to giving in to him, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable to him, but doing so in flesh isn’t all there is to it. You can make love to him, bare your body to him that way but you wouldn’t be able to do it with your soul or your heart.

What does being raw and honest mean? You don’t know. He deserves someone who knows.

“I still don’t know what I can give you,” you tell him as you both sit across from each other in the seating area in your garden. “Months later, I should know but I don’t. Even just moments, I… can’t. They make me want you more and I can’t. I don’t know exactly what I want - with myself, with my art, with you. I don’t know what to give.”

“You act like you’re the only one unsure,” he says softly. “I don’t know if what I can give you is enough. I mean, with what I do? It’s tough, and I don’t know if it would be fair. But I want you. I don’t know how the arrangements would be but I want you.”

“At least you know what you can give, even as you shine as bright as you do, you know yourself and what you can give me, what you can give us. I don’t.”

“But what if we try?”

“That’s unfair to you, Joon,” you insist. “You put your all into everything, and this - us - won’t be any different. But that just means that falling short would break you, and I can’t have that. And then there’s me who can’t give much of herself to anything - not my craft, not my friends, not myself. And you matter too much to only get the barest parts of me. I don’t want to be with you that way.”

Namjoon sighs. It’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s something he understands - all he’s ever known to do was to give his all to everything he wants to keep. If that’s not something you’re ready to do yourself, he can’t fault you for it.

It hurts so fucking much, though. He’s learned in the course of these months of knowing you that you’re another one of those he wants to keep, that he wants more of, that he wants to learn inside and out - you’re also the first person to ever be that for him. For you to slip away like this is a kind of pain that he doesn’t know how to get over.

“Continue to be raw and honest in everything that you do, okay? Live,” you say, and he nods in reply. “Don’t stop yourself from seeing other people, from finding someone else,” you add.

You can’t even be honest with this. You hope he’ll always want you, but you don’t let yourself be selfish with him, not this time.

“I won't” is what he answers.

It breaks your heart all over again and you let it. You deserve it. Who walks away from someone they want, especially when they want you back? Someone afraid like you, someone who doesn’t trust herself enough like you, someone who wants permanence so bad that she lets slip away the one person who’s made her feel it.

You give a half smile and he smiles back.

Namjoon gets up from his seat. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s a month later when one of the museums you frequent launches a new installation. A tall man catches your attention. He looks at you and smiles, his hazelnut eyes gazing at you the way they used to.

He nods in acknowledgement and so do you.

And that’s the last time you see him in a long time.

2022, winter

You stare at the package in your hands - white, with words of comfort. He’s finally completed it, you think. A piece of himself he’s been working the last 4 years on, and it looks just like how he described it to you all those months ago.

You don’t know if you’ll listen to it. You haven’t heard his voice in so long. You’re afraid you’ll break if you do.

Perhaps just one time, to get it off your system. That might be enough.

You open it, unsure when you’ll unpack this obviously beautifully curated work of art. But the note at the top leaves you no room to ignore it.

Nothing’s changed for me. Let’s find ourselves. And then let’s find each other. I’ll just be here. But please, stay where you are.

Namjoon

You let one tear fall and then leave the package on the top shelf of your closet.

Your bedroom door opens.

“Are you all packed?” Minji asks.

“Yes, I’m all good,” you smile.

She helps you with your luggage, down the stairs and into the van waiting for you.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” she hums, holding back her tears. “How long will you be away for?”

“Until I find myself.”

“That might be a long time.”

“It will.”

2025, winter

Namjoon has been to several galleries in New York, but this particular one is a place he’s never been to. It overlooks Central Park, towering at the 30th floor like the other buildings in the city. But it’s 3 floors and he thinks it’s stunning. It’s not overly grand, but it’s also not as simple and natural like the others he’s been to.

He may say it’s not entirely his vibe, but there’s a reason why he’s here.

Some patrons recognize him and greet him. He bows in response, engaging in small talk when he needs to, but stepping away to get to the exhibition he flew here to see.

It’s nothing like what he expected, although years later, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore.

The first thing is, well, it’s titled. There’s a year and a description, too.

2023, swing in the summer home

The piece is beautiful, made in clay and metal. It’s familiar, too. He’s seen this on a lake house by the mountains, over 3 years ago.

2023, the piece that lost its meaning

It’s a painting, but one placed atop a sculpted frame hanging on a wall in what seems like a living room. This scene feels familiar as well.

2024, lost youth

A group of children look up at a plane, with opened suitcases and toys on the floor. The nostalgia hits him.

The rest of the sculptures are new to him. There’s one about a lady in red, one of a neighbor, one of a woman with an umbrella and clouds, aptly titled, what am i hiding from? Further down the room, the emotions become more pointed, straightforward, and a lot more focused.

2023, coward

2024, i truly was sorry

2025, is this what regret feels like?

2025, i hope you knew i lied

2025, maybe someday

Someone from the outside who knows nothing about the artist might think that the pieces are a little over the place, although one can tell from the titles that they tell a story. The sculptures are made from the same materials - clay and metal, all free standing and in similar sizes. Each caption holds a narration, and all Namjoon can read are words describing emotions, of states of being - innocence, anger, confusion, fear, loss, regret, loneliness, pain, hope, and few more.

There’s not much about joy or intimacy, though, and the thought saddens him. He had hoped that by this time, you already knew how those felt.

“So, what do you think?”

Namjoon didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again. He’d cry if he could, especially as he turns to his side and finds you, dressed in a classy, aegean blue satin dress. Your smile is one he’s missed so much, and he wishes he could frame this moment, just so he doesn’t forget. He almost did, and he hated himself when he took so long to remember how you sounded like, how you looked like.

“Nothing like I imagined,” Namjoon replies. “In a good way.”

“I scrapped previous works and experimented with these ones. It took me years to complete,” you explain. “I almost stopped at one point, wondering if anybody would ever get it but then I figured, it didn’t matter. It’s a good thing that lifestyle magazine reached out for a feature. I think that was Mr. Hong pulling some strings. At least I got to say that for years, I didn’t know what I was doing, who I was, but now I do.”

“That’s how I knew about it, actually,” Namjoon hums. “It was in the art gallery because he was giving it away for free. It said your exhibition was here, so I flew in.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I thought you had a show or filming.”

“Nah,” Namjoon sighs. “I came here for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know where to find you, or how else to see you. You stopped… you stopped showing up. You just disappeared.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

It’s all you can say, really. You didn’t expect to see him here, but when you saw a familiar face enter through the doors, your heart stopped. You had a feeling Mr. Hong had told Namjoon about your exhibition - your first in 4 years. But nothing would have prepared you for this - seeing him again after you walked away from the one good thing you found in your life. You watched him from afar as he went through each of your pieces, perhaps savoring them, remembering them.

“Have you been well?” He asks, the concern still overpowering everything.

“I have.”

“You seem to have lost someone,” he says, nodding towards one of the pieces. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She was my neighbor when I spent 8 months in Sweden,” you share. “She took care of me but then she passed away due to an accident. It was hard for a while.”

“I–” Namjoon reaches out his hand - for comfort, perhaps - but he brings it down. “I wish I knew.”

“It’s okay. And I’m okay. It’s been a year, but I wouldn’t have finished all this without her.”

You’d forgotten how silence sounded like with Namjoon, and you want to remember what it was like. You remember a lot of things, actually, like his laughter, his voice, his smile, the feel of his lips on yours, and many others.

“How long are you here for?” You finally ask, as you both walk side-by-side past the rest of the artworks inside, with a bit of distance between you.

“I’m here for 3 more days.”

“I stay at the hotel next to the building,” you say, being bold. “I leave here in 2 hours.”

You fumble for your room key and discreetly hand it over to him. “3802, if you want to. I have more to say, and I– uh, shit. If you’re seeing someone, forget what I said.”

“I’m not,” he answers. “I’ll be there.”

Namjoon watches the city from your full-wall window, wondering when you’d decide to finally speak beyond a greeting. It’s been 10 minutes since he arrived at your suite with the key you gave him, and you haven’t said anything since then.

“The buildings aren’t the same here,” you finally say. “I’ve been here for 3 months and the sounds of the cars are too loud, there’s too much smoke, people don’t smile… I don’t have anyone here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I decided to finish some of my pieces in the city. I’ve been staying at one of my parents’ apartments not far from here.”

“And where were you before that?”

“Puerto Rico, Greece, Sweden,” you answer.

“When I said to find ourselves, I didn’t think you’d actually leave, and then not tell me about it,” he laments. “I knew it was stupid to wish you’d stay close. You weren’t in any of the places where I used to see you, where we used to go. I… I asked around but they said you haven’t visited in so long.”

“I couldn’t stay,” you try to explain. “I couldn’t because it just meant waiting for you to come even if I was the one who walked away. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to find myself in a place where I’d always be looking for you, and so I had to go. I’m so sorry, Joon. I–”

You drop the hand that reaches out to him, unsure if your touch would still be welcome. You clench your fist to stop yourself from doing it again, but he notices. He notices and takes your hand, uncurls it so he can hold it properly.

“How was it being away?”

“It was good. Hard. Terrifying,” you share. “I experienced a lot of new, fun things. I learned a lot. Made a lot of mistakes, too. I met so many people. I–”

“Were you with anyone?” he asks, turning away briefly.

“No, I… I couldn’t bring myself to,” you answer nervously. “And you?”

“No one since you. There was a reason why I asked you to stay right there, so that I knew where to find you.”

“You still found me, 3 years later, on the other side of the world.”

“I had to know if anything’s changed for you. I had to know if you made it, if you found what you were looking for. I had to know if you were happy. But you didn’t create it. There was no piece for it.”

“I found what I was looking for,” you say, looking into his eyes, glancing at his fingers that are softly exploring yours. “I realized that I could only gain whatever permanence I was looking for if I learned to let them go. Because if they come back, they stay. I walked away from you then, and I had to lose myself to all the emotions that I was so scared to feel. And I felt a lot of them, Joon. I felt a lot of things. I was going to go back home after this. But you came to me first. You’re the one always finding me. That hasn’t changed.”

“I suppose it hasn’t,” he cracks a smile. “Did I take too long?”

“You were right on time,” you say. “I would’ve come for you in a few days though. But I’m glad you’re here so that I can tell you that I can finally have this. I can finally give you everything without being scared, without it breaking me, without it ruining the ones I love.”

“Is that what you feel for me?”

“Yes. I guess I did then. I still do now.”’

There’s uncertainty in your voice, perhaps due to the fear of him no longer returning what you feel.

“I found myself, too,” he says. “I figured out what I wanted to do for myself, what more I can give, what more I desired. And I guess you’re right. That permanence can come from losing something and then having them back. And then having them stay. So many times then I regretted that I wasn’t more honest. That I was denying what I felt for you because I was scared of losing what little of a normal life I was afforded. I wished I told you much earlier, but I guess things happen when they do, right?”

“Right, but you can also say them again now.”

“That I want you close, holding my hand, tracing my skin, kissing me? That I want all that everyday?” He smiles, as he pulls you towards him and places your hand on his chest. “That I want everything from you? That I haven’t stopped thinking of you, wishing for you?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing into the kiss you’ve missed too much.

There’s that tenderness you expected, but the desire is unlike the times before. There’s more confidence now, more security in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s as if he knows that he’ll always have this. That this time, he’s loving you in more than words, and that you’ve come back, and that you’ll stay.

Namjoon presses you against the wall, lets his lips trace down your neck and your chest. He undresses you, remarks that he’s starting to believe in a higher being who created a body like yours, and then proceeds to mouth more praises down your thighs and in between them.

He takes you slowly, amorously. He watches your face contort in pure pleasure, and you mention needing to add a piece for this, too. The way he goes in and out of you is out of this world, and you never want it to end.

You’d think it’s the intimacy you didn’t know how to feel. But it’s more than that. In fact, you find that in being with Namjoon, the intimacy is in everything - the way he holds your hand, the way he wraps his arm around you, the way he lets you bite his arm and tickle him just for fun. It’s in the way he kisses your forehead before he kisses your lips.

It’s in your bike rides together and watching the river whenever you catch a glimpse of it. It’s in your moments of calm - reading books, writing songs, sketching.

It’s in the deep, tender way that he says he loves you.

You don’t have a piece for this yet. Perhaps it’s another series altogether. Perhaps it’ll require an installation.

Or maybe, this is the one emotion you don’t need to put into art, the one that you’ll keep for yourself to hold onto because no clay and metal mixture, no tangible piece, could ever describe what this love and intimacy feels like.

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katnisspeetaprim · 11 months

Text

Always, Us (Suchwita)

Min Yoongi/FemIdol!Reader Requests open!

Warnings: Established relationship, discussion of pregnancy and marriage, idol!au

Word Count: 1506 M.list

‘Today on suchwita, we have someone people have wanted for a long while.’ Yoongi addressed the cameras as you stood at the side, excitedly waiting for your cue. Since Yoongi started his show, fans had wanted you to make an appearance, but there was never a good enough reason for you to appear until now. You don’t know if the reason fans wanted you here because they genuinely liked you, or if they just wanted to be nosey about your relationship now that it was public. Either way, you were happy to do this for Yoongi.

‘It’s Y/N of the group Prima.’ He stood from his seat and welcomed you with a bow, before pulling your chair out for you. You feigned shock as you sat down.

‘This is how you know cameras are around. He’s acting like a gentleman.’

‘YAH! Don’t say that!’ He snorted with a laugh as he sat down opposite you. ‘I’m always kind.’

‘Sure if you say so.’

‘I’m sure you noticed I got your favourite alcohol here. I’ll keep it for myself if you carry on.’ He smirked, gesturing to the various colourful bottles on the table.

‘You wanna play that game?’ You challenged, leaning forwards with a smirk to match his own. Yoongi relented, leaning back and waving his hands with a smile.

‘Ok, we’re getting off topic and we haven’t even started yet.’ You also relaxed, but you knew you had won that round.

‘As I was aying, this is your favourite. Let me pour you a glass.’ You held out your glass and thanked him as he poured.

‘People have been curious about us since we went public right?’ You asked, getting right into why you were there.

‘Yes.’ He agreed, drinking from his own glass. ‘How did it feel for you to finally be open after having to hide it for so long?’ Yoongi had given you a brief run down of the kind of questions that would be asked the night before, so that you could prepare, though you didn’t want to just write and memorise a script, especially when it came to your love life. You wanted your words to be as natural as possible.

‘It felt good to not have to sneak around. I know you were relieved too.’ Yoongi nodded in agreement.

‘It made me feel like we were a couple of horny teenagers sneaking out at night.’ He laughed.

‘Oh yeah you’re right! But looking back I don’t know why we hid it so long. People have been shipping us since we first met pretty much.’ You smiled warmly, thinking back to when you posted a picture of yourself and a young trainee Yoongi onto your groups twitter account. Yoongi wasn’t well know back then, but your fans were curious about your connection to the young trainee.

‘Do you remember how we met?’ Yoongi asked, smoothly moving the conversation along. You didn’t answer right away. You looked down as a subtle blush spread across your cheeks as you thought of the memory.

‘Why are you blushing? Don’t get shy now!’ Yoongi laughed as he called you out.

‘Shut up.’ You mumbled, all in good fun.

‘Ok. I was late for rehearsal and I ended up barging into your guys room by accident.’ You cringe at that part. ‘ You all stared at me and I was so embarrassed, but you also offended me that day!!’ Yoongi raised his eyebrows questioningly. Had he really?

‘Yes!’ You exclaimed, making him a little nervous. ‘You didn’t know who I was! Even though I debuted like 2 years before that!’ Yoongi sighed in relief and rolled his eyes.

‘I told you before! I didn’t know many current groups back then! I was too busy trying to debut myself.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ You crossed your arms with a pout.

‘Why are you pressed about that still? It was over a decade ago!’

‘That’s not the point! I’m your senior so you should respect me!’ Yoongi choked out and exasperated laugh, before he addressed the crew.

‘do you see what I deal with on a daily basis?’

‘You see! This is what I mean.’ You laughed whilst gesturing towards him. ‘No respect...’ Yoongi shook his head, laughing at the interaction.

‘You know, my mom keeps asking me when we’re going to give her grand kids.’ You froze and internally cursed him for bringing up this topic. It’s not like you don’t want babies with him, it just never felt like the right time to try. Especially now with his military service coming up...

‘I always thought we’d try after your enlistment, but we never really discussed it....’ You confessed, feeling the energy of the room die slightly. You saw Yoongi’s eyes widen ever so slightly at your answer, but he covered it up by rubbing his face.

You weren’t lying when you said it hadn’t been talked about, so your answer definitely caught him off guard.

‘We also need to find time for a wedding.’ He played it off cooly, trying to move on with a joke. You frowned to yourself. His reaction was strange. This definitely needed more investigating.

The remainder of filming flew by. You’d managed to avoid any more awkwardness after that and put on a good show. You were fairly certain that part would be cut anyway. It may have been a little too personal to bring it up in that way in hindsight....

‘So, do you want to talk about what you said?’ Both you and Yoongi were sat in his car in the parking lot. You could get a lift from the company driver, but Yoongi proffered the freedom of being able to drive himself. ‘About having kids?’ He looked over to you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Looking down at your hands in your lap, you began to speak.

‘I meant what I said. I want kids with you, but I ... also don’t want to give up my career...’ You trailed off. He sucked in a breath at your words, but stayed silent. ‘I just said that about your enlistment because I didn’t know what else to say.’ You sniffled slightly, but you were determined to not get upset. Yoongi placed a comforting hand on your thigh and leaned across the console.

‘Hey. You won’t loose your career. You really think Bang PD would let you go after all these years?’ He spoke soothingly. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop a few tears escaping your eyes.

‘I know it’s stupid to think this way but-‘ Yoongi quickly shook his head.

‘Don’t talk like that. If you’re upset it’s not stupid, ok?’ He had now moved his hand to the back of your neck, rubbing calming circles into your skin. You slowly looked up at him to see him giving you a reassuring smile. You were unable to stop yourself from reaching up and pulling him into a hug, or as much as you could manage with the gear box between you.

‘I’m sorry I got upset.’ You mumbled into his neck. He craned his neck to place a kiss on the side of your head.

‘Nothing to be sorry for.’ You both stayed like that for a few relaxing moment as you calmed down. Pulling back, you wiped at your eyes before quickly pecking his lips.

‘We need to talk properly at some point, but right now I need you to take me home so I can stuff my face with ice cream.’ Yoongi broke out into his iconic gummy smile as he stared at you.

‘You must be feeling better if you can crack jokes. Now put your seatbelt on woman.’ Yoongi pulled out of the parking lot and started the journey home. You both sat in comfortable silence, only the sounds of the quiet radio played in the car. You thought back to the filming, when you suddenly remembered something he so casually said during the interview.

‘So...’ He glanced at you briefly, before looking back to the road. ‘What was that about a wedding?’ You smirked when he choked on his own spit and clearing his throat.

‘Ah yeah. That...’

‘You haven’t even proposed to me.’ You teased, hoping he might get a hint. Yoongi fully looked at you when he pulled up to a traffic light, smile tugging at his lips.

‘Do you want me to?’

‘I certainly wouldn’t be oppose to the idea!’ You both sent coy smiles to each other and that was that. Conversation over.’ The two of you didn’t need to get married to know you loved each other, but having said that...

And thus, a few weeks later, Korea woke to the news that you and Yoongi had secretly eloped and made your marriage official.

You had a lot of explaining to do to your parents, but you got out of it by promising that you would have a ‘proper’ ceremony at a later date. For now though, you were both content with how things were.

#bts #bts x reader #imagine #one shot #scenario #drabble #reaction #smut #angst #fluff #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #idol!au #Request

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kpop-bbg · 4 months

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#bts rm #namjoon #kpop idols #winter hat #bts #bangtan #cute guys #winter wear #kim namjoon #warm and cozy

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7brownsuga7 · 25 days

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bts x idol!gf headcanons pls!!

i’ve been loooving ur bts boyfriend headcanons so far! ur so talented

Omg thank you so much 🫶🏽 I actually enjoyed writing this. Here you go & enjoy! <3

Namjoon:

• Tries to be discreet with your dating but will accidentally leave hints like some of your merch/stuff in the background of his pics/lives.

• Paparazzi pics in museums & galleries. Definitely off guard

• Always in touch when the other is away.

• Will publicly share your music/projects. Is a big supporter

• Spotting’s in clubs. Shades on dancing the night away. Y’all are definitely the talk of the night

• You both subtly post things on your story that insinuates that you both might be dating. Same location, same background, posting pics at same event or place. Posting songs that relate to each other.

• You both definitely talk through your stories. Talking to each other through songs or silly captions etc

Jin:

• Will shut down any bad rumour about you. Very defensive when it comes to you.

• Big supporter and is at all of your shows/events cheering you on if he can.

• Goes on live wearing your merch

• Lives where both of you are cooking together and bickering with each other about who’s better or who does it right.

• Idk I can see y’all presenting together?!! And kinda teasing each other. (I see this before you start dating. And this causes speculation which kind of initiates both of you dating??)

• You both definitely post pics of each other being a mess. Off guard pics 100%

Yoongi:

• Song covers while he plays the instrumental for you on his guitar or piano

• Will stick up for you and will shut down any bad rumour about you. Very defensive when it comes to you. And if you're getting hate he's gonna make sure it's dealt with

• Very protective when out in public together. Is like your own little personal bodyguard and will hold your hand and lead you away from the paparazzi/fans

• Will go on live and call out everyone for your fan edits. Even though he acts like he doesn’t like it he blushes and secretly saves them.

• He’s caught with your picture as his lockscreen

Hobi:

• Loads of dance videos and choreographies.

• Lives where you both are just dancing and vibing in the practice room.

• Duet video dance covers that he begs you to do

• Cameos in each others MVs

• Has your merch. Has your photocard hanging on his jeans or bag for sure.

• Is spotted with your initials painted on his fingernails

• Always showing you off to the cameras with a big grin on his face. Showing your photocard, merch, his lockscreen of you, showing his nails or any jewellery with your initials on it.

• Taking selfies with your posters/adverts with a big smile on his face. Or even will do a little freestyle dance in front of it lmfao

Jimin:

• Cameos in each others projects. Him more so in yours.

• Will talk about you in his lives. Will purposely make up a comment and read it out and then go on a whole rant about you. Will get shy and then wave it off

• Duet video covers that you beg him to do

• Posting pics with the same background/location so people know you're together

• Likes every and any fan edit of you both.

• You both are always spotted on little dates like cafes, pottery painting or just casual walks

• You both wear matching jewellery that he picked out himself

• Taking selfies with your posters/adverts with a happy proud smile on his face and the most sentimental and encouraging paragraph

Taehyung:

• Cameos in each others projects/MVs

• Loads of leaked messages of y'all being messy

LFMAO.

• Loads of photo shoots from him. He loves being your personal photographer

• Will purposely like and interact with any conspiracies and speculations about you dating. (Before you both went public with your relationship)

• He will beg you to go on variety shows together. He sees it as something fun. I can see you both bickering during the recording and making fun of each other/ teasing. You both would kill it though even though you don’t take it seriously you’d probably end up doing great in the games.

• Public outing spottings. You guys are always seen out together holding hands or him with his arm around you. You guys always stop for pictures.

• You both wear matching jewellery to symbolise your relationship

• Y’all are always caught kissing in public. So many pictures have been leaked

Jungkook:

• Paparazzi pics of your date nights. Holding hands and running away from the paparazzi/fans as a game

• Very sneaky and lowkey. Like you're known to be dating but you're very sneaky with it. Always hiding from paparazzi and not really speaking about your relationship publicly.

• But will publicly stick up for you if there's rumours going around or hate. He's shutting that shit down

• Duet cover videos that you guys randomly post that has the fans going insane

• Hot dance covers. Y’all both being sweaty having re-recorded many times due to fuck ups, teasing and getting distracted iykwim ;)

• Always FaceTiming and calling when either of you are away. You both miss each other so much and you can't go without communicating. He literally will keep on messaging you if you don't respond

• Fan edits go crazy and he eats it up every time. He’s obsessed with watching them.

• I can imagine him calling you during his promotion sketch videos. Seen giggling on the phone to you, excited to talk to you after his promotions. Sometimes you might even make a cameo in them

• You’re always seen discretely wearing his clothes

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swmeltem · 2 months

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My love😍🐈‍⬛

#suga #agust d #yoongi #jungkook #bangta boys #bangtan sonyeondan #kpop #idol #bts #jimin #taehyung #seokjin #bangtan #agustd #namjoon #army #handsome #rapper #d day tour #love #haegum #run bts

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sopebubbles · 11 months

Text

Pairing: Idol!Kim Namjoon x reader

Summary: Namjoon hasn't spoken to you in weeks, but he doesn't think that's grounds for ending your relationship.

Warnings: Joon gets a little physical, but he'd never hurt you. Namjoon and I both love cursing a lil too much. Breaking up. Mentions of cheating (you didn't) and neglect (he did), car accident, uber driver, hospital stay, elevator conversation...lmao at this point the warnings are longer than the damn story. It's not that bad. Reader is thriving (hair flip)

Wc: 1.1k, he a smol boi, I don't usually do small drabbles like this so let me know if you liked it in the comments 💜

P.s. this isnt any specific Minho, he's just a Minho but if you like, you're free to envision him as the Minho of your choosing. I don't control your mind.

A whole month had passed. Five weeks, in fact, and you hadn't seen or heard from Namjoon. Granted a whole one of those weeks had been spent in the hospital, but that clearly hadn't mattered to him. You hadn't been avoiding him. Not exactly. You'd think living in the same building would make you more likely to run into him, but it hadn't been that way even when your relationship was good. Now all it took was not actively seeking him out and you had managed to go thirty-four whole days without seeing him. When you saw the clench of his jaw, you were certain you could have gone much, much longer. You passed him and entered the building before rolling your eyes at him.

It was late and your heels on the marble floor of the lobby as you clipped your way to the elevators was the only apparent sound. A set of metal doors opened immediately to accept you, and you could only hope that he would wait for a different elevator. But then, when have things with Namjoon ever gone like you'd hoped?

The large man—has he gotten bigger?—stepped into the car with you and all but pinned you against the wall when the doors closed. You could only stare up at him with your jaw set just as tense as his.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He growled, and not in the sexy way he sometimes did. He was fuming.

"What?"

"Don't fucking act like I didn't see what I saw!"

"What did you see?" You asked defiantly.

His hand clenched into a fist at his side as if he wanted to punch the wall beside you. "I saw you cheating on me!"

At that you could only laugh coldly. "I can't cheat on you if we aren't dating, Namjoon," you answered casually. You reached around him to hit the button for your floor because you were just sitting there at the ground floor and anyone could open it at any time, and also because you could not wait to get to your home and out of this incredibly awkward situation. However, Namjoon caught you by the wrist to stop you from calling for your floor, instead punching his number which was several floors above yours before planting himself fully in the way of the button panel. This time you let him see you roll your eyes at his childish antics.

"What do you mean we're not fucking dating?"

You crossed your arms and moved as far away from him as you could in the small space. "We broke up, Namjoon! We haven't talked in weeks! You can't possibly think that we're still together!"

He scoffed. "Just because we haven't talked in a couple weeks doesn't mean we broke up, Yn. You know I'm busy."

You wanted to ram your head against the wall. You would risk another concussion if it meant that you could get out of this conversation. "Yes, I know! You're 'too busy for this relationship'. That's why we aren't in one. It's done!" You reminded him. "And it hasn't been a couple weeks. It's been over a month."

Surprised confusion clouded his eyes. Could it really have been that long? All the days ran into one another. His circadian rhythm was shot to hell. He had been headed for the studio just now at 11:30 at night before he saw you and changed course. "We can't just be broken up because you decided. Not without talking about it," he charged.

This time you actually did hit your head against the gold panel of the elevator. "Do you even fucking hear yourself? Do you know the last time we had a conversation?"

"You can't break up with me in the middle of a comeback. It's like dumping a guy when he's away at war."

"I don't have the capacity to explain to you how wrong that is. You made a choice not to think about me. We've been broken up for over a month and you didn't even notice because that's how little you think of my when I'm not right in front of your fucking face, and it was a lot longer than that since you paid any attention to me. You said the relationship wasn't working for you with your life, and I agreed. Ergo, end of fucking relationship."

As usual, Namjoon found it easy to ignore all of your real issues and concerns in your relationship when he knew he was in the wrong. "So who the fuck is he if he's so much better than me? Huh? Where did you meet him?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but his name is Minho and he was my nurse," you said in a considerably calmer voice.

Namjoon took a second to try to process that. "What do you mean your nurse?"

You took the deepest breath you could before answering. "Do you remember the night I kept calling you and you didn't answer and you told me you didn't have time to worry about our relationship? Aka the night we broke up?" The look on his face told you he had only a vague recollection of that. Probably there were a lot of nights he felt he didn't have time for you. "Do you remember how we were supposed to go out the night before, but you didn't show up and then you didn't hear from me for twenty-four hours?" Namjoon shrugged slightly. That he did remember, at least the letting you down part. He figured your lack of communicating had been you being angry and punishing him, but by the next evening he had already forgotten. "Well, I took an uber home. We got in an accident. The seat belt broke and I was ejected from the car. I spent a week in the hospital. And it was Minho who helped fix me up. When I was discharged he asked me if he could take me out on a date and we vibed so i said yes."

Namjoon shrank a little where he stood. "Why didn't you–" he let the foolish question die on his lips. "I'm sorry."

You shrugged. "It's done. You made it clear what you could give and it wasn't what I needed. If we could have communicated, maybe things could have been different, but that wasn't meant to be. It's better this way."

Namjoon felt defeated. He had truly liked you, imagined himself to be in love even, but he knew that he couldn't make such a claim when his actions didn't measure up. If he could go back in time, he would at least try to do things differently. But the past was passed, and so were you. The elevator dinged and the doors at his back opened. He looked at you regretfully.

"Goodnight, Namjoon. I hope everything works out for you," you said sincerely.

Namjoon nodded his head and slowly stepped off the elevator. "Take care, Yn," he said before the doors closed on you.

A/n: this came about bc beastie and I are currently obsessed with secure attachment styles and that means saying goodbye when someone says they can't give you what you need. Know your worth, honey. Also sorry for being so punchy in the notes, I've been up since 4am.

Permanent taglist: @halesandy @burningupp-replies @lilacdreams-00 @minclangyyy @yonkimint @wholockian1 @cbgdoll @babycoffeefire @theatren3rd @bri-mal @armytwist @hwayne2294 @crish-mac @hey-itsmina @jikooksgirl19 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lxvelyjiminie @marvelfamily3000 @borahae-reads @shadowyjellyfishfest @yoongiigolden @staerryminimini @valhallawhispers @m4gg13-g @i-have-no-life-charlie

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fic #bts namjoon #bts angst #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon #namjoon angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts idol au #bts

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riaarivic · 5 months

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HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗 Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗 Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2021💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts suga #bts #bts imagines #bts au #bts rm #bts romance #bts idol #namjoon #run bts #bts fic #bts scenarios

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madammidnightsblog · 11 months

Text

BTS BUTTPLUG

Warning: sex, buttplug (m&f), public settings, sub idol, dom f!reader, Bang PD (brief), park setting (once), handcuffs, voyeur , fan meet (once)

Namjoon

Namjoon isn't really into buttplugs but he is more than willing to wear one if you ask, there is almost nothing he wouldn't do if you asked. But he feels funny wearing one in the studio with Bang Hitman working alongside him, the toy occasionally humming softly against a sensitive spot if he squirms too much and to make it worse, you were sitting in the same room. Your eyes staring at the back of his head which made his heart pound even more against his chest and he felt himself grow more aroused at the thought of you turning the toy completely up and having him a moaning mess in front of the older man. It really took everything in this man to cover every moan that would slip out and from palming himself through his sweats to somehow make the agonizing pace of the plug to grow more intense and just give his poor dick some friction that it was silently begging for.

"What do you think? Do you think it would work with the chorus or should we move it to the bridge?" Bang questioner as he skimmed over the roughly scribbled idea, wanting the younger man's opinion to organize the chaos that filled the page.

"Uh, well," Namjoon mentally slapped himself for not paying attention but could you blame him? He was in a tough situation and really wanted to work as diligently as he could but the damn plug really made it it hard to prioritize.

Bang notices how confused he looked and took in considering that they were working for about five hours and it was close to two in the morning so he thought he must be tired so he started to pack up, "Don't worry about it. You must be tired so we can finish later after some sleep so get some rest and I'll call around one- thirty." With that, he felt after bidding you goodbye.

You got up and walked over to the panting male as he leans back in his office chair, eyes screwed shirt while his right hand came down to his crotch to gently rub his erection, "You did such a good job baby." You praised as you sat in the chair that the former CEO was seated.

Namjoon whimpered softly as you took out your phone and turned off the plug, "May I cum now?"

You looked up at him surprise. You were sure he silently came a few times but those sucks in breath and squeezing of the arm rest was him holding back? Now that was more amusing. Cocking your head to the side and folded a leg over the other with a smirk, "Why didn't you cum pretty boy? You had about three hours of torture and all the chances to do so."

Namjoon turned his chair toward you, his hands were tugging at the draw strings in anticipation, "Because you never told me to." He whimpers.

"Go head baby. Cum as many times you want, you earned it for being such a good boy for Mommy." With that, he yanked down his sweats and boxers to reveal a twitching and leaking dick.

Jin

"I can't-please-can't!" He cried as his hands yanked at the cuffs, the metal clanking against the chair with every tug.

You sat in front of him, sipping your wine with a pleased smile as you watched as he breaks down in front of you after his third orgasm washed over him, painting his stomach and lap in his release. Something about watching him cry and cum without stopping makes you feel so powerful because of the pretty way he cries and begs and the way his beautiful body shakes with every release, the pearly white liquid painting his golden skin. His moans and cries were heavenly, almost as if he was singing such a beautiful song and the sobs came out like a loud yet sweet chorus that he made specifically just for you and it made your pussy ache. The plug in his ass and the vibrator that was tapped to his dick was the cause of his pleasure and the reason of his uncontrollable orgasms and they weren't stopping anytime soon, not until he said 'sheep'.

"You can take it, you've done it before." You singed before taking another sip, the refreshing taste of Pinot Grigio made you hum.

"Fuck, Mommy, please!" He sobbed, his dick twitched against his abdomen.

You hummed in thought, eyes staring at the glass in your hand and watched how the golden clear liquid that swirled with every soft roll of your wrist. You really didn't need to think about joining your boyfriend but you wanted to make him wait, keeping him on his toes and holding to the desperation which was what you did. Flicking your eyes back at him to see his glossy eyes as they stared into yours before placing your glass on the table next to you before getting up, slowly making your way over to him which had him whimpering for you. The clicking of your heels made his fingers dig into the armrests in attempt to hold what's left of his control and the fact that you were in just heels and one of his button of shirts made his dick ache.

Standing behind the chair, you slowly slid your hands down to his wrists to gently rub at them, "Are you sure you want me to do anything, darling? You seem to have enough fun with those toys." You teased as you eyes the two vibrators.

A sob left his lips, "Y-Yes, touch me, fuck, please."

Hoseok

He isn't the type to act honey in public or even attempt to do anything that remotely resembles a sexual act that isn't dancing so when you asked him to wear a plug and go for a walk at a park, he was quick to turn it down. So when you said you'd wear it instead, he was more nervous about it but didn't mutter a complaint since you were the one to want to do it but he was scared that a child would hear or an elderly person would see how your legs were wobbling and the no so quiet moans and call the cops. Everything was going smoothly, your wobbles were so noticeable and your moans were at a minimum or seen as coughs which did get you two some odd looks but Hoseok didn't care because his mind was occupied with the flashes of you putting the plug in but that was until you held onto his shoulder.

"Fuck." You moaned softly, your free hand was itching to cup your crotch in hopes to touch yourself.

Swallowing dryly, Hoseok did his best to guide you towards an empty and closed off area, "J-Just give me a second." He whispered.

The poor man almost tripped over his feet when he heard you moan his name. He was trying so hard to avoid any issues so you two could be in private but a woman that was jogging by turned around once noticing how you struggled to walk properly thanks to the rising volume of the plug, "Hey, are you ok? Do you need an ambulance?" She questioned while taking out her earbuds.

Shaking your head, you forced a smile which looked borderline lewd, "I'm.. I'm fine. Just got a cramp." You quickly said, trying to avoid slipping out a moan.

The woman eyes him before looked back at you but when Hoseok helped you stand up better, you bud goodbye before you two made your way to the public bathroom. Once inside, he quickly but slowly dragged you to a stall which you were glad he did because you were too overwhelmed with pleasure you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk anymore without someone realizing what was up. You took off your shirt and sat on the edge of the toilet, pulling your legs up to your chest after making sure you wouldn't fall off and told him to hurry. It was hard to keep going without his dick inside of you by know.

Jimin

"I'm so full." He moans as he spreads his cheeks to show off the pretty blue plug in his ass, his white thong pushed to the side.

Biting your lip, you slipped onto the bed while reaching a hand out to rub his erection through the damp material. Soft purrs left his pillowy lips made you shiver in excitement, wanting nothing but to rip the thin fabric off and suck his cute cocklet. With every rub to his small dick, you spewed out filth which had him whimpering and rutting up against your hand which you allowed, loving how needy and desperate he is for you. You were more than happy to make him wait for you until he was a sobbing mess, getting turned on by the way he sobs for you and his big pretty eyes filled with tears that spill down his round cheeks. Tracing his bugle through the material had him shaking and breath hitching, the vibrator purring softly as his velvet walls squeeze around the toy as if it will slip out.

"Such a pretty kitty," you swallowed thickly as you took in his beauty, "And all mine." With that, you yanked the panties off which made him gasp in shock.

You got tired of seeing the thin material already, wanting to see him bare under you and marked so you wasted no time, lifting a leg of his to press a kiss to his ankle and slowly made your way to knee. Lowering yourself slowly, your eyes stared into his glossy ones as you slipped your tongue out and licked a stripe to his inner thigh, licking before pressing sloppy kisses to the soft flesh as his moans came out in soft puffs. Legs spreading further to allow you to lay comfortably between them and placed playful bites to the area before turning your attention to his twitching cocklet once again.

"Want help?"

Biting his lip as he looked away shyly, "Yes, please."

Jungkook

He's bold with anything kink related, believing it will be better if taken risks so the plug was pushed into his hole before a fan meet and he was more than excited. You being a staff member, you were there playing with the remote in your pocket and watching how he would struggle to speak and even sing which did get him concerned looks from the members and fans but it only made you both aroused. Trying to sign an album, he leaned his head onto the table and let out a shaky moan as the toy was turned all the way up, his eyes squeezed closed and jaw going slack which made the fan in front of him worry and Namjoon and Taehyung next to him ask him if he was alright. He was shaking and squeezing the pen as his thighs squeezed together, trying to calm himself down from his high but his mind was just going blank.

"I'm fine, fuck, I just got a cramp." He gasped, shifting slightly in his seat as the toy was turned down to the lowest setting.

He was trying his best to ignore the mess he made in his pants but when you came into view he was whimpering softly, wanting you to hold him and call him your good boy for cumming but you couldn't. Pouting, he quickly scribbled down his signature and got ready for the next fan, ignoring the looks the members and the manager shot him while forcing a smile to the squeaking fan. Every second talking, singing, and chatting with the small span of time with the fans was exhausting since all his entertainment was drained from that orgasm but thankfully it went by quick without the toy going past low so he managed. Once everything was finished, he rushed off the stage and to the nearest bathroom with you in tow and thankfully no one was around the area to stop you from following him into there. Locking the door behind you, you barely got to turn around without him yanking you into his embrace.

"Bunny, calm down. Don't wanting anyone bothering us." You whispered, noses touching from how close you were.

He whined, "Hurry up then Mommy, need a kiss."

With that, you closed the gap by smashing your lips against his which made him moan into the kiss as his hands shot down to his belt and unbuckled it. Hastily, he undid his pants and pushed the down to his ankles while you did the same with yours. Pulling back earned you a whine but you shushed him before pushing him onto the toilet after he dropped his boxers. Knowing you two had to be quick before they started to look for him, you pushed your panties to the side to reveal your sopping cunt which had him moaning at the sight of your slick sticking to the fabric of your panties.

"Be quiet baby." You ordered before hovering over his dick, slowly sinking down onto it with ease.

Taehyung

"Mommy." He moans against your breast, his tongue lazily swirling around your nipple which made you sigh.

Your hand pumping his dick made him whine and moan as your thumb pressed against his utheral hole teasingly. His eyes closed in bliss as he sucked contently at your swollen bud which you were more than happy to see because his flushed face was pressed against your breast cutely. Times like this is why tented windows of the company van was a wonder, letting your cute baby boy suck onto your breast while you have him a handjob, doing your best to match whatever spear the plug in his ass was going. With you in his lap, he was comfortable since your scent and warmth made it better to him and the toy in his ass had him holding you tighter, making it a little difficult to move your hand between both of your legs.

"You are so needy. I spoil you too much, don't I? Taking time out of your schedule to make my prince feel good because he is so needy for his Mommy, hm?" You sighed mindlessly, knowing his mind was somewhere else based how he tried to fuck up into your hand.

His eyebrows furrowed as the pleasure built up, the knot in his stomach slowly coming undone so he squeezed your waist, sucking harsher which made your head press against his as you moaned. Thrusting upwards sent him over the edge, spilling his release onto your hand and his thighs, detaching his lips from your bud to moan out your name. Panting softly, he leaned his head back against the seat while you reached behind you and into the glove compartment to get the wet wipes and cleaned him up while handing him his water bottle. You smiled and praised him while cleaning up the mess and he couldn't help but bury his face into your neck, breathing in your scent as he closed his eyes.

Yoongi

Yoongi would never be caught dead doing anything sexual in public, he wouldn't allow himself to be lewd anywhere that wasn't in the safety of your shared apartment. It would take a lot to convince this man to wear a plug in public for more than twenty minutes out of fear of someone noticing him and try to approach him. He was way too well known for something like that to happen to you decided to make him do it when the members were supposed to come over and have dinner. You were cleaning up the kitchen with Namjoon while Yoongi tried his best to stay quiet on the couch behind the maknae line sat on the floor, playing scrabble while he pressed the couch pillow against his chest in hope to ground himself. It was hard for him, the toy was coming in waves that thudding against his prostate thanks to the larger plug of choice. Having such a hard time, he got up and excused himself to the bedroom, in hopes to lock himself in for a minute and cum.

"I'm going to grab something from the bedroom and I'll meet you on the balcony." You excused yourself which Namjoon happily made his way to the balcony with his beer.

Making your way quietly down the hall, you heard Yoongi's soft moans between the laughs and fight of the younger members which made your heart race. You were itching to touch yourself at the idea of him taking care of his boner with everyone within earshot, it really made your pussy throb knowing if they wanted to they would hear him. Sneaking into the room that he forgot to lock, you watched his he humped the armrest of your chair in front of your makeup table, his pants straining his erection with every rut. Locking the door, you made your way over to the door and stood behind him, holding his waist which made him jolt back to reality and tried to pull away until you stop his to relax. Knowing it was you, he went back to rutting the armrest while letting out louder moans of your name.

"Just like that baby, move with the vibrations." You moaned as you pressed yourself against him.

#x dom reader #sub bts #bottom male #female reader #Kim Namjoon #Kim Taehyung #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #park jimin #sub kpop #sub male Kpop idol

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euphoricfilter · 9 months

Note

hello <3 i'm requesting fluff + ceo au + "you're unbelievably cute when you're tired." + OT7 or namjoon, if that's ok!!

lucky flowers:

pairing: ceo! namjoon x florist! reader

genres: fluff || established relationship || non-idol au || ceo au ||

summary: after a hard day at work, it's always nice to be in your safe space; and for you, Namjoon is just that.

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: people, fluff and a lot of comfort. no pronouns are used <3

notes: as always, drabble requests are no longer open and feedback is encouraged so please let me know what you think!

drabble masterlist || my full masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

There’s a lump on the couch when Namjoon walks into his office. Velvet blanket wriggling with the force of human limbs at the sound of the door clicking shut.

“My love” Namjoon calls out for you, laptop left and forgotten on the rounded coffee table before he sits beside what he assumes is your feet.

You hum. Tugging the blanket under your chin to meet his eyes- as tired and weary as your own.

“You're unbelievably cute when you're tired” he runs a thumb over your cheek, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You sigh, “Am not”, watching as he tugs his suit jacket off. “Today was the busiest I’ve ever seen the shop. And I was the only one working this afternoon. I think I'm exhausted”

That hint of a smile on Namjoon’s face melts into a frown, eyebrows drawn down with the force of his displeasure.

“You poor thing. Surely there was someone to help you?”

You shake your head, “They clocked out early, so it was just me most of the day” your bottom lip tugs down into a pout, “I hate working at the front desk”

“I know you do, love” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “How are you feeling?”

“Not sure” he watches your shoulders shrug under the blanket, muscles wound tight with the tension of the day.

“Not sure?” his head tilts ever so slightly.

“Tired. But I’m too aware of everything to even think about sleeping. And overwhelmed. Like I wanna itch my brain a bit or remove my ears from my head”

Namjoon hums, “What about a nap? Would music be too much for you at the moment?”

“Probably”

“Silence it is then” he nods, slouching a little further into the back of the couch, “I’ll catch up on some work, and you can tell me all about your day when you feel better? A little less overwhelmed? We can always talk at home later, or in the morning too, whenever you're ready, love”

You tug the blanket over your chin, sinking into the plush cushions, eyes falling shut.

The rhythmic tapping of Namjoon’s keyboard is more welcome than a conversation, and Namjoon doesn’t hold that against you. Knowing that in your own time, the fizzling frustration and wound-up emotions of the day would spill past your lips, unfurling all the bad that had been weighing you down for what he can only assume is most of the day.

“There was a dog in the shop today” you break the silence, maybe an hour later. Voice foreign to your own ears, and you wince a little at the shattered silence.

Namjoon closes his laptop, leaving it on the coffee table once more as he turns his attention back to you.

“A dog?”

“Mhhmm” you push yourself to sit up, blanket still wrapped tightly around your body, “This old man brought his dog in, and then it peed all over the floor and I had to clean it but, he was cute, so I didn’t mind”

“The old man, or the dog?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow.

A smile stretches your cheeks, “Both. I’m not sure what breed the dog was, but the old man told me he was buying flowers for his wife, it’s their anniversary tomorrow”

“Ah, they must have been married for a long time” he muses, and you nod.

“I hope we’re like that one day”

“Old?”

Your nose scrunches up at that, “Old and together” you nod, “And married” you add.

“Is that all?” Namjoon tugs you closer until your body is leaning against his side, his arm slung over your shoulder.

“Yeah. As long as we’re still together then I don’t mind”

“You’re lucky I have no plans of getting rid of you” he hums and your eyebrows furrow at that, head tilting up to catch a look at his face.

“Excuse me?” you scoff, though Namjoon can hear the hint of a smile laced between your words, “if anything, I would be the one getting rid of you”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to look down at you with furrowed brows, “I would sure hope not”

“You’re lucky I like you”

“Is that so?” he challenges, head tilting down slightly to press a kiss over the warm skin of your cheek, then to your temple.

Your hand slips from the safety of your blanket, fingers tracing over his jaw before you gently tug his lips to meet your own.

Your lungs expand with the harsh intake of breath you suck in once the both of you part, your lips shiny with Namjoon’s saliva.

“There was also a young boy that came in today” you whisper against his lips, losing your breath when he gives you a fleeting kiss, lips pillowing yours. Silently begging for more, drawing you closer as he pulls away.

You press another kiss to the corner of his lips.

“A boy?” Namjoon encourages, mind trailing after what you had been about to tell him.

“Yes”

“And what about him?” Namjoon prods.

He doesn’t think it’s jealousy that colours his words. He never found himself to be a jealous man, not even when he had started dating you. He wasn’t oblivious to the looks you would get, eyes of men that would never be yours probably conjuring up a thousand fantasies to fuel their lonely mind. And Namjoon wasn’t an insecure man; he would never subject you to a strict way of living—limiting your self expression simply because of outside forces.

And he knew you wouldn’t cheat. Just as he, himself would never imagine himself stooping to that level. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wary when you brough up other testosterone filled, bull-headed men that were more than likely to hit on you. Never seeming to grasp the concept of ‘no’ or ‘I’m not interested’.

You blink up at Namjoon, scooting yourself from his side, legs crossed under your blanket with cheeks dusted the lightest pink.

“So?” Namjoon asks, strange feeling whittling its way throughout his blood stream and into his heart.

“He reminded me of you”

“Pardon?”

“He reminded me a lot of us, when we were young” you say again, and Namjoon blinks.

“How so?”

You let the blanket fall off your shoulders, “He was curious. Asked so many questions about the flowers. Genuinely interested in what I had to say.”

“I only ever asked because I knew you loved them so much” he huffs, and you catch your laugh on your tongue.

“Not only that” you continue, “He got her the same flowers you got me, the day you asked me out”

“He made the right choice then” Namjoon tells you, “And I suppose, their relationship will be just as lucky as ours”

“You think so?” you ask him, arms slipping around his stomach, head resting on his shoulder.

“Maybe. Though he’ll never be as lucky as I am to have you”

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon #namjoon imagine #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts #bts namjoon #bts x you #bts imagines #bts non idol au #bts fic #namjoon x you

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seulcaty · 15 days

Text

𐚁 ꫬ ۪ namjoon ( bts ) lockscreen

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yulixi · 11 months

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𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦... pt.1 | jjk

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:Army has seen over time the beautiful friendship between the maknae Jungkook and the model Y/N.

But since the Y/N model began to share more photos, videos, and appear in some of Jungkook's live shows, a part of the fandom began to have doubts.

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗:Jungkook x fem!reader

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜:fluffy, cute, comfort.

sometimes i'm not good with english but i try to improve^^

But since the Y/N model began to share more photos and videos of them together, a part of the fandom began to have doubts.

@/Junggmaknae:It is clear that we have all seen those beautiful videos and photos of them together.

But that video that the beautiful model Y/N shared with us via instagram, I'm still not well after that beautiful video of them together.

+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

The video begins with Y/N smiling at the camera, you could see that he was on the ground.

A few seconds later he could see the muzzle of a dog approaching his face.

She laughed as she felt the dog's tongue on her cheek.

"Look at this big and beautiful dog," said the model before sitting down and showing the well-known pet of the youngest BTS member.

It could be seen that she caressed it and how the dog got excited getting closer to her

"Uh? What are they doing?" the male voice was heard

"Just showing off Bam" Y/N laughed while looking at the young man

Some footsteps could be heard and how the singer appeared looking at the camera "hello" he said with a funny voice

And there the video ended but there was still a second video, Jungkook playing and jumping with Bam and in the background the model's laughter could be heard, the video lasted a few more seconds and soon ended.

That was enough for the fandom to start giving their opinions of the two of them...

+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

@/Junggmaknae: OMG?!?!?! But that last video?

That video from now on lives in my mind permanently, I won't let it go

If you like it, give me a like and reblog ^^

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katnisspeetaprim · 4 months

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Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

‘Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb. Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

#bts #bts x reader #imagine #one shot #scenario #reaction #fluff #angst #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #idol!au

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violetsiren90 · 2 months

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All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 3: Part 2 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Chapter Word Count: ~7k

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; depictions of cancer and its treatment; secondhand embarrassment; awkward situations; soulmate skinship; loss of consciousness; dudes dude-broing a bit lol; mentions of minor character death (in past); cursing; chemo therapy and its symptoms; nausea and vomiting; characters eat meals; Reader is starting to grapple with some difficult feelings; Hybe kinda sorta depicted as being collective assholes in responding to this situation (gonna be a theme, guys)

Author's Note: Here comes part two! I know this is months coming (again), but I've finally found my stride with writing and work. I had this mostly done, and then redid some parts and finished editing, and well...I just hope you all enjoy it! My hope is to post part three in two weeks - I really want to get into a groove with plot progression here!

There is a lot of content in this chapter about medical procedures and treatment. I tried my best to represent these as accurately as possible with what information I could acquire, but if there are any misrepresentations, great or small, please don't hesitate to let me know!

Thank you again to all who have stuck with this story! I continue to be blown away by how much love you have all showered upon it, and I'm so excited to walk the path I intend for these two and have you all along for the ride!!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or an ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens To the fall of ancient leafless rain, To feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned." ~Pablo Neruda

Chapter 3: My Windows Ache

Namjoon's labs had come back with even more promising numbers. A radiology scan had shown no shrinkage in his tumors, but the doctors commented that these were early days, and that the effects of the bond might even be keeping them from inflaming due to the chemo. You had watched him, smiling as the doctor reviewed the result, and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Your soulmate was on the road to recovery.

Nurse Cha quickly checked both of you over before initiating another skinship session.

"I saw you out on the grounds earlier, and for the first time in weeks," she said, shooting Namjoon an approving grin. "Keep that up. He needs sunlight and fresh air," she remarked to you, flustering you even as you nodded in agreement.

Why was she telling you that? Were you his keeper?

Actually, you supposed, in fact, you were.

You peeked back up at him and found him regarding you with a small, amused smile, which disconcerted you further. You shook your head, shooting him an eye-roll as you made your way into the bathroom to disrobe.

After your first few experiences with skinship, you had asked Matt to acquire you some sporty, conservative sports bra and boy-short sets, and you slipped into one, pulling a hospital gown over it. After the way your conversation with Hyung-seo had unfolded you were glad to have them - the practical underwear felt far less intimate and flirty than your typical bras and panties, giving you much more peace of mind.

As you left the bathroom and made your way back to Namjoon's half of the suite, you noticed him sitting on top of the covers, long legs stretched out in front of him, in nothing but a black tee and blue boxers. He had a drip attached to a tube that ran under his shirt. When Nurse Cha glanced up from her touchscreen tablet to see you approaching, she waved her hand for you to come around to the other side of the bed, which had been adjusted to accommodate Namjoon's upright position.

"We’re going to try this sitting up today," she explained as she typed. "He's on a chemo drip right now, and the doctor wants to see if the bond will help ease the nausea and some of the other side effects. I heard you just had a nice lunch, so it would be wonderful if Namjoon could hang onto his."

She shot him a rueful smirk and he let out a chuckle. You smiled in turn and nodded as you slipped off your hospital gown and draped it over the end of the bed. You glanced up at Namjoon who had cast his eyes down at his hands, folded in his lap. The huge apparatus was lower than usual, so you slipped rather easily into it and against Namjoon's side. He raised an arm to drape over your shoulders and you settled against him, pressing your bare leg against his. It was comical how much shorter yours were, but you could only think of that for a fraction of a second as every other thought in your mind melted at the feeling of the man beside you.

Butter. Warm, melted butter. It was as if every single muscle group in your body had suddenly released every bit of tension it had been holding. So many sensations at once, but this was the one you felt like leaning into at the moment. You felt like collapsing against him.

He sighed deeply through his nose. Yeah, you felt that on a spiritual level. Mmh.

Your melty, bond-induced reverie was broken, however, by a dissatisfied noise from Nurse Cha as she stepped toward the bed. You looked up to find her expression matched her tone.

"You're not really getting much contact," she said, scanning her eyes over everywhere you touched...and didn't.

You raised your arms slightly and a bit uselessly. You felt Namjoon lean forward.

"Should I...like..." you looked to her for direction, but she was already in motion.

She grabbed your arm, guiding you off the bed and motioned for Namjoon to scoot back to the middle. She said something to Namjoon in Korean and suddenly he was tugging his shirt over his head. You felt your cheeks getting hot. Social norms had not prepared you for this amount of casual nudity. You stood there, eyes glued to Nurse Cha, hugging your arms over your middle and hoping that Namjoon was playing his usual blessed game of "look anywhere but soulmate". The nurse took your arm again and guided you back toward your previous perch.

"Sit between his legs and lean back against his chest," she instructed, nudging you to join him.

You looked up at Namjoon. His face looked like you felt. And then it was just too much. You were standing in a hospital in South Korea in your underwear being asked to sit in a practically naked celebrity's lap so that he wouldn't die.

You busted out laughing.

Nurse Cha jumped, surprise clear in her features as she regarded you.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You gasped, bending over to support yourself against the bed as you continued to chuckle, "This is just..."

You snorted. Mortified but still attempting to swallow your giggles you clapped a hand over your mouth and looked up at Namjoon whose dimples were out and whose shoulders were shaking with his own silent amusement. Nurse Cha's lips curved up a bit to one side, but her narrowed eyes spoke of far less hilarity felt.

"Here's the thing," you said, turning to the nurse while still biting back your laughter, "Namjoon is spoken for, and...well...I have a pretty nice ass."

The nurse's eyes widened.

You were probably being really impolite. That would have been borderline in the States. You weren't sure about here, but you felt like that might have broken some unspoken rules. Or, maybe spoken ones because there were a lot of formalities, you were learning. But you had reached your limit with all this. The awkwardness levels were at maximum, and you were gonna cope the only way you knew how - with humor.

When you hazarded a look at your soulmate, he had drawn his knees up, grabbing them with his hands, his head dropped between them and his shoulders shaking as he badly repressed laughter of his own. You could see those dimples again. They were even deeper than before.

"We need to get maximum skin-to-skin contact during these sessions," Nurse Cha insisted indignantly, clearly a bit flustered.

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you offered her a contrite smile as you rocked back on your feet.

"Ah!" Namjoon drew your attention as he pointed behind you. "Throw me that pillow?"

You grabbed the little green cushion from the corner of the couch and tossed it to him. He lowered his legs and placed it over his lap.

"How's that?" he asked with a closed-lip smirk.

You gave him a thumbs up and clambered back onto the bed to situate yourself between his legs. You looked back over at Nurse Cha.

"Better?"

She raised a brow as she handed you a blanket. You thanked her quietly and cleared your throat as you fanned it out over your legs and Namjoon's, tucking it up to your waist. The nurse checked Namjoon's vitals and said that she would return in an hour to take him off the drip.

You sank back tentatively against your soulmate's chest, careful to avoid the little port below his sternum. There it was again. Butter.

Somewhere above and behind you, Namjoon chuckled. You smiled knowingly.

"What?" you asked indignantly.

"Did you see her face when you said that?"

You shrugged against him.

"Hey, it's true!" you insisted.

"Sorry if this is uncomfortable for you," he murmured.

You could hear that he was still smiling, but he sounded serious all the same. You let your head fall back.

"Honestly, I felt bad for you," you huffed in another laugh before sobering. "And, thank you," you turned, casting your eyes up over your shoulder, "For always being so respectful. It's made this a lot easier."

"Oh," Namjoon responded softly, "Of course."

You looked at his arms resting at his sides and thought of what Nurse Cha had said. You slowly picked up his hands in yours, raising them slightly.

"May I put them around me? For more contact," you asked.

You asked it boldly, but you felt shy. You wanted the chemo to work. You wanted it to stop hurting him while it did. When Namjoon let out a low hum of assent you drew his forearms around your waist and laid your own over them.

Your eyes slipped shut. So euphoric but it always made you feel like sleeping. You weren't going to give into the urge, though, not just yet. There were conversations to be had.

"Tell me about Hyung-seo," you prompted softly, shifting against him to get comfortable.

He was quiet for a moment.

"Well," he responded slowly, "what do you want to know?"

"How did you meet her?"

He went quiet again. Then he sighed a small sigh. You wondered what that little breath carried.

"She debuted in 2019. A buddy of mine - Seo Jungkwon, he goes by Tiger JK in the industry - had signed her to his agency. Bangtan was just taking off, things were blowing up. I actually collaborated with him which is when I met her."

He silenced for a moment.

"We had a lot in common - how we approached life and music."

"Had?" you asked, gently.

He heaved another sigh.

"The last few years have been really tough on her. I mean, she hasn't had an easy life to begin with, but..."

He paused, as if deciding whether or not to utter the words he wanted to say next.

"Anyway," he redirected himself, and you wondered what thought he had dismissed, "Preparing for a tour is grueling, and this is her first one. I think the stress is really getting her."

You hummed in acknowledgement. You recognized it in his voice - you should after all, as the same sound had echoed so often in your own - the hollow clemency of lying to yourself on someone else's behalf.

"Well," you offered, "She's lucky to have you supporting her, especially when you're going through such a difficult time yourself."

Namjoon scoffed.

"I mean, yeah, I'm sick, but...I don't know. In a lot of ways my life has been a lot easier these days. A lot simpler."

"Really? In what way?"

He huffed out a wry laugh.

"I have so much time to just do whatever. Read, write...I've been learning a couple of languages. I get to do v-lives with ARMY pretty regularly, as the company allows - Jungkook went kind of crazy with it before enlistment so we have to go through them for access now."

You had no idea what a v-live was, but from what little you had seen of Jungkook, you could imagine it took very little for him to get up to a significant amount of shenanigans. You smirked.

"Did you have so little time for those things before?" you queried.

"No! No way. It was like running non-stop for ten years. During my time in the military, I got a bit of a break and a change, but then I got sick and had to be discharged early, so...well, I didn't even get to experience that like I should have."

You felt your hands tighten in response around his forearms. His life hadn't been cake-walk either, that was clear. You wondered if he knew that, if he acknowledged it.

"Well, I'm glad you have more time for those things. You should keep as much time for them as you can, even when you're better."

He paused for a moment before whispering agreement into your hair. You felt it even though he didn't say it, the caveat - if he got better. He would. You'd never make him a promise you couldn't guarantee, but you could make one to yourself. So you did.

For the rest of the session you talked about Bangtan, and the recent history of the group's situation.

You learned about conscription and that it applied to idols as well. You learned the members had decided to enlist pretty much around the same time so that they could reunite to tour again after being discharged. Namjoon had been released ahead of schedule when he had fallen ill, and at this point most of the members had followed, save Yoongi who was set to be discharged the following week. He fondly reported that they were all anxious to meet you, and that Jungkook and Jimin hadn't stopped pestering him with all manner of questions in your regard since their visit the previous day.

Every time you had heard him speak about his members, the deep brotherly affection that permeated his words was incredibly evident.

You asked him to tell you about each one, and he did.

You blinked your eyes open as you felt Namjoon shift you in his arms. You slowly pulled yourself forward, struggling to focus.

"I...I'm sorry," you murmured, "I fell asleep on you again."

Namjoon chuckled and assured you it was quite alright. As you wearily slipped off the mattress to stand, you suddenly felt the room tilt and your knees buckle. Namjoon's reflexes were quick enough to catch you in his arms. He stood to pull you up and hold you against him.

"You okay?" he asked in concern.

"I...I got dizzy..."

You attempted to put your weight into your legs, but failed, sagging weakly against his broad frame.

Nurse Cha was already in motion.

"Help her to the bed," she ordered, striding across the room.

Namjoon wasted no time in scooping you up in a bridal carry to follow her. You gasped despite yourself, the sudden movement and his strength equally surprising. But every thought was fleeting as you found yourself struggling to maintain a grip on consciousness.

You felt Namjoon lay you gently on the bed as cold, sticky monitors were pressed to your skin; heard him ask the nurse what was the matter, his voice tinged with anxiety.

You heard him say your name.

And then you heard nothing.

You groaned as you came to. Your throat felt like the Sahara and your head was pounding. Pushing yourself to sit up, you became aware of the sound of voices on the other side of the curtain. Carefully drawing your legs to the edge of the bed, you clutched your IV stand as you struggled to your feet.

Pulling back the hanging divider, you were surprised to see Matt occupying the little couch, a cup of coffee on the low table in front of him. Namjoon sat in the opposing chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in rapt attention as the older man spoke. It was dark out.

"Matt," you croaked, shuffling forward.

Namjoon's head whipped around at the sound of your voice and he sprang up, just a moment faster than his guest, striding over to take you by the arm. You faltered just a moment in your steps as his hand cradled your elbow and you felt it - his touch and what it did to you. You wanted to curl into him. You wanted him to hold you.

You gently tugged your arm away.

"You're awake - let me call the nurse," he said, almost to himself as he moved to press the red call button.

You sank down beside Matt.

"What time is it?" you asked in a husky murmur. Your friend checked his watch.

"1:33am."

You frowned, blinking blearily.

"What the heck are you doing here at the hour?"

"Well!" Matt laughed before taking a sip of his coffee, "It's nice to see you too."

"You know what I mean..." you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"He called me," he said, gesturing with his raised mug toward Namjoon, who had returned to the armchair. "Said you'd had a fainting spell."

Your eyes followed his motion to your soulmate, who was already scanning his over you, brow furrowed and full lips pursed pensively.

"How are you feeling?" Namjoon asked.

You huffed out a mirthless chuckle.

"Like I got hit by a freight train."

The worry lines on his brow deepened.

"Hey, look..." you held up a hand to wave it weakly between both men as they regarded you in apparent concern. "I'm probably just adjusting to the bond or something. Cancer isn't contagious, you know," you ribbed, shooting a tiny smirk at Namjoon who attempted to return the expression though the smile didn't reach his eyes.

The night shift nurse and an aid entered the room to assess you. Namjoon asked to speak with a doctor, and was told that Dr. Na would be checking in first thing in the morning. The nurse had very little else to report other than that your blood work had been sent to the lab and that they would be able to determine more once your results were available. He informed Matt that some charts would likely be available in twenty-four hours, but that your CMP could take up to three days. The aid urged you to try to get some more rest. Before departing, the nurse removed your spent sodium chloride drip and said that a meal would be sent up which you were advised to eat if possible, but to be sure to report any signs of food-rejection should they appear.

Namjoon stood and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he gazed at your little portion of the suit.

"They want you to rest, but how the hell are you supposed to sleep with me over here snoring? It's keeping you up, right?"

You smirked.

"Well, most of my rest over the last couple of days has been due to a lack of consciousness, but I do have to admit that you woke me up a couple of times last night."

Namjoon groaned discomfitedly.

"It really isn't a big deal!" you reassured him, "I'm a pretty sound sleeper."

"And still I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it..."

"It's not just that, though," he insisted, hands in the pockets of his sweats and head cocked to one side as he continued to consider the small space across from his. "You don't even have a window. If you want privacy, you have to sit behind that curtain in the tiny bed -- I hate it. I've hated it since they were first preparing for you to arrive. I'll make some calls tomorrow. You need your own room," he stated decidedly, returning to the chair across from you.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he fired off a message.

Namjoon did have a point, it was a pretty meager space you currently occupied. But they must have had a reason, you thought, for wanting you to share a room with him. And you didn't want to cause any kind of fuss in the name of personal convenience that might detract from his treatment or recovery.

"Namjoon, it's fine..."

He looked up at you, his brown eyes assured and determined.

"Just let me handle it. I've got you."

A sudden warmth spread through your chest like the rising sun on the frost of your anxieties, his gaze melting away the familiar worry of burdensomeness. You looked away shyly.

"Good man," Matt said to him with a nod, and they shared a look as your soulmate nodded in return that seemed to be one of mutual masculine respect. You wanted to roll your eyes a little bit. You also felt pretty damn grateful.

Matt stood to leave, pressing a kiss on your temple and promised that he'd return in the morning. He paused to shake Namjoon's hand.

"If there are any further developments, don't hesitate to call me," he said, to which the younger man nodded in agreement.

"Or I can call you!" you rasped after him as he raised his hand in one last gesture of farewell while shutting the door.

You huffed.

"Smart guy," Namjoon remarked, sitting back down in his chair. "You know he's read Toegye exhaustively?"

You raised a brow at him, your lips quirking with a wry grin.

"Two peas in a pod. He's probably going to be coming around here nonstop until he leaves just so you two can gab in genius."

Namjoon smiled and touched his fingers absently to his jaw, his eyes trained on the linoleum.

"Are you bothered that I called him?" he asked abruptly, glancing up at you.

"What? No, of course not," you reassured him with a shake of your head. "I just..." You rolled your eyes and smirked. "I'm not used to sitting around while boys decide what's best for me."

"Aaahhh," Namjoon responded with a nod, interlacing his fingers, "Well, you've been looking out for me since you walked through that door back there, and honestly, I could get used to that..." he leaned forward a bit, "But only if I get to return the favor. You said we don't owe each other, but that doesn't mean you get to be the only one doing the giving."

You stared at him. The only one to do the giving. The words jarred something loose inside you. You swallowed the strange feeling that threatened to well into your throat.

Before you could respond, an aid entered with your meal. A tray loaded with dakjuk, rice, and several banchan was placed before you. It smelled fantastic, and you actually felt you could eat. You moved to take the tray to your side of the suite but Namjoon stopped you.

"Hey, wait. I'm hungry. I'll eat with you."

He crossed to the other side of the room to pick up the telephone.

"Go ahead," he said with nod of his head a little grin, "Don't wait on me."

He didn't have to twist your arm. The chicken porridge was steaming and savory, warming you up within just a few bites. A similar tray soon arrived for Namjoon, and you found it did feel far nicer to eat with someone than alone.

Between bites he asked you about Matt.

"He's my dad's best friend. When he died - my dad - Matt and his wife Rebecca helped to take care of us for a while. They've been really good to my family."

Namjoon's face sombered.

"I'm sorry about your father."

You smiled softly at him.

"It was a long time ago, when I was ten. He was a firefighter."

He nodded quietly, giving you the opening to continue. You decided to take it.

"A fire broke out at a high-security prison. The situation got really bad with a lot of people still inside - prisoners. They told the team to stop attempting rescues, that it wasn't worth it, for people like that. But my dad kept going. Alone. He saved seventeen more lives before...well, he couldn't make it out."

When you looked up at Namjoon again his eyes were locked on you, his chopsticks resting idly in his hand.

"Wow," he murmured after a pause. "And you were ten years old? That must have been so hard."

You dragged your spoon through your dakjuk.

"It was. But managing things after he was gone...that was harder, I think."

Namjoon's brow knit in question but he didn't press you further. For the second time that night, you were grateful. Death was easy to explain, other things were much more difficult.

You finished the rest of your meal chatting about Matt, Neo-Confucianism, and unequivocal humanism between mouthfuls of rice and porridge.

The next day, you were moved into your new suite a few doors down. Namjoon had received no resistance from the hospital in procuring you the space, as apparently Hybe's representatives had been the ones to originate the request that you be at the idol's immediate disposal.

Your room mirrored the setup of your soulmate's, being on the same floor but across the hall, and Kang Dae had dropped in with a catalog stating that you could select whatever you wished to make the space more comfortable. You had circled a few things and he had departed to procure them. Matt had brought the bulk of your luggage, which meant a good portion of books, your art supplies, and finally more clothes which you would blessedly now have no worries of mixing up with Namjoon's. You changed into jeans and a comfy Nirvana graphic tee.

You were busy unpacking when a knock came at your door. You called for the person to come in while you continued to stack books onto a small set of shelves. The doctor had cautioned you and Namjoon against further skinship sessions until your blood work had come back, so you were anxious for the results, not wanting him to go through another bout of chemo without the aid of the bond.

When you glanced up expectantly, however, you found your curiosity would have to wait - at least, concerning your charts - as in the entry stood none other than Kim Hyung-seo.

She lingered in the entryway at the mouth of the space, her arms wrapped around her middle. She looked much more casual today in a pair of big baggy camouflage cargo pants, a tight black crop top, and chunky white sneakers. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, and she had black mask pulled under her chin. She was bare-faced, save for two small red dots under her right eye.

You stood from your crouched position, trying your best to keep the surprise from your face.

"Hi," you greeted her with a small smile, which she returned remorsefully, still hugging herself as she glanced around the room. "Would you like to sit down?" you offered, motioning to the furniture beside you.

She nodded, crossing over to take a seat in the little arm chair. You moved to sit across from her. Your first instinct was to offer her something to drink, only to realize you were in a hospital room with no way to deliver, at which you both laughed awkwardly. After a moment of tense silence, she looked up at you, gnawing her bottom lip.

“I owe you an apology," she sighed.

You gave her an encouraging smile.

"Fuck..." she dropped her head in her hands, and you waited for her to collect herself. Finally, she raises her eyes to yours, interlacing her fingers with their long white nails in her lap.

"What I did...what I said yesterday...I was cunt. I'm sorry."

You let out a little laugh at her choice of words.

"Well, I do accept your apology...but, don't be too hard on yourself. It was a really bizarre and unprecedented situation for all of us. I'm glad we're moving forward, and in a better direction."

You smiled again at her reassuringly.

She nodded, her lips pursed and quivering slightly. You could tell she was blinking back tears.

"Me and Joon...we'd only been engaged for a few weeks before we found out...you know, that he had a match. That it could be his only option to live - bonding. With you. It's just all really fucking scary."

You nodded sympathetically. She released another sigh as she continued.

"He had to decide so fast, they pushed him to just make this huge life commitment as fast as they fucking could and now..." She raised her arms, looking around the room in resign, "Here we are. And we have to figure everything out, and I'm about to leave and..."

"I'm sorry," you murmured sympathetically.

She looked down into her lap, worry still twisting her features.

You wondered why she was leaving, now of all times - when things were the way they were. But that wasn't for you to judge.

"You know," you offered hopefully, "At least he's on the mend. At least you know he'll have someone to look after him."

She hummed. You wondered if it was an agreement as her eyes flitted over your face searchingly. Anxiety from the previous day's encounter began to seep into your chest as you considered if you had chosen your words poorly. You had said what would have comforted you in under the same circumstances. But maybe you were different - too different.

You softened your heart, determined to reserve judgement. Life had given Hyung-seo had her own shoes, and you would do everything you could to understand what it was like to walk in them.

"Can I add you on KakaoTalk?" you asked, realizing you were still clutching a book, and setting it onto the low table to pull your phone from your pocket.

She was chewing on her lip again when you looked up. She stared down at the hardback.

"You read a lot, huh?" she asked, though it didn't sound like a question.

"I do," you answered slowly, wondering where her train of thought was headed.

"All that stuff you said yesterday, you seem, like really in tune with people. And smart. You guys are, like, the same."

She pressed the words out in a strained voice. She looked so small and so sad. Your heart sank for her.

"Namjoon actually said that very thing about you yesterday."

She glanced up at you in surprise and confusion. You smiled.

"He said that when you met he was struck with how much you shared in how you saw the world, and how you approached music."

She regarded you silently as you continued.

"And that's your life right, your great love? Music? What a wonderful thing, to base your life with a partner in a love you share."

She nodded slowly, her eyes watering.

"Thank you," she finally whispered, and you nodded in understanding.

You reached out to take her hand and she squeezed yours. After a few moments of silence, she rose and wiped her eyes.

"I'm leaving tomorrow and I want to see Joon again before I go," she explained.

You nodded.

"Thank you for coming to talk to me and for sharing about how this has been for you. I really appreciate it."

She smiled - perhaps genuinely for the first time since you met. It was a lovely smile.

You sighed as she left. It wasn't much, but it was progress. Maybe she would let you in. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all.

When several hours had passed with no updates on your lab results, you decided to take a walk down the hall to see how your soulmate was faring. You knocked on his door, but received no answer.

"Namjoon!" you called softly with another rap of your knuckles, but were still met with silence.

Just when you were about to turn and go, the door creaked inward on its hinges, slipping open to reveal your soulmate's tired face.

"I just came to see how you were doing...are you okay?."

You followed him as he slumped back into the suite, but before he could even reach his bed he turned and pushed past you to hurry into the bathroom. It caught you a little off-guard and you stumbled, catching yourself on the opposing wall, but quickly realized the reason for his urgency when sounds of retching followed.

The bathroom door was cracked open and you could see him hunched over the toilet, breathing heavily as his body wracked with each attempt to expel the contents of his stomach. You hesitated a moment, then pushed the door in slowly, coming to kneel beside him and gingerly place a hand on his back.

He raised his head, eyes fluttering when you touched him. You gently pulled your palm up and down his spine, feeling the warm surge of the bond even through his shirt. He reached for a piece of toilet paper to wipe his mouth.

"You don't have to do that..." he murmured, resting his forehead on his arm propped on the porcelain rim.

"I know," you answered quietly, continuing to slowly rub his back. "Can I put my hand under your shirt?"

"You're not supposed to be touching me until we know what's going on with you."

You slipped your other hand out to curl your fingers around his exposed bicep below the sleeve of his tee. He sighed, shoulders sagging as the comfort and warmth of the contact soothed his aching body.

"Can I?" you softly persisted, and he nodded his head where it laid against his forearm.

Slipping your hand beneath the baggy cotton you ran your fingers over his soft, taut skin, heart squeezing at the definition of his spine and the ghosts of his ribs.

"Did you do chemo without me?" you asked.

“I've been doing it before you got here, you know,” he retorted weakly.

"How are you supposed to gain weight if it makes you this sick? Please don't do it again without me."

"You passed out, Y/n," he shifted his head to look at you.

"We'll figure that out," you smiled, "But you need to be as agreeable to these treatments as possible, right?"

He nodded.

"Hyung-seo paid me a visit this morning," you remarked after a moment of silence.

"She told me."

"Said she leaves for her tour tomorrow. When does she get back?"

"February."

"Of next year?" You paused to temper your shock, "That's a long time."

"It's a world tour. That's how it goes."

"Wow."

You realized for the hundredth time in as many hours that there was so much about their lifestyle to which you were ignorant. You had so much to learn, but one thing you did know: he needed you right now, so you stayed by his side until the sickness had subsided.

Nurse Cha arrived shortly after to conduct routine checks on Namjoon, and you sat by, thumbing through the latest issue of Batman and Robin which Matt had been kind enough to drop off with your things.

"Your initial blood work came back with some concerns," she said, turning to you and picking up her tablet to access the results. "There are signs that your body's nutrients are being depleted. Since your fainting spells have been occuring during skinship, we ask that you refrain from touching until your CMP comes back."

Namjoon glanced over at you, a chiding expression on his features. You flatly ignored him.

"I need to be able to touch him, especially if he feels ill. He needs to keep down his food, right?"

Nurse Cha hummed, pursing her lips.

"Well, I'm going to run this by Dr. Na, but if absolutely necessary, keep it light and brief. And please be sure to document even the smallest instances of skinship so that we can track the effects."

You agreed readily, and she left to continue her rounds.

Glancing out the window, you noted that the evening was mild, and the gardens were aflutter with birds and awash in soft late-afternoon light. You thought about what the nurse had said before about the fresh air.

"Hey," you remarked, still looking out the window, "We should take a walk - it looks so nice out. You up for it?"

"Great idea," he replied, joining you to look out across the greenery. "I'm definitely feeling up for it." He huffed out a little chuckle.

"What?" you asked suspiciously. You were beginning to recognize his different laughs - this particular chuckle was always at your expense.

"Gonna keep pushing it with the poor nurse, huh?"

You scoffed.

"Well, if I hadn't would you be feeling well enough to go out right now?"

"No."

When you glanced up you found that he was gazing raptly at you, his face filled with unchecked thanksgiving. Your witty response faltered on your tongue.

His touch, you were pretty damn sure that for the rest of his natural life you would never grow used to it...but his eyes? It was almost the same. Was this part of the bond? Or was it just...him? Did everyone feel this way when he held them in those eyes? When he looked at them, really looked...

You couldn't tear your eyes away. You couldn't find words.

When Namjoon's phone suddenly buzzed you thanked almighty Samsung and sagged against the window pane.

"Damn," he muttered.

You looked at him questioningly.

"I have a consultation with my radiation oncologist in ten minutes. Go ahead! I'll meet you down there right after."

He pulled a sweatshirt over his head and changed his slippers out for his shoes.

You returned to your room to grab outerwear as well. The evening was temperate enough to go without, but you were feeling chillier than usual. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket.

Mom flashed across the screen.

Your chest tightened and you silenced the ringer. You'd call her tomorrow, you told yourself. Besides, she had already spoken to Matt.

When you reached the garden, you decided there was someone you should call while you waited. Ambling down a gravel path, you held the phone up to your ear, stuffing your other hand into the pocket of your jean jacket.

"Matt told mom that you passed out - are you okay?" Diana's voice on the other end registered genuine distress.

You rolled your eyes and sighed.

"I'm fine. My body is just adjusting to the bond and probably jet lag and whatnot."

"You better fucking be fine or I'm coming out there to make sure you are."

You laughed.

"To South Korea? On a Wednesday?"

"You know what I mean, god! You're so - hey! How did the fiancee thing go?"

"I knew you'd want an update."

"Spill."

You sighed.

"Uh-oh," she hummed, "That was your, things-are-an-effing-disaster sigh."

"It was no- why do you keep trying to divine my air flow like they're casting-runes or something? Will you just let me tell you?"

"You don't always say."

You huff in exasperation.

"Okay, well, I won't tell you what that sigh is," she mumbles in trepidation, "But I will tell you that I know enough to shut up and let you continue. Go on."

"It didn't go swimmingly."

"Fuck."

"Yeah,” You lifted your fingers to absently stroke at the petal of a rose. “She seemed very frightened by the whole situation, which is completely understandable. But then...she also kind of came at me. She started asking pretty intimate stuff about the bond right off the bat. When I tried to redirect by suggesting we get to know each other better she started saying all this stuff she already knew about me. About Dad and Mom."

"What?!" Diana gasped incredulously.

"It was almost as if...I don't know, I could have been reading her incorrectly, but it was almost seemed as if she was trying to bring things up that might knock me off my footing. Make me...insecure."

You suddenly remembered your conversation with Namjoon the previous night. He hadn’t let on that he had already known your father passed when you were a child...but he had known. Passing out during skinship had gotten in the way of the conversation you had intended to broach with him about knowledge of the other. You had done research before meeting him, but only the basics. You had felt that as much should come from him as possible. Clearly you hadn’t been given that opportunity.

"That bitch," Diana seethed, pulling your mind back into the moment.

"Hey, hey, hey," you cautioned her, "She's in a extremely difficult situation. And that was just my biased impression of her intentions. Don't be too quick to judge her, Di."

Diana hummed discontentedly.

"Also, she came to apologize to me today before she leaves on tour. We made progress, I think."

"Apologizing? Bare minimum," Diana said with an air of dismissal. "What did you say her name was?"

"Kim Hyung-seo. Her stage name is Bibi."

Diana was silent for a moment.

"Found her," she declared.

You smiled to yourself - of course she had found her, the woman was famous. It wasn't as if stalking measures were necessary (though you had no doubt of Diana's abilities should that have been the case).

Diana clicked her tongue in disappointment.

"She's hot."

"She is very pretty," you agreed.

"Yeah, but you're hot too. And, y'kow, you're you. Bet you're smarter..."

"Di," you said, stopping to pinch your brow, "We're not in some kind of competition. We're both just human beings navigating pretty uncharted waters, okay? We both have our strengths and weaknesses. She's going to be part of my life as Namjoon's wife, so not only is building a good relationship with her important to me, I have a responsibility to her as well. We all do. To each other."

Your sister paused on the other end before relenting sullenly.

"Yeah, yeah. I guess you're right - you do need to make nice with her...as long as they're married, that is..."

"DIANA."

"Okay! Geez!" Diana cleared her throat. "How is the soulmate doing?"

"He's getting stronger every day," you answered, happily moving the topic away from Hyung-seo.

"That's great!" she crooned.

"It is."

"Are you smiling? You sound like you're smiling."

"How are you doing, Di? Classes are starting soon."

You smirked as your sister's attention surged in a new direction, and for the next half an hour she regaled you with tales of her new housemates, and the smarmy and unseemly Johnnie (who had come crawling back, as predicted, upon returning to the States).

Upon hanging up with Diana, you checked the time, and discovered that it had been nearly an hour since you left Namjoon. You were starting to feel weak, and a bit cold - hunger, you told yourself - so you decided to return indoors for dinner.

You called Namjoon on the way up to the fifth floor to inform him if your change in plans. He apologized profusely, saying that the doctor had been detained, and asked you to join him for dinner.

Letting yourself into his suite, you shrugged your jacket off as you headed for your usual spot on the couch when, suddenly, you froze.

A man was rising to stand from where he had been seated on the sofa. He was clad in a dark blue button-down with a golden emblem on the shoulder and black slacks. He wore a black cap which bore a similar insignia to the one on his shirt and fit snugly over his short dark hair. He wasn’t as tall as Namjoon, though his shoulders were nearly as wide. His features were soft but arresting, and his deep brown irises, you thought, seemed to hold a bit of everything a pair of eyes could. Your comic book was in his hand.

You crossed the room toward him.

"Hi, I’m sorry, Namjoon will be here soon - oh, I'm his soulmate, Y/n," you stammered, before catching yourself.

The young man's sharp eyes widened, his lips parting as you bowed.

"Je ireum-eun Y/n imnida," you started over in Korean.

He bowed in return, raising his dark brown eyes to you again as he responded in a soft deep voice.

"Annyeonghaseyo, je ireum-eun Min Yoongi imnida."

87 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 2 months

Text

London Calling | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Vixen

Wordcount: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship!AU, idol!Au, Married!AU

Rating: 18+; minors, please do not interact

Synopsis: Vixen has decided to distract herself from Namjoon's incumbent enlistment by focusing on her job. She has accepted adding more international works to her portfolio and is currently in London; too bad Namjoon can't help but post risqué pictures on his Instagram, and it really seems he's doing so to try and get her attention.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Swearing, Fear of infidelity, Nostalgia. Extremely mild DDLG dynamics, Babygirl!Vixen, Brat!Vixen, Phone sex, Masturbation, Dirty talking. Mentions of: Oral sex (both male and female receiving), Lingerie kink, Sex toys, Spanking. Oh, and one of Joon's friends simps for Vixen.

As usual, you can find my masterlist right here! I wouldn't mind if you took a few seconds to leave a comment or reblog my fic 🥰 Also, my requests are always open!!!

Enjoy 💜✨

“Been hearing someone’s on their worst behaviour.”

Namjoon’s chuckle on the opposite end of the line is everything you need to know. “What can I say, my last moral anchor is busy girlbossing around the world.” He licks his lips and sits down on the sofa, his friends messing around his kitchen, beers and liquors spread around your marble counter. “I’m missing my lucky star.”

“Your guardian angel.”

“My only angel,” he flirts.

The game is back on between you and Namjoon. Ever since you decided to stop waiting around for his enlistment and have started accepting international projects on your portfolio, it’s like no matter where either of you are, it’s always time to flirt on the phone.

Or mess around even more.

He’s touched down in London for you about two weeks ago, showing up at your hotel room with an Agent Provocateur bag dangling from his pretty fingers and the kind of smile that always gets you shimmying out of your panties.

“What are you up to, love? What time is it over there?”

“Uh-huh. I’m the one doing the asking here, mister.”

He puts his glass back on the coffee table, and leans over with his elbows on his knees. “I’m just trying to feed my imagination, little fox. What’s a boy to do, with an empty bed and a sexy wife on the other side of the world?”

“I don’t know, maybe be more careful before talking talks he can’t walk?” you suggest.

He lowers his voice before saying, “You’d be over my knee right now, you know?”

You decide to talk back, just to mess him up further. Your voice is like midnight fog when you tell him, “you’d have to catch me first.”

He steals a glance towards the kitchen. This feels an awful lot like when the two of you began hanging out — the secrecy, the craving, the distance, and the pining. Except this time you have rings on your hands and there’s no doubting loyalty, not on his nor your behalf.

He toys with his own ring, tracing it with his thumb, twisting it a little to the left, then to the right, back and forth.

“It seems you appreciated that quick leak…”

You click your tongue. “One of these days you’re gonna end up naked in those pics and I’ll have to come home to do damage control.”

“Is that all it takes to have you back home? I miss my territorial little vixen.” He stares at your stash of books in the bookshelf, standing tall right next to his, but looking twice more put together.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been acting sluttier lately.”

“At least I haven’t gone entirely shirtless yet.” He picks up the glass again and you hear him swallowing through the line. “Unlike some of my friends. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky, you say?”

He hears the sound of a glass being put down. “Are you drinking, babygirl?”

You cock an eyebrow and stare at your glass of red wine. “I’m dined and wined. You know which bit is missing. But it seems you’re not that deserving.”

“What did you eat?” He doesn’t grant you the courtesy of winning this sensual verbal sparring. That tiny comment about being dined and wined was a trap, he can tell. Looking so casual and half-hearted can only mean you expected him to go there, and if he does, he’ll probably end up right where you wanted him.

He can do better.

“I had a steak. With a lovely truffle cream. I’ll have to make it for you next time you’re around.” Your reply comes off beat, and he smiles, happy that he caught you off guard.

If this were a match of martial arts, you’d be dwindling a little, your balance compromised. “I’d love to. Miss your tiramisu. Your cheesecake. Your aglio e olio. Your sweet little ass working around the kitchen.”

You laugh, the sound as bright and heartstopping as ever. Blood rushes to his cheeks. He loves making you laugh. “You got the guys over, I assume? Four in the morning?”

“We just finished working. Like maybe an hour ago or so.” He can’t keep calm anymore. Everytime you call him when he’s home, his gaze keeps wandering to every piece of it that belongs to you.

Sometimes it’s suffocating. Sometimes he sleeps back at the studio. Sometimes he stays over at other people’s places.

Now it’s the portrait of your orchids that you had commissioned for him. It sits next to his bonsais, so he can think of your collection each time he’s watering his own.

Sometimes he wonders who is whose subtext, because at times he thinks you’re the one who picked up habits from him, other times he thinks it’s him who accidentally got into certain hobbies through the years so he could be your exact shadow once the two of you finally met and aligned.

“Also, you’re calling at four in the morning,” he observes. “Oh…” He rubs the back of his head, then plops back on the sofa, as if he were deflating slowly. “Right. I’m your booty call.” He chuckles. “Almost forgot.”

“I can find someone else in a more suitable time zone, if that sits well with you,” you reply, your tone just a tiny bit annoyed. His nonchalance irks you just a little.

“That your sneaky link, man?” you hear someone holler on his side.

“So now I’m miss sneaky link, huh? Not bad, mister booty call.” You click your tongue. “I’ll leave you to your friends. I thought you were alone, didn’t mean to disturb.” This could be your chance to win this match.

“No, don’t go because they’re about to. Kind of right now,” he says, looking towards the kitchen and nodding towards the door. “Sorry guys. Vixen’s rule.”

“He don’t deserve you, honey,” one of his friends calls. “Just one chance, miss. Kindly.”

“We’re literally married,” he tells the guy, then to you, “Bum says hi.”

“Oh, hi sweetie. What are your thoughts on the London timezone?” you ask, coquettishly.

“Careful, fox.” Namjoon’s voice is stern when it comes on. It makes you sit taller on your seat, redirecting the pressure in between your thighs. “And you’d better not reply, Bum.”

The guy stares at Namjoon as he says. “For you, anything, my queen. Though, from personal experience, it’s excellent for your late nights and our early mornings. If you know you know,” Bum suggests.

Namjoon slaps the guy’s back with the most sarcastic smile on his face. “Time to go, dude.”

“Starcrossed lovers, that’s our fate, my queen.”

You laugh loudly and Namjoon is a little annoyed. “All the great loves are those that never happened, Bum.”

“Guys, I’m literally right here!?” Namjoon says, embarrassed and just a tad annoyed. “You, get out of my house. And stop trying to seduce my wife.”

“Bum, can you keep an eye on him? Kinda worried I might not be the only sneaky link of his.” You joke about it, but deep down, there’s always a sliver of worry in it. You wouldn’t be surprised if some of his friends were encouraging him to be unloyal to you just because you decided to push forward with your career.

“He’s too busy panting for you to even begin thinking about someone else.” Bum’s putting on his shoes by the door, hushered by Namjoon. His three other friends are similarly getting dressed, laughing at the exchange.

“Literally, Vixen—”

Namjoon looks like he’s baring his teeth at Bum using his nickname for you.

“He’s whipped. We keep him in check, but it’s like guarding a leashed little puppy.”

You giggle, sweet and endeared. “Good. That’s the way I like him.” You lick your lips. “Make sure he doesn’t bare his ass on Instagram.”

“So you’re falling for his little thirst traps?” Bum’s laugh booms in the room and Namjoon wacks him on the head, worried about the neighbours. Also, he doesn’t like admitting that when he posts, he’s thinking about the way you would react when seeing him.

“You know how I am, Bum. I’m always falling for him,” you confess, cheesy and utterly honest at the same time.

Namjoon smiles like the cat who got the cream. “That’s sweet, babygirl. The guys are leaving now. Bye guys,” he says quickly, finally kicking them out.

You try to say bye in return, but you hear the door close and Namjoon is immediately all over you. “Always falling for me, huh?” He heads back towards the sofa. “That’s new.”

“That’s actually so, so old.” You roll your eyes but smile through it anyways.

“You’re my only sneaky link, Vixen. Still got your claw marks all over my back, by the way. Lovely touch.”

“Gotta mark my territory,” you state matter-of-factly.

“Wanna switch this over to a video call?” he suggests, already undoing the first button of his shirt.

“Just so I can be reminded I’m not over there fucking you right?” You snort bitterly. “No way.”

“We could make this our own personal porno,” he suggests, grateful that his trousers are baggy enough to give him extra space around the crotch. “Just a little visual aid.”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember how I rode you last time?” You undo the little bow at the waistband of your pyjama pants, your fingertips tiptoeing around the elastic of your panties.

“Let’s say I wouldn’t mind having a bit more than a memory to hold on to.” As if telepathically connected, he’s also undoing the button and zip of his denim cargos.

“Fair. You usually hold on to my hips while I fuck you.”

He hisses, head thrown back. “And you hold on to my throat when I’ve been an exceptionally good boy.”

A shiver screeches down your torso, then spreads through your midriff and settles somewhere at the small of your back, as if recalling the phantom touch of his hand, of his thumbs imprinting themselves in the twin dimples at the base of your spine. He likes resting his fingers there when he’s taking you from behind. It’s like the little dips were designed for his digits to rest there.

“You’re such a lucky little fucker,” you tease him and he one-ups you,

“I fucking am, but last time I checked you usually sort of profit from it.”

Your sultry laugh is his favourite form of payment — right now he’s richer than he’s ever been.

“Are your hands free, love?”

You let him hang there for a couple long seconds, your breathing heavy. “They’d be freer if you were here,” you tell him. “Maybe not.”

“They’d be all over me, and you know it, little fox.” He purrs as his hand finds a good spot. He’s not yet actually touching himself, but he’s definitely teasing. “Got on a fucking plane for those hands.”

“You flew for twelve hours for these hands.”

“And for that ass,” he adds, quick-witted.

Your laugh is more of a snort. “And that too.”

His zipper is undone, he dips his hand under the waistband of his briefs, shifting it downwards. “For that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers. “Just to kiss it for a bunch of hours.”

“It was very grateful,” you remind him, trying to bluff the fact that your middle finger is now circling your clitoris.

“I remember that.” His heartbeat is starting to accelerate. “I had to stop it from being a little bit too grateful.” He remembers the silky feeling of your hair in between his fingers, the tension in your hand on his thigh as you tried to take more of him. “My birthday girl,” he hums. “And yet, I was the lucky bastard who got presents.” The sight of you in that powder pink corset, with the delicate ruffles, and the feather trims tracing the top of your breasts, palpitating with every single excited breath you took.

It had been like seeing a map of your arousal, goosebumps rising on any inch of skin he had dared lay his eyes on.

“You were so responsive,” he whispered. “You were so fucking wet.”

“You teased me for almost an hour,” you object.

“I’ll have to make it two hours next time then.” He’s throbbing in his own palm, circling his tip, hissing when he hits a too-sensitive spot. “Maybe with the tickler still.”

“It was delightful, I will admit that.” You’re leaning on your hand now, cupped between your thighs. “Wish your face was between my legs.”

“Wish you were sitting on it, baby.” He bites his lip, as if he could recall the feel, the taste of you on his mouth. “Can’t believe it’s been two weeks already.”

“I can’t wait to be home,” you moan.

He can tell you’re touching yourself, from your ragged breathing, and from the way your voice has become more vulnerable, and more impatient too. “I’ll make sure to clear my schedule when you do. We can do that ‘seven days a week’ type of shit.”

You moan and he laughs to himself.

“Are you gonna come for me, my love?” he asks fondly, his voice like a dark caress. “Are you thinking about my mouth fucking you? About my tongue stroking you, feeling how wet and warm and sweet you are?”

“Joon, please,” you beg, a desperate little laugh.

“No need to beg, babygirl. You can have everything you want when you’re with me,” he continues, with his calm, direct voice. “You can take it, love. You can have me deep inside you, and you can suck on my fingers if you’re struggling to keep your voice down.” He’s quickened his own pace, trying to climb as fast as you do. “Or you can be loud, and tell the neighbours who’s making you feel this good.”

“When I get home I want you to mess me up for days. You’re gonna mark me, and make love to me and fuck me and feed me. You’re gonna cuddle me to sleep, then wake me up with your hand between my legs.”

You’re holding your breath as you speak, your high approaching like an incumbent, massive wave.

“I promise, love.”

“Are you coming too?” you ask, and he hums simply.

“I’m close.”

“I want you to fuck me while I sit on your lap.”

“On the sofa?”

“On the sofa, on the floor, in bed, I don’t care.” You gasp, then chuckle as you hit an indecently good angle with your fingers. “I want to hold you as we make love.”

“You will, baby.”

“I wanna whisper in your ear that you’re my one and only. That you’re the only one in the whole world who can get me this good.”

He loves when you get emotional during sex. He loves when you start to ramble and you tell him all those things you usually keep to yourself. “I can’t wait either. I miss you in bed. I miss you at every meal, I miss going to our galleries. I miss every fucking thing.” He’s getting desperate. “And most of all, I miss those eyes on me.”

“I’m coming,” you gasp, out of the blue, the idea of sitting on his lap, naked, making love to him, your mouth clamped around the crook of his shoulder to keep quiet, his hands tracing your back, his eyes looking for yours, for confirmation, for loyalty, for reassurance, for companionship.

“That’s my darling.” He can let go now, and he fucks his hand with intention, with neat powerful jerks. He helps himself with strong thrusts of his pelvis, and precise tugs of his hand too. He grunts when he hears your sweet whimpers on your side of the call, and finally he follows you into pleasure, with the image of your head thrown back, your plump lips agape, your hair tumbling wild behind you as you bounce on him.

He can almost feel the aftertaste of your perspiration on the tip of his tongue.

“Wow,” you say as soon as you manage to recollect yourself.

He’s still sort of numb, his orgasm spilled on his stomach and happy trail. Just a glimpse down and he’s already envisioned the phantom of you studying his semen, lowering yourself to his navel and tracing it with your digit, only to bring it to your mouth to have a taste. He clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Damn, I wanna cuddle the fuck out of you and you’re too far away.” He reaches for a tissue to clean himself quickly. “I guess that’s why we don’t do this more often. I miss the aftercare.” He pulls himself back in his briefs, then blocks his phone between his shoulder and ear and stands to get rid of the tissue. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Hunting for chocolate.”

“Oh, baby…” He giggles, endeared. “Should I order something for you?”

“No… it’s okay.” You’re a little bit sad, but you try your best not to let it show.”

“Not even those glass beads you’d seen on our favourite website?”

You widen your eyes. “Let’s not make say things we don’t mean now...”

Namjoon laughs fondly. “Thought so.” He waits a little. “We can just talk, by the way. Or you can go grab a toy and we can keep going with this. We could discuss in great details what you intend to do to me once you’re back.”

“We could do that. Or we could video call and you could watch me hump this little thing you got me.”

He grins. “Then let me get comfy. We’ve got quite the night coming up.”

You smile. “We do.”

He hesitates. “We don’t have to, you know? If you don’t want to video call. I’m okay with just hearing you.”

You pause. Your love for him multiplies exponentially in your chest. “Sure we don’t have to. But I want to.”

Namjoon smiles. “Okay.”

“Get comfy, lucky boy,” you tease him.

“I’ll be right there.”

It’s almost six in the morning when you fall asleep. He’s propped the phone right beside him on the pillow and though he’s found himself dropping it a couple times, he’s refused to let go until he was sure you were asleep.

Now he closes the video call and locks his phone, putting it back on the nightstand. He pulls your pillow close, hugging it to his chest, then throws a leg on top of it. He places another pillow in between his legs, where your thighs would normally tangle with his.

He breathes in the vague scent of you left on the bed — not much since the sheets have been changed and he can only smell the laundry scent you normally use, of sandalwood and cedar, warm and spicy.

Twenty-three days.

He can handle it.

He falls asleep with the memory of your body like ivy against his own. Even this far apart, he is and will always be covered in you.

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