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enthusiasticharry · 1 year

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10.0k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i cannot believe that I can finally say that the first chapter of regret me is out now. i've honestly been cooking this one for a while and i'm so excited for everyone to read it! it's honestly been my lil baby in my brain for so long and i cannot wait to hear what everyone thinks and has to say about it! pls let me know what you think, what you think of the characters and the plot and what you're excited for, i want to hear it all! (pls i've wanted to speak to someone for so long about this)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, drug and alcohol use, family issues and a very sexy 70s rockstar Harry Styles.

𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟎 HERE

Los Angeles, Spring 1970

There was so much that YN didn’t know about life. She was aware of this, of course, and she had faith that one day she would but sometimes life had other ideas for her. On difficult days, the knowledge that one day she would have full control of her life made it a little easier to stomach. That didn’t mean that sometimes she didn’t feel hopeless, or as though her life was spinning in circles that she had no control over. It often felt like that was the case.

She lived her life by the book, prim and proper under a magnifying glass. In her childhood, she was satisfied with her life, especially the attention that came along with it, but as she grew up that caught up with her. Living her life as the daughter of a Senator and Socialite in Los Angeles meant that there was no time for fuck ups, no time for even the slightest incline that her life wasn’t anything but perfect. Her father was one of the most influential and important people in the whole state of California, and she knew from a very young age that she would not be the one to fuck that up for him. YN always supposed that was the reason that they only had one child – to have that picture-perfect family but limit any fuck ups that may come along with that.

“Remember, YN, this isn’t about us it’s about our country,” Her father would always say to her, every day, as though she had forgotten it from the day prior, “We’re the ones who set the example.”

“And that example needs to be perfect,” Her mother would chime in, softly spoken but always with that rough edge that would make YN shudder, “Right, darling?”

That word haunted YN her entire life. Perfect. It was easily the most used word in their household, and it was the word that YN hated the most. The word caused YN to question what she was doing with her life. The word caused YN to realise that she wasn’t living her life, but she was living the life they had moulded for her. They had orchestrated their perfect life, and YN had put up with it for eighteen years, but she was done.

YN had never seen central Los Angeles in the nighttime until this point in her life. It had taken her eighteen years to buck up the courage to forgo her perfect life for a night and venture into the city that she loved so much in the dark. She was dressed in a floral blouse and a pair of flared jeans (ones that she had secretly purchased a few days prior when her mother was distracted by diamonds) and felt she could fit in. She was no longer the Senator’s daughter, she was YN – the rebellious eighteen-year-old who wanted to know what she was missing.

When YN looked back, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what caused her to snap and finally venture out on her own. It was just a random day in April when she decided that enough was enough, and perfect wasn’t what she wanted for herself. She wanted to know what was out there, and what she was missing. In some ways, she could have seen her childhood as her parents trying to protect her from the dangers that were in the world but as an eighteen-year-old, she only wanted to know what was out there.

YN kept darting her eyes from left to right as she continued walking, as though at any second the cameras were going to have spotted her and she was going to be busted. Or maybe someone will recognise her and that’s it, she would be forced to go back to her little prim and proper life. It was only when she started to get into the more crowded areas that nobody cared. Well, people noticed that she was there but were all too intoxicated to care why.

“Go on, honey, get your tits out for us!”

It wasn’t even the words that shocked her, because obviously, she had never heard such crude language before, but the fact that they saw her as a normal girl. Again, looking back, being catcalled on the street wasn’t something to be proud of, but she honestly didn’t mind the attention.

“Assholes!” The voice came from behind her, and she didn’t recognise it, “Leave her alone, go find someone else to annoy.”

Turning around, YN saw one of the coolest people she had ever seen in her life. A girl, maybe a little older than she stood in a halter neck top and a pair of jean shorts with not a care in the world. She even had sunglasses on the top of her head (it was pitch-black outside) and bangles on her wrists that rattled when she moved.

“You all right, babe?” The girl looked concerned about her, and YN was frozen to the spot. This was the first time that she had spoken to someone that hadn’t been vetoed by her parents in a long time, “Just ignore them, babe, they’re assholes.”

“Thank you,” YN nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Don’t worry about it, we have to look after each other, right?” The girl nudged YN’s shoulder with hers, “I’m Vivienne, by the way.”

“YN.”

“You look like a fish out of the water, babe,” Even though she was slightly mocking YN, there was still sincerity behind her voice, “Do you know where you’re going?”

YN released a breath that she had no idea she had been holding this entire time, “I don’t really. I haven’t… this is my first time –”

“Your first time on the strip, babe?” YN nodded, “Well, I happen to be an expert in the field that is Los Angeles at night, so I’d say you’ve hit the jackpot.”

Without a single hesitation, Vivienne slung her arm through YN’s and started marching her through the streets of Los Angeles with a pep in her step. It was risky, at the end of the day, as she had no idea who this girl was, but deep-down YN felt as though she could trust her. Vivienne babbled about all of the best places, and YN listened. The only time YN opened her mouth was to apologise when she knocked into someone on the street, but that person didn’t even seem to bat an eyelid in her direction.

To say that it was nearing the early hours of the morning, the streets were crowded, and the air was still warm enough for the majority of people to be showing more skin than YN ever had in her life. She hadn’t buttoned her blouse the whole way down, meaning that there was a slither of her stomach exposed and that was honestly the most exposed she had ever been.

The walk that Vivienne was taking her on was long, but listening to her talk about her life and this place they were going made it seem like it was over in a heartbeat. For some reason, YN felt as though she was a tourist in the place where she had grown up her entire life. But she was in a way because she had never seen this side of Los Angeles before in her life.

Gazzarri’s was, in Vivienne’s words, the place to be for the best rock n’ roll on the strip. YN had never even heard of the place before, but from the long queue that covered the entire sidewalk, she thought that she was maybe the only one. Names covered the exterior of the building that YN had never heard of before, and the music was so loud that she could hear it from the sidewalk. This is what YN imagined when she thought of living her life, all the people and the music and everything in between. She just wished that she wasn’t such a novice.

Without a single hesitation, Vivienne bounced to the front of the queue and was immediately let in by the guard on the door. YN sheepishly smiled at the man who only grunted in response and allowed herself to be pulled inside by Vivienne. The place was crowded to the brim, and in all honestly, she had no idea how any of those people would fit in if they were let inside. Smoke clouded her vision, and the music was so loud that YN felt as though she couldn’t breathe. It was only when she familiarised herself with her surroundings that she realised that there was a band playing on the stage. They made a beeline for the bar, which did mean that YN received a few pushes and shoves, but nobody truly seemed to care. It was as though nobody cared at all.

The bar lined the left side of the room, complete with people frantically working behind it to keep up with the orders from people on their side. The entire place was alive. YN hadn’t even known that life could look like this, and she had seemingly found herself amid a girl who knew exactly what to do. Without any hesitation, Vivienne pushed her way through the gaggle of people at the bar and leant herself on its wooden top, front and centre. YN was a step or two behind her, but she made sure that she didn’t lose Vivienne in the crowd, or she would seriously have no idea what she would do.

YN thought that they would be standing there waiting for a century. In all honesty, she didn’t know how Vivienne had managed to beckon a bartender over and order a round of shots as quickly as she had. YN hadn’t drunk before, well not properly, but it was certainly something she was curious about. A few years ago, she had been at a party with her parents, and they were giving out complimentary champagne, and even though YN was years underage she managed to sneak a glass and downed it in one. She didn’t feel light and airy, or though she wasn’t in control of her body, so she stole another, and then a third. After her third drink her cheeks were flushed and the world was a little blurry around the edges, and it made the night a lot easier to stomach. This would be her first time trying hard alcohol, like the bottles that sat on her parents’ bar cart that she had been told many a time to stay away from.

Eight small glasses filled to the brim with a clear liquid were then passed to her and Vivienne. YN moved so that she was standing next to Vivienne, and watched as the girl brought the first glass to her lips and the second one straight after in quick succession. YN picked up her first two, planning to do the same but the second the harsh alcohol touched the back of her throat she coughed, and Vivienne’s widened her eyes at her.

“You, okay?” YN nodded at Vivienne’s words, “Was that your first shot babe?”

“Yes,” Even though YN was grimacing, that didn’t stop her from lifting her second glass to her lips and throwing it back in one.

Vivienne cheered, “Jesus, girl. I can already tell that this is going to be a great night.”

It was a little hard to hear Vivienne over the music that was playing, but YN managed to figure out what she was saying. The two girls threw back their last two shots and without a single hesitation YN was being pulled through the crowd by Vivienne again.

There were cheers around them, and YN realised that the band that was on the stage had finished and was now leaving. It confused YN slightly as to why now that the band had finished, they were making their way towards the front. Wouldn’t that mean it was finished? All in all, YN had no idea what time it was, or what she was doing or supposed to be doing.

It didn’t take long for the two girls to push their way to the front of the stage, just to the right near some steps that were cornered off for the musicians to come off and on.

“This is about to change your life, babes,” Vivienne muttered into YN’s ears as the cheers subsided.

“What’s happening?” YN was embarrassed that she didn’t have a single idea of what was going on, but at the same time, she knew that if she didn’t ask, she would never know.

“The best singer of our generation is about to walk this stage,” Vivienne smiled. Even though YN had no idea who that was, she could tell that it was going to be good just by the excitement that Vivienne was showing and the rest of the room.

It seemed as though everyone was waiting for something, and the second that the lights in the room dropped YN knew it was this. The curtain covering the stage dropped, a drum beat kicked in and the lights around them flashed. The entire crowd came to life when he stepped onto the stage, even Vivienne at the side of her but YN just stood there, completely enamoured by the sight in front of her.

In all honesty, she didn’t know where to look. She didn’t know whether to look at the girl on the drums who seemed to be doing all of this without breaking a sweat, the girl on the keys who moved her body rhythmically with the beat or the guy on guitar with long hair that just seemed so cool. It was when YN saw him that she knew exactly where to look.

He came out with his microphone in hand, adorned in a denim two-piece that was left unbuttoned at his chest. His whole body moved with such ease, and what a body it was. If this was what YN was missing, she never wanted to go back. He had the whole room in the palm of his hand the second he stepped onto the stage, but it was only when he opened his mouth and finally started to sing that YN was one of those people too.

It was unlike anything she had ever heard before. The way he sang with such ease, as though he didn’t have to think about it made YN’s stomach fill with butterflies. The more of the song he sang, the more that it became familiar to YN.

The few times that YN had been allowed to leave the house unsupervised was to go see her friends from school at their house. Even then, there were always guards waiting for her in a car with blacked-out windows. It was a few months ago, and her friend (whom she wouldn’t class as a friend, mainly the best of a bad bunch of people) was raving about this new artist that she’d found.

YN loved music. It had always been the key to her heart and an escape, but she never had the chance to listen to anything that wasn’t certified fit for her by her parents. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t help but get lost in the music and wonder what else was out there. She sang in the school choir, and the day that she had been given her first solo changed her life. It made her believe that maybe she was all right at this singing thing too, even though her parents would hate the idea of their perfect daughter becoming a singer. Maybe a Christian Evangelical singer but that didn’t float YN’s boat.

The record that her friend had put on was from this man, the one that was standing on the stage in front of her doing things that shocked her and excited her at the same time. She spent the first song racking her brain for his name, and she hadn’t even noticed that she was singing along with him. YN picked up lyrics quickly, as she always had, but she was starting to wonder how maybe times she had listened to that record in the space of a few hours.

“Well, that was a lovely welcome,” The man spoke into the microphone as the applause around him drew out, “I’m Harry Styles, and I’d like to sing a few songs for you tonight if that’s all right?”

Harry Styles. That was his name. YN was shocked that she’d forgotten a name like that. It wasn’t exactly one that screamed forgettable. YN wondered if that was the name he was born with, or if he had picked it up once he had started recording. Either way, it was a rockstar’s name if YN had ever heard one.

The concert continued, and everything that man did on stage made YN’s insides scream. The way he pushed his curls back off his forehead, wiped the sweat off his brow with a towel, ran the microphone down his chest and thrust his hips – it all screamed sex. It was everything that her parents had warned her was a sin, and that the people who acted in that way were menaces to society. But no matter how much she tried to push that out of her mind, she couldn’t tell if she wanted to be that person or be with that person.

After starting with Only Angel, he moved on to Meet me in the Hallway, and Two Ghosts and Woman All of these songs he not only sang with such a passion and a fire and a gorgeous voice that drew anybody in but also had such deep, moving and powerful lyrics that YN remembers being lost in at her friend's house and that was the same at this point, hearing them live.

“We’re about halfway through,” Harry spoke into the mic, and there were a few grunts and boos from the crowd which made him chuckle, “Now since this is our first concert since we released our debut record, we thought we might do something a little fun.”

There were cheers from the crowd, and YN had no idea what was going on. She turned to Vivienne who seemed to have the same perplexed look on as many people in the crowd. There were a few girls around YN that were screaming and pushing and trying to do everything they could to get closer to the stage, but Vivienne and YN stood their ground.

“Okay, we’re going to sing one of my favourites from the new album, and I thought it would be a good idea to bring one of you on stage to sing it with me.”

The entire room erupted into screams, so much so that YN had to resist the urge to cover her ears from the sound. Vivienne had seemed so cool, calm, and collected but the second the screams started she joined in too.

Los Angeles was the land of possibility. Of course, YN knew that. She had heard all of the stories from her parents of the low lives that pack up and move there were dreams of becoming a star. She’d read magazines that her mother hid from her of famous movie stars that found their fame sitting at bars and rock stars that found their fame singing in places like these. YN believed that most of the people in this room would kill for that opportunity, but YN had to lay low. Even though she was having the time of her life there was still that nagging feeling in the back of her head about what would happen if someone noticed who she was, and that information was relayed back to her parents. It would possibly be the end of her.

“Okay,” He laughs, and YN could get lost in those dimples that were adorned on his cheeks, “Sounds like you all like that idea. Okay, make as much noise as you can, and I’ll make my decision.”

YN stood there, sort of hiding behind Vivienne but she couldn’t ever be truly hidden as she was so close to the front of the stage. YN watched as he surveyed everyone screaming and clamouring to be chosen, but she just stood there. Even Vivienne was shouting, but YN just tried to drown the sound out as best she could.

He lifted his microphone to his lips and YN thought that she’d finally made it out unscathed and then he looked directly at her. He held up his hands to block the lights out and started walking towards her. YN shook her head at him, not letting her eyes draw away from his. He nodded his head at her, and she shook hers again.

“You want to do it?” He spoke into the mic, “You there, in the white blouse?”

“Oh my god,” Vivienne slapped YN on the shoulder, “He’s talking about you, babe.”

“He isn’t,” YN shook her head, “He can’t be.”

“He is,” Vivienne pushed her forward towards him, “And he’s coming right towards us.”

When YN turned away from Vivienne, he was standing right in front of her. He leaned down so that he was face to face level with her and smiled. YN didn’t know what to do so she just smiled back up at him, and he only grew wider.

“So,” At this point, he wasn’t talking into the mic, he was instead talking just to her, “What do you think? Do you wanna come up here?”

YN opened her mouth to reply but the next thing she knew Vivienne was answering for her, “Yes! Yes, she would.”

Harry laughed and Vivienne’s enthusiasm at the entire thing, “This is your friend, I’m guessing?” YN nodded, “Well it seems to me like she’s decided for you. Come on then, up you get.”

A man suddenly appeared at the side of her and moved the barrier that cut off the crowd from the stairs that lined the side of the stage. He waited at the top of the stairs for her, extending his hand out for her to grab when she reached the top.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “What’s your name?”

“YN,” She muttered back to him, leaning closer to say it into his ear, “I’m YN.”

There was a slight look on his face that YN couldn’t recognise, but then he just beamed a smile at her and pulled her towards the centre of the stage. Thankfully the lights were so bright that she couldn’t see anybody but the first few front rows, and even then, she was getting a few less-than-lovely stares from people.

“So,” He speaks into the microphone this time, dropping her hand so that he can be passed his guitar, “This is one of my favourite songs from the record, Ever since New York,” He turned to look at YN who truly looked like a deer in headlights, “You know it?”

YN couldn’t explain to him that she had only listened to his record for a few hours, and she hoped that her memory of lyrics was truly going to come in clutch right now. If it didn’t, she was not only going to embarrass herself in front of the heartthrob of the century but also an entire room of people that probably knew who she was. So, she just nodded.

He nodded back at her, and the music started. Out of all of the songs on his record, this was probably one of the ones that YN loved the most. It was just so raw and honest and beautiful if YN was telling the truth. Once it was his time to sing, he moved closer to the microphone and YN stood by him, trying not to focus on anything other than not getting the lyrics wrong, or the timing.

“Tell me something/ Tell me something/ You don’t know nothing/ Just pretend you do,” There was something about watching this man perform from a metre in front of her that YN couldn’t explain. It was exhilarating and hearing the crowd sing along with him, knowing that a few minutes ago she was in there baffled her brain.

“Oh, tell me something I don’t already know,” YN had been so mesmerised by him that she hadn’t even noticed him finish singing and moved away from the microphone, motioning with his head for her to step forward whilst continuing to play.

With a deep breath, she stood in front of the microphone and started to sing, “Brooklyn saw me/ Empty at the news/ There’s no water inside this swimming pool/ Almost over/ Had enough from you.”

When there was a slight lilt in the song she turned and looked over at Harry, and he was staring directly at her. He was still playing, but it was almost as though he was on autopilot and all he could focus on was her. It made her cheeks heat, and a smile crosses over her face but it gave her this urge to continue, as though she was truly doing well.

“And I’ve praying/ I never did before/ Understand I’m talking to the walls,” Without even thinking her arms were lifting as she was singing, “I’ve been praying ever since New York.”

She moved to the side slightly so Harry could join her, the two of them singing in such close proximity into one microphone causing electricity throughout her entire body. He never looked away from her, never drew his eyes away from hers as they both sang his song together.

“Oh, tell me something I don’t already know/ Oh, tell me something I don’t already know.”

It was electric, that was the only way that YN could describe what was happening on stage. She could hear the audience cheering, and Vivienne was screaming for her just where YN had left her minutes before.

“Tell me something/ Tell me something/ You don’t know nothing/ Just pretend you do/ Tell me something just before you go.”

YN would be lying if she said that they didn’t sound good together – they sounded amazing. Here she was, standing and singing with this rockstar who thought he was doing something nice for a fan of his and singing with her, and here YN was soaking up every moment of her dream that she didn’t even realise was her dream.

“Oh, tell me something I don’t already know!”

As they finished singing, YN couldn’t help the disappointment that bubbled in her chest. She wanted to stay, and she wanted to continue singing. She wanted nothing more than that. He pulled his guitar off and put it on its stand and walked over to her. He pulled her closer to him, and she could smell the tobacco scent on his clothes and the slight hint of whiskey on his breath.

“Come find me afterwards, yeah?” He spoke into her ear over all of the shouting.

YN smiled, “Yeah.”

“Everyone, give it up for YN wasn’t she amazing?” The crowd cheered and she gave one last little wave before making her way down the stairs. The man allowed her back into the crowd and Vivienne immediately threw her arms around her new friend.

“Jesus!” Vivienne looked as though she was going to explode, “Why didn’t you tell me you were hiding those lungs girl?”

“I didn’t think I would ever be using them, that’s why!”

“You were fucking amazing, and I’m not just saying that,” Vivienne said with sincerity in her voice that YN appreciated, “God, you could even really be something, babe, I mean everyone loved you. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

“I don’t know,” YN shook her head, “It was only a singsong, Vivienne.”

“If you say so,” She shrugs, “But I think it was more than a singsong.”

The concert continued with no other words spoken between the girls. YN tried to concentrate on what was happening in front of her but all she could think about was what had just happened. She had just been on stage, singing and it wasn’t solo in the church choir – it was to an actual song. YN was flying, she honestly couldn’t believe it.

Out of everything that YN had ever done in her life, this was honestly the craziest and the thing that had brought her so much joy. She had no idea that life could feel like this, let alone that she would be able to experience it outside the confines of her parents. She had no idea if she would ever be able to do it again. She wished that she could just relive it, just for a second.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight, we appreciate it,” He smiles out to all of the crowd, “I’m Harry Styles, and this is our last song. This is Kiwi.”

The second that the drums kicked in; YN was straight back into the concert. All of the thoughts surrounding what had happened earlier had gone, and all she could think about was what was happening on the stage in front of her. This song, if she wouldn’t go to hell for saying it, oozed sex, and rock n’ roll. It was mesmerising.

“When she’s alone/ She goes home to a cactus/ In a black dress/ She’s such an actress.”

YN hoped that she wasn’t making this up when she swore that Harry was looking directly at her when he sang that line. YN also swore that he winked at her as he did so. If she wasn’t already flushed and sweating from the heat in the room, she definitely would be now.

He finished the song and the whole place erupted. It was unlike anything YN had ever heard before and she was in awe. Once the music had stopped, the people around her slowly started to move.

“Babes, I need the bathroom, are you coming?” Vivienne knocked YN out of her trance and nodded. She accepted Vivienne’s hand and was pulled into the bathroom, and then into the stall with her. With every movement that YN made she was in a daze, as though she wasn’t in control of her movements.

YN leaned against the door and was ready to turn around and give Vivienne her privacy when YN realised what she was doing. When YN saw the dollar bill rolled up, along with a card and a little bag of white powder YN knew what she was about to do.

There was one side of YN that was truly thinking of listening to her parents and getting the fuck out of there. But then on the other side, the little louder and overbearing other side of her brain was telling her to say. The other side of her brain was that one that had just been on stage with a rockstar and sung her little heart out.

“You want some, babe?”

The second that Vivienne asked her that question YN knew that there wasn’t any turning away from this now. She was hooked. Every single little thing about it made YN wish that she lived this life and had this freedom without people watching her every move. That was probably why there was no hesitation in her voice when she nodded at Vivienne.

“Go on, then.”

YN felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience. Everything was making her laugh and smile, and Vivienne seemed to be feeling the exact same. The two of them pushed their way out of the small, disgusting bathroom and into the corridor that extended back to the club and then to what YN assumed was backstage.

The two girls turned to stumble their way back into the actual club, but that didn’t last long when they realised that someone was calling her name from behind them.

“Excuse me,” A man that she didn’t recognise stopped them in their tracks, “Are you YN?”

“Yup,” She smiled, giving the man a little nod. She was truly floating now. Even more, than she had been after finishing on the stage, “What can I do for you?”

“Harry would like to see you,” He spoke professionally, but both YN and Vivienne couldn’t hide the shock on their face, “If you’d like to follow me.”

Vivienne slipped her arm through YN’s, and they walked arm-in-arm behind the man. Vivienne leaned closer to YN and whispered, “Babe, you are totally getting some tonight.”

The prospect excited YN. The fact that she had two substances running through her system that she hadn’t experienced made for a carefree YN. She hadn’t ever felt like this before, and in all honesty, she could get used to it. She felt as though she could conquer the world with no questions asked.

The man opened the door at the end of the corridor, and they were welcomed with a dimly lit opened room. The band that they had just seen on stage were all sat with each other, drinking, and smoking and all in all being the coolest people YN had ever seen. The guitarist and drummer were sat on a sofa, leaning against each other, and passing a blunt between them. The girl on the keys was sitting with another man that was also on stage drinking, obviously having done a line of some sort by the look of the table. It was only then that she noticed Harry in the corner of the room by himself.

He was sitting by the open window, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. It looked like he hadn’t been paying attention, but once the two girls had made their way into the room, he immediately walked over to them. Even in her slightly intoxicated state, YN could feel the butterflies erupting from the pit of her stomach.

“Well,” He started, the British drawl easing out of his mouth like it was honey, “If it isn’t the girl that upstaged me at my own concert. And her friend that convinced her to do it.”

“Vivienne,” The girl at YN’s side held out her hand for him to shake, “I would just like to personally thank you for making her do that.”

Harry laughed, “And how long have you two known each other.”

“Hmm,” YN wondered for a second, “About four hours.”

Harry laughed, but when he saw the look on the girl’s face he immediately stopped.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Vivienne nodded, “Picked her up on the side of the road looking like a lost puppy.”

He shook his head, “Well, there are drinks in the fridge and maybe you guys can get to know each other a bit. And the others, I promise they’re friendly, and don’t bite. Well, maybe Mitch.”

YN nodded and followed Vivienne. It was surprising how she didn’t feel even the slightest bit intimidated by the conversation and felt so confident. Vivienne opened two beers on the side of the fridge and passed one to Vivienne, and then they both started to mingle. Vivienne sat with the woman on the keys whom YN learnt was Charlotte, and the man that YN learnt was Pauli. They seemed cool, but Vivienne immediately struck up a conversation with Sarah, who was the drummer of the band. Her boyfriend Mitch, the guitarist, was still sitting behind her but he left the two girls to it.

“With lungs like that,” Sarah tilted her head to the side slightly, lifting her bottle of beer to her lips, “You must have been singing for a long time.”

“Sort of,” YN shrugged, collecting some of the condensations on the tip of her finger from the neck of her bottle. She was sweating, “I’ve sung in choirs for a long time, the one at my school and the one at church, but never anything like this before.”

“Well, you’ve got something, kid,” Sarah shrugged, “If you set your mind to it, you’ll be able to do anything.”

YN wished that it was true, but it wasn’t. When this night was over, whenever that was, she would have to go back to her perfect life with only the memory of what happened on stage. In YN’s mind, she couldn’t see any other way. It upset her, but she had done what she wanted to do. She had experienced the life that she wanted, and although she would dream of this night every day – this wasn’t the life that she was given.

“I don’t know,” YN shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head, “I wish I could, but I don’t think this life is what was intended for me, no matter how much I want it to be.”

She didn’t know whether it was the alcohol talking or the drugs, but she was unable to stop. It was almost as though once Sarah had opened the can of worms, everything that had been laying on YN’s chest wanted to voice itself to the world, no matter how much she wanted to push all of those feelings deep down.

“Look, I understand the whole chasing the dream but it not coming true,” Sarah moved away from Mitch slightly, so that she was looking directly at the younger girl, “Do you think that we all thought that we would be playing for the biggest rockstar in the world every night?”

YN shook her head, “I’m guessing not.”

“No, we didn’t,” Sarah leaned back on her boyfriend again, “But I wanted to be a drummer, and Mitch used to work at a pizza shop and would play the guitar in his breaks, dreaming of playing on stage. Everything in our life was pointing to that we would never play live music like we dreamed, everything, but then Harry found us, and he managed to drop our dream right into our laps.”

Without even thinking, YN turned to look at Harry. He had finished his beer, and his cigarette but he was still sitting on his own, staring out of the window. YN thought that he would have been with his bandmates, drinking and doing all of the drugs in the world – but he wasn’t. He was just sitting on his own, seemingly staring at the stars.

“It sounds like that man’s some sort of miracle worker,” YN laughed, the two people across from her joining in.

“He isn’t. He just has a good ear for good music.”

YN looked at the girl with a perplexed look on her face, “But he had no idea when he picked me that I could even sing. I could’ve sounded like a strangled cat for all he knew.”

The couple laughed, “But he took a risk, and it paid off. You have to use that. Now, if you excuse us, I think it’s time we went home.”

YN watched as Sarah and Mitch stood up, hand in hand and said goodbye to the band. Charlotte, whom Vivienne had been talking to also decided that it was probably time that she went home as well. She thought that maybe this was a good time to get Vivienne and go, but the way that Vivienne and Pauli moved closer to each other and were in such a deep conversation she decided to leave them.

There were other people in the room, but nobody caught YN’s eye. It was only when she turned to look back at the window where Harry was sitting that there was a slight panic in her, but when she noticed him slipping out of a side door, she knew that this was her only opportunity.

She gave Vivienne a look and the other girl gave her a thumbs-up, which made YN laugh. As she pushed the door open, YN realised that he could have been long gone by this point which stressed her out. But then again it didn’t take long for her to spot him sitting against the wall with a joint in between his fingers. It seemed out of character, that this mega-famous rockstar was smoking on his own, instead of surrounded by his band and groupies. Maybe there was more to this than YN was expecting.

Her boots crunched stones on the floor as she made her way towards him, “You sharing that?”

Harry turned to look at her, and she stopped right where she was. She leaned against the wall a few metres away from him and crossed her arms. He furrowed his eyebrows at her and shrugged, so she took it as permission to sit down next to him. She could still smell the tobacco on him, and in all honesty that was like drugs itself to YN. There was a slight chill in the air, but sitting this close to Harry and feeling his body heat against hers was all of the warmth that she needed.

“You ever done this before?” He asked, lifting the joint in her direction, “Miss. YLN.”

Busted. All of the confidence that she had, mainly due to her intoxication had gone, and she felt like she was just a little girl again, sitting and listening to her father’s speeches about what it means to be the perfect American little girl. She felt as though she had been caught, and she was slightly embarrassed for herself.

“So, you knew who I was?” She asked after a beat, not daring to turn and look up at him.

He lit the joint and brought it up to his lips, and surprising her, he passed it to her next. She did the same as what he had done but immediately coughed as it hit her lungs. She passed it back to him and saw a smile on his face.

“I didn’t,” He remarked, “It wasn’t until you were sat talking to Sarah and Mitch that I realised.”

Okay, that made her feel a little bit better. Maybe he was just a little more observant than she had expected him to be.

“Should I be afraid that you’re gonna tell my dad?” She asked, turning to look at him so she could see his face as he spoke, “Earn a bit of money from my dad buying your silence.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at the girl, and she felt tiny. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to preserve her body heat and make herself feel a little bit better about the situation.

“I don’t need your dad’s dirty politics money,” He shrugged, taking another hit, “I make plenty on my own, thank you very much.”

He wasn’t wrong. YN wondered how much a rockstar as Harry made. She wondered if she would be able to do that. Then she hypothetically shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. YN’s life was already sorted out for her – go to college, meet a rich man who could sort her for the rest of her life and marry him immediately. She would then become a little housewife, popping out kids constantly just like her mother does. It wasn’t the life she wanted, but it was the life that was planned out for her.

“Nobody should want my dad’s dirty politics money,” YN shook her head, lifting her legs so she could rest her head on her knees.

Harry raised his eyebrow at that, “You don’t like your dad?”

“He has a less-than-desirable view of America and people,” YN shrugged, “And being his daughter, I’m automatically part of that.”

He passed her the blunt again, and even though she wanted to cough again she managed to keep it down. She hadn’t even spoken about this before, and the more that she opened her mouth the more that she couldn’t stop those feelings from spilling out of her.

“Forget your parents, forget their life and everything about it,” He said, his voice a little deep and coarse from the singing and smoking she guessed, “What do you want to do? What would you be happy to wake up and do every day?”

“Sing,” She shrugged, “I knew that music was always a big part of my life, and I didn’t know what that would mean until tonight. But getting up on that stage and singing with you – I couldn’t imagine doing that again.”

“Then don’t imagine it,” Harry shrugged, “Do it. I know some people that would kill to have someone like you singing for them.”

“I wish it was that easy,” YN sighed, offering him a small smile, “The only reason I managed to leave tonight was that my parents are out of town, and my guards had passed out on the sofa before the clock hit ten.”

“But you’re out, yeah?” Harry lifted his hands, motioning to the crappy little alleyway that they were both standing in, “Don’t go back.”

“They would find me. If you noticed who I was, it would only be time before I’m tracked down and sent back to their perfect little life. They’d probably send me away to a boarding school and release some sort of statement that brushed all of it under the rug.”

It was quiet after that. It was almost as though Harry didn’t have anything to say to that, and YN was thankful. There wasn’t anything that he could have said to make that better, because it was the truth. YN knew it, and he knew it.

“Enough about me though,” YN nudged him with his shoulder slightly, “You must have a story to tell. You’re obviously not from here, but you’re the biggest thing in a while.”

He laughed, “What made you say I’m not from here? Grew up in Malibu.”

He was joking, and it was a nice way to clear the air a little bit. YN was feeling a lot more relaxed than she had been when she first stepped out here, and that fuzzy feeling was back.

“No, you’re right,” He smiled, “Grew up in Cheshire, in a small village. Decided I wanted to be a musician and moved to London. Then I met Sarah and Charlotte, and our manager at the time had a few connections in L.A. Moved out here a few years ago, and here we are.”

“Here you are,” She smiled, turning so that her head rested on her shoulder looking directly at him, “But there must be more of a story than that.”

“Not really,” He shrugged, “Took us a while to get where we wanted, but we’re here now.”

He was hiding something, but YN didn’t want to pry. They were still strangers at this point, and he knew that she could be influential, just as she knew that he could be. It was strange because to YN it seemed as though they were both getting on quite well. Two people, from completely different backgrounds, but two people who shared the same dream. That burned for the same reasons. It was bliss, to YN.

“What made you pick me?”

Harry turned to look at Harry with his eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“You could have picked anybody from that crowd to come on stage with you, but you picked me. People were clamouring and screaming more than me. Vivienne was clamouring and screaming more than me.”

“I think it was because you weren’t screaming and clamouring,” He admits, and that says a lot more than YN was expecting, “You were the one that stood out, the one that wasn’t trying to get my attention that actually got my attention.”

YN laughed, “I’m my own worst enemy.”

“It was that bad of an experience?” He asked and she shook her head.

“No,” YN shakes her head, and she could feel herself getting a little teary, “It was the best night of my life.”

“Then why are you an enemy to yourself?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“As I said,” YN shrugged, “It will be the only time I’ll ever feel it.”

It was quiet between the two of them again. YN was looking directly in front of her again, but she could feel Harry’s eyes on her. When she did turn to look at him, he was staring directly at her. She leaned her head on her shoulder, and before she knew it, he was leaning forward and moving towards her. He was so close in fact that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and her heart was beginning to beat out of her chest.

“Do you know what I think?” He spoke, this time in hushed tones.

“What?” Her voice sounded croaky, probably from the nerves. She swallowed once to get rid of it, “What do you think?”

“I think you are your own worst enemy,” He spoke, not moving away from her but not looking at her. His eyes were focused on her lips, “Because if you pushed everything aside, fucked both of your parents off, you could be exactly where I am.”

YN let out an airy laugh. Without even thinking, and pushing away everything that told her no, she pulled away from him and leaned her head back on the wall. She could feel him still staring at her, but she pushed that out of her head also.

“I understand why you said that,” She says, her fingertips messing with the edge of her blouse, “But as I said, it isn’t that easy.”

“I think it is,” He says, inhaling some more of his joint, “I just think that you’re too much of a coward to realise that.”

That it was. Those words were all it took for YN to push herself up from the ground and turn to look at Harry.

“Well, you know what,” YN spat the words directed at him, “Fuck you, Harry.”

“Fuck me, yeah?” He laughed, “I’m sure you want to sweetheart, but I don’t fuck people that get in their own ways.”

“You’re an asshole,” She spat back at him, “And it’s unfortunate because I was actually beginning to like you.”

YN turned on her heel and stormed back inside the room. She ignored Vivienne and Pauli, even though the two of them were not even looking in her direction and stormed out of that room and into the corridor again. As she made her way down the corridor, a wave of anger rose throughout her. As she passed the women’s toilet, the men’s toilet door threw open and out stumbled a man that she didn’t recognise. She stopped in her tracks to let him out, but when he turned and looked at her, she realised that he recognised who she was.

“Hey,” His words weren’t slurred, but his body language showed that he was intoxicated somehow, “I know you. You’re that girl that sang with Styles, earlier.”

“I am,” She nodded, watching as he leant against the wall beside the toilet door. As if that was going to make her more interested. It wasn’t. But she was angry, and clearly wasn’t thinking right so she accepted his advances.

Losing her virginity pressed up against the door of a bathroom stall in a club certainly wasn’t what YN envisioned, and looking back she certainly shouldn’t have done that. But at the time, in her intoxicated and angry state, all she could think about was doing something for herself for once, and showing people that she wasn’t a coward and that she could do whatever she wanted and whatever she pleased. It was a way of showing herself that she could take control of her body, her mind and all of her thoughts.

It was quick and sloppy, and she felt more pain than any pleasure, but she had done it. Today had been the day of firsts, but losing her virginity and singing for the first time on stage was the best, without fail. Even if both of them ended up being in a shitty way.

Once the man had finished, he turned to look at her, thanked her and walked out of the stall – leaving her half-naked and with not an ounce of her dignity left. YN cleared herself up and pulled her jeans back onto her body.

It was at this point she realised that she had enough. It was time for her to find Vivienne and for the two of them to leave.

As she pushed herself out of the bathroom, it didn’t take long for her to spot Vivienne walking towards her.

“Babes, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Vivienne immediately wrapped her arms around the girl, “What were you doing in the men’s bathroom?”

“Was it?” YN pretended to faux shock at that news. She turned to Vivienne and laughed, “I didn’t even notice.”

Vivienne let out a large laugh and linked her arm with Vivienne’s, “Come on babe, let's get you home.”

YN was happy to hear that.

It was around 4 a.m. when YN arrived home. She had said goodbye to Vivienne about an hour ago and contemplated going home whilst the sun rose before deciding that it was probably the right time.

She had taken her shoes off about half an hour ago, so she was swinging them around by the side of her as she walked. She slipped through the back gate, the same way that she had left last night. The only perk of living in the house that YN did was the fact that there were many places to hide. The back door was seemingly safe, so she opened it quietly and slipped through the door.

When she heard a quiet house, she felt as though she could have gotten away with it and be awake for her parents to get back later. The first item of business was to slip the fridge open and grab a bottle of water, hoping that would quench the thirst that she was feeling right now.

With her shoes in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, she made her way towards the stairs. She was tired and ready for bed, and she could feel all of her bones wanting to collapse the second that she started to climb them. She was exhausted, dehydrated, and ready to sleep for a century.

The stairs creaked under her feet, just as they normally did, and she didn’t think anything of it until she could hear movement coming from the living room and she was immediately frozen to the spot.

“YN!” It was her mother’s voice that she could hear, “Is that you?”

They weren’t supposed to be home until the evening. That’s why YN chose last night to be the night that she went out, because whilst she could be caught by the guards, she would have time before she felt the wrath of her parents. There were two things that YN could have done. She could run up to her room and pretend that she had been there all night, or she could escape through the door. Both of those plans were ruined when the front room door swung open, and both her mother and father stood there.

YN was terrified, and still frozen in place. Her mother had tear-stained cheeks, as though she had been crying for a while now. Her father, however, showed a very different emotion on his face. YN could tell that he was annoyed, maybe even angry. His face was red, and the way that he was staring at her felt like she was a little kid again who had just smashed his favourite Scotch glass whilst playing with dolls in his study.

“I think it’s best if you come down here, YN.”

YN was no longer frozen to her spot, and instead was trailing into the front room behind her parents. She had no idea what she was going to be in for, and that was the scariest thing. Her father had never hit her or been violent, but he truly did have a mean streak. He knew how to make her feel so tiny, and so shit about herself with just his words. It was truly remarkable how that man could make people feel, and yet he was preaching his bullshit throughout the entire state.

Her mother and father sat down on one sofa, and YN took the one across from them. She dropped her shoes and water on the floor and curled her legs up beneath her, not trusting that they wouldn’t shake in fear if they were spread in front of her.

“Where have you been?” Her mother was the one to start, “We’ve been worried sick about you. Imagine our surprise when we get a call from Keith in the middle of the night saying that you were nowhere to be found!”

“Did you ask Keith what he had been doing?” YN shouldn’t have bit, but she did anyway. She could feel the anger radiating off her father with every second that she sat in front of him.

“We’re not talking about Keith, YN,” Her father spat at her, shaking his head, “We’re talking about you. Tell us where you were.”

YN shrugged, “I was out.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?” This was the first time that YN had not only spoken back to her parents but also withheld the truth from them on such a scale as this.

“It does matter, YN,” Her father leant forward, spitting venom with every word, “Because I want to know what bullshit you got up to last night that left you stumbling home at four in the morning, stinking of alcohol and with red bloodshot eyes.”

“I’m guessing you already know, father.”

“I do,” He shook his head, grimacing as he did so, “But I want you to say it. I want you to say how you went out, got fucked up and did unholy things with strangers whom you don’t know!”

“Fine,” YN stood up. Eighteen years of anger and torment were finally brewing at the surface, “I went out last night, made friends with a stranger, sang onstage in front of a crowd that actually wanted to hear me, drank, did drugs. Oh, and one other thing, I fucked a guy in the bathroom of a club. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Her father looked as though he was ready to explode, and her mother just started sobbing. She felt bad for her mum, she truly did. Her mother wasn’t the problem at all, she had just been caught by her father and trapped. He was the problem. He was the person that she was trying to escape from. But escaping from him meant escaping from her.

“Sit down, YN,” Her father stood up, obviously wanting to intimidate her but it didn’t work. She couldn’t be intimidated by him at all, she was too full of rage to see anything but red, “You truly have disgraced our family, and you need to know that!”

“I’ve disgraced this family?” She laughed, she honestly couldn’t believe that, “It took me a while, but I did work out why I’ve had so many babysitters, yeah? Turns out you were sleeping with all of them, is that right, Dad? Wouldn’t want people learning about that one? You’d truly lose your seat then.”

For the first time in her entire life, her father’s hand left a loud smack on her cheek. She immediately lifted her hand to cover her face and realised this was it. This was the point that the water boiled, and she was ready to spill out.

“You’ve truly fucked up now, haven’t you Dad?” YN picked up her shoes and her bottle of water and turned to her mother, “I’m sorry but I can’t live here, not anymore. Not with him.”

With that, YN turned and ran out of the house. She ran straight out of the front door, still in just her socks, and straight through the front gate. YN didn’t know where she was running, or what she would do once she got there but she had left.

With only the clothes on her back, and her shoes in her hand she had left her parents and the hellish life that she had grown up in.

YN couldn’t believe it, but she was finally free.

#rm #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles series #series

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joheunsaram · 2 years

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On With The Show (knj)

summary: Eight years after announcing their retirement, Dark & Wild seems to have been left behind. For Namjoon, he could never forget the time his dreams became a reality, and he's determined to retake the charts by storm once again. Struggling with raising a teenage daughter, the loss of his wife and poor writing projects with terrible bands, he’s now had enough. So with a little help from the only remaining active fan site, he embarks on a mission to convince his bandmates that a comeback might not be the mid life crisis they think it is.

word count- 33.9k (🥴💀)

pairing- retired bassist!Namjoon x lawyer!Reader

rating- R

genre- rockstar!au, s2f2l, fluff, smut, angst, slight slow burn, single dad!au

warnings- retired!bangtan, dilf!joon, lowkey making fun of Mötley Crüe but not really, recreational drug use, drug overdose, hospitals, minor character death, depression, protected sex, oral (m and f receiving), too many song references (namjoons catalogue mainly), soft soft joon, joon is dad to a 16yo, jungkook is a shameless dedicated dad to twins, joon is 36, invasion of privacy, lots of talk about being famous

playlist- don’t//aeon ft rm, ny state of mind//nas, bicycle//rm, spring day//bts, always//rm, human behaviour//bjork, death with dignity//sufjan stevens, seoul//rm, outro//maanu, heavenly//cigarettes after dark, trivia love//bts, on with the show//motley crue, war of hormones//bts

a.n- this fic is part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by @jeonjcngkook. please check out the other fics in the collab, they are all amazing!

I’m very excited to share this fic with all of you! it’s been in the making for a very long time and is the longest one shot I’ve written yet. Hope you enjoy this story and that you remember never to let your inner fan girl down! Hehe💕💕

special s/o to @raplinesmoon and @playmetheclassics for beta reading this for me and to @mapleglasses27 and @bluewhale52 for hyping me up and brainstorming with me! i honestly don’t know what i would do without you all! ily 🥺

Banner by the ever talented @hobeemin 💕😍

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

The guitar riff crashed through the speakers, loud and chaotic, distorted to a growl that got the heart beating. Notes cascaded over each other as if chasing themselves in a circle like kids in a park. Soon after, the drums and bass joined them, high hat crashing in time with the snare, the strings of the bass slapping against fingers, pinging loud and clear. A destructive medley morphing into a foot-stomping melody that bounced off the soundproof walls bringing a smile to Namjoon’s face.

A smile that dropped as soon as the vocalist started singing the verse.

“What are the colours of the skies really? They're bright black when falling apart Were our drifts back then okay?”

With a scowl, Namjoon straightened in his seat, turning off the recording,and hitting the button for the mic. The band seemed unbothered as they kept playing, bobbing their heads to the music. It would be commendable how absorbed they were in the music, if they weren’t completely fucking up Namjoon’s song. He cleared his throat into the mic, thankful for the abrupt silence.

“Vince, for the last fucking time. Those are not the lyrics,” Namjoon said, only to be met with an eye roll that boiled his blood. The audacity of these rookies was too high. They had barely debuted two years ago and somehow their egos seemed to have grown infinitely larger.

“And for the last fucking time, man. These work better,” Vince argued through the guitar pick secured between his teeth, using a tattooed hand to push his bright purple hair back. He looked to the three men next to him for support and all of them agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Well everyone except the lead guitarist, Mick, who as per usual was just staring into space, expression as vacant as Vince’s head.

“How do they make sense? What’s fucking bright black? And the colours of the sky?” Namjoon questioned, frustration making itself known from the tick of his jaw as he tried not to explode.

He hated this band. He hated this job. His name held a lot of weight in the industry, and he couldn’t fathom how he had even gotten to where he was right now; writing songs for an over entitled bunch of kids half his age.

Much like any other person in the music industry, Namjoon started with a dream. Well, a dream and a threat from his mom. When he was sixteen, his mother had looked him straight in the eye and given him one year to go out into the real world and make money from the music his friends kept playing in her garage, and if he was unsuccessful, he was to pick up his studies and continue on her dream of him becoming an engineer. And well, Namjoon was a stubborn, talented kid.

Within six months, his band had not only signed onto a label, but Dark and Wild had successfully started preparations for their debut album, one that charted number one worldwide and convinced his mother that the noise he was always playing was worth something.

That number one album turned into platinum, and then so did the next three albums. By the time Namjoon was twenty-two, he was the bassist of the hottest band in the world, his songs being chanted by people of all ages, all races.

World tours, whirlwind romances, and new hotel rooms every weekend became the norm. At the peak of his career, Namjoon was an ambassador for four luxury brands, three alcohol companies, and one electronics conglomerate, his face plastered over billboards from New York to Seoul to Paris. That was also when he became a husband and a proud father to the world’s most beautiful baby girl.

And then, merely a few years later, he lost the love of his life and his band in the span of four months. It wasn’t dramatic, it was life. Everything happens for a reason, and Namjoon believed that for him that reason was the beautiful girl his wife had gifted him.

If his band hadn’t called it quits, he would have never spent time raising her, learning how to be the best dad and learning the way his daughter’s brain worked, so intricate and creative that he sometimes got tears in his eyes just thinking about the fact that he was responsible for creating someone so extraordinary.

Which is why the fact that the bunch of kids in the studio were talking about her made his blood boil, his jaw tensing from all the expletives he wanted to throw at them.

“Dude I can’t believe you picked this boomer cause of his daughter!” Vince taunted his bandmate as he laughed, his nasal snort pumping through the vein now throbbing on Namjoon’s forehead.

“What can I say, man, that chick’s fucking hot, and the way she drums. God damn!” Tommy, the drummer, professed, his hands still holding the sticks now coming to rest on his chest as he leaned back on the stool, the bandana on his head falling backwards with the movement.

Raising a child alone in his mid-twenties had taught Namjoon a lot of things, most of all patience, but he was of the firm belief that not even Buddha would have kept his cool at Tommy’s next words.

“Yo Namjoon! You gotta bring her to the next session. I can really teach her how to bang those drums, if you know what I mean,” he answered with a smile as slimy as his greasy hair, and Namjoon couldn’t help exploding out of his chair, his notebook scattering to the ground as he swiftly made his way to the door of the recording room.

However, before he could pummel that disrespectful worm into the ground, the producer next to him was on his feet, holding him back, his small stature no match for Namjoon’s large build. Seeing red, Namjoon scrambled for the door, falling to the ground and in the process taking the innocent producer down with him. All while the band laughed at him. Generation Swine, what a fitting name for a bunch of pigs.

“Yo boss, you need this gig right?” the producer wheezed from under him, trying to calm down Namjoon with rationality but he didn’t know Namjoon. Thinking about the multiple zeros in his checking account and even more in his investments, his vision cleared, a calm surrounding him.

“I don’t actually,” Namjoon replied, getting back up and helping his coworker with an apology, before he turned back to the band with a condescending smile plastered on his face.

“I quit. And my contract says I can take back my songs. Enjoy an empty album, fuckers.”

With a middle finger in the air, he picked up his messenger bag resting on the couch and his notebook and strolled out. Why hadn’t he just done this before?

—-------

Even though he was notoriously a punk rock artist, nothing calmed Namjoon down more than old school hip-hop, and so as he drove to pick up his daughter, he blasted Nas, rapping along at the top of his lungs.

“Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes Y'all know my steelo, with or without the airplay I keep some E&J, sitting bent up in the stairway.”

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been spending hours everyday pouring himself into music that was insightful and poetic, only to be stonewalled by a bunch of unwashed children who thought what punk really was.

Did they really think watering down his lyrics would make them more relatable? He’d been going back and forth with the Swine for months, and yet they didn’t understand that music didn’t really mean anything unless it said something.

Anyone could string together a melody and talk about fucking and destroying property but the greats always had something to say, something to change. They didn’t chase empty avenues with mixed messages, they took a stand. That’s what punk was, not a distorted guitar with the goal to get laid. He knew that at sixteen and he knew that now at thirty-six.

Real music changed lives.

As the track changed to a more mellow beat, he let his fingers tap the steering wheel, cautiously turning into the cul-de-sac and waiting for the gate to Jungkook’s obscenely secure mansion to open before driving down the long driveway. Driving to his house always made him a little nostalgic, mostly because he was proud that his youngest bandmate had finally settled down from his much wilder days, but also because Jungkook’s home always felt like his home.

It was where he had spent much of his time after the band disbanded, his deep depression and the sudden sole responsibility of a six-year old turning him into a useless shell of a human. He would always be grateful to Jungkook for taking him in when he was at his worst and coaxing him out of the darkness. He shuddered to think of how much worse he would have gotten if he hadn’t had the courage to run to Jungkook eight years ago with his daughter in his arms and tears cascading down his face.

He smiled a little, eyes turning to the big box of gourmet donuts he had picked up for his friend’s family. Parking near the front door, he picked up the box, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the usually calming chimes grating his nerves when he saw his manager’s name light up the screen.

“What Sejin?”

“Don’t what Sejin me! You quit? Are you kidding me?” The usually cheery man yelled through the line, his exasperation easily conveyed through the static.

“Yup,” Namjoon replied stubbornly, popping the syllable at the end, still too happy to have left that band of wannabes behind to be bothered by the scolding he could see coming. “I realised, I’m literally a millionaire. I don’t need this job.”

“Literally a- Again, are you kidding me?!” Sejin sputtered, and Namjoon grimaced as he heard some of his spit land on the speaker. “You do realise you signed a contract right? A two-year contract, to write for them, exclusively?”

“And?” Namjoon egged him on. “There’s that clause right? That I can pay damages or whatever?”

“They are claiming that those ‘damages or whatever’ are over five million dollars! You either lawyer up, or you go apologise to the band.”

Namjoon snorted at the absurdity. The only way anyone could get him to apologize to that bunch of talentless fuckers was if they animated his dead body with Frankensteinian magic. Not wanting to spoil his good mood, he locked his car and made his way to the front door..

“Send me a list of lawyers,” he said curtly before hanging up on a seething Sejin. He should’ve been worried, or at the very least concerned, by a threat from a very large and influential record label, but Namjoon was finally free and nothing was going to get him down. Not when as soon as he rang the bell, he was greeted by his daughter, a large grin on her face, the dimples that matched his etching deeper into her cheeks.

“Dad! You know you don’t have to drive slow even on a driveway, right?” she teased, giving her father a side hug and greedily reaching for the box of doughnuts, which he raised above his head.

“Moonie, these are for the twins!” he chastised, returning her hug and ruffling her hair only to annoy her, chuckling as she whined at him.

“Joon! You gotta stop bringing sweets! I’m gonna lose my abs!” Jungkook shouted from the foyer, walking over with one of his boys in his arms, the other running behind him. Jun-seo copied his father as he pulled a wincing Jungkook’s hair, and Namjoon couldn’t stop cackling at how cute “I’m gonna lose my abs!” sounded coming from a three-year old’s mouth.

He greeted his friend before leaning down and swooping Hyeon from the ground in his arms, trying to make conversation with the shyer twin as his daughter took the box of doughnuts, opening to look for her favourite. It didn’t take long for Jungkook to coax him into having dinner with his family, laughing at the way Moon sighed in relief of not having to endure her father’s terrible cooking for the night.

Nothing could be more relaxing than having dinner with his closest friends and his daughter, Namjoon thought as he helped Jungkook’s wife wash the dishes, taking care not to let any of his clumsier tendencies shine through. There were only so many of her dishes he could break before she would ban him from the house completely. He smiled as she told him about her day and how the twins had somehow started a paint war with the neighbouring kindergarten class, resulting in her trying to talk the principal out of suspending them.

“They can suspend someone in kindergarten?” he asked, incredulous, wiping the last of the dishes and pouring himself a glass of water.

“You know how people are, Joon. Just cause we have our personal lives plastered all over they assume that we can’t parent,” she sighed, joining him at the breakfast nook, a sad smile on her face. “That’s why I’ve been so against nannies, you know… Because what if they’re right?”

“Hey they aren’t right. You and Jungkook are great parents,” he squeezed her shoulder as he consoled her, happy to see her smile more genuinely at his compliment.

“And we don’t need babysitters cause we have Moon,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk her sons had inherited from her before she softened. “You’re a great parent too, Joon.”

Namjoon’s heart warmed at her words. He had often thought that perhaps a lack of a mother would make Moon lonely, make her want a more stable female presence. He was happy that Jungkook’s wife had filled that role for her somewhat, acting like a mother even when she didn’t have to, from teaching her about periods to gossiping with her about boys. Things that Namjoon still found a bit awkward to connect with Moon about. It was not that he was bad at it, it was just that he had never experienced those things himself, so who was he to teach her about them?

The heartfelt moment was interrupted by Jungkook entering the kitchen, a scowl on his face as he looked at Namjoon.

“You quit?” Jungkook asked, voice strained as he poked the inside of his cheek. Namjoon could feel that his friend was angry but he was still too ecstatic from leaving that dreadful job behind, so he just smiled, nodding in response.

“They are gonna sue you! Are you serious?” Jungkook seethed, confusing Namjoon who couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was so upset, especially when he already had an amazing back up plan. At least not until his next words left him, making Namjoon bow his head in shame.

“You have Moon to think about. Do you think she’d like the media circus?”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he exhaled, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he came clean about his outburst, the days of building frustration as the band took his hard work lightly and spent hours drinking and getting high instead of working.

Jungkook seemed to soften as he spoke, and Namjoon couldn’t help but take the melting of his anger as encouragement as he continued, letting him into his backup plan, “We were so much more serious than them. We had a work ethic. We still could… Would it be so bad if Dark and Wild got together again?”

“P-pardon?” Jungkook sputtered at Namjoon’s words, coughing as he tried to wrap his mind around a comeback. Turns out Namjoon’s plan wasn’t foolproof and his heart fell as his friend vehemently disagreed, not wanting to be away from the twins to be back on the rock and roll train. He missed that life too, but unlike Namjoon, he had made his peace with it, happy to let it go to be a full-time father.

“I was a dad when the band was together,” Namjoon argued, not willing to let go of his renewed dream.

“And look what happened to Seo!” Jungkook spat, instantly regretting his words as Namjoon’s face fell. However, no matter how quickly Jungkook apologised, Namjoon couldn’t listen, the grief he had buried away clawing at his chest again. With a curt goodbye amongst the apologies, he asked Moon to follow him and made his way to the car.

“Dad… you okay?” Moon asked, once they were on the way home, worried about the way her father sat in silence when usually she would have a hard time making him shut up.

She knew he got this way occasionally, too deep in his head, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was whenever he missed her mom, and so when she didn’t hear a response, she leaned over, placing a hand over his on the steering wheel to loosen his grip.

Namjoon smiled at her, a hand leaving the wheel to squeeze her fingers between his. Sometimes he forgot that she wasn’t a kid anymore, that she was mature, empathetic almost to a fault, able to read his mind with just a look.

Namjoon promised himself that he would always be honest with her, be it about his feelings or things happening in his life. He had kept his promise whenever she would ask about her mom as a lost six year old and he kept his promise now as he told his sixteen year old about the argument he had just had with Jungkook.

In a lot of ways it helped him process the conversation, coming to terms with Jungkook’s fear from Moon’s insight. She was right when she said that it had less to do with blaming Namjoon when he was away from her mother, but more to do with her uncle’s fears of the same happening to his wife, no matter how irrational the thought was.

Namjoon couldn’t help but stare at her, mouth falling open in shock.

“Tell me again how you’re only in tenth grade?” he teased. “When did you get your psychology degree?”

“Come on dad. No one really needs university nowadays. You can just learn everything from Re-”

“You’re going to university. I don’t care how much Reddit can teach you,” Namjoon interrupted, eyes narrowed as he pulled into his designated parking space in the lot under their apartment. “You can get a real degree and then you can be my therapist.”

“I can’t be your therapist,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl that reminded him of her mother so much he couldn’t help but smile. “That's a conflict of interest!”

He burst out laughing at her words, getting out of the car and helping her carry the multiple boxes of food Jungkook had prepared for the two of them, insisting that they take them despite the cold exit. Moon melted at her father’s joy, punching the code for the top floor as she adjusted her backpack. When the doors closed, she looked at him grinning widely.

“You know, War of Hormones is going viral on TikTok,” she commented, laughing at the way Namjoon groaned at the mention of his slightly cringey debut single. “I think you guys still have fans. A lot of them. People are still making thirst traps of all of you.”

“What’s thirst traps?” Namjoon asked as the private elevator opened up to their apartment, the smell of cedar and sandalwood calming him after a stressful day.

“You know like this,” she said, following her father into the kitchen and placing the boxes on the counter before pulling out her phone and scrolling through the app. She handed Namjoon the phone and he had to stop his eyes from falling to the floor at the video in front of him.

Set to an extremely horny rap about wanting someone’s dumptruck in their little garage was a video of Hoseok thrusting into the air as he sang into the mic, following by a close up of Jungkook as he took his shirt off and threw it into the crowd, just as it moved to a video of Yoongi licking up the strings of his guitar, a smirk on his face as he made eye contact with the camera.

Then there was Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung at one of their sold out shows, ripping the buttons of their shirts simultaneously while winking at the crowd, and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at the how stupid they looked. The last clip was of him holding Moon as he brought her two-year old self on stage, big yellow muffs protecting her ears from the noise as he let her strum on his bass.

“Wait, why am I the only one not being sexy?” he questioned, frowning.

“I don’t know. I guess people love you being a dad,” she shrugged, taking her phone back, laughing at how ridiculous all of her uncles looked during their glory days, before looking at her father and giving him a tight hug. “I love you too, dad. And I think you still have a lot of fans who’d love a comeback.”

Namjoon’s heart dissolved in his chest, filled with warmth as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, returning her hug ten fold, squeezing her to his chest as she squirmed. That night after she had gone to bed, Namjoon researched his fans. If Moon thought that fans still existed, maybe he could convince the guys to give the comeback a shot. They always did love Shadows more than anything.

Scrolling through numerous web pages, he stumbled on to a fansite that was surprisingly still active, posting periodic updates about Dark and Wild’s current careers, as well as edits of their old selves, and pleading for a comeback. Perhaps the way to his band member’s hearts was a heartfelt plea from a Shadow, and how apt that the username was yummyjungkookie.

His scrolling through nostalgia was interrupted by a text from his manager, a list of lawyers that were fit to go over his case with him. Picking the first name, he sent an appointment request.

However, not before messaging yummyjungkookie and asking for a meeting.

—-------

With a heavy exhale, you entered your apartment, leaving your heels haphazardly by the front door and your bag littered on the floor. Today had been an exceptionally stressful day and you could feel every joint in your body creak as you laid on the couch. Stretching, you thought about the weird email you had received. Well, two very weird emails.

Somehow when you started working in corporate law, you wouldn’t have thought your trajectory would lead to working on celebrity contracts. Initially it was an easy choice; getting paid exorbitant amounts of money for advising clients and looking over contract disputes that usually never ended in court. However, now you were tired of behind the scene action. You wanted to see inside of a courtroom again, to argue, to research prior cases that would help you form the perfect closing statements. There was a thrill to fighting a case in the courts, and you envied your friends from university who were working on class action suits against greedy landlords and other corporate vultures.

Today was supposed to be the day you gave in your two week notice, to pursue something less money-based. It was a privileged position, but you were a single woman in her early thirties, and with your last relationship burning to the ground, you often looked at your ever increasing savings account with disdain, as if your ambition was responsible for Ryan cheating. But when you walked into your firm’s partner’s office with your resignation letter in hand, he convinced you otherwise by handing you a new case.

It wasn’t a particularly exciting case, a pretty straightforward contract violation, but the moment you heard who you would be representing, you couldn’t go through with your plan. Your younger self would have murdered you if you did so.

You could see your nineteen year old self, decked out in the Dark and Wild merch that still lived in your closet, standing behind your boss as he talked about the case. Because you would be representing none other than Namjoon Kim, notorious bassist of Dark and Wild. Even though he was arguably your least favourite member, considering that he used to be a bit goofy and a little bit of fuckboy even with a kid, you would carry on your duty as a loyal fan and get him out of this bind.

After all, once a Shadow, always a Shadow.

You were somewhat a menace in undergrad, from almost missing exams because the band was doing an album signing, to following them on tour each summer, to even getting their lyrics tattooed on your ribcage.

You chronicled your interactions with them in your blog with high quality photos, which became almost notorious in the Shadow circle, your followers skyrocketing with their fame. In a way their disbandment was a blessing for you, you were not sure how you would have dealt with the workload of law school if you were still keeping up with them.

Groaning you rose from the couch, deciding a drink would help calm you down. Pouring yourself a glass of cabernet, you settled back on the couch, opening your blog on your laptop and staring at the other email you had received out of the blue.

Either Namjoon Kim was stalking you or this eerie coincidence was the fruit of years of obsessive manifestation. However, if it was, it would be Jungkook Jeon emailing you. You wondered if he still had those fantastic abs from back in the day. God, those things could cut glass.

Controlling your sudden thirst, you took another sip of your wine, thinking best to reply to the email you had received.

Hi yummyjungkookie. You’re probably wondering why I’m messaging you. Well, I have a proposition. I was wondering since you are the only active fan site we have left, if you’d be interested in helping us do an analysis of current fan culture, well Shadow culture. Let me know and we can set up a meeting! -Namjoon PS: In case you think this is a troll, here’s a photo proof

Below his email was a photo attached of the man himself, round glasses making him look younger than his age with a card on which the date and time was haphazardly written.

You laughed at how seriously he had taken the request, although you were sure you would not have believed him if he didn’t attach the proof. Your laughs only got louder as you read the next message he had sent.

Oh shit. I guess I should also say, please don’t tell people about this. You won't, right? -Namjoon

“What are you cackling at?” your roommate, Hera, questioned as she stepped out of her room, hair a mess as if she had just woken up. Well, knowing her, she probably had. She was notoriously nocturnal, being a freelance artist had that effect.

“Nothing. Just a meme,” you replied, somehow endeared enough by the email to keep it a secret. Hera walked over to the couch, yawning and reaching for your glass, taking a big swig and ignoring your scowl. You loved Hera. You had been friends since law school, but somehow as soon as she dropped out of law school she had become a little overbearing.

“Alright. What’s for dinner?” she asked, stretching her limbs out on the couch as she leaned back and turned on the television. You rolled her eyes at her, getting up to finally change.

“I already ate after work,” you pouted to get off the hook easier before apologising and going to your room.

“Ugh. I guess I’ll go on a date then. Enjoy your sad nostalgia blogging, you loner,” she called from the living room, grating your nerves as you locked yourself in your room, waiting for her to leave, so you could order food and not share. It may be petty but you were tired of paying for her meals, on top of paying for the rent.

—-------

“Wait so you called us all here to ask us to get the band back together?” Yoongi asked, eyes scrunched in disbelief. Or the early hour, Namjoon wasn’t sure. To be fair, Namjoon should’ve seen the reaction coming, considering how Jungkook had reacted, but he still had hope.

Namjoon had spent the past two days going over the fansite he had found and it encouraged him to set up the brunch meeting with his friends. If a stranger was working so hard to keep their fans engaged, shouldn’t they also do something. Didn’t they owe their fans something? Apparently the argument wasn’t as convincing as he thought it would be.

“Okay I’m not saying I’m fully against a comeback, but come on Joon. We’re has-beens… Shadows don’t even exist anymore,” Seokjin said, sipping a mimosa, freshly tanned from an impromptu trip to the Maldives.

“Speak for yourself. I will never be a has-been,” Jimin sneered, cutting into his eggs before spouting about how his singles were still reaching number one.

“That’s cause you went pop,” Taehyung argued with a grimace, pretending to throw up into his frittata, just as the waitress came by to ask if they needed anything else.

“That’d be all. Thank you,” Jungkook answered her with a huge smile just to watch her blush, and Namjoon couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the man. Perhaps bringing the chaotic group together was a bad idea. Perhaps bringing them to a high end restaurant where the average diner was a retired businessman was an even worse idea as he tried to make his friends lower their volume, especially Hoseok who was very loudly protesting that his very full schedule of production didn’t have any room for a comeback.

“Guys!” Namjoon snapped, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Just please think it over–”

“It would take so long though. We don’t even have any songs… I haven’t even picked up the guitar in a while,” Seokjin interrupted, the mimosas taking their effect and turning his face a flushed red, as he looked sadly at the tablecloth, and Namjoon couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He knew the disbandment was his fault. If he had handled things better at home, they wouldn’t have lost their friend to the chaos of the lifestyle, and Moon would still have her mom. Thinking about it lodged a lump in his throat as he tried to console the group with the only solution he could think of.

“I have three albums worth of songs written,” he declared quietly, biting his lip and looking for a reaction, only for Yoongi to speak up.

“I may or may not also have two albums worth.”

“Same,” Hoseok and Jimin spoke at the same time, and Namjoon couldn’t help smiling at how even though everyone had apparently put Dark and Wild behind them, they still couldn’t let go.

“So do you guys think we can do it?” Namjoon asked hopefully, trying not to be dejected by the way Jungkook stared at his hands, deep in thought, fingers tracing the tattoos on his knuckles. The response from the rest of the men was lukewarm as it was in the beginning but somehow now they were all reminiscing too, talking about their glory days. About the time Jimin stripped on a bartop as a dare. About the time Jungkook got so high he thought the television was recording him so he did the most rational thing he could think of and tossed it out of their 40th floor hotel room window. About the time Namjoon ran away so fast from a groupie that he had missed that the glass door wasn’t open and smashed right through it – he still had a scar on his right collarbone from it. Somehow through the road of nostalgia, a little glimmer of excitement started growing, like the embers of a campfire dying out, but needing just the right gust of wind to relight.

“But what if we don’t have the same appeal now… We’re definitely not young anymore,” Seokjin said quietly, as if he was scared to voice out his thoughts, and Namjoon couldn’t help reaching out to him, placing a hand on top of his in a form of encouragement. He had the same fears. A band in their twenties was the norm, in their thirties, on the other hand…

Perhaps they were all being silly. Thirty wasn’t old by any means but the music industry was especially vicious when it came to age. However, Namjoon tried to put the question of their sex appeal to rest as he pulled out the fansite he had stumbled on earlier, sharing the seemingly unlimited ‘thirst’ posts from the blogger, much to the men’s amusement.

“Well I trust this person,” Jungkook said after a thorough scroll, earlier mood seemingly lightened. “I am in fact yummy.”

“And I really am World Wide Handsome,” Seokjin gloated, much to everyone’s annoyance.

“I contacted her,” Namjoon said carefully, hoping he wasn’t about to get a scolding, and when he received only curious looks, he continued. “I’m thinking we can get her opinion. A real Shadow’s opinion. Perhaps she has friends. She could really let us know if the fans are for us or not. Under an NDA, of course!”

“How do you know she won’t just be wishing for us to be back together?” Yoongi sighed, remembering the almost obsessive tendencies his fans had.

“You know that one fan that wrote a whole essay defending our disbandment?” Namjoon asked a bunch of nodding heads. “This is the one.”

“I can’t believe they published someone called yummyjungkookie in the New York Times,” Hoseok laughed, his contagious cackles cracking everyone else up as well, before the laughter petered into silence.

“Let’s see what she says, and then we can decide,” Jungkook ended the conversation decidedly, before the bill came and all seven men started arguing about who was going to pay, no one willing to put their credit card away much to the waitress’s chagrin.

—-------

Off the high of the semi-successful brunch, Namjoon couldn’t sit still in the lawyer’s plush office. He looked around, tapping his feet. It was a nice office, personal yet professional, warm with deep oak furniture and shelves full of law books and fiction alike.

A giant desk took up the northern end, in front of the glass wall that overlooked the city, a big leather chair seemingly belonging to the lawyer in question facing the desk. There were a few posters on the walls, classic movies as well as music festivals. A couch sat in the corner with potted monsteras, magazines scattered on the glass coffee table.

Namjoon felt oddly comfortable, but that might be because he was certain the lawyer used the same candles that littered his home, the soft pinewood scent relaxing him. Eyes roaming to read the titles of the books on the shelf, he couldn’t stop smiling at the little windchime attached to the corner.

People wouldn’t know it at a glance, but if you knew it was unmistakably his band’s merch – limited edition merch at that. He wondered if the lawyer he was meant to meet was a fan, or if they were just so old that they had received it from their children and put it up. Namjoon was pretty proud that the windchime he had designed was given a place in a room where everything seemed to be carefully handpicked.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon heard the slightly raspy voice call out, and he stood up to greet the person. However, he was a little taken aback when his eyes met yours, his throat running a little dry and his nerves spiking for no reason. Well no reason other than his immediate attraction to you.

It should be illegal for someone to look that good in a simple red suit and a pair of black heels. His eyes traced your features of their own accord, lingering at the little necklace that nestled between your collarbones, and the wisps of your hair that lined your eyebrows.

“Mr. Kim?” you asked, and a furious flush rose up his cheeks as he realised he hadn’t answered. Stuttering a response, he sat down at your insistence, agreeing to a coffee that you rang your assistant for. If you were a fan, you didn’t seem to give it away, jumping right into business as you talked about loopholes in the contract that could get Namjoon off with minimal penance.

While Namjoon was nodding along, pretending not to pay attention to the way your fingers looked so delicate pointing out the different clauses in the document, you were internally screaming. It took everything you had to keep your cool.

You had imagined that it would be business as usual meeting one of the guys you had spent most of your youth following around but your heart had other plans, beating stupidly fast. Even if Namjoon wasn’t your favourite member, it was still Namjoon Kim of Dark and Wild.

You could tell he wasn’t paying attention to whatever you were saying, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were boring him. You tried to lighten up the dry vernacular with a few jokes that went unnoticed, so you tried to shock him into listening at the end of your meeting.

“Ah, now that we’re done. Let’s talk about your proposition,” you commented off handedly, watching as he looked at you with rapt attention, biting his lip. Was he nervous?

The thought made you laugh. Why would he be nervous? You already explained that the case was easy to settle. It was pretty run of the mill. Contrary to popular belief, a lot of songwriters worked to break their contracts after a few months of working with a band. Creative differences were inevitable sometimes.

“Proposition?” Namjoon asked, swallowing hard, scared that his thoughts had somehow been vocalised. Perhaps you could read his mind. That would be a very handy superpower for a lawyer. Wait what if you actually had mind-reading powers?

What if you knew how he had just spent thirty minutes trying to figure out how he could ask you out for dinner, or if he could simply just bend over your desk.

Fuck, he really needed to reel it in.

“Yeah you emailed me about doing an analysis on fan culture?” you answered with a grin, enjoying the reveal. Namjoon had been a rockstar for most of his life, jamming out confidently on stage, so it was extra funny seeing him so clueless. That was before he became flustered, turning a bright red.

“Oh shit? Did I fuck up my emails? I meant to send that to… someone else,” he stumbled, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his emails.

“Yummyjungkookie, right?” you asked, relishing the way his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief before reaching your hand out, “Nice to meet you.”

“What the fuck…” Namjoon mumbled, taking your hand in his and shaking gingerly, before recovering. “You’re… you’re yummyjungkookie?”

“The one and only,” you grinned.

“But you’re a lawyer…” he said in awe. Never in a million years he would’ve thought the beautiful, polished, somewhat cold woman standing in front of him was the same person who evidently followed him on tour and wrote sonnets about Jungkook’s left bicep. He thought all his fans were kids in inappropriate clothing, but then again the last time he had seen his fans was when he himself was a kid in inappropriate clothing. It made sense that as he grew up, so did his fans – apparently into super intelligent, professional women.

“Yes I am,” you said smugly, loving the way he seemed so shocked. You hadn’t thought to reveal yourself, but your embarrassment over the nickname was taking a backseat to his surprise. It made you somewhat giddy. “So do I need to sign an NDA?”

“Yes. I can mail it to you. One second,” he said, gathering his wits as you giggled at the way he dropped his phone while scrambling for it. Once he had sent the email, you quickly printed two copies, signing after reading over the straight forward terms as he did the same.

You had to control your squeal when he laid out his plans. A comeback? Dark and Wild were actually getting together and needed your help to analyse if they had any fans. You had no idea whether you could actually help him, but just the fact that he had asked you was every Shadow’s dream come true, and you could see your inner nineteen year old jumping up and down in excitement, the banner you had made out of your dorm’s bed sheet waving in the air.

Maybe it was a good thing you were a loser who still blogged about your favourite band.

—-------

Namjoon hummed to himself in the elevator, Moon’s favourite pizza in his hands warming him as he smiled at nothing. Excitement was brimming through his body, uncontained as all his plans seemed to be working out. Generation Swine was taken care of, well pretty much. He trusted you with the case, and he trusted you with convincing the band that they were definitely not has-beens. He couldn’t wait to share the news with his daughter as he entered his apartment, placing the box on the dining room table before making his way to her door.

“I’m fine,” Moon’s voice carried through the door, and Namjoon had to stop himself from barging in when he heard her sniffle. Why was his baby crying? “It’s just that I’m worried about dad… When mom died, he was so broken.”

Namjoon felt his heart drop to his stomach, a lump forming in his throat as he eavesdropped. He hated listening in. Moon was pretty much an adult, she deserved her privacy, but when another voice spoke, dampened by the line of the speakers, he stayed rooted on the spot, vying for some insight into her sudden sadness.

“He’s better now, Moonie,” the voice said.

“I know. I know. But sometimes he still gets sad. He thinks I don’t notice but I do. I joked about smoking some weed the other day and it was like his life flashed before his eyes. He looked like he was going to cry… I just… I get scared of letting him down sometimes,” she sighed.

“You know you’re never going to do drugs. He knows you’re never going to do drugs. You’re not gonna let him down.”

“I know that but… I look like her,” she sniffled, and Namjoon felt his heart break further. Had he really been putting so much pressure on his teenager that he didn’t notice the way she seemed to be feeling so guilty. He was scared of her trying drugs, given her mother’s death, but he never thought that he was making her feel like she couldn’t be like her mother, especially when she continued talking.

“I’m scared that I remind him of her everyday, and that looking at me makes him sad. I just wish he found someone or even if he didn’t, that he went out more. He quit his job and I don’t want him to be depressed again.”

“He’s not sad to look at you, idiot. He’s your dad. He knows you look like your mom. It’ll be dumb if he didn’t!” Moon’s friend exclaimed, and Namjoon relaxed a little at hearing his daughter chuckle in response.

His mental health hadn’t been the greatest since his wife passed away, years full of ups and downs that he tried to hide from his daughter as he worked through therapy. But evidently he hadn’t been too good at hiding that part of himself, and a tear escaped without his consent when he thought about the burden she had been carrying.

He opted not to listen to more, walking to the kitchen to dry his eyes as he set the table. Once he was sure that he had his emotions under control, he called out for dinner, smiling when his daughter walked in after a few minutes in her pterodactyl onesie. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that she was almost an adult, that she had grown so much. Unable to help himself, he hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as she whined about being unable to breathe.

“Ew dad, why are you being so clingy?” she groaned, pushing him away.

“Just missed you today, is all,” Namjoon said, pulling the hood of the onesie over her head, just to annoy her as she sat on the table to eat.

“Gross,” she replied despite the smile on her face as she dug in, thanking him for the pizza. He laughed, telling her about his day as she shared about how she had finally mastered the drums for YYZ, a Rush song she had been learning for a week.

He beamed proudly when she played him the song after dinner, trying his best not to tell her that looking at her could never make him sad. That all he saw was how proud he was that despite his fuckups, she had turned out more than perfect.

—-------

Sitting on your dining table, you stared at the blank document on your screen, the blinking cursor mocking you for your lack of ideas. Sighing, you switched the tab to the google search you had done, littered with journal articles talking about fan culture. Although you had three case files to go over that your paralegal had been hounding you about, you really wanted to create a plan for Namjoon, regardless of your lack of knowledge.

“Working on your boring lawyer stuff?” Hera asked, placing an elaborate gold and ruby necklace around her neck before turning to you in a silent request to clasp it for her. You obliged, standing up from your chair, an idea forming.

“Hey. You have fans for your art,” you commented, grabbing a glass of water as she continued getting ready, lacing her ballerina stilettos. She hummed for you to continue. “How do you manage them? Like check their retention, interact with them, and all?”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” she laughed, opening her purse to pull out a lipstick, dabbing it on her lips with her front view camera as the mirror. “You just put stuff out there, fans will follow. They don’t need interaction or those fancy terms. You just do you, they come.”

You knew for a fact that she was incorrect. Even running your somewhat small anonymous blog you knew that the weeks you didn’t interact with your audience, when you didn’t answer their messages or reply to their comments, your popularity dipped. People liked being seen, especially from those they admire. It boggled your mind how she made money when she was always so blase about everything, coasting through life like nothing required effort.

“Where are you off to, anyways?” you asked, settling back into your chair to skim through the numerous articles you had found.

“Going out with my boyfriend,” she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows as you stared at her in disbelief.

“Wait, you’re dating? Who?” you returned her smile, excited for her to be in a relationship after she had been wanting one for so long. You couldn’t count the number of weekends you had to resort to headphones while she looked for the one between her bedsheets.

She was a hopeless romantic of sorts, thinking that a relationship was the cure to everything, yet she had notoriously high standards. You blamed her obsession with Disney movies for that, but you couldn’t help the way you warmed at the flustered look on her face, biting her lip as she tried to not smile.

“You know him actually,” she said much to your surprise. “But you can’t judge me if I tell you! Promise me!”

Laughing at her sudden pleading, you promised, waiting for her to continue. However, your laugh was short-lived when the name escaped her lips. She was right, you did know him. You knew him very well, had spent years with him, had almost moved in with him before he decided to stomp on your heart.

“Ryan? You’re dating Ryan?!” you couldn’t control your volume, the absurdity of the woman who had dreamt of prince charming settling for someone who didn’t even deserve coal at Christmas.

“You promised you wouldn’t judge,” she argued, standing up with a huff. “He’s changed. He became better for me!”

“Became better for you? What does that even mean? Hera, Ryan’s trash!” It was too hard to even say his name, your brain flooding with memories of how he had laughed at you when you asked him if he was cheating on you. How he had placated you with kisses, assuring you that you were being paranoid, only to be caught a few months later with a girl in your bed.

“Just because he couldn’t love you, doesn’t mean he’s trash!” she yelled back, unaware

how her words cut through you. Not knowing how to respond as she ranted about you being unlovable and how Ryan had told her he found you boring and uptight, you took your leave.

Grabbing your laptop you headed out, willing yourself to not break.

—-------

You didn’t know where you were driving to, running around the city in circles. Usually it calmed you down, to have your music playing so loud that your thoughts couldn’t infiltrate, but today it felt as if they were crashing about, the cacophony drowning the dulcet tunes of Hoseok’s singing.

Instead of clearing, your mind was full of the last memories of your relationship, of how the man you loved would manipulate you, make you feel small in moments where you should’ve felt out of this world. You had confided in Hera, had cried with your head on her lap as she stroked your hair and assured you that he was scum. You had believed her, used her words to slowly build yourself up, to learn to love yourself again.

But now it was Hera throwing the poisonous words that he had embedded in your self-image, ones that took too long to pry out, ones that left scars that you were too terrified to look at even after over a year. You couldn’t help the tears that flowed to the bass playing in the background, overwhelmed yet knowing that you shouldn’t be.

When your eyes got too blurry, you parked next to a random park, taking deep breaths and practising the techniques you had learnt. Hera’s words were just words, they didn’t define you, they didn’t control your emotions.

Only you were responsible for how you saw yourself, and even though you felt like shit right now, it would pass. You were allowed to feel the way you were feeling.

Your deep breathing was interrupted by the ringing of your phone, a name you never thought you’d see lighting up your screen. Clearing your throat, you schooled your voice to resemble normal before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry this is random, but I had a few ideas. Do you mind meeting up?” Namjoon’s voice broke through your thoughts and you sighed a little, finding comfort in his dulcet baritone. It was a different tone than the one he used for meetings or the one you had heard in interviews, and somehow it felt familiar. Blaming the feeling on your rattled emotions, you agreed to his request, fixing your face to drive to his studio.

Walking into the large skyscraper you were surprised that the security at the front already had your information, providing you with a temporary employee card rather than a run of the mill visitor pass.

With your sour mood, you really hoped helping Namjoon with his project wasn’t about to turn into a part time job. As dedicated as you were to being a Shadow, your days were often long and exhausting, and carving time for another thing just seemed like too much at the moment. Perhaps he would notice how stupidly incapable you were for the task and request an actual marketing firm to do the research for him.

Visiting his studio, however, was a dream come true. You had always loved the music he created for Dark and Wild, and immensely enjoyed the livestreams he would do describing his process after each album. It was always interesting to hear how much actually went into creating a seemingly simple track, how much he thought through his lyrics, how different the finished product sounded from the acoustic demos he showcased.

Much like the personality you had come to learn about in your time as a fan, his studio was a utopia of calm, plants scattered about, thriving even in a seemingly dark room. A glass separated the recording booth from the main area, which housed multiple cream couches decorated with colourful cushions, some even with the band on them.

On the walls were their records, different colours signifying which had gone platinum – most of them. There was a large monitor attached to the glass wall of the recording booth, a large gaming chair facing it on which sat Namjoon, fiddling with the mouse. The large screen embarrassingly enough had your blog on it as the man in question scrolled, laughing at your somewhat unhinged comments.

“Please stop stalking my blog,” you deadpanned and he turned the chair to face you with a large smile on his face.

“Only fair. You stalked me all these years,” he teased, loving the way your face scrunched in disbelief. He liked how you looked today, probably more than how he found you at the meeting. Dressed in a matching pink sweat suit, you somehow looked a little softer, and definitely less intimidating than the woman spouting the Federal Reclamation Law off the top of her head. It made him glad he had gathered the courage to ask you for a meeting.

“And it got you more famous. Your point?” you replied, ignoring the heat that was creeping up your back. You really should’ve gone through your blog and parsed through all the very horny comments you had left on their photos, but then again they should take it as a compliment. You were only appreciating them!

“My point is,” Namjoon began, leaning on his elbows as he gestured for you to sit on the couch in front of him, “You’re talented at getting people hyped up. And I want to make all the other blogs I found get active again. I have a list!”

His proclamation was followed by an actual list he had compiled that he handed to you, and being in the fandom for so long, you knew almost all of the fifteen names, some of them even personally. It may have seemed that the Shadow fandom was massive, but when it came to bigger blogs, it was actually pretty small, all of you constantly running into each other at events at some point of your fan careers.

“Well, six of these are moms now and they don’t even have time to breathe, let alone continue following you guys. I don’t know about these four, but Sera is in prison,” you said.

“Prison?! For stalking?” he asked, genuinely taken aback, and you just chuckled.

“No… for embezzlement. Turns out, she liked taking money more than pictures of you,” you quipped, laughing at his response.

“But she was so into me,” he scowled.

“Sucks to suck,” you responded as he scoffed, turning his attention back to his computer as he started to strategize different marketing tactics, some of which went over your head, especially when he started to talk about TikTok.

Perhaps Hera’s news had really exhausted you or perhaps it was the fact that marketing was never your forte, but you found yourself zoning out of the conversation, hoping Namjoon didn’t notice that you looked like a mess when you entered his office. He hadn’t acted like he noticed, but you were sure that your eyes were still a little red-rimmed, and that your face was puffy from crying in your car. You hadn’t realised how quiet you had gotten till his voice cut through your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, pausing his rant.

“Yeah. Sorry, just a little out of it today,” you replied with a smile, trying not to be affected by how concerned he seemed. Even after spending such a short amount of time with him, you had started wondering why he was your least favourite member, maybe you really did view your Shadow life through a very distorted, horny lens.

“You know what always makes me feel better? Chocolate!” he suggested with a grin, opening a drawer to pull out a giant bar of some Swiss chocolate and presenting it to you with a flourish. The gesture made you laugh harder than you anticipated, the random move making you wheeze. He joined you, unwrapping the chocolate to break off a piece for you, the gesture endearing you to no end.

“Ah! So this is why you never had abs,” you joked, giggling as he groaned.

“I had a kid to take care of! And… okay you’re under NDA so I can tell you,” he whispered, leaning in, and your curiosity peaked as he came closer. “Those teething biscuits are fucking delicious! Dude, those are like crack!”

The absurdity of the statement had you cackling once again, and you couldn’t help appreciating the effort he was putting into cheering you up, even when he didn’t know what was wrong. And perhaps it was the recent rehashing of your past, but you felt your heart warm, your grin matching his.

Unknown to you, Namjoon’s heart warmed too, just by hearing your laugh.

—-------

Somehow after the night in the studio, texting and hanging out with Namjoon became the norm. At least twice a week, you’d visit the little sanctuary he had created, spouting wild plans for twenty minutes before falling into a tangent that took over the conversation, trailing it to random topics that always distracted you till both of you were enjoying take out. For someone who had spent his whole life in the limelight, Namjoon was oddly normal.

Sure he had his moments like when he accidentally broke his extremely expensive watch because he was flailing animatedly while describing how he had once found a boy in his daughter’s room. But for the most part, he was down to earth, his stories mundane, nothing like the rockstar you had imagined.

However, what was exactly the same as the rockstar of your blog, was how attractive he was, especially in the suit he was wearing for today’s meeting. Sitting next to you on the couch, his glasses were low on his nose as he scoured through the research you had collected about building fan culture. The scowl on his face complimented him, and it reminded you of how he looked when he was busy slapping the bass when he performed, lip stuck between his teeth as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music playing through the speakers.

After almost three weeks of strategizing, despite you promising yourself this project wouldn’t take all your time, Namjoon had indeed hired a marketing firm, taking the insights the two of you found during your hangouts to them while you were at work. They had done an analysis and found that Shadows had indeed not died down, and that Moon was correct in her assumption that because of their songs going viral on social media, there was a steady growth of new fans, their old videos getting more and more comments. The news made you giddy, and it was getting difficult to hide how excited you were about the potential comeback.

“Wow… this is actually really great,” Namjoon praised you and you couldn’t help beaming at his words as he continued, “Are you sure you’re not a marketer? This is so so good!”

“Shut up. I just googled stuff,” you countered, getting a little flustered at his smile. He always seemed to be complimenting you during these meetings and you were sure your head was going to explode with how big it was getting.

“Oh speaking of google, did you know that it saves everything you search?” he asked, eyes widening in the shocking revelation he had seemingly made and you giggled at him.

“Yes, Grandpa. That’s how they make their money,” you teased, your early conversation getting steamrolled once again as you explained to him how the conglomerate actually used that data to make personalised ads.

“Wait… so like they can use my porn preferences to sell me stuff?” he exasperated, before realising what he had blurted out, a blush taking over his features. He really didn’t know how to control his tongue around you, somehow you brought out his no-filter self, something that only happened around those he was closest to. Maybe it was that you seemed to know him from his younger days, and that he had read all your unfiltered thoughts that you unapologetically owned up to, but he felt close to you despite only knowing you for merely weeks. It was weird. It was terrifying. It was exciting.

“Why are you googling porn?” you grimaced, cringing at just how bad he was at technology. Did spending so much time on his passion really make him this clueless?

“It has a video option!” he defended, ignoring how stupid he sounded even to his own ears, but then again what he said was even stupider. “What do you use?”

“Your music,” you deadpanned, immensely enjoying the way he turned into a tomato, sputtering in disbelief till you reassured him that you used a porn site like a normal human. However, Namjoon couldn’t help being stuck on the thought that maybe there was some truth to your words, and that alone had his heart beating and his lip twisting into a smirk.

“Oh yeah? What song?” he teased, an elbow meeting your shoulder as he snickered.

“Bicycle,” you said, smiling at the way he cringed in response.

“I wrote that song for my daughter, you heathen!” he exclaimed, gagging in response and all you could do was cackle, dissolving into breathless laughs as you leaned back on the couch. You missed the way he smiled at you, mirroring your position next to you, waiting for you to calm down.

“You’re a great songwriter,” you complimented once you had caught your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You regretted the sudden compliment that had escaped your lips, but the feeling was short lived because you got to witness the elusive shy Namjoon, smiling widely and shaking his bowed head as he brought his hands to between his legs, shoulders rising and a soft blush adorning his face. It made your heart flutter a little, making you avert your gaze.

That night the two of you barely got anything done, only deciding to create a presentation to convince the band. Namjoon insisted on having a special section chronicling Dark and Wild’s journey through your eyes. It was wholly unnecessary but he strong armed you with endless compliments and an offer to never get pineapple on the pizzas the two of you inevitably ended up ordering.

You never thought you would end up becoming friends with someone you used to follow around on tour, but somehow with all your meetings, it seemed that it was not only a possibility but a reality.

—-------

You found it odd when Namjoon changed up the routine one day, inviting you to his apartment instead of the studio, but you supposed that’s what friends did. So you had showed up with a bottle of wine and his favourite gummy bears, a decidedly small gesture but the way he squealed excitedly like a little kid at the candy had you giddy.

However, you learnt that somehow, this meeting wasn’t one for your flimsy professional reasons, but for just hanging out. You didn’t know why you were so surprised that he wanted to just enjoy your company, the two of you had developed a friendship but with the only close friendship you had with Hera still hanging on by a thread, you were a little skeptical.

“So how’ve you been?” Namjoon asked after he had set up a movie on the screen and popped some popcorn. His easy comfort made you worried, making you build up walls, refusing to share anything personal, and instead opting to discuss work and how his case was going.

Apparently, Generation Swine hated him and wanted to do everything but settle, desperate to keep the six songs he had written for them with full creative control over them. It was a preposterous ask, and you told him as such. You were determined to ensure that all his copyright would be given to him with as little payment from him as possible.

“They can keep them,” he said, speaking after a long silence. “I’ve made my peace with it. Just get them to take my name off.” You argued but Namjoon had made his decision. He knew that having his name on that album would just taint his reputation. He didn’t want to be associated with such scumbags who clearly respected no one, often not even themselves. And if he was being completely honest, he had just grown tired of the months long back and forth. If they wanted his music so bad, they could have it. He would be lying if he said writing songs came easy to him, but it just wasn’t worth it. Not when he knew they would water down his works to something unrecognisable. He just wanted to focus on making new stuff with his band mates, and moving on. Something he wished he could do with you by his side, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

The movie was some Japanese flick about a band working to achieve their dreams and everything that came with the industry, and when it ended you were left in charge of the remote. To break the odd tension that had risen after the silent resignation about Namjoon giving up his case, you decided to put on a documentary about Dark and Wild.

It worked, getting Namjoon distracted with nostalgia as he told you the background of all the scenes. Like how the footage of him ripping the wallpaper off the wall in a hotel was wrongly portrayed.In reality he had somehow managed to get his hand stuck in an already existing tear and couldn’t get it out. A few months ago you would have rolled your eyes and called him a liar, but after knowing him, you knew he was telling the truth. You had never met anyone with a bigger propensity for disaster than Namjoon. It was a wonder he was still alive with how clumsy he was. You told him so with a slap on his thigh and he just laughed along.

You had started the evening at different ends of his large couch, but somehow as he regaled you with more stories, you had moved closer, sitting side by side, sharing the popcorn on your lap and the gummies on his. It scared you how comfortable you felt with him, how he made you forget about everything, how he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. When he left to go pick up the food you had ordered from the restaurant next door, you realised that perhaps you wanted more of that comfort. You wanted to spend evenings just watching movies and making fun of him. You wanted to hear his stories, learn more about his life, and for the first time in a long while maybe you wanted to share your stories too.

Smiling at the thought, you scrolled through Youtube on the television, watching his old music videos, in awe of how much he had changed from the scrawny kid trying hard to seem tough to the dorky heartthrob he was now. You had always felt close to the band, related to them. That’s what made you a fan but somehow knowing the real him, made you feel nervous. There was no screen to hide behind, no image in your brain to project your fantasies on, because Namjoon was no longer just an abstract figment of your imagination, he was real.

“Oh… umm… hello,” a voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see a teenage girl standing in the living room, dressed much like you used to as a kid. Wearing black ripped jeans and a loose yellow flannel shirt, she seemed like a typical emo kid, her image solidified by the multiple piercings on her ears and chunky silver jewellery on her neck and wrists. She had dark hair that was tied in a half ponytail behind her head, and her dimples matched those on Namjoon’s face. You had seen her millions of times as a toddler, often dressed in fluffy pink dresses with giant yellow noise-cancelling earphones as she watched her father perform, and you felt oddly proud to see her all grown up.

“Hi! I’m a friend of your dad’s,” you said, moving the empty bowl from beside you invitingly, feeling a little awkward. Somehow you felt nervous as if you should’ve asked him if it was okay to talk to her before you did, every fibre of you wishing to make a good first impression.

“Oh, friend, you say?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with a grin that deepened her dimples. Dropping her bag at the end of the couch, she sat next to you, folding her hands in her lap confidently as she looked at the screen. You felt yourself flush with embarrassment as you followed her gaze to the obscenely large television where the music video was paused with the image of Hoseok mid thrust. You really should’ve paid more attention to which frame you stopped at.

Watching your horrified expression, she laughed, clapping her hands. “Don’t worry! That’s my favourite video too!”

Her laugh was a little weird, hiccuping between cackles, but it was extremely contagious, coaxing you to chuckle and breaking the ice. Most would think that the daughter of a renowned rock star would be spoiled, a little entitled, but Moon was anything but that, amicably finding topics to connect with you, cracking jokes at the expense of her uncles. Her humour reminded you of her father, goofy and light hearted. It was no wonder that soon the topic turned to him.

“Have you seen this video?” she asked excitedly, searching through her phone before casting her Youtube to the screen, playing a video of Namjoon from an old Dark and Wild vlog. The band had relegated him to cooking for them, the six of them sitting in chairs in front of him as he tried to cut vegetables. He had his lower lip between his teeth as he cut an onion in half and then proceeded to lay it on the round end, gingerly moving the knife and being unsuccessful almost every time while his friends laughed.

You had watched the video before. Of course, you had. It was a classic in the Shadow fandom, one that was memed again and again, but you couldn’t help wincing all the same, knowing full well that he wouldn’t hurt himself but worried all the same.

“Oh my god, dad! Flip the onion over!” Moon laughed at the screen before turning to you. “He hasn’t cooked for you, has he?”

“Oh god, no!” you replied automatically before biting your tongue, but Moon just chuckled along, fully aware of her father’s lack of culinary skills. Video Namjoon moved on to a carrot, struggling even more if that was possible and you couldn’t help joining along with Moon’s commentary.

“Watch your fingers,” you yelled at the screen just as he slightly nicked himself, hissing in pain, sheepishly pouting at the camera. When you had first watched the video, you were endeared by his antics, but now it felt as if your heart was bursting, making you almost coo at his younger self.

“I’m so glad I saved up my pocket money to buy him a food processor,” Moon commented, still giggling at the video. “Did you know he refused to buy me take out and then would accidentally cut himself like eight times a week?”

You could imagine Namjoon being stubborn as his daughter complained while he chopped vegetables in uneven slices, fingers covered in little bandaids. It wasn’t hard to notice how dedicated a father Namjoon was, but it warmed your heart to hear how much he cared for Moon from her directly.

You could tell by her tone that even though she masked it under humour and inconvenience, she truly admired her father for all the effort he put in, and somehow the picture in your head morphed till you were laughing at him alongside her, pushing him aside to take over the chopping as he leaned sheepishly by the counter complaining and insisting he had it handled.

In your imagination, he wrapped himself behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, annoying you while you worked as Moon teased the two of you for being dorks. You startled at the image, not knowing why your brain had decided to drift that way, heart beating oddly, and eyes blinking to rid yourself of it.

As if on cue, Namjoon entered the room, precariously balancing boxes of pasta and dessert on two plates, a bottle of wine tucked under his elbow, and for the first time since you had met him, you felt starstruck. In awe of how tightly he was holding the cutlery in one hand but how lightly he was holding the plates, swaying from side to side to ensure none of the four unevenly stacked boxes tipped over. You felt frozen, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks before leaping into action after a little “help!” escaped his lips.

Reaching for the bottle, you took it in your hands just as Moon grabbed the boxes, leaving Namjoon with just the plates and the cutlery. He still managed to drop a fork on the ground, cursing at himself before his daughter picked it up and went to replace it from the kitchen.

“Grab yourself a plate too, Moonie,” Namjoon offered, sitting next to you and oblivious to your sudden crush, casually plating a bit of everything for you. You realised he did that alot. Always making sure that you were served before him, that you were given the first piece of any snacks you both shared, and always asking if you were comfortable.

How did a passing comment from his daughter have such a profound impact on you? You felt like one of those girls who wrote fanfiction, your imagination going wild with scenarios when he had only just been kind. Perhaps you needed to follow Hera’s misguided advice and get laid after all.

“Nah, I have homework,” Moon replied, placing the fork on the table before smirking at the two of you. “Enjoy your date,” she snickered before prancing out of the room.

“It’s not a date!” Namjoon called out after her, bringing your overactive imagination to a screeching halt, forcing you to chuckle with him and dig into the food, missing how brightly his cheeks were shining at his daughter’s offhand comment.

You were still not speaking to Hera, but maybe you should strike a truce with her. If only so you could go with her to a club and no longer give yourself false allusions of being with a famous rockstar.

—-------

“Thanks for coming guys. I know you’re all busy but I just wanted to–”

“Oh my god. Stop giving a speech! Show us!” Seokjin interrupted Namjoon, bouncing on his seat on the couch, making Yoongi groan as he invaded his space. Although Namjoon’s studio was spacious, it was crammed for seven people, Hoseok and Taehyung sat squished next to Yoongi and Seokjin with Jimin perched on the armrest, wincing as Jungkook sat on his lap. Namjoon shook his head at his friend, appreciating the encouragement but still nervous.

He hadn’t showcased a song to the whole band for a long time and even though he knew that they were always supportive, he still felt a little uneasy. The new songs were different from the ones he used to write for Dark and Wild – while the former were debaucherous and often horny, his new stuff was something that held more of him, bared him with a vulnerability his younger self used to hide behind bravado. Not to mention that all he had was a guitar and his notebook, nothing like the demos he used to show them before, usually filled with samples of instruments manufactured from the mixer in his computer.

When Hoseok asked everyone to be quiet, Namjoon took a grounding breath, starting to pluck the strings slowly, building a melody that had haunted him for weeks. The acoustic version wasn’t how he heard it in his head, but he hoped it was enough to inspire his friends to imagine how easily they would fill in the gaps. He picked the strings individually, separating the chords so that they could speak to the emotions he was aiming for.

Soft strings echoed through the space, slow and resounding, and he cleared his throat before closing his eyes and singing. He always hated how he sounded but somehow in that moment he lost himself to the melancholy, letting it guide his vocals.

Maybe cherries are blossoming And winter is going to be over I miss you (I miss you) I miss you (I miss you) Wait a little bit, just a few more nights I’ll be there to see you (I'll go there to meet you) I’ll come for you (I'll come for you) Pass the end of winter's cold Until the spring day comes again Until the flowers bloom again Please stay, please stay there a little longer

The room was silent when he opened his eyes, six pairs of eyes staring at him. They had all leaned forward, Jungkook now sitting on the floor, legs crossed below him as his head rested on his hands. There were no words and Namjoon felt himself getting nervous as Yoongi spoke.

“Holy fuck…” he whispered, and Namjoon jumped straight into defense.

“I know my voice sounded terrible. You guys know i can’t sing, but I was just thinking, if we added some drums and then Seokjin you added some of the melody or maybe Jimin with a solo in the middle with Yoongi’s production… it could be… umm… something?” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Taehyung asked, his voice deep and serious, and Namjoon felt himself deflate a little, shoulders slumping before the next words left Taehyung’s mouth, “This is fucking incredible.”

It seemed that his words broke everyone out of their trance, praise flowing through the room as they excitedly left the mixing part of the studio to join Namjoon on the recording side, picking up their designated instruments.

“This is 4/4 as usual right?” Jungkook asked, taking a seat at the drums, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck before twirling the sticks between his fingers.

“And what’s the key again?” Seokjin questioned, plugging his guitar into the amp, taking a determined stance as he smiled warmly at Namjoon and Namjoon couldn’t help mirroring his expression, his cheeks splitting with how wide his lips stretched.

“E-flat,” he replied, discarding the acoustic guitar to the side to pick up his bass, setting the dials to the sound he prepared, the pitch a higher than usual for a bass.

Soon the song transformed from an empty plea to a celebration of friendship, the instruments gelling together in a sound that went from mournful to inspiring. It somehow changed the message of the song from longing and waiting to reuniting. It was as if the melody was meant to be tweaked, his friends adding in their flair that changed how Namjoon had always heard the song in his head into one he could never fathom.

By the time Hoseok and Jimin finished singing, with Seokjin and Taehyung harmonising at the chorus, Namjoon couldn’t help choking up a little. It was as if he was transported back in time, back before he knew what it was like to lose his dream – to the time when he didn’t even know what loss was. He felt irrevocably happy and his eyes glistened as the last chord echoed into silence.

“Fuck I missed this,” Hoseok gleed into the microphone, jumping a little in excitement and the band joined in on the sentiment, their voice a cacophony of chaos as they all complimented each other and Namjoon for writing what they perceived as a hit. Soon, everyone was pulling out unfinished works, some scribbled in notebooks, others in their phones, one even on a napkin – Taehyung had a moment of inspiration in a Jazz club three months ago.

It was as if the previous years had been erased, their usual teamwork gelling into place like muscle memory, ideas flying and morphing into melodies that were lighthearted and poetry that struck a chord. Namjoon knew they were still wary about a comeback, but just seeing the joy on their faces as they brainstormed song after song, convinced him it wouldn’t be too hard to put their worries to rest.

Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they jammed together.

—-------

It had been a few weeks since you had talked to Hera properly. Conversations that used to last hours were subdued to passing remarks about groceries and chores. She stayed out most of the time, giving you space. Sitting on your living room couch with ramen on a Saturday night, things were dull, your mind wandering on your relationship with her.

They say absence makes the heart grow stronger, but it didn’t seem to be the case for you. The more she stayed away, the more you had time to dwell on how your friendship had faded over time, how she had gone from a confidant to someone you tolerated. It made you feel a little guilty, but everytime that guilt would be overshadowed by how it seemed that you were always putting in more effort, from housing her during her financial crisis to not thinking twice about any favour she asked of you.

It wasn’t always bad, you remembered her getting you out of your introverted shell in law school, challenging you to strike a balance between coursework and hobbies. But in the past two years, you couldn’t recall a single time she had even mildly inconvenienced herself on your behalf. She was often passive-aggressive, seemingly exasperated at you. Perhaps it made sense if she was talking to Ryan during that time, his manipulative nature probably influenced her. But if she was so easily swayed was she truly your friend?

As if she was honed into you trying to let her go, she waltzed in through the front door, a huge grin on her face and smelling of alcohol. Squealing your name she startled you with a hug, her arms wrapping tight around you. It felt suffocating, unnerving.

“I miss you,” she sniffled, and usually her crying would be enough for you to forgive her, but you knew she was an emotional drunk. You sat in silence, letting her cry into your shoulder, not knowing how to react when the last words she said to you were accusations of how you had forced your ex to cheat. You didn’t know why you were being so harsh, but maybe it was because you had started to watch the Dark and Wild vlogs again, envying their friendships, comparing it to how the two of you interacted.

You patted her on the shoulder, waiting for her to sit up, and when she did you smiled, not knowing what else to do but tell her it was okay. As soon as the words left your mouth she was perking up, tears forgotten and drunken ramblings commencing. She talked to you about her night, about how Ryan was the perfect man, and you couldn’t get over the bitterness you felt. Was she trying to show off how much of a better boyfriend he was to her than you?

A ping from your phone saved you from the conversation, your face lighting up when you read Namjoon’s text.

So what do you say to a private concert? Wanna meet me at the studio in half an hour?

You couldn’t control the giddy smile as you responded, thanking him in your head for saving you from this awkward conversation. Hera didn’t like it when you excused yourself, complaining about how you didn’t like her anymore. She wasn’t wrong, but you were too excited to leave to fight her on it, apologising and rushing to your room to change, ignoring the pout she threw your way.

When you knocked on the studio door you were expecting only Namjoon to be there wanting to share some of the newer songs he had alluded to working on. However, when you entered you were met by the whole band, seven men sprawled on the couch, the coffee table cluttered with an array of snacks. They stood up at your arrival, greeting you excitedly in a mismatched unison, Jungkook’s voice the loudest among the crowd.

“Yummyjungkookie!” he exclaimed, the wink he tossed your way making you flush. You never imagined your teenage celebrity crush to ever greet you, let alone scream your embarrassing username at you. It made you wish that you had been a little more subtle when choosing it.

“Guys you are overwhelming her,” Jimin chided the men, moving away from the group to hold out his hand. “Hi Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Finally?” you questioned, grasping his hand in yours, a little dizzy at the sudden appearance of people you had only seen on stage or in magazines. You should’ve been used to it after spending time with Namjoon for so long but Jimin was right, it was overwhelming to see them all in one place once again.

“Yeah Joonie’s told us all about you,” Hoseok smirked, side-eyeing his friend who glared at him.

“He couldn’t shut up about you,” Seokjin added with a mischievous sing-song lilt to his voice, elbowing Namjoon who cleared his throat loudly before speaking.

“Okay!” he exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together once. “Now that everyone is acquainted–”

“Oh I’m not acquainted,” Jungkook interrupted, moving towards you with a teasing smile, pushing his hair away from his face. It reminded you of his stage persona, his already sexy allure hammed up with fan service and it took every ounce of control you had to not swoon. The reaction had been engraved in you for years, after all. “So am I as yummy as you thought?” he asked, flexing his biceps.

Luckily you didn’t have to answer because as soon as the words left his mouth, Jimin scowled, smacking him atop his head. “You have a wife and kids!” he scolded.

“Aw hyung! I’m just trying to figure out if I’m rusty,” Jungkook whined, the earlier suavity melting instantly as he pouted, making you giggle at the sudden change. That was the Jungkook you were a fan of. Sure the sex appeal was appealing but you’d be lying if you said the real thing that gravitated you towards him was how dorky he was.

As all of them started arguing and teasing Jungkook for being a “rusty old man”, you started realising that they all were, in fact, dorks. It comforted you, helped you bring them off the pedestal you had placed them on and back to how they were just how you hoped they’d be – just a group of normal friends.

With everyone settled and introduced, and your pick of dinner ordered, Namjoon made you sit in the large comfy chair in front of the glass separating the recording studio and the mixing room. The band settled in the other room, picking up their instruments and making last minute tune ups.

“Okay. Someone told us a busy lawyer had been spending her precious free time to help us with our stupid hang ups, so we thought that we’d show our appreciation,” Hoseok announced, adjusting the mic stand. “For our favourite Shadow, after eight years, we are Dark and Wild!”

His introduction was immediately followed by Jungkook banging his sticks with each other, counting into the first song, and you were immediately transported to the time when you fought to be in the front row. They started with War of Hormones, Hoseok and Taehyung’s more mature voices and Seokjin’s new ad libs, changing the song into something fresher, something you thought you would never get to see live again. Before you knew it, you were standing from your chair, rocking along to the music as you grinned.

Namjoon watched you as he performed and he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt at seeing you so into something. You were often stoic, having a tight lid on your emotions. It made him want to work harder to get you to open up, often cracking jokes he knew were terrible to get you to laugh. If he knew he would get to see this expression on your face by just convincing the boys to put on a show for you, he would’ve begged them earlier.

He didn’t know when he had started seeing you as someone he wanted to pursue. The feeling was foreign. He never thought he would feel this way again, the bubbling anticipation for when he would see you next, the giddy joy when he saw your name light up his screen, the heart stuttering nervousness when you were near. He had assumed that those feelings had died in his youth, buried with Seo on that rainy day that tore his heart out.

He had tried to move on after her, had multiple one night stands, friends with benefits, even a girlfriend at some point. After a while he had figured that he would never feel that euphoria again, but somehow you had come in with your business formal skirts and secret thirsty blog and embedded yourself in his thoughts. And with it came the need to hold himself back, his once bulletproof confidence wavering to insecurities that he never felt before.

You never shared much of your personal life with him, never deviated from the strict line of friendship that had cemented itself between you, and Namjoon didn’t know how to break that. Every time he flirted, it seemed like a joke to you. Perhaps he was a joke too, a washed up musician with a grown child, who only met you because he was fighting with children and pathetically trying to convince people who had moved on to move backwards with him.

He didn’t realise that his gaze was unwavering as he stared at you through the glass, fingers moving over the strings automatically as Hoseok sang their old hits, but you noticed. Between your jumping, you saw how all of a sudden, his face had fallen, his jaw tightening as he zoned out like he did sometimes when you were hanging out. You didn’t know what he was thinking in those moments, but something told you it wasn’t pleasant.

His mood didn’t lift during the rest of the set, even when you tried to engage him with a smile and a wave. He returned your smile briefly before going back to the same forlorn expression that you couldn’t help being worried about.

“Thank you! You’ve been a great audience,” Yoongi said cheekily, winking at you after the last song before he was ushering everyone into the other room with you. He pulled up two stools, switching his pedals around and taking a seat while offering the other to Namjoon.

“For our last song, we wanted to show you a new one. One written by none other than Namjoon Kim,” Yoongi announced, plucking the strings as his foot toyed with the pedal, changing the tone to a fuzzier one that was overlaid with a delay, adding an ethereal ambience to the sound. Behind you the boys piled onto the couch, cheering loudly and you followed suit, clapping loudly as Namjoon adjusted the height of the mic and sat down.

He smiled at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t one of the happy ones, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as Yoongi looped a sound and started plucking the strings with a melancholic tune. “Also sorry my singing sucks,” he chuckled dryly.

“No, it doesn’t!” Seokjin argued loudly as everyone whooped.

“Go Joon!” Jungkook joined, and somehow the encouragement paired with the soft smile you sent his way made his nerves dissolve, letting him sing the song he had written years ago for the first time. It wasn’t just a surprise for you, it was for the rest of the band too. No one but Yoongi had heard it before. Initially, Yoongi had told him to showcase the song, but after trying to sidetrack him with other songs and getting the idea to invite you, Yoongi had had enough, instructing that he sing the song at the end for everyone.

It was silent while he sang, his friends behind the glass listening intently. He hadn’t sung this song properly in a long while. When he wrote it, he was in the deepest pit of his depression, often leaving Moon at his mother’s house to spend the night wasted writing rubbish on pages and then ripping them out when the words didn’t pass his harsh self-criticism.

Yoongi had found him on such a night, curled up on the floor, humming the melody as he banged his fist against the floor, fighting against his sore eyes. Of all the members, Yoongi wasn’t one he was closest to then, but it changed when instead of telling him it would be okay and coaxing him to bed, Yoongi had sternly told him to sit up and finish the song. He stayed with Namjoon the whole night and then for three nights after, subtly ensuring that he didn’t overdo his drinking, or turn to something stronger, as his self loathing crawled into the cathartic poetry dancing on top of Yoongi’s catchy rift.

Somehow writing that song had made him feel a little less sad, as if he had let go of the sorrow by transforming it into something productive. But singing the song he hadn’t even attempted to hear for so long, it was inevitable that he was transported back to that time where he was always in such a haze that the days seemed like an endless burden tied to his ankle as he sank, flailing to swim to the surface that kept moving more and more out of reach. It made him choke a little on his words.

One morning, I opened my eyes And wished I was dead I want someone to kill meIn this loud silence I live to understand the world But the world has never understood me, why No, that half is missing It's trying to hurt me I miss me, miss me baby I wish me, I wish me baby Wish I could choose me

You pursed your lips as his words reached you, feeling an undeniably need to soothe the pain that seemed to be dripping from his every pore. Namjoon had always been open, always made you laugh, unknowingly brightening your mood when work or problems with Hera refused to let you relax. He had talked about his daughter and wanting to get the band together. He had talked to you about his songwriting process, and he had told you his thoughts about the industry. But in that moment, you felt that Namjoon wasn’t always as open as he seemed to be, that beneath his usually cheerful demeanour, he seemed to be suffering, silently at that.

Why is it that I'm being so earnest Yet it's not working out Always Always (I lost my all ways)

He sang the last line abruptly, standing up as soon as he was done and excusing himself. You watched as he left the studio, yearning to run after him, but then again, all his best friends were in the room. Why would he need your comfort when he could have them?

“Go. He’s probably in the next room,” Yoongi said, walking back into the mixing room and placing a hand on your shoulder to break you out of your trance. When you looked at him with doubt, he just smiled, slightly nodding towards the door. Not wanting to overthink the reasons and too worried about Namjoon, you followed his advice, leaving and knocking on the next door.

“I’m fine, Yoons,” Namjoon called out, his voice eerily cheerful, making you suspicious. He opened the door, shock momentarily washing over him before he affixed a smile on his face. But you had learnt what his real smile looked like in the months you had gotten to know him. You didn’t miss how it didn’t reach his eyes, how his lighter right dimple never poked through his cheek, and how his lower lip quivered ever so slightly.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, instantaneously wrapping his arms around your waist, crushing you to him. Your scent overwhelmed him, an amalgam of lavender and honey that he had only ever gotten faint whiffs of now crowding his senses, coaxing him to lose the control he had tried so hard to keep over the last few minutes.

“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to clear the lump from his throat, loosening his grip, attempting to chuckle despite his heart beating erratic and his emotions threatening to overflow. “So embarrassing…”

“I’m not judging,” you whispered, holding on to him tightly. “You can cry if you want to. It’s okay.”

The moment the words left your lips, Namjoon couldn’t hold it in anymore, your permission somehow breaking his barriers and a tiny sob escaping him. He buried his face in your neck, his tears probably ruining your blouse. You could feel him shaking in your arms, and you stroked his scalp to comfort him, letting him cling onto you as he cried. You tried to control your own tears, but they followed anyways, silently tracking down your cheeks in empathetic trails. You didn’t know what to say to console him so you let him cry till he was straightening up, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

He settled on the couch at the corner of the room, and you followed, looking around. The small room was some sort of a meeting area. Two large couches lined the walls in an L with a coffee table between them, the walls covered in a few paintings, and a single lamp in the corner lighting up the space. It was cosy.

“Sorry,” he laughed hollowly, and you reached out to hold his hand in an attempt to comfort him, hoping that he realised he had nothing to apologise for, nothing to explain. But he explained anyways, talking about how when he wrote the song he was in the deepest despair he had ever felt and somehow till today he had forgotten how he had felt, how broken he had been.

“We never showed it on the cameras, you know? How fucked up everything was,” he said, fingers gripping tightly onto yours, needing something to ground him as his memories flashed before his eyes.

Everything was always glamourized in front of the camera; their friendships, his relationship. All everyone knew was they were a little chaotic, a bunch of hyper dudes who would get drunk and joke around. They didn’t know that alcohol wasn’t the only vice they used to cope with the sudden plummet to fame, to cope with the stresses of releasing album after album of hits, of endless days of putting on personas that merged into a haze till they forgot who they really were.

It was okay when he took his first hit, it was meant to relax him, all the ones in the industry before him assured him that it wouldn’t turn into anything more. So the band would gather in their hotel rooms after some shows when the pressure felt like it would rip them to shreds and shoot up. It would let them slow down, float in a space where their brains weren’t capable of thinking, of overthinking everything.

That’s when Seo started joining him too, when they were just friends with benefits, before the birth control had failed, back when he was just a kid trying to emulate his heroes. He didn’t know how it would spiral, how his one off would become her everyday. He still blamed himself to this day for being too busy to notice the way her light faded, to notice how her mood swings were too drastic. He never saw her enough to put it together, not until he was getting a call from her mother blaming him angrily, screaming at him for ruining her life.

He broke down for the first time that night, apologising to Seo’s mother, and sobbing into his cellphone. That was also the last time he turned off his brain, before taking a week off to care for her. He sat in the hospital holding her hand while she slept with ventilators, just praying to a god he didn’t believe in for her to wake up.

When she finally opened her eyes, doctors warned her to go to rehab. “This will kill your baby if you’re not careful,” the stern physician warned her, and that was the first time Seo and Namjoon found out that she was pregnant, that amidst their fucked up rocky relationship they had somehow accidentally created something that was pure. They cried in each other’s arms that night under the fluorescence of the cold white room, promising to be better for their child. That was when he fell in love with her.

It was under the same fluorescence that he fell in love with her again, when she held his hand tight, her nails breaking his skin that still carried the crescent scars, as she gave birth to his daughter, the moon of his life. The nine months leading up to the day had Namjoon rediscovering Seo, had him realizing that he never noticed how kind she was, how she always put him first, shielded him from things she needed so as not to burden him. It made him realize how he had taken her devotion for granted for years and he promised himself to never do so again.

But promises are meant to be broken and it was only a few years later when he started falling back into the same patterns, using work as a cover to escape from his daughter’s shrill cries when she threw tantrums for no reason. He had promised to pick her up from school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when he was in town. It was his responsibility as a parent but even when he was tired, he cherished those moments, listening to Moon ramble on about school and the friends she was making. He was proud of her, or so his memories liked to tell him, but he knew that inside he would always ignore her, too tired from endless practice to pay attention, placating the child with hums and nods.

It was a time when he was working on Dark and Wild’s last album, the label pressuring him to change every song he sent for approval, the guys relying on him for advice when his brain was sapped dry. He was in a haze, he didn’t know what time it was, what day and at the end of his rope, he had just stopped going home. Things with Seo weren’t bad, and they weren’t good, they just were, like a routine that had been embedded in him – one that he had no motivation to break. He would pick up Moon from school, drop her home and see Seo greeting him and he’d only wave before turning around and going back to his studio, biding his time before coming home late enough that Seo would be asleep. He’d sneak into bed and hold her till he fell asleep.

Those nights, he always knew she was awake but he didn’t have the energy to talk to her, so he would stay silent, and hope that his arm around her waist was enough. It still pained him to admit that somehow along the way, his own wife had become a stranger to him. Somehow the woman he had vowed to love in front of his friends and family as she held his daughter in her arms, had turned into something akin to a pillow he would hug at night. He would feel guilty those nights, tearing up as he held her but then his brain reminded him that the only reason he was working so hard was because of her and Moon, that it would be worth it, that once their contract expired next year he could take a break and rebuild the relationship he had. Little did he know that that would never happen. He still remembered the night he lost her, vivid in his mind like a haunting film on repeat.

He had come back from the studio like always, sneaking into his own home at 2 am. He checked on his daughter, smiling tiredly at how she had her entire body wrapped around the giant pink bunny Jungkook had given her, her long dark hair falling over her face. He tiptoed into the room, picking up the blanket from where she had kicked it onto the floor and covered her up, smiling ever wider when she nuzzled into the soft material further.

Quietly walking into his bedroom, he saw his wife buried under the covers and decided to take a shower, relishing the warm water on his sore muscles. He decided to use her body wash that night, a habit he had developed for when his days were long and he needed the comfort of her scent enveloping her. Perhaps he would wake her and kiss her this time, feeling too needy to care if he got scolded. He had argued with Yoongi that day and he needed her to relieve the stress.

Crawling under the covers he reached for her, cuddling her close till he was kissing her neck, the skin oddly cool below his lips. That was the first sign, one that made him panic as he sat up in bed and started shaking her. He could still remember how loud his heart was pounding in his ears, how his hands shook when he ran to turn on the lights, and saw how blue her lips looked. He was crying on the phone when he called the ambulance, and while he waited he held her hand, trying not to yell in despair as he begged her to wake up, ignoring the familiar paraphernalia on the bedside table.

He was still sobbing when the sirens rang out and rotating red lights invaded through the curtains of his bedroom. Still sobbing when he woke up Moon, gathered her in his arms and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Still sobbing when the doctor told him he was sorry. He didn’t know he had such a large reserve of tears, one that didn’t stop even when the cameras followed his family when he buried her, when he bowed in front of Seo’s mother, clasping onto her feet for forgiveness, when he had to explain to his daughter where mommy was.

And he sobbed again when he told you everything, baring his soul in a way he had never done before, not knowing what he was hoping to accomplish. But when you pulled him to you, wrapped your arms around his head and shushed him, he felt his chest fill with warmth. The memories that had assaulted him faded into the background, your small noises of comfort lulling him into content. He hadn’t meant to recount his life story to you in such a way, he only wanted to tell you why the song had such an effect on him, but something about you had him spilling out his truths without even thinking.

“You’re okay,” you assured him as he apologised, reaching out to the table to hand him the box of tissues that was placed there above the stack of random magazines. With the comfort of your words, he pressed the soft cotton to his eyes, steeling himself, his breaths becoming stable as you gently rubbed his back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face as you shook your head. You didn’t know why he felt the need to thank you, all you had done was sit next to him and listened. You should’ve been the one to thank him for letting you in and for sharing his burden. You told him as such and he laughed, a light watery thing that made you join him. When he stood up, you wrapped him in a hug once again, hoping to heal him.

You had never thought that you would ever spend an evening at a private Dark and Wild concert, but more than that you had never imagined that Namjoon would somehow etch himself into your heart in such a short time.

Maybe that’s the thing about love, you never know when it will come and embrace you.

—-------

Birthdays were never your thing. You never knew why people were always so excited to celebrate another revolution around the sun. Your friends had always called you jaded, but you didn’t believe in celebrating the fact that you had just existed. A birthday wasn’t an accomplishment, everyone had a birthday from serial killers to misogynists – why should such a mundane fact be marked with a party. Yet despite your protests, your friends and family would always shower you with gifts and surprises. When you got older the parties toned down to gatherings at a bar or a restaurant, and slowly you became used to them, even expecting them.

Sitting in your room with the early evening sun pouring through your window and the latest Netflix show on your laptop, it didn’t feel like your birthday. Sure, you had received multiple messages reminding you of the fact, but with your family in another city and your friends scattered around the globe, this year it felt a bit empty, a little lonely. You didn’t know when you had started enjoying the celebrations, but the lack of one was jarring, even when you knew rationally that celebrating birthdays was stupid.

Sighing after yet another episode ended, you decided to pamper yourself, to celebrate not that you were a year older, but that despite missing your friends you were still mostly happy with your life. You gathered your favourite bath bomb and bubble bath from a little box under the bed and put on your fluffiest robe before venturing into the bathroom and lighting too many candles. The little speaker you had hooked on the door came to life with your favourite playlist as the tub filled with warm water, the bubbles increasing in volume and the colour of the water changing to a bright violet.

You decided to go all out, exfoliating and shaving your skin, and adding a clay mask to your skin. Dipping into the warm water felt luxurious, the heat relaxing your muscles. You hadn’t realised how long your days had gotten, how little time you had spent on self care, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way your body sank into the tub, the water caressing you like a lover, the scents making your eyes droop in content.

You finished up your impromptu spa day with painting your nails a bright pink, a colour you rarely used, even going so far to spend extra time blow drying your hair into silky voluminous waves. It felt nice to forget about everything that had been bothering you lately, from Hera’s constant insistence to be friends to your sudden feelings for Namjoon. It was nice to disconnect.

However, you had barely dressed when you heard your roommate, her bed squeaking through the walls as she wailed your ex’s name, souring your pleasant mood. God, you needed a drink.

Not thinking twice, you swapped your comfiest sweats for a nice dress and grabbed your purse. Just because you didn’t have anyone to celebrate with didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy a birthday drink and indulge in some decadent cake. Walking to your favourite coffee shop, you decided to get a cake first, picking the extremely tall eight layered chocolate cake and settling on a seat.

Usually, you would pull up a book you were reading on your phone, or scroll through social media, mindlessly watching TikToks, but today you didn’t feel the need for distractions. Savouring the melting rich mousse on your tongue you looked around the little shop, making up stories about its patrons as your eyes trailed over them. There was an old couple sitting in the corner, sharing a quiche, and you imagined that they had just dropped off their grandchildren after spending a day with them. Then you saw a teenager, standing at the counter, biting his lip, torn on what to choose and you imagined that perhaps he was getting a drink for a crush, hoping to woo them with his choice. When he finally settled on a special strawberry milkshake with a swirl of whipped cream and two straws, you mirrored his smile as he sat next to a wide-eyed girl beaming at him.

Every new customer that entered, you would give them a back story, some more mundane than others. Like when a man with a scar over his eyebrow in a suit came to order an espresso you imagined that he was a stuntman, going into a night shoot. Or when a woman came with a bunch of kids, you imagined she was an au pair, paying her way through a social sciences degree. The stories weren’t crazy, but you liked imagining their lives to be simple, it was comforting.

You were in the middle of another daydream when your phone vibrated, a text lighting up your screen.

Hey. I think after last time, I owe you a drink. You free?

It was a simple message, but the moment you read Namjoon’s name your heart skipped a beat, stories forgotten as your daydream morphed from strangers and their lives to hanging out with Namjoon, his arm around you, his lips on yours. It didn’t help that he was somehow psychic, somehow knowing how much you hated drinking alone.

I’m actually on my way to 88… join me!

You smiled, anticipating hanging out with him for no reason other than his company. You knew it was far-fetched to think about anything happening between you, even if last week had seemed like a turning point in your relationship. He was a famous rockstar with a family, there was no way there was any room in his life for you. Even if you were friends now, once he would convince the guys of the comeback, the two of you would go to occasional hangouts and random text messages, the need for frequent brainstorming sessions over.

Finishing the last bit of cake on your plate, you grabbed your purse when your phone pinged again.

Oh if you’re with your friends, I don’t want to intrude… I was just going to offer this stupidly expensive bottle of champagne I found.

Chuckling at his oddly endearing response, you asked him if he was at home or the studio, and when he confirmed the latter, you hailed a cab and made your way to the familiar glass skyscraper that was beginning to feel a little too comfortable to go to. A knock on the wooden door later, you found yourself face to face with Namjoon, his smile making your own lips lift at the corners, your heart feeling as if it was home.

“Hi… umm… hey. Hello,” he greeted a little awkwardly, moving to the mini fridge under the mixing desk to pull out a large bottle of champagne, the gold label glittering in the low light of the room. You settled on the couch, noticing that he had already put out glasses and snacks, various packets of chips and candy littering the coffee table.

“So champagne, eh? What are we celebrating?” you asked, leaning back comfortably as he joined you, a concentrated frown on his face as he fiddled with the corkscrew, bottle between his legs, attempting to wrestle it open. It popped open with a fizzle, a little bit of the liquid spilling onto his sweats as he chuckled victoriously.

“That you don’t hate me,” he replied with a smile, pouring the drink into the flutes and handing one to you. He felt nervous, not knowing why he had said what he said. He knew you didn’t hate him, you didn’t strike him as the person who would scoff at vulnerability, but still, he felt a little guilty about unloading on you the other day. He didn’t want you to think of him as fragile or that you had to carry his emotional baggage with him.

“I don’t hate you,” you protested, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip, the smooth sweet liquid bubbling through you. It really was expensive champagne, the taste unlike any you had had before, crisp yet alluring. “You had a moment. We all have them.”

Your words made Namjoon relax, confirming that his view of you was correct. He felt light as if a weight had been lifted, making him more confident. Out of everyone he knew, somehow you had made it to the top of the list of people he felt most comfortable with. It scared him how easily you had crawled into that space, without him even realising, but Namjoon had been to too much therapy to discount you, to run away like he usually did.

He watched you as you rose, walking to the speakers you had made yourself familiar with, connecting your phone till a dance pop melody was filling the room. Sitting next to him, Namjoon couldn’t help but notice how you were closer this time, your body heat almost palpable on his knee closest to your thigh. You hummed along to the music as you finished your drink, refilling your glass and then his when he followed suit.

He sat sideways, an elbow at the back of the couch and his hand holding his head. The silence was comfortable, letting him just bask in your presence. You looked different than you usually did, your hair falling in nice waves over your shoulders instead of in a ponytail, your body covered in a dress that worshipped it, wrapping in all the right places that made Namjoon’s mouth run a little dry. He cleared his throat, starting a conversation to distract himself.

“You’re all dressed up,” he commented as casually as he could, wondering what you ditched to hang out with him in his lackluster studio. His head wanted him to feel guilty for pulling you away from something but his heart was giddy that you chose him instead. “Sorry if I interrupted something. I should’ve checked in.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him with a giggle. “I was just going for a drink by myself. You interrupted nothing.”

“What were you celebrating?” he recited your earlier question with a grin, leaning closer to you to refill his glass, the fruity scent of your moisturiser tickling his nostrils deliciously. He wanted to nuzzle into you, to deeply inhale the strawberries from your collarbones, but that would be creepy so he moved back to his earlier position, taking a heavy swig to calm himself, not that the alcohol that was starting to buzz through him helped much.

“My birthday, actually,” you replied offhandedly, laughing as his mouth fell open in surprise. You assured him that you didn’t think birthdays were a big deal, but it seemed that Namjoon didn’t care, scrambling to wish you before he was out the door. You chuckled at how adamant he was about doing something special, taking another sip, before he returned, much quicker than you thought he’d be. He held a plate in his hand, stacked with twinkies, a tiny candle poking out from the one on top.

“Here in the Kim house – well, studio – we go all out for birthdays!” he exclaimed, balancing the plate precariously on the arm of the couch before pulling a lighter from his pocket and setting the wick on fire.

“Yes, all out with twinkies,” you teased, placing your glass on the table and standing next to him.

“Well some people like to hide their birthdays. This is the best cake on short notice,” he joked before starting to sing happy birthday, swaying a little side to side, a wide grin on his face.

This morning when you woke up without any plans and knowing no surprises awaited you, you felt empty, but with Namjoon’s tenor wishing you repeatedly, your eyes glistened a little, the warmth in your chest overwhelming you.

Blowing out the candle, you wished that the warmth never went away, oddly ecstatic that somehow in thirty-three years of living you had been fortunate enough to always have at least one person who wanted to celebrate you despite your protests. Namjoon picked a twinkie from the plate and held it to your lips, and somehow the convenience store confection tasted sweeter than usual. Taking the piece from his hands, you returned the favour and he happily munched on the dessert before placing the plate on the coffee table.

The two of you settled on the couch, and between the sips of champagne, he told you about how much he cherished birthdays and never took them for granted. He always went all out on his own, renting large venues to treat his friends to absurd things like skiing trips and jumping castles.

He told you about how for Moon’s birthdays he always implemented the no “no” rule where he would do anything he asked, sharing stories about the time she had gotten him to take her to Disneyland when she was nine and puked from one too many churros, and how for her thirteenth the duo had embarked on a hike in Costa Rica finding hidden waterfalls and cataloguing bugs they found on the way.

“Birthdays with you sound magical,” you remarked, a little jealous that your dad never took you to a rainforest for your birthdays. You could just imagine the way Moon’s face probably lit up when going on her dream vacation.

“Birthdays are magical,” he replied, pouring the last of the alcohol into your two glasses, cheeks flushed from how tipsy he was. He handed you your glass, smiling at you wistfully. “It means you lived another year. It means that you’re here, alive, with me. And that’s worth celebrating.”

You felt the warmth from earlier invade you again, magnified by the bubbly wine in your veins and the way his hand was still holding the glass under yours, sending tingles up your arm. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips landing on his in a brief impulse that sparked till your toes. But it seemed that you weren’t the only one who wanted to do so. You had barely moved away when he was leaning forward, his free hand gently resting on your waist as his lips captured yours once again.

Never in a million years would you have imagined kissing Namjoon Kim on his couch after he forced you to celebrate your birthday, and yet with a flurried haste you were moving your joined hands to the table to deposit your glass, winding your arms around his neck. The glass fell on the table with a little tinkle, the champagne spilling over the surface, but Namjoon couldn’t care less, taking the opportunity to pull you closer, his tongue tasting your peachy lip gloss before delving in and enjoying the sweetness of the wine on your tongue, relishing the little moan you made, your tongue twisting with his.

It was hungry, the two of you wrestling with the feelings that were brewing for months, his hands roaming your sides, squeezing at the flesh, and your fingers tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, making him keen. It seemed that the moment would last forever, neither of you willing to part even to breathe. That is, until the song changed.

It's your birthday, so I know you want to ride out Even if we only go to my house Sip mo-eezy as we sit upon my couch Feels good, but I know you want to cry out

The moment the R&B vocals filled the room, you couldn’t help bursting out in a laugh, cackling at the oddly specific lyrics your phone had decided to throw at you. Namjoon didn’t notice at first, his lips continuing to move from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, nipping at the skin. However, as your laughs got more hysterical, he finally tuned into the song playing, cringing before he joined your cackles, breathless with his forehead against yours.

“So Google really does listen in,” he deadpanned, his humour adding to your joy as you clung on to him, half in his lap before standing up to grab your phone from the table. As funny as the song was, you really didn’t want a soundtrack describing what Namjoon would do to you. A little voice in your head told you to not get your hopes up, that no matter how much you liked him, it was still just a kiss.

However as soon as you turned around, Namjoon put your fears to rest. Unlike how hesitant he had seemed earlier, he was now sitting with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, legs spread and a smirk lighting his face as he stared at you. His eyes roamed your body as he bit his lip, making you feel a little overheated.

“So it’s your birthday,” he commented casually, head tilted slightly, eyes intensely boring into yours. “Wanna ride it out?”

You knew he was teasing you by quoting the silly song but your body didn’t know better, your stomach aching with lust at his deep baritone. The Namjoon you knew was a goofy, clumsy dad, but this Namjoon was the notorious bassist of your youth, cocky and fearless as he sat up straighter, hands landing on your waist to pull you between his legs.

“I’ve read the tags on your blogs, y’know?” he teased, his hands running up and down your waist, the few inches they travelled leaving fire on your skin. “I remember one,” he mused, pulling you down till you straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. “‘God I’d pay all the money to sit on those dimples’ isn’t that what you said?”

Your mouth flew open at his words. You never thought your horny 3 am thoughts would ever be recited back to you by the subject himself and you had no words, every witty retort dying on your tongue to leave you with a lame, “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“And you weren’t supposed to make me fall for you,” he replied, earlier bravado falling away in favour of sincerity. He cupped your jaw, thumb running softly over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. “Can I kiss you?”

As soon as you whispered your consent he brought your face to his, lips reuniting to a taste he realised he could never get enough of. It was addicting how your hands gingerly clasped onto his shoulders, how you shivered when he traced his tongue over yours, and how you moaned softly when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

It didn’t take long for him to get needier, for his hands to grab onto your ass over your dress and mould to your flesh, to move your hips against his in a rhythm that made him heady. He wanted you so much that he felt breathless, running out of time even though he knew he wasn’t. His actions made you breathless too, like with every touch he was leading you to the edge of a cliff, hands shaking in anticipation of what was to come, but your brain refused to turn off, to forget whose hands were touching you till you were pushing him away, your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry… I’m a bit out of practice,” you apologised in a whisper, but he just grinned, dissolving your insecurities with his words.

“Me too,” he giggled, kissing your lips, once, twice, three times, his hands clasping onto yours, fingers lacing together. “We can practise together if you want… or we can wait. Whatever you like, birthday girl.”

Somehow his hands in yours and the cheeky smile on his face comforted you. You had been imagining the rockstar, the person you watched grow up through your screen and go wild on stage, but the more you looked at him, the more you saw who he really was.

His flushed cheeks, the little constellation of freckles on his face and the one hidden below his lip, the way his eyes searched yours so eagerly. He wasn’t a rockstar, he was just Namjoon, the one who made stupid jokes and stashed snacks in every drawer. The one who got bullied by his daughter and complained to you about it. The one who was brave enough to open up to you about his life. You knew him, he was real, and, like him, you were falling too.

With his hands still in yours, you leaned forward, kissing him again, confident and undeterred, and he followed suit, deepening the kiss before he was holding onto your waist and spinning around. You barely registered lying on your back before he was upon you, his weight cushioning you deliciously into the couch, the soft fabric of his sweatpants caressing your inner thighs.

“Hi,” he whispered, adoration dripping from his pupils as he smiled, fingers stroking your hair and you couldn’t help leaning forward to capture his lips once again, legs tightening around his waist. You could hear the blood rushing through you, an ambient backdrop to the sounds of his lips moving down to your neck as his teeth nipped at the skin of your collarbone. It had been so long since you had touched someone, been worshipped by someone like Namjoon was determined to do so that you couldn’t help canting your hips against his, relishing the way his pants left nothing to the imagination, his rapidly hardening cock providing the friction you sought.

With all the bravery you could muster, you detangled your hand from under his to the side of your dress pulling the zipper down with a loud purr Namjoon felt shooting through him. With the dress loosened, it gave him room to roam your skin further, his lips soothing the heated skin of your chest as he pulled the straps down to reveal your nipples. Namjoon had seen many bodies in his life; on the screen, in strip clubs, writhing under him; but something about yours made him pause to drink it up. He could see the way your lips fell open, swollen and red, the way your chest rose with your heavy breaths, nipples perked in anticipation, and the way your eyes looked up at him, wide and inviting. And right below your chest, sprawled on your right rib, were the words he wrote so long ago now.

And the swings that can't look at the sky on their own, and the kids all grown up, and me who’s a little late

His mouth fell open as he tried to wrap his head around how perfect you were. He felt a familiar rush through him. One he hadn’t felt in so long that he was almost afraid he had outgrown it – the pure endorphins of a crush fulfilled. With a muttered curse, he buried his face back in your neck, almost desperate to inhale your scent once more. His hands planted themselves on your chest, squeezing the flesh, making you moan his name in a desperation that only fuelled him further, lips moving to encase a nipple between them to add to your ecstasy.

You whimpered when his teeth came to play, the blunt edges hardening them further, making you grasp his hair and arch your back. Leaving goosebumps in their wake, his hands moved down your body, wrapping around each of your thighs, pushing your dress to your waist, denting the flesh. He had missed the feel of soft skin under him for so long, much more so since you started featuring in his life and his dreams, but touching you was better than any wet dream. The melody of your mewls intensified when he switched to your other breast, his fingers dipping to the apex of your thighs to indulge in the way your panties stuck to you, so wet all for him.

You felt your legs shake out of their own accord as Namjoon moved down your body, still relentlessly tracing you over your ruined panties. You had forgotten intimacy after Ryan, always talking yourself out of potential new relationships, one-night stands never something that satiated you, but somehow Namjoon had sneaked in and weakened your defences. When his lips sought out your clit over the thin lace, you couldn’t help but thank the heavens that he had appeared in your life, pleasure coursing through you. With every flick of his tongue, you felt yourself getting closer to coming undone, muscles tightened in suspense of his next actions.

Impatient and desperate, Namjoon couldn’t wait any longer, pushing aside the fabric that guarded you from him to dip his finger in, your walls welcoming him with a pulse as if emitting a secret in morse code just for him. With fervour, he wrapped his lips around your clit, another finger joining the first, pumping in time with your gasps. Your grip on his hair tightened and he went faster, eager to see you fall apart.

There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room, enough syllables in any language to describe how he made you feel in that moment. It was as if you could feel every drop of blood inside you rush through your body, haphazard and chaotic, brewing like a storm deep in your core, getting wilder and wilder. Your senses were hyper focused, each touch making you quake, each moan that Namjoon made between your thighs vibrating through you. It bordered on too much, building until there was no way to escape.

Silence.

That’s what it sounded like. As if you were thrown underwater, your whimpers sounded like distant noises from a different universe, muffled and overwhelming. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath but when his tongue flicked under your clit, and his fingers hooked into that one spot, you finally remembered to breathe, your entire body relaxing to a point where you shook so violently that he had no choice but to look up at the euphoria painted on your features.

Eyes closed tight, all you saw were stars as his fingers rode you through your high, slowing to a pace you could relish. Soon, his lips were on yours, swallowing your soft moans, and your hands were around his shoulders holding him close.

“Okay?” he asked between kisses, heart skipping a beat at the way you beamed at him, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. Gathering your senses, you pushed him away, sitting up and pulling his shirt off, wanting his skin on yours.

He welcomed you with open arms, when you discarded your dress next to his shirt and climbed on his lap, once again uniting your lips. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, wanting his lips to be thoroughly chapped if it meant he could never stop kissing you.

“More,” you whispered, against his lips, hands roaming his strong chest and down to his abs, the muscle jumping under your fingertips.

“More?” he asked, dazed.

“More,” you replied once again, fingers trailing the little hairs under his belly button before slipping under the waistband into his underwear. His skin was soft, velvet under your touch, and he was so hard, tip messy as you played with him. He twitched in your hold, thighs flexing under you and his hands on your thighs gripping tighter, but you didn’t stop, stroking him slowly till he was keening, scrambling to push you off and get a condom.

“Condoms in the studio? How convenient,” you teased, enjoying the way Namjoon’s already flushed skin turned a deeper shade of red. However, his expression didn’t betray his flustered state as he confidently walked back to the couch, dropping his sweatpants and boxers on the way.

He stood like an adonis in front of you, sculpted and hard, his cock at eye level as he put on the condom, slowly teasing you before sitting next to you, arms sprawled on the cushions next to him.

Resisting him was futile, and your body moved on autopilot, underwear coming off without hesitance before you straddled him once again, resting your wet thighs against his. You traced his biceps, running your fingers up his shoulders to find him staring up at you. You lost yourself in his eyes, tracing the pattern of his irises, how the darkness melted into a warm chocolate.

Bringing his hands to your waist, he mirrored your movements, fingertips lightly grazing your sides. He knew you were joking, but something about your teasing made him feel guilty, made him want to dispel your worries, even if they didn’t exist. Capturing your lips, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours before speaking.

“Haven’t needed them for two years,” he murmured with a kiss, chuckling at the disbelief so easily painted on your face. “Told you I was out of practice.”

“You are definitely not out of practice.”

You could still feel the buzz in your body, the way he reduced you to nothing, just a mess blabbering his name. If this was him out of practice, you were almost afraid of knowing what he was like when he was more comfortable. You hoped you would find out. Cupping his face, you kissed him again before guiding his length into you, sinking down in one swoop, the stretch making you keen, thighs shivering.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his breath fanning your jaw as he tried to calm the urge to buck his hips into you. “You’re not either.”

You set a gentle pace, wanting to feel him for as long as possible, your breaths mingling together as you clung on to each other. But with one kiss, patience ran out. Tongues wrestling with each other, Namjoon lifted you up only to move you over his cock faster, jostling you into compliance as his hips thrust into you in time with his arms. Everytime he sunk into you, your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin deliciously, making him go faster and faster.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

As he went faster and his pace threatened to chase your sanity away, you brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves faster and faster, matching the way he grunted into your mouth, untethered, unhinged. It felt like an eternity, dangling so close to the edge that you could feel your walls closing in on him, his cock struggling to keep up with the earlier smooth movements.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, bringing your mouth back to his to lap at your lips. He thought he was so desperate because he missed sex, but nothing he had experienced came close to the way he felt lost in your warmth, unbelievably hard, forgetting the way his calves were cramping. He was so close, he could feel his eye twitching, his lip quivering with each of his moans. And then you came.

Your pussy clenched around him, pulsing, massaging him to an orgasm that made him float into the air, made him lose all sense of time, made him lose all feeling except for the way your arousal gushed into his lap, covering him, marking him as yours. And he wanted to be yours so bad. With a strangled whimper of your name, he held you still, rubbing his hands over your back, partly to sooth you and partly to ground himself, to remind him that you were real and not just one of his daydreams.

He lifted your head from where it was buried in his shoulder, lips chasing yours, tongue gently caressing, head heady with a satiated glow he felt emanating from his chest to the tips of his toes.

“Wow,” you breathed, bodies still joined together, hands playing with his hair, eyes drinking in the endeared look on his face. He didn’t reply, only smiled brightly before meeting your lips once again, getting you lost in his bliss.

You sat there kissing for a while before Namjoon’s phone rang, eliciting a groan from the man who refused to let you go. When the jingle persisted, he held you at the waist leaning forward to pick up his phone to see his daughter’s face lighting up the screen. Namjoon felt bad about sending his child to voicemail, but he had just gotten a taste of you. He didn’t want it to end, not yet.

“Sorry, Moon,” he whispered before pressing the red button to silence the call and kissing you again. You giggled on his lips at his antics, but he silenced you with his tongue, deepening the kiss with a moan that signalled the beginning of a second round. However, before you could lose yourself in him again, you heard a loud voice.

“Daaaaaaaaaaad! Daaaaaaaaaad!” Moon’s whine was clear through the static of the line, Namjoon’s eyes widening in shock before he stared at the phone. He was so sure he silenced the call! With an apologetic glance at you, he picked up his phone, clearing his throat before speaking, while you tried to control the laughter bubbling in your chest.

“Hi Moonie,” he answered, pouting at you exaggeratedly as you moved off his lap to grab your underwear. You had barely put it on before he was pulling you back towards him, an arm locked around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he continued the conversation. “Yes I know… I’ll get it. No, I won't forget! When have I ever forgotten anything?” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

The whole exchange would be adorable if it wasn’t for the way his hands moved from your waist to your chest, fingers playing with your nipple almost absent-mindedly. When he hung up, he turned towards you, kissing you once again.

“Wanna come over for pizza night?” he asked, pecking your cheek, enjoying the way your lips rose into a smirk before blooming into a grin. He knew it was too early, but he wanted to make you smile like that every day, as long as you’d let him. When the two of you dressed, he pulled you into a hug, letting his arms encompass you before whispering what he wanted the most, “Stay over after?”

Your heart fluttered in its space, growing wings and vying to get out, effervescent and giddy. Going up on your tiptoes, you captured his lips once more, softly, hugging him tighter.

“I’d like that very much.”

—-------

The week after you spent the night with Namjoon didn’t turn out to be the blissful week you thought it would be. With his case with Generation Swine coming to an end, there were a lot of meetings and paperwork. With their lawyers adamant about copyrights, you spent the majority of your time pouring over historical cases with your paralegal. Exhausting every resource, there only seemed to be one solution that you could come up with, a compromise that left you frustrated because you wanted to win.

Your communication with Namjoon was mainly relegated to succinct text messages that made you feel a little insecure about the evening you had spent with him – not to mention that his case made you feel a little guilty about building that kind of relationship with a client. However, your solace was to find a solution and put the situation to bed. Namjoon was the first man after Ryan who had made you feel safe enough to even think about another relationship and you didn’t want your constant excuse of work to dwindle the flame like so many others in the past.

Wine glass in hand, you sat on your living room couch, trying to write the final agreement and even though you knew that Namjoon had fully agreed to whatever you would come up with, you couldn’t help wanting his opinion one last time. A frustrated sigh left your lips as you reread the terms Generation Swine’s lawyers had put forward and with a large gulp of the wine, you dialled Namjoon.

“Hi,” he answered, his deep drawl making you remember how he had whispered the same word before he ruined you. Gulping, you tried to clear your head with another sip of your drink.

“Okay I have a question,” you said, scrolling through the document, ready to dive into the proposed agreement before he interrupted you.

“Me too. What are you wearing?” His tone was cheeky, an audible smile making you giggle, trying not to get sidetracked by him like you always did. There was a reason your usual twenty minute client meetings went on for hours.

“What am I wearing? Really?”

“Mhm. Missed you this week,” he replied with a raspy voice that made you squeeze your thighs together, wanting to abandon your earlier plan, but you were too close to the finish line, too close to genuinely give him your time without the added weight of dating a client.

“Namjoon Kim! I’m trying to work here!” you chastised, despite the growing need in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, so work with me!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “Is it that cute lace thing you were wearing that day?”

“Stop,” you whined, covering your flushed face even though you knew he couldn’t see you as he cackled through the phone. However, you did note to wear similar lingerie the next time you saw him, smiling to yourself.

“Sorry, sorry! What do you need darling?” Deciding to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, you put him on speaker, leaning forward to read the screen and dictating the points to him.

Essentially, the label and their lawyers had decided not to sue Namjoon if he paid the minimal contract breaking fee and gave them the rights to the songs he had already sent them demos for, four in total. You had countered that with the demand that the song may never be used by Generation Swine and that they may be used by other artists of the label if they gave Namjoon full credits, including in the title and changed none of the original lyrics.

Initially, you had been surprised that they had easily agreed. You had thought they would fight you more on it, but they were happy to agree and sign, and despite your reservations, you were obligated to provide this information to Namjoon.

“That sounds… great actually,” he said after a pause. “My name in the title too? That’s kinda crazy they agreed to it.”

“Perhaps your name carries more weight than you thought,” you commented, eyes still glued to the screen, lip between your teeth.

“I mean especially if we do a comeback,” he replied, a little smug and you couldn’t help but knock him down a notch, just to tease him.

“Last I heard, no one wants a comeback,” you grinned.

“Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?” he volleyed back, his laugh carrying through the static making you mirror it.

“I’m sure Hoseok would love to hear that you're the leader,” you teased, only to get a scoff in return.

“Hobi knows I’m the leader,” he gloated.

“All hail President Kim,” you acquiesced through a giggle.

“That’s right,” he said, pleased and you could just imagine him puffing up his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way… What are you wearing?”

“I am not sexting you, Namjoon!” you protested, laughing at his one track mind and crossing your legs.

“Okay fine. What about… a date? When are you free?” he asked and you couldn’t help the way a blush grew on your cheeks, a giddiness you hadn’t experienced in too long bubbling inside you.

“As soon as you sign this agreement,” you answered, emailing him a copy of the document as you took him off speaker and leaned back on your couch. “So after the final meeting with the label tomorrow?”

“Well lucky for you, I can’t wait to see you,” he said, his sincerity easily flowing through the line and melting your heart in your chest.

—-----

Namjoon was livid. Pacing around his living room, he scrolled through his twitter to find himself trending. Thousands of people were talking about a Dark and Wild comeback, every single person referring to one video in particular. A blank screen with his voice echoing through: ”Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?”

There was only one explanation for why this was suddenly going viral. There was only one person who had access to this. His heart plummeted to his stomach at the thought. He had trusted you. Trusted you with his secrets, trusted you with his authentic self. But you were just like everyone else, weren’t you? Just a clout chaser that went to the press at the first opportunity. He had to commend you. You played a long con, most of the women he had been involved with leaked pictures of him the moment he let them into his house, but you had been cunning, waiting till he had handed you his heart on a platter to shatter it mercilessly.

He could feel his hair stand at the thought of what else you might share of his life. Would you be like the first woman he had dated after Seo? The one who went on television with an exclusive interview talking about his dick. The interview his daughter’s classmates had bullied her with. He felt panicked as he called you. Would you go for an interview too? Expose how he had introduced his wife to a drug that took her life? Expose how much a failure he was and destroy the carefully curated narrative his PR team presented to the world?

His feet moved faster as if they were trying to keep up with his heart, each ring distracting him further, making him bump into the coffee table, spilling his morning coffee on the spotless surface. He watched the brown liquid cover the glass expanse before trickling onto the marble one drop at a time, mimicking the sweat that gathered on his forehead.

When you picked up, his body responded like usual, warming at the sleepy rasp, the one he remembered from a few weeks ago when you had woken up with your limbs wrapped around him, the sunlight brightening your smile. Stupid. He was so stupid!

“Why would you do this? I trusted you! I trusted you with my plans! My life! How the fuck could you do this to me?” he yelled, his frustration manifesting in a lump in his throat, choking his words, making them spill out strained and distorted. He didn’t let you speak, interrupting your feigned confusion. He didn’t have time to be nice. He had to figure out how to fix this. He needed to check on the guys. He needed to check on Moon. This was too much.

So he spoke even faster, let his bitter betrayal flavour his words with the worst expletives he could muster and ending the call with a simple threat, “Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me. I never wanna fucking see you again. I hope that degree is good enough because I’m gonna sue you out of every fucking penny you have. Mark my words, Y/N.”

He was panting by the time he hung up, lungs aching as they expanded, tears flowing as he realised just how much it hurt. His grip on his phone tightened and before he knew it he was throwing it across the room, shattering it against the wall with a frustrated scream.

“Dad?”

His daughter’s surprised voice pulled him out of his head, freezing him where he was still pacing, the adrenaline from earlier vanishing into exhaustion. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and mustering a smile before turning around, trying immensely hard to put up a brave front. But he had forgotten how precocious his daughter was, how she saw through him as she held his hand and settled him on the couch.

She brought him a bottle of water, waiting for him to drink before sitting next to him, posture impeccable and jaw tightened in a scowl. He saw himself in her at that moment, the expression one he would give his band members when they strayed out of line. Now he knew why they listened, even on a sixteen year old the look was intimidating.

“Dad, was that you talking to Y/N?” she asked, arms crossed across her chest and for a moment Namjoon felt sheepish, guilty that she had heard the ugly words he had spoken. Yet that guilt did not extend to you. He knew that if he didn’t threaten you, the things you might say to the press would have a lasting impression on his daughter.

She knew the circumstances of her mother’s death, but she never knew how complicit he had been. She always looked up to him as a role model, and he didn’t think his heart could ever take it if that illusion shattered. But he got a glimpse of that when he quietly affirmed her suspicion and watched her face fall, the scowl replaced with a sadness he wished he could erase.

“I’m really disappointed in you, dad,” she sighed, shaking her head and her words felt like a sword piercing through Namjoon’s chest. He had worked so hard to make sure she never felt that way. He knew she deserved a much better father than him, and he had tried so hard to ensure that; he had worked jobs he hated, he had read hundreds of parenting books, and he had gone to therapy. Yet the words seemed to come so easily to her, permeating the air with a tension that stiffened Namjoon’s shoulders and put him on the defensive.

“Have you seen the internet? She betrayed us, Moonie,” he retorted, voice a little colder than he wanted, but he couldn’t help it, fire stoked once again.

“Did she tell you it was her?” she replied with an eye roll, so naive.

“There could have been no one else. It was a private conversation between us.”

“But did you hear her out? All I could hear was you yelling,” she protested and Namjoon couldn’t help but shake his head. Not only had you fucked with his head, but you had also somehow put his daughter under your spell as well, especially when she continued, “You were mean. You threatened her!”

“It was to protect us. We can’t have random people think they can get away with stuff like this,” he tried to explain, watching his daughter get agitated and looking like a kid once again with her pigtails bouncing. She kept telling him he was wrong despite his efforts to remain calm and expound on his stance.

“You like her! She’s a lawyer. Why would she do this?” she argued and Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how innocent his daughter was. He hoped she remained this optimistic forever, that she didn’t have to go through the duplicity he had experienced in his life. The more he tried to explain to her that that’s what people were like sometimes, that it was hard to trust anyone other than family, the more agitated he got at her denial.

Any other time, he would be proud of her for sticking to her stance and arguing through her thoughts, but Namjoon was exhausted. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he had found out this audio was leaked was not because of the news, but because his PR firm had called him about it. They had traced the origin to a dummy Twitter account which had posted and tagged it multiple times. They had also traced the IP address to where he knew your apartment was. There was no room for doubt when everything was crystal clear.

And so for the first time, he snapped at his daughter.

“Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I’m the parent, not you. Go to your room.”

He always hated parents that dangled their authority over their children. His parents were like that and although he was past it now, he remembered resenting them for it when he was younger. He resented their inability to talk things through, to listen to his point of view. It had taken him years to get over that feeling, but he never felt true empathy for them until this moment, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter angrily stomp towards her room.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face in defeat. With the anger fading, came the heartbreak. He really had thought you were special, someone who somehow understood him. A chance encounter that led to him shedding the walls he had reinforced in the past ten years. He was upset about the betrayal, but his fear was more pressing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to trust anyone again and that thought chilled him to the core. Years of therapy had taught him out of his usual defence mechanisms, to replace the toxicity with healthy coping, yet his chest felt tight as he felt the intense need to wallow.

An arm over his eyes, he tried not to notice how his skin turned moist and instead focused on what he did when he felt this way. Standing up, he grabbed his keys and headed to his studio.

—-------

You were still in bed, hand clutching your phone as Namjoon’s words rang in your head. Scrolling through the news you could see why he was seething. If you were him, you would’ve jumped to the same conclusion, but you knew it wasn’t you that leaked the video. Being hacked was out of the question, you had obscenely long passwords and two factor authentication on everything – working with high powered clients tended to seep into paranoia. Additionally, it wasn’t like you were recording the conversation in the first place. It was as if someone was in the room with you, taking notes of your conversation. Namjoon had even mentioned something about being sure it came from your address.

And then it dawned on you.

Phone clutched in your hand, you headed to your spare room, knocking furiously till a yawning Hera appeared. Her long hair stuck out at weird angles, pajamas frumpled and the impression of a pillow still on her face. She seemed like she was sleeping so soundly and it only made the anger licking at your veins ignite further.

Holding up your phone, you played the video, seething. “Did you leak this?”

“Ugh, this is what you woke me up for? Yeah. Now, let me go to bed,” she yawned, moving to close the door before you stopped her.

You expected her to deny it, to make an excuse but her blatant admittance to invading your privacy had you spiralling. You had put up with a lot with her. You had excused her shitty decisions, you had excused her inability to ever pay for anything, but this was too much.

“This was a private conversation, Hera,” you gritted, getting angrier as she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Celebrities aren’t private,” she replied nonchalantly. “Think of it like I was a paparazzi.”

“But that’s the thing. You’re not. This was a private conversation and you recorded it. Do you not understand how fucked up that is?”

“Oh my god! Give me a break! I didn’t even release the juicy stuff. I could’ve told the world you were dating that guy but I didn’t because I’m your friend.”

You couldn’t help but sputter at her rationalisation. It was absurd how she thought it was okay to do this. You knew her morals weren’t always aligned with yours, but you never realised how far they had truly skewed. How had you missed this in all these years? How had you not realised how one sided this relationship had become? Why did you keep putting up with her when she never showed you an ounce of respect?

“Get out,” you said, trying to hold back your vexation.

“What? You’re kicking me out now?” she laughed as if it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

“I said get out. I want you out of here by tonight.”

“Come on! I’m sorry Y/N. Is that what you want to hear?” she pouted, turning her voice higher to be cuter. Perhaps it would have worked in the past. Maybe it had, for her to pull it out of her arsenal, but she had gone too far. Much too far. When you repeated your words once again, she seemed angry, spitting at you how she knew you were trying to get Ryan back and she needed to always record you to make sure she could trust you. It was absurd and you didn’t want to expend any more energy on her. You were done.

You left her screaming at you, grabbing your keys and sending her one last warning before slamming the door and going to your office.

“You take your stuff and you get out. If I find anything missing or if you’re still here when I get back, I’m calling the police.”

—-------

Despite the odd look security gave your outfit as you walked into your building on a Sunday morning, you were too wired up to care. It wasn’t unusual for you to be one track minded when it came to something. You often got borderline obsessed, and today you had only one thing on your mind – get that video off the internet. Settling in your office, you scanned your shelves for books on defamation and invasion of privacy. It would make a flimsy case, Namjoon said his name on the recording after all, but if you could find a precedent, you could perhaps develop a useful argument.

When your shelves did not give you the answers you were looking for, you made your way across the empty floor to the in-house library, picking up anything of use. Before long, you were sitting at your desk, piles of books and the internet calming your nerves. However, the more you read, the more the pit in your stomach grew. It felt fruitless, looking for a needle in a vast ocean.

You needed this win to clear your name, but more importantly, you needed it to help Namjoon. It had been so long since anyone made you feel safe, made you feel as if you were worthy of their vulnerability and your heart ached as you imagined how he must have felt seeing your private conversation in the headlines. Head pounding, you tugged at your hair in frustration, reading the same line over and over till the words held no meaning at all.

You opened your drawer, rummaging for some painkillers till your hand closed around the bottle. Pulling it out, your eyes landed on the chocolate bars Namjoon had insisted on you stashing in your office. “In case you ever have a bad day!” he had exclaimed when he handed you a bunch of his favourites. The memory seemed bitter now, but you still picked up a bar, ripping it open and letting the sweet taste distract you with its endorphins.

Maybe it was pathetic crying in your rapidly darkening office with chocolate smeared on your face but everything felt overwhelming all of a sudden. If you had only lost Namjoon perhaps you would have been able to hold it together. You had dealt with breakups, not sure if the short lived stint with the celebrity even counted as a breakup. But it was the loss of Hera that had you sniffling, curled up on your chair. She wasn’t the greatest of friends but she was your best friend, had been for years and you would do anything to protect her. It pained you that she didn’t even think of extending you the same courtesy, that for her you had somehow gone from a confidant to an untrustworthy roommate.

Despite your efforts, she seemed to always look for the worst in you. As you ruminated over the decade-long friendship, more instances became obvious. It was as if every toxic red flag had been ignored by you. Were you really that desperate for kinship that you let every time she put you down slide by?

They weren’t big things, you thought. A slight here, a ruthless comment there before she was telling you to chill out and hugging you. You always thought that her comments were innocent, that they were just a part of her love language. She liked to joke around, poke fun at your outfits, your hobbies, but the more you thought about it, the harder it was for you to remember moments when she had been kind, when she had stood up for you.

Perhaps it was your fault for forgiving her time and time again, for putting up with her behaviour. Maybe this whole leak debacle wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you had called her out on her bullshit earlier. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered your friendship when she never offered to pay rent, or when she started dating your cheating, hateful ex. Was she really at fault if you had never set the boundaries in the first place?

Sighing, you set your head on the table. Hoping to will away the headache, you closed your eyes.

It seemed merely minutes had passed when your phone chimed, startling you awake but the time on the screen alarmed you. It was just past 1am. Somehow you had spent the majority of your day sleeping at your desk. Your back ached from the angle, but the pain was forgotten when your phone chimed once again. Wiping your eyes you took a closer look at your screen.

Namjoon - Missed calls (5)

Namjoon: Is Moon with you? Namjoon: Please call me back Namjoon: Please Namjoon: I’m really sorry but please I can’t find Moon

Panic surged through you at his words, your fingers flying on the screen as you called him back. The phone rang twice before Namjoon’s ragged voice was bombarding you with questions, “Where are you? Is Moon with you? Has she contacted you?”

“No, but we can find her. Namjoon, listen, calm down. We’ll find her.” You tried to comfort him but it seemed that he was spiralling, muttering about being a bad father. It was a drastic contrast to his earlier fire, alarm dousing his tone in helplessness. He went on to tell you that her phone was at home, that he hadn’t seen her for hours, and the police had told him they’d make the case a priority.

“What if she was kidnapped? What if people think that I’m famous again and they can put her for ransom?” he rambled, clearly distressed. Trying to distract him from his dark thoughts, you asked him about all the places she could be and when he informed you that everyone was looking at her usual spots, you decided to search up other spots in the city where she could be, looking up parks and concert venues. With assurance that you will look for her, you hung up the phone, ran to your car and started your search of the city.

1 am on a Monday doesn’t lead to many crowds so it was easy to go through the top spots that you had listed. You even rented a bike and biked up and down the Han river park but other than a few drunks, you found no trace of her. Back in your car, you tried to run through every conversation with her, there had been so few, and she hadn’t mentioned anything. Giving up, you hoped that they had found her and forgotten to tell you. You were an insignificant part of their lives anyway.

Calling Namjoon didn’t work, his phone just rang through each time. You knew you should just go home and let him deal with it, he had his best friends and the police on his side, he didn’t need you, someone he didn’t even trust anymore, to tag along. But the unrest in your chest wouldn’t let you turn your car around. Instead, you drove to his apartment as if on instinct. If he wanted you out, he would tell you, he clearly had no problem making his opinions known when he wanted to.

When you knocked on his door, you were met by a Namjoon you hadn’t seen before. Eyes red, hair a mess, he let you in before starting his pacing again, rambling about how he was a terrible father, interrupting you angrily when you tried to tell him otherwise.

“I told her to go to her room! Do you know how fucked up that is?” he yelled, confusing you further.

“Namjoon… a lot of kids get sent to their room. That’s not a bad thing,” you cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Not Moon. She was… so disappointed in me. I’m not supposed to be like those other parents! What if… what if that’s the last thing I say to her?” His lip quivered as he spoke, facade crumbling as he fell to his knees, taking you with him. For all the vitriol he had spewed that morning, it seemed that Namjoon just wanted you close, clinging on to you in his panic. You couldn’t help but hold him close, even if it was temporary, wishing to provide him with comfort as long as he allowed.

It was in that position that Moon found the two of you when she returned, immediately running to her father.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, kneeling next to you as Namjoon stared at her before pulling her into a bone-crushing bone crushing hug.

“Where were you? I was so worried!” he scolded, unable to stop the huge relieved grin on his face. He patted her hair as if to feel if she was real and you couldn’t help but be endeared by the pure display as they bickered, It was heartwarming to see Moon trying to explain to her worried father that she had merely forgotten her phone at home and gone to a concert with friends.

“You could’ve messaged from someone’s phone or left a note!” Namjoon argued, still hugging her.

“I left a note on the fridge!” she replied as Namjoon sheepishly made excuses as to how he had been too worried to even check the kitchen fridge.

The two were in their own bubble and it made you a little awkward to be watching such an intimate family moment when before the disaster it was made clear that you were no longer welcomed in Namjoon’s life. With a heavy heart, you stood up taking your leave despite Moon’s insistence for you to stay the rest of the night.

As you were leaving, Jungkook and Yoongi came by, both equally relieved to find their niece safe and sound. When the elevator doors closed in front of you, you decided that it was better to have gotten a glimpse into the lives of people you admired than to have never had that time with them at all. It still hurt to have Namjoon distrust you so easily, even if rationally it made sense as to why he did. You were only a fleeting moment and that was okay.

You were grateful for the time you spent with him.

—-------

It had been a week since he berated and then asked you for a favour, and Namjoon didn’t think he could ever feel so empty again. He stared at the glass of whiskey in front of him, trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to call you. Would you hear him out, let him apologise or would you just brush him off?

You hadn’t apologised for the leak and even if he did overreact in the moment, he knew that it was unfair of you to do that. But after how quick you had jumped in to help him search for Moon and how none of his other secrets came into the limelight, his gut told him that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you had gotten hacked, or he had gotten hacked. Maybe there was an explanation that didn’t lead to him losing you from his life. But then again, did he even deserve to invite you back in when he had so ruthlessly shoved you out. Damn, he even threatened to sue you!

“Joon hyung! I’m trying to tell you all something!” Jungkook whined, the addition of the term of respect alluding to Namjoon that he had been calling his name for a while. The guys had dropped the honorifics once they had disbanded, an effort to see each other on equal footing as friends, but the habit was especially hard to drop for the youngest. Namjoon chuckled at his friend with a nod as the rest of the band grumped at Jungkook to continue.

“So… the leak was actually good huh?” he commented, large eyes scanning the faces of the six men around him eagerly. For someone who was dead set against a comeback, it seemed that the sudden downpour of support from old and new fans alike had swayed Jungkook.

Jungkook was barely even a teenager when Dark and Wild launched, so it was no surprise that Shadows held a very big spot in his heart, multiple tattoos alluding to the fact. Namjoon remembered when a doe-eyed Jungkook had excitedly shown him his first fan letter, one that was still framed in his living room.

It was endearing to see him this excited about returning, but for all his plans, Namjoon felt guilty that the thing that convinced the members to pursue a comeback was not his and your hard work but a mistake. He felt uneasy, a clawing feeling in his chest making him feel as if he had forgotten something behind.

He knew it was you.

Somehow in the months of planning, you had become intertwined with his vision of a comeback. When he imagined picking songs for the album, he thought of your input. He imagined your name in the end notes of the cover. He imagined you in the studio during practice and in the wings at the first concert.

It wasn’t a comeback if you weren’t there to enjoy it with him. Even if you never wanted to talk to him again, he wanted to experience everything because you had so easily given him access to your time and your intelligence. Perhaps he should’ve never crossed that line. Perhaps he should’ve remained professional and not let his lonely heart fiddle with his brain.

“So wait… we all want to actually do this?” Jimin asked, the men continuing their discussion, oblivious to how Namjoon had once again reverted into his head. Everyone nodded along, except Seokjin who sat with a frown on his face.

“I don’t know… Go back to the limelight? Do you think we’re ready for that again?” he asked tentatively, his lower lip between his teeth. “It was a lot of pressure on all of us, all of our partners too.”

“We’re older now. We know our limits better now. We know ourselves better now,” Hoseok consoled quietly, slurring a little and sipping his drink, his face already flaring red from the alcohol. Seokjin laughed at the juxtaposition of Hoseok’s serious tone and sleepy eyes.

“Okay. If you can beat me at rock, paper, scissors, I’m in,” he joked holding up a fist as Hoseok squared up, much to the annoyance of the rest of the band.

“Why do we always have to do rock, paper, scissors for everything?” Taehyung bemoaned, leaning back on the couch staring at the ceiling with a huff as Jungkook coached Hoseok through whispers.

“Because democracy,” Seokjin grinned, chanting 'rock, paper, scissors’ before leaving his fist as is to signal rock just a few seconds after Hoseok showed his hand, paper.

“I won!” Hoseok gleed excitedly before stopping short and staring at his friends. “I won… We’re doing a comeback?”

“We’re doing a comeback,” Seokjin laughed, trying not to hint that he had agreed before the game even started, even when Yoongi smiled knowingly at him. “Good job, Joonie.”

Namjoon couldn’t help getting a little flustered at the sudden praise from his bandmate, his heart beating faster. He had waited so long for this, that it seemed surreal that it was happening. Standing up, he raised his glass to the middle, proposing a toast.

“Dark and Wild,” he cheered, the men echoing him as seven glasses clinked together.

Fuck, they were really doing a comeback, weren’t they?

—-------

When you had left Namjoon’s apartment two weeks ago, you were sure that you would never return. There was no reason to climb the gilded elevator to the cosy home, especially with the radio silence that had continued between the two of you. You were sure he still thought you were responsible for the leak and you should’ve been mad that he never tried to hear you out, but your empathy wouldn’t let you. It made sense with how guarded he was to assume the worst, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t hope that he would call you and make things right.

Waiting for the elevator, it wasn’t Namjoon that invited you back, but Moon. She had messaged you requesting your presence at her birthday and after Namjoon had explained how he tried to make each of her birthdays magical, there was no way you could refuse. You knew it would be awkward, stilted as you tried to go through a group of Namjoon’s friends and family, but you would hate it if you were the one who took away the magic of birthdays from a girl that always believed in them.

You watched the buttons light up as the elevator ascended, a set of drumsticks gift wrapped in your hands. Your nerves flared the closer you got to the penthouse and you laughed at how ridiculous you were being. Namjoon wasn’t even an ex, he was just a beginning that never led anywhere. If anything you should’ve been grateful that it never led to more. It would have broken you if it had. But you were strong, ready to impart your birthday greeting with a brave face and leave after ten minutes.

It was only ten minutes. You could do it.

However, when the doors opened to the apartment, you didn’t see the crowd you had been anticipating. There were no balloons in the living room, no music, no lights. Only Namjoon, seated at a table in the middle of the living room.

The couches and coffee table that usually occupied the space were absent. Instead there was a table with a white cloth draped over it and two chairs. A large dish of pasta sat on the surface, along with a basket of bread, place settings for two, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. Candles on the table gave the room a soft glow, your heart stuttering as Namjoon walked over, biting his lip sheepishly and fiddling with his fingers.

“Hi,” he said, flushing as you looked up at him. Before you could answer, he was apologising. “I’m really, really sorry for being an idiot. I should have never blown up at you like that. That was fucked up and I’m really sorry.”

“Where’s Moon?” you asked, ignoring his apology, just to see him squirm a little more.

“Um… her birthday wish was for us to make up… So she’s at a sleepover with her friends.”

“Well… I got her a present,” you stated awkwardly.

“Oh! I can take it. Thank you,” Namjoon said, taking the present and placing it on the table before clearing his throat. “I’m serious. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I don’t care if you leaked the clip, I’m sure you had a plan and I was an idiot for not lis–.”

“I didn’t leak anything,” you cut him off quietly, watching how his eyes widened in response, a soft “what” escaping his lips. “I didn’t leak it. My roommate recorded us without me knowing. Well, ex roommate.”

“Fuck,” Namjoon breathed before laughing bitterly in disbelief. “I really am an asshole. Wow.”

“I get why you did that though. You had to protect yourself and Moon,” you defended his actions, but he didn’t let you, apologising once more before offering you a seat. When the two of you were settled, he told you about his past, about how other partners had scarred him, how he had somehow been hardwired into accepting the worst in people, and for the first time, you let him in too, sharing your fight with Hera.

“I’m a lawyer, Namjoon. I signed an NDA,” you replied, a finger tracing the wine glass in front of you. Namjoon’s sudden laugh startled you, your eyes meeting his as you watched him cover his mouth.

“Sorry but that’s what Moon said too,” he replied, the tension in the air melting at the comment and a smile lifting your lips.

“Smart daughter you got there,” you complimented, raising your glass. He clinked his own against it before taking a sip.

“That I do,” he easily agreed.

“Tell her that her birthday wish came true.”

“Wait really?” he asked with a grin he couldn’t control. “We made up?”

“If you still want to be friends, I’m okay with that. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon,” you replied, confused as his smile dropped suddenly, his eyes leaving yours to his fingers that traced meaningless patterns against the tablecloth.

“Yeah, friends. I’d love to be your friend. Pasta?” he asked, holding up the bowl overflowing with aglio ollio, a stiff smile plastered on his face. You helped yourself to the food, commenting on the bright flavour as he admitted that he had learnt how to perfect the dish as it was Moon’s favourite, and basically the only thing that he could cook well. The conversation flowed stonely, awkward and even with the conclusion that you were friends, it felt stifled, like the two of you were playing a part in a play, small talk seeming scripted and wooden.

When the dinner came to an end, he protested you clearing the table but you stubbornly carried the plates to the kitchen, starting to wash them as Namjoon tried to stop you. He gave up halfway, content to watch you clean, your earlier words echoing in his head. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon.

He didn’t want to be your friend though. He thought he did. He thought that he would be happy just to have you in his life at a safe distance, but the moment those words had left your lips it was like his stomach fell to the floor. He didn’t want to give you up. He missed you, missed that he had just indulged in you once, woke up next to you once before he had fucked it all up. And before he knew it, those words were escaping him.

“I don’t want to be friends.”

His words rang through you, the last plate you were rinsing slipping slightly from your fingers. You knew it would come to that eventually, that he would realise that it was almost pointless to be your friend. You had hoped it wouldn’t have happened this soon though. With a practised smile, you placed the plate onto the drying rack, wiping your hands on the dish towel stowed next to the sink, ready to take your leave.

“Oh… okay. Thanks for dinner then.”

But before you could move he was coming closer, a hand raised tentatively as he stared at your face, eyes roaming your features and lip tucked beneath his teeth.

“Don’t leave. I… I just… I don’t want to be friends.”

Your eyes met his as the meaning of the words registered slowly, hope blooming in your chest. It lit beneath your skin, coating you like honey, warm and sweet. But you still needed the assurance, “Then what do you want?”

“More,” he whispered, impossibly close now, the air between you sparking, nothing like the insulated tension from earlier. It was as if you could see it in front of it, golden glitter permeating in your vision, softly dispersing as he moved his hand till it was resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking the sparks into a fire.

When he leaned in, he moved slowly, the dark brown of his irises melting into his pupils as they searched yours for any hesitation. And then his lips moved, stealing your attention with their murmurs, “So much more.”

You lashes flickered on their own, eyelids closing seamlessly as his mouth gently met yours with the care you had come to expect of him. In the past months, you had learned that Namjoon cared wholeheartedly for everyone he deemed worthy. He gave his all – his strength, his weaknesses, his whole heart. And with his lips on yours he reminded you once again that you were one of those people he had decided to let in. There was no doubt left anymore as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Chest to chest, you could feel his heart beating against yours as his hands caressed your back as if testing the silk of your blouse before landing on your ass. Fingers squeezing the flesh, he moaned into your mouth eliciting one of your own, a sweet harmony once again united to string together. His body pushed against yours, his arousal impossible to hide as he pushed you against the counter, grinding into you slowly before he was picking you up and depositing you on the surface.

Your legs opened on their own, making space for him as he solidified his place in your heart. His lips migrated to your jaw, your heavy breaths the soundtrack to his journey down your body, each kiss leaving you thrumming and weightless, his long fingers unravelling each button with delicate care. With your shirt wide open, he took a moment to leave your skin to stare at you, the lacy red bra catching his attention before he haphazardly unbuttoned his own shirt, dropping it on the floor and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in a kiss that was no longer gentle but a frenzy.

His tongue wrestled with yours, his mouth swallowing each of your whimpers as he pushed your shirt off, his fingers tracing the lace and pulling it down to release your nipples so he could trace them with his thumbs. You could feel your heart race, your thighs tightening around him as lust flowed through you. It was as if he had your body memorised, knew where each nerve ending sparked into pleasure.

His teeth bit into your neck, blunt and delicious, making you keen before his lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking in a way that made you see stars and dig your fingers into his scalp. You could feel his smile painted on your skin, your eyes seeing how his dimples would pop out in his cheeks even when they were closed. But you wanted more, so much more.

With a shove against his chest, he unlatched from you, staring at you in confusion before you were slipping off the counter and getting on your knees. He could feel the way his dick twitched at the position. He had never imagined you like this before and his mind screamed at him for such a blunder, but then again even he wasn’t creative enough to conjure an image as perfect as your eyes glistening up at him through your lashes, lips swollen from his kisses and hands unbuckling his belt at lightning pace. Before he knew it, his pants were halfway to his thighs, his boxers pushed along with them to reveal his cock.

He forgot to breathe when you smiled up at him radiantly, such an innocent look before you were licking up his length, fingers wrapped around him. You kissed against the head, your tongue circling the skin devilishly before your lips wrapped around him, suckling him slowly. You went deeper with each suck as if wanting to swallow him whole and Namjoon couldn’t keep his wits. How did he get this lucky?

With a large laugh that peetered out into a moan, he braced himself with his hands on the counter behind you, relishing the way your tongue traced his skin each time your head bobbled, turning him into a slow mush. Before he could stop himself, he thrust in your mouth, your moan vibrating around him in such delicious torture that he pulled back abruptly, too afraid to cum before he even got started.

Pulling you up by your hand, he crashed his lips on yours again, hands too eager to rip your pants off you as he wiggled out of his own. It was a silly dance, one that left you giggling in his mouth and had him chuckling back, euphoria bubbling through him.

When both your clothes were discarded, lost in his kitchen, he picked you up, letting you wrap yourself around him like a koala as he walked to his bedroom. He had dreamed of you back here, lost in his sheets as he lost himself in you and if there was one thing Namjoon did, it was go after his dreams.

Depositing you on to the bed he crawled between your legs, forgetting all about teasing to devour your arousal right from the source. A quick squeak left your lips as his tongue met your folds, flicking at your clit as he licked up your slit, stealing your breath. His hands roamed your thighs, eliciting goosebumps and whimpers, squeezing the flesh as his lips latched onto your clit. You were on the brink of your sanity, your vision clouding as he kept up his pulsating suckles. Your fingers wrapped around the sheets, pulling them from the corners as your back arched, hips canting against his face before he was holding them down, lapping at you furiously. His hands, his lips, his fingers all played a part in unravelling you, but it was when you looked down at him and caught the hunger in his eyes as he watched you squirm that made you explode, a loud whimper floating into the air at his unrelenting efforts.

He let you ride out your high before his lips let go, instead moving to kiss at your thighs, leaving little nibbles as they climbed up your body, from your stomach to your breasts to your neck, paying special attention to your tattoo, before he was kissing your lips once again, letting your tongue burst with your flavour.

“More?” he asked, his forehead against yours, his breath cooling your heated cheeks and you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, meeting his lips once again.

“So much more,” you echoed his earlier words, earning his dimples as he pecked your lips, once, twice and then once more before sitting up and reaching in his bedside drawer for a condom. His fingers were nimble, shaking a little from his excitement as he ripped it open and quickly rolled it on. Meeting you in another kiss, his forearms rested next to your head, his hips grinding into you.

Fingers caressing his back, you reached lower till your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it slowly inside you. He entered leisurely, carefully stretching your walls, eyes gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them. The two of you exhaled when he was fully buried inside you, the stillness of the room echoing around you as his fingers slowly moved your hair from your face.

The silence was broken first by your lips meeting eagerly and then by his hips leaving you only to slap back against yours in an intense thrust that led to your moans punctuating the sound. With each one of his strokes, his lips moved further away from yours, your breaths mingling with each other as you lost yourselves. It was ecstatic, the way his body moulded against yours, his chest cushioning you to the mattress, while your legs wrapped around him.

In all your years and all your relationships no one had felt this perfect, this quickly. How every cant of his hips brought you closer to your high, pulled out noises from your lips you had never imagined. He grunted along with you before the tightening of your walls compelled him to reach for your clit to prolong his pleasure more, to make you writhe around him more, to make your lips seek for his more. He met your desperation with his own, tongue meeting your teeth in a flurry as his abs clenched tighter, your thighs trapping him against you, your fingernails digging crescents into his ass.

Like a wave ebbing higher and higher, you wrapped yourself tighter around him, limbs locked in ecstasy before you crashed with a high-pitched whine of his name, your legs jerking with the sudden pleasure coursing through you in a rush. He moved faster, harder, keeping you suspended as his lips found yours again. Chanting your name in a stuttered whine, his high followed quickly after yours, leaving him breathless on top of you, his face buried in your neck.

When your heart had steadied, he leaned up, kissing you decadently, luxuriating in your taste, a gentle aftermath of the flurry from earlier. His fingers stroked your scalp, leaving behind content tingles that soothed you, your fingers mirroring his actions through his hair.

You had never felt so at peace.

When he had his fill of your lips, he stood up, admiring your body before pulling you with him into the shower. Slowly kisses under warm water never felt better, your hands indulging in his body, roaming over his sculpted chest and toned stomach.

“I missed you,” he confessed, arms around you as water flowed from him to you, both of you revelling in the warmth of the water, of the moment.

“I missed you, too,” you replied, standing on the tip of your toes to kiss his nose, enjoying the way the action made him blush and shyly hide his face with a giggle.

Dressed in his oversized t-shirt, you climbed into bed, watching as he tidied up, folding your clothes. It was an endearing habit, one he picked up from cleaning Moon’s toys when she was younger, too many legos under his feet a painful motivator. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket before climbing in next to you, his chest moulded to your back, long arms around you as he told you about different songs he had been working on. He didn’t have the strongest of vocals, but his low gruff was comforting, it’s unpolished notes a serenade as he scrolled through his demos, playing snippets.

“I might’ve been inspired by the night of your birthday for this one,” Namjoon admitted quietly as he played the next song, his face buried behind your shoulders. It was a fast beat, the bass notes popping with a fun melody, electronic drums bouncing along. But what truly made your heart flutter were the words, his husky voice singing them softly.

Too many words circle around me But none of them feel how I feel I just feel it Like the moon rises after the sun rises Like how fingernails grow Like trees that shed their bark once a year That you are the one who will give meaning to my memories Who will make a 'person' into 'love'

You pouted as the song continued, a beautiful confession that had you turning in his arms to kiss him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. No one had ever written you a song, no one had ever expressed their feelings like this before, in a way that was almost bordering on magical. If your younger self knew that the lead of your fantasies would be singing you something he wrote solely for you, she would’ve passed out. The song ended with the chorus and a request.

You're my person, my person, my person You're my desire, my desire, my desire You're my pride, my pride, my pride You're my love One and only love You know... We were always meant to be... Destiny... I hope you feel the same with me..

“I do feel the same,” you murmured against his lips, kissing his smile as he pulled you closer, legs tangled with yours.

“Good because this is going in the album and it would suck if it didn’t make you smile every time I played it,” he teased, kissing your nose before you leaned away, looking at him confused.

“Album?”

“Comeback album. Dark and Wild’s back.” He grinned widely and even though usually you’d be distracted by his dimples, this time no matter how large your eyes got you couldn’t register them. Because in your head there was a childish giddiness you had thought you would never experience. Holding up a finger, you turned away from him to grab a pillow, screaming in excitement, limbs flailing as your adolescent dreams of a reunion came true. You knew it was going to happen but you never imagined how much the news would affect you.

Namjoon laughed, pulling the pillow from over your head and kissing you once more, your excitement making him even more eager for the comeback. He laid you on his chest as you asked him questions and he regaled the story of how the decision was made based on a game of chance and your roommate’s stupid actions.

“Thank you for helping me get my dream again,” Namjoon whispered, grateful that he had written to you and that you had responded.

He owed a lot to fate for whisking you into his arms.

—————

Epilogue

It was dark around you, but that was only because the lights on stage were so bright. Music boomed. Guitar riffs were clean even with their distortion. Drums were loud, cracking in the air. Hoseok’s growl echoed through your bones as you watched Dark and Wild perform, the sweet smell of manufactured smoke surrounding you. Yoongi did his signature move, licking up the fretboard of his guitar as Jimin grinned, lip between his teeth, and muted chords spilling from his amp. Right at the chorus, Seokjin kneeled on the ground, blowing a kiss to the audience as he played along, right when Taehyung started belting, licking his lips and letting the words float out of him. Jungkook played faster, increasing the tempo of the song just as his drum set was lifted into the air, spinning in circles, metres above the stage. You cheered loudly as the song ended, Namjoon looking for you in the wings and tossing a wink cheekily.

It was like being thrown back in time. It was surreal. Yet, it was so real.

Moon squealed next to you when Hoseok introduced her, a stark contrast to how she was tapping her drumsticks on her legs nervously a few minutes ago. “Good luck,” you whispered with a hug, and she squeezed you tight before running onto the stage in her ripped jeans and black tulle top, a grungy throwback to the outfits she used to wear as a kid.

Sitting on a second drum set, she waved to the crowd as Jungkook timed her in, the two setting off into a vicious solo together as Seokjin and Namjoon provided the background to the melodic dissonance. The crowd went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs, and you even saw someone throw their bra on stage, just like old times.

The show ended with the first song the band had ever released, War of Hormones. The lyrics were a little cringey with time, but the band laughed along as they played, bantering about how stupid their teenage selves were during the guitar solo. But you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you watched them perform, your face hurting from how hard you were smiling, your fingers wrapped around the pass on your neck.

Heart pounding in time with the bass, you watched the guys finish their last song to an earth shattering applause, the crowd going wild. It seemed that the floor was shaking with their stomps and claps.

Centre stage, the men took a bow, before Namjoon put Moon on his shoulders and the group recreated the photo they took on the last day of their tour before retiring. He made a stupid joke about his back hurting when he put her down, Moon returning her own quip about him being old as the audience laughed.

With their arms around each other, Hoseok spoke into the mic, beaming into the crowd.

“Thank you Shadows! We’ve been Dark and Wild and fuck it’s good to be back!”

taglist - @awhnamjoon @alpacaseoks @raplinesmoon @codeinebelle @aislinnstanaka @miscelunaaa @moonchild1 @shydestinyyouth @itsjaneeet @piecesofapril11 @yoontaethings @jeonyreads

Thank you for reading this fic! If you liked it, please tell me your thoughts. I worked very hard on this and would appreciate your feedback! 🥰🥺

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vinetae · 1 year

Text

KNJ - Tailored To You: 0neshot

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ꜱᴇᴀᴍꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ᴄᴇᴏ!ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ, ꜱᴇᴀᴍꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ!ᴏᴄ,

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪ��: ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱᴀʟ. ʙᴜᴛ,

ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ..

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ, ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀꜱꜱ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ-ᴘɪᴇ, ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ!ᴋɪɴᴋ, (ꜰ.ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ), ʜɪɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ,

ᴇʟɪᴢᴀ'ꜱ ᴊᴏᴛ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ꜱᴇᴡɪɴɢ ᴅᴇꜱᴋ. ꜰᴇʟᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙɪɢ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴄᴇᴏ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴏʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ!ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ ꜰɪᴄ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ɢᴜᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ..?

ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ, ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

Main Masterlist

Songs:

High For This

Daddy Issues

“Almost got it…” Your hands steadily attach the sticky panel meticulously to the piece of work you’d been working on the whole day. “Please please please..” You silently pray to any God who could hear the trembling in your voice, delicately pressing the panel to the bust of your masterpiece.

“And..g-”

“OMG!!!” The loud pitched squeal knocks your hand from its place, completely destroying the glue that was holding the panel to fabric. You groan, sending a death stare Sandy’s way.

“Sandra!!” Yelling, she looks back your way, mouthing a small ‘oops’ before returning to her phone. You make a b-line to where she’s leaned up against the counter, her many projects still having yet to be touched. “This puppy’s so cute!!” You snatch her phone, turning the small device off before sliding it into your jeans pocket. “HEY! Give that back, Y/n!”

“No!” You start pacing your way over to your corner of the store, continuing the project that’s due in less than 2 days. Now because of Sandra, you’ll have to practically beg the production studio to not cut your pay for tardiness.

“I said give it back!” She keeps yelling, but you ignore her whines. She scoffs, going over to sit at her work table. A mumbled word you could only assume was profanity, spoken grumpily under her breath. You happened to catch the vulgar slang, sighing at her childness.

“Bitch..”

~ ~ ~ ~~ ~

“Finally..” It took you almost 5 more hours, but the mold had finally attached to the fabric. You sigh in relief, checking the clock to make sure you’d have enough time for the rhinestones. You grab extra glue, carefully placing the jewels on with tweezers.

Ding

“Sandra” You call softly, too distracted by this tedious task.

ding

“Sandra, go help them” You repeat, eyes focused on how the expensive gems shimmer from the warm afternoon light that seeps into your workspace.

ding

“Ugh!” You frustratingly place the tweezers down, walking up to the counter to help the customer. He sports a raggedy gray tee, multiple holes punctured through the thin fabric. The man, slouched and dazed by something. The holes match his bottoms, ragged and dirty. Nevertheless, he’s still a human being.

“Hi, how can I help you?” His gaze runs over all of the costumes and pieces that decorate the store.

“A suit please.” His voice gruffed and harsh. Long stubble covers most of his lips.

You nod, calling Sandra in here -because it was her forte-

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes y/n! What do you-” She unplugs her earbuds, face contorting to disgust at the man.

“Ew..” She mumbles under her breath, switching her eyes to fixate on your own.

You embarrassingly clear your throat, silently letting her know that you’d have a very important conversation after this.

“W-what she means is ew…she has to go clean the bathrooms now-” The man doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t say anything.

“WHAT?!” You crane your neck her way, giving a death glare. Surprisingly, she cowers down.

‘Y-yeah…Bye.” She walks back behind the sheer curtains that blocked off the customer section from employees only.

There had been silence for a second, before he had cleared his throat. “Maybe I should come back another day..” He starts to make his way to the exit.

‘No, sir! I’m so sorry for her behavior.” You follow, trying to stop the man. You’d felt really bad after the introductions, you had to make it up to him somehow.

“It’s okay young lady..I’ll just come back later. I need to clean up apparently..” His voice sounds very saddened.

‘Please sir, she didn’t mean it. There’s nothing wrong with how you look, I promise. I feel terrible for her behavior. I’ll make sure to properly set her straight later..” That last part you had mumbled, hoping to keep it to yourself. He’d heard. He meets your eyes, your hand unconsciously wrapped around his forearm. He felt built..

He thinks for a second, and nods. “No, she’s right. I probably do smell..” He sadly chuckles, keeping the gaze you have between you two.

“Please… Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” He stops. A nervous energy settles into the store. Wrapping around you the most, like a possible poisonous snake.

After a few seconds, he shakes his head, continuing to walk out.

You felt terrible. How could Sandra not even treat this man with at least a little respect!??! You’re pissed now. Not only had she lost a customer, disrespected him, she just dragged the whole store’s reputation. She practically treated him like a pile of dirt.

By this time, you’re furious.

You make your way to the back of the store, seeing Sandra scrolling Tik Tok using your computer. What. The. Fuck. No, you’ve had it. You stand in front of the desk, slamming the device shut. “Hey! What gives!?”

“What gives!? Your behavior, Sandra!” She stands, pushing her chair out from up under her. The piece of metal making a huge screeching sound across the concrete floors.

“It was unacceptable! First, I tell you to start on the plastic ties for Miss Calthy’s dress form, you ignore me. Second, you just disrespected a customer, no, A HUMAN BEING just because you can’t learn how to SHUT IT.”

She looks shocked from your sudden burst of emotions.

“I don’t care if you came from fucking LOUIS VITTON. That’s NOT how you treat someone! Especially the elderly!” Your words pushed her into a corner, tears starting to well in her eyes. You stop, finally taking on a calmer disposition.

‘Look, I can’t fire you. But, if you don’t clean up your act and start actually working, I’m going to file a listless complaint to Mr.Kim.” Her eyes go cartoon-wide at your words. She falls to the ground, begging on her knees.

“N-no! Please Y/n, I-I promise I’ll be better! Please don’t tell him!” She weakly crawls over to the broom and dust pan, making quick of her poor job of sweeping. “L-look I-I’m cleaning like you said!” Tears still swelling in her ducts. You fold your arms across your chest, sighing.

This was pitiful.

The weaker side of you gets the best “Fine. But you’d better keep your word” She nods uncontrollably, smiling while still crying. “Thank You! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She hugs you tightly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Interesting..” He pulls away from the tall brick wall, peeling himself from the gum filled plank. He slides his phone back into his eaten-away pocket, a small smile presses his lips.

“She’ll do wonderfully.”

______________________________________________________________

Ding

The first time Baek-hyun had introduced you and Sandra both, she had this puppy-like innocence to herself. Well she did hold up to her puppy side. Leaving messes everywhere she went, cups, food, and even snotty tissues across your workspace. A customer had to even come to you, complaining on how she would try taking selfies with the ‘hot’ men who were about to get married. As the manager, you actually had called your company’s label, asking for a listless complaint sheet. They told you to wait a few days. It’s been almost a year. You’d given up, submitting to the fact that she was now in your everyday life, and that you’ll just have to deal with it.

The ding of the front door alerted another presence once more. “Sandra, get it, I’m bu-”

“On it!” She rushed past your focused self, rushing to get the door for the person. Well, she definitely has changed for the better. Let’s hope it stays like this.

“Welcome to Kim’s secret wor-” You heard her stop the introduction. You sigh.

It might be another ‘not 10’ according to Sandra. you thought.

“Sandra what’d I tell you about being ni-” You stop. A man dressed in a Chanel dress suit, gold cuffs accentuating the slim wrists he possessed. His waist, cinched perfectly to hug his built figure. He looked.. Wo-

“Ah, there she is.” He makes his way over to your stunned self, meeting to look in your eyes. Sandra had been just as stunned. “Miss..” He glances at your nametag.

“Miss Y/n.” He gets a taste of your name on his tongue, liking the feeling of it.

“Can I help you sir?” You ask, trying to maintain your professional demeanor.

“Actually, I can help you. Can we…” He glances back at Sandra, who’s been making googly eyes at him for the past ten minutes.

“Talk somewhere private, please?” You didn’t know who this man was. A sales rep? No, he would’ve gone through Mr. Kim. Landlord? No, they would’ve contacted headquarters for that. Loan sharks?!?!

Your mind races with possibilities, which haven't been the best outcomes.

“Miss Y/n?” He calls again, finally pulling you out of your own head.

“Y-yes..Uh. In the back, here.” He nods, following your movements while holding a hand up to Sandra, silently demanding that she does not follow you two.

“Lucky bitch…” She mumbles, while going to grab the broom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You immediately start apologizing, What had you been sorry for though?

“I’m so sorry sir I-” She starts chuckling at your speed.

‘Sorry? What are you sorry for?” You pause, not really knowing. He smiles, pulling a chair out from up under the metal table that you usually take lunch at, motioning for you to sit. You oblige.

He takes a seat, starting off. “About the other day-”

Oh God. The man went to HQ about us!! He’s probably gunna fire me for having an insufficient employee. I knew Sandra would make us go-

“What? No, no. I’m not here to fire you, Y/n.” His words stop your spiraling train of thought. If he’s not here to fire me… then what happened the other day..?

“I’m here to propose a job to you. A task, really.” You nod, your heart starting to slow down. His voice was very soothing and calm. His blonde hair making the whole black-on-black choice, insufferable. He looked good enough to eat.

What?! Stop it, Y/n! You just met him! He might even just want money!!

“So, what do you think?”

“Wa-..huh? I-I’m sorry..” He chuckles, continuing the proposal.

“I would like you to be my wife.”

______________________________________________________________

“Your..what??” You stand up, not believing what he'd just proposed.

AH! Not proposed, y/n!!

“Not a wife, but a partner. See-” He gently tells you to sit back down, motioning for you to calm down. Once he sees that you’re a little more calm, he starts again.

“You see, our company needs a female representative for the face of ‘allure’. With me being a man, people would assume I’m gay.” He chuckles at the ridiculous thought.

“But my assistant said the best rep would be someone people could trust. And from what I saw yesterday..”

He leans forward, you finally being able to process the woodsy-vanilla scent cologne he modeled.

“I saw your beauty from both sides.” His chocolate eyes meet yours, soft spoken and tranquility is the only thing you feel and hear.

“You wanted to see my face from both sides..?” He laughs at your ridiculous answer.

“Well, I can obviously see that as of now, but what I meant is that I saw your beauty on both the outside, when we first met, and inside, when you had been so kind to me. Wanting to do anything to make it up to me.” Your brows furrow. Then, it hits you.

“You..you were the old man..?” He leans back, hand on his chest, playfully acting offended.

“Did I really look that old?” You shake your head furiously, mentally hitting yourself for insulting the head of your company. “No! No! That’s not what I meant- I’m so sorry-” He laughs, fixing his posture once more.

“Relax, Y/n. I was only joking. Well, I had only not shaved for a couple days..” his words trail off.

“That’s not the point. The point is; You’re obviously a beautiful and kind woman, and I'd like to represent my company.”

______________________________________________________________

After the whole shock session that had happened only a few hours before, you had politely walked him to the front door. Before you could kindly kick him out -of his own fucking store, idiot- he had smiled, meeting your eyes.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Pssh. He’ll be in touch. Yeah right. He’ll probably go to the office tomorrow and see a woman ten times prettier than you could ever be. He’ll forget about you in just a few hours.

That’s what they all do.

______________________________________________________________

The office couldn’t look any more luxurious. Monochromatic colors filled the room, along with golden massage chairs for the higher ups, with a …holy shit.

This office had a mother fucking swimming pool.

Psh. Rich people, you thought.

Your hands are now shaking even more from the Mcdonald’s one dollar coffee you had sparingly picked up on the way here. Now you’re wishing you would’ve taken that girl’s offer for their coffee. You could probably sell it online or something, Make a few good bu-

“Miss y/n, welcome.” A familiar voice stops your thoughts, now examining his newly pressed suit. It looked like heaven. The hems are perfectly aligned with each other. The suede black textiles hug his frame like a woman putting on her favorite body-con dress. Each stitch obviously being hand-sewn with tiny embroidered details letting every onlooker know that this was their work of art.

That suit was a seamstress’s dream.

You lift from the couch, eagerly holding your hand out for a handshake.

Let’s be honest. It wasn’t a nice gesture from you. You’d actually wanted to feel the stitching on his sleeve. Pathetic you thought.

“Uh, yes. I did.” He flashes a professional smile, starting to stride alongside you.

‘Well then, follow me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If the office for employees was crazy, his own was insane.

A bright golden chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Dress forms of all shapes and sizes align the big window that looks out to the other 100 foot high skyscrapers. Purple accents dance along the edges of his desk, mixing along with an L shaped piece attached.

Holy. FUCK.

“Holy fucking shit balls!!” His eyes widen at your sudden foul language usage, until he starts laughing at the reason.

“Is this THE Singer machine that created the most beautiful dresses in the WORLD??!” He chuckles, walking over to meet your fascinated state.

“You’re a follower of Walter Plukett?” You nod, smiling while silently asking if you could touch the beautiful work of art. He nods, allowing permission for you to fan.

“Not just Walter Plukkett, but his whole creation sets for Gone With The Wind movie! Along with The Most Dangerous Game! I LOVED these growing up!” Your hands carefully trance along the worn metal, weary to not impose any damage to the old machine.

“I see. I had picked it up from a random auction one day. Didn’t know it was actually something..”

“It’s more than just something! This machine was caressed by the hands of the greatest designer for the film industry!” He leans down, shrugging, seeming unamused.

‘Looks like any other sewing machine from the 1930s to me.” He walks over to his desk, taking a seat, studying how your face lights up even brighter every time you see a new component to the machine.

“How can you be a billionaire seamstress but not know the history! That’s like making a movie without knowing who invented the first camera! Which by the way was; Louis Le Prince and Johann Zahn” He chuckles, leaning back in his chair to study your moves.

Cute. he thought.

“God, this machine created some of the best dresses for its time.. How can people just throw that history away??” You mumble, still fascinated by the old antique.

He clears his throat, finally pulling your attention away from it.

“Y/n? Can we get started now?” You contemplate. Him, or this beauty.

Wait y/n.. He pays your rent, dumbass. Obviously you’ve gotta-

“Uh…well..”

IDIOT. HE’LL FIRE YOU FOR THIS.

“That’s alright, take your time. You must really like history as well?” You nod, thanking him for the wonderful opportunity. You start talking, not knowing for sure to whom though. Your thoughts are just being too grand to keep inside.

He wasn’t complaining at all. Your voice sounded like an angel to him. The way your black pencil skirt wrapped around your protruding hips has the back of his throat drying up, needing to clear his airway, But, he just can’t help it. Your knowledge beyond anyone else’s in the company has him so intrigued. How long have you been studying Walter’s work? What’s your favorite of his? Are you single-

“Alright, I’m ready.” He pulse from his trance, nodding to the papers placed in front of you.

‘These are the terms and agreements for this… arrangement.” He clears his throat, loosening the tie which had suddenly become very constricting. You glance up through your eyelashes, something that had definitely not gone unnoticed on his end.

‘And… what is this arrangement exactly?” Lifting the glass to his lips, quenching his thirst.

‘This is not the time, Namjoon’ He thinks.

“Just a proposal. Nothing within legality. We won’t actually be married.. not unless you wish to..” That last part he hoped had gone unnoticed by you.

It wasn’t.

‘So, I can still date whomever I want?” He pauses. No, he doesn’t want to see another man hanging all over you! Hold hands, kissing you, sleeping in your bed-

‘Yes.” He dryly gets out, before his jealousy gets the best of him.

“Okay.” You reply, too focused on the documents to make sure there’s no funny business going on.

Once you’re done, you slide the paperwork back over to his side. He grabs then, knocking them on the table once to straighten them all out neatly.

“One question;” He nods, closing the drawer of his desk, giving you all ears.

‘Why me?”

He stops. Smile, lessening a bit. She’s right. Why her? He had many candidates lined up outside his door for weeks..why her?

“Because you’re my ideal type.”

WAIT NO- FUCKING IDIOT

His eyes blow up, shaking his head repeatedly.

“No! I mean you’re the COMPANY’S ideal type! Not Mine! Well I mean you’re very gorgeous- Not that I only look at physical attributes! I admire everything about a woman’s physique- SHIT” You adorable laugh cuts him off. Leaning over, you couldn’t help but laugh at his clumsiness.

“I understand. Thank You for the clarification.” He shyly nods, wanting the whole earth to swallow him whole.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” You pause the clicking of your heels. “For..?”

‘We’ve got a branding session tomorrow at 3. I’ll get my assistant to send you the details.” You nod, waving him bye as you make your way out.

______________________________________________________________

“Great! Looks amazing, Mrs. Kim! Yes, now to the left- Perfect!” These black heels had been killing your feet for the last 5 hours of shooting. He said a branding session. Not a photo session. Little prick-

“What do you think, Mr.Kim?” The photographer pans the camera screen to Namjoon, a soft nod is confirmation he needs to continue. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she Pierre?” The photographer smiles, continuing to snap photos of you. “One of the best models I’ve worked with. She’s a natural.” That makes you internally blush, not being able to handle all the candy-rotting sweetness.

Thankfully, the buzzing of Namjoon’s phone stops the session, giving you a break to sit down in a nearby chair.

A few sips of water later, and he clicks his phone off, signaling you that everything’s okay.

“That was Mr. Arnault” Your eyes blow wide.

“You mean Bernard Arnault!? The HEAD of Louis Vuitton??” Namjoon nods, sliding his phone to the inner part of his suit.

“We’re collabing on a piece together this winter, and he asked me personally to showcase it in his next show, but…” His voice treads at the end, softening the more he talks.

“But..?”

Sighing, he takes a seat next to yours. “I’ll be in Paris that time around. We’re trying to reschedule but he’s really persistent.” You couldn’t believe that your ‘husband’ is so desired by so many luxury companies.

‘Well…Why not move the showing to Paris. That way, you can be at the show and the meeting at the same time.” His eyes light up, standing quickly.

“Wonderful idea, y/n! Bernard’s always been a sucker for France anyways. Thank You, love” He kisses your cheek before hurrying off to schedule everything, leaving you with burning cheeks.

______________________________________________________________

“Phew…glad for that to be over..” You step out of the ridiculously high heels -remembering to praise models and Bella Poarch for doing that for hours, later- turning the knob on your shower. The warm water feels so soothing to your aching muscles.

*ring*

“Ugh..come on..” You step out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around your frame. Pulling the door open, you see a familiar face standing in the doorway. This time, he’s sporting just a gray tee and basketball shorts. Still, none the less attractive.

“Oh.. sorry. Is this a bad time?” He motions to your choice of outfit.

“Shit! Sorry-” you run quickly, letting him in while going to turn the shower off and putting on a quick choice of clothes. Once you’re decent, you join him in your apartment’s living room.

“How’d you find this place?” You question, adding along if he wanted something to drink.

“No thank you, and I had pulled your files from the employees section.” He takes a seat on the couch, observing the room more intensely.

Of course he could find where you lived. He’s your boss.

“Oh..right.” You play with the hem of your oversized tee, not knowing what to do with your boss literally standing right in your living room.

“So.. what are you doing here?” He looks up to meet your gaze, sporting the awkwardness that engulfs you both.

“I’m here to help pack your things.”

“I’m sorry … what?” For the third time that day, you’re shocked. What does he mean, pack your things!?

“Well, since we’re ‘married’ it would only be right to move in together. And-” He looks around your apartment, an unfamiliar look creeps his expression.

“I think my place would be the best option.”

“And you just decided that I wanted to move in with you?” He slumps down, a little hurt by your words.

“Well I.. thought that you’d..” You interrupt him.

“Yeah, you didn’t think. If you haven’t noticed, I quite like my ‘not best option’ of a place. Sure it doesn’t have an indoor swimming pool or jacuzzi, but it’s my home!” Your anger is starting to peek through.

“Y/n, please calm down. I was only suggesting, I would never force you to move in with me. I just thought that since you said your lease is almost up, that’d it be the best option.” His voice is still calm and collective, unlike his clammy, sweaty hands.

“How’d.. How do you know that my lease is almost up?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket, showing you an app on his home screen.

“Because I own the building you work in? I have cameras everywhere- not for perverse things though! It’s just so we don’t have any incidents with employees. You know, because some like to..ahem..” He clears his throat, shifting to support his weight on the other leg.

“Do some certain activities during a shift. It’s just to prevent a lawsuit, that’s all.”

“Then if it’s just cameras, how’d you listen to what I said?” His face turned a light shade of pink from being caught.

“Our..cameras also have an option for audio recordings as well. I just happened to be looking for something, and you popped up on screen instead.”

“Huh.” You mentally laugh. He obviously was lying, but you haven't done anything embarrassing at the store, so you let it slide.

“Give me a few days, okay?” He nods, walking to the front door, making himself leave before he embarasses himself even more.

“See you then?” He asks, turning to walk out.

You flash him a sweet smile. “See you then, boss.”

He chuckles at the given nickname.

______________________________________________________________

“Ugh” You groan, tossing to your right side, trying to get some much needed sleep. However, your mind had much better ideas.

“Aish! Shut it, stupid thoughts!” You yell out, frustrated at your brain’s sudden liking to activity at night.

How long has it been..?

Too long.

Something in the back of your mind answers your own question. Sighing, you give into the temptations on the promise of actually sleeping tonight. You reach into your nightstand drawer, pulling the small black item from its encased little box discreetly hiding in the back.

You trail your hand down your torso, silently crying to the sudden pressure applied to your aching clit.

Yep. Definitely too long.

You cup your hand on your mouth, trying to silence the small whines and cries your body can’t help but release. Images of hot celebrities fill your mind quickly. Ryan Renyolds, Dwayne Johnson, Chris Hemsworth, until your mind drifts to a certain face. You couldn’t really tell who it was, but you decided to use them to indulge in your sultry acts. Imagining riding their cock so deeply, breasts bouncing up and down, making your force on his body ample in roughness. Deep groans emit from his chest, whines bubble up in the back of your throat. Speaking of throat, you switch the image to him pinning you to your bed, one hand around your neck squeezing it firmly.

“F-fuck..” You moan, legs beginning to shake from the buzzing sensation that’s been applied to your clit. This time, you’re tossing and turning for different reasons.

His sandy blonde hair hangs above your figure, brushing the top of your forehead as he pounds into you at God's-speed. Him telling you how dirty of a little slut you are; or better yet- begging you to let him cum inside of your pretty pussy, creaming your smooth, velvet-like walls. His own hand, replacing yours that’s been mercilessly abusing your poor clitorus for the past what feels like hours. Probably only around two minutes though.

“Oh- God!”

“Yeah, you like that baby? My cock splitting this little pussy open so well? Hmm? You wanna cum? Tell me darling, tell me what you want. Look how dirty my girl is, huh? Being so good for daddy. You gonna cum, sweetheart? Come on, show daddy how well you can cream his cock. Gunna fill you up so well, be my own fucking cream filled donut. Hell, maybe if I’m lucky enough, you’d get big and swollen with my children. Huh, you’d like that baby? You wanna have my babies? I bet you do, dirty whore. Gonna get you nice and pregnant. We’re gunna have such beautiful babies, y/n- fuck.” He finally looks up through sweaty brows. The blur of his face now clearing to reveal-

N-namjoon!??!

“HOLY FUCK!” You scream out, not giving a rat’s ass who’d hear. Your breaths now calming down from such an intense high. The toy now feels like pins and needles against you from every stimulation. Quickly turning the vibrating object off, throwing it somewhere on your bed, you lay flat on your sheets. That had to be one of the best orgasms you’ve had in forever. But-

You just came to your boss’s face.

______________________________________________________________

“And we’ll be adding a second store right on the corner of 5th and areche.” The dulling sounds of pen against paper, and a man showing graph charts couldn’t be less of a bore. Your legs, swinging from side to side nonchalantly under the table.

“Sounds good, everyone?” They all nod, no one being opposed to Namjoon’s idea. Once the area is all cleared out, Namjoon starts packing up his briefcase, neatly stacking papers on the inside pouch of the case.

“You ready to go, y/n?” He asks, glancing over at your dazed state.

“Uh, what? Oh. Yeah.” You excitedly stand up, packing your things as well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Looks delicious, thank you.” He kindly thanks the waiter, before taking a sip of his wine. “Everything alright, y/n? You look a little off..” You straighten your posture, nodding to confirm his answer. “I’m okay. Just..” You sigh, letting the silverware in both of your hands, rest on the untouched plate.

“Just..?” He presses, leaning forward so it doesn’t feel like you must yell it to get his attention.

‘I just couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all.” He smiles, cutting into his steak.

“That’s because I wasn’t there, darling” He teases, taking a bite of the juicy meat slice.

You chuckle at his stupidity, lifting your glass to take a few sips.

“I’m serious. Like- something wouldn’t let my mind calm down. It felt like I was on a rollercoaster.” He hums, tilting his head to ponder a solution.

‘Why not try some soothing music?” You shake your head.

“I’ve already tried. And bird, ocean, and rainforest sounds. I even took 3 melatonin gummies! Nothing would shut this thing up.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s stress? Your deadline is coming up soon for your place.”

You shake your head again.

“I don’t think that’s it. Besides, I’m planning on moving in with you.” His face lights up, but not with a happy emotion. More so … mysterious.

He leans in, a hushed voice soon taking over his normally deep and calm one.

“Maybe.. I’m the reason you’re up all night.” He smirks, continuing to eat more of his food. Your face flushes a light pink tint. Well… he’s not all wrong..

He leans back, resuming his normal happy demeanor. “I’m just joking”

“Oh.. hah.” Is all you can reply with. His eyebrows raise in suspicion.

“Y/n.. A-” The phone ringing in his suit pocket cuts his sentence off.

“I’ll be right back” You nod, as he stands to make his way towards a quieter place of the restaurant.

______________________________________________________________

“Is that all?” You nod, looking around to your now completely bare apartment. You hadn’t decided to bring up your restless nights anymore since a few days ago at the restaurant Of course this is all just business.

“Alright, let’s head out.” You follow suit behind him, stepping into his luxury car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This is your room” The ‘room’ has been bigger than three of your dinky apartments combined.

One wall, just filled to the brim with cabinets and wardrobes. The bathroom connected with the room. A huge porcelain tub sits inside the huge glass encased shower; omg it has a rain shower head!

“I know it’s a little small but my apartment’s pretty messy right now. I’ll be clearing out a room for us to coincide with projects in.” You nod, mouth still on the floor from the level of detail everything was in. A huge golden and glass chandelier hangs about the tub, adjacent to the marble-stone countertops, with gold accents trimmed along the edges. So. Much. White.

“Well..I’ll leave you to it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Once you’d finish unpacking all of your boxes, you glance over to the huge clock that had come from your old apartment.

2am.

Holy shit- When did it get so late?? You’re probably keeping Namjoon up by making all of this ruckus!

You turn off all the lights, tip-toeing to the kitchen to grab a quick bite. An illuminating light comes from up under another door across from the living room. Didn’t Namjoon say that he’s just across the hall?

You silently walk over, cracking the door open a bit to take a peek inside.

There sat Namjoon. White button up shirt -now unbuttoned down by two- paired with the trousers he’d been sporting earlier. Usually style and slicked back hair, now messy and tousled. He had been conversing on the phone with someone in a language you didn’t speak.

“Bien, merci bien pour tout ton soutien, Pierre. Oui. Bonsoir” He tosses his phone to the huge king sized bed which had sat in the middle of the room. It’s like the decor came straight out of a piece of art.

Namjoon goes to sit on the edge of his bed, taking a sip from the circular glass he’d already downed around three times now. He sighs, falling backwards onto the comfy sheets.

“Are you just going to stand there the rest of the night?” He asks nonchalantly, taking your aback.

“I..I’m sorry- I thought you were sleeping..” He chuckles.

“I never sleep, only rest my eyes.” He says, grabbing another glass, motioning you to come sit down.

“So. I’m guessing you’ve finished unpacking?” You nod, thankfully taking the glass from him.

“Thank You..” Silence creeps over like rain upon a flowery meadow.

Has he always looked this tired?

You take a few glances around his room, studying all of the different pieces carefully put together.

“You’ve got really good taste..” You mumble, not expecting him to hear.

“I should. Put me to shame for being a fashion designer and not having good taste” He jokes, sipping from his glass, before setting it down next to yours.

“True.. it was a stupid thing to say. Sorry I’m dumb..” He turns to meet your gaze, bringing his hand to gently lift your eyes to meet his.

“It was not stupid.” Your breaths slowly mix together, a certain type of taste could be relished.

‘And if you ever call yourself stupid again, I won’t hesitate to tie you to this bed and spank sense into you.” He smirks, taking the glass from your hands, placing it on his side of the seat.

Your breath catches in your lungs at his choice of wording. Did he really mean it? He wouldn’t actually do that, would he? You’re just one of his employees.. He doesn’t like it like tha-

“Y/n..” His voice softens, trying to coerce you out of your spiraling state much like the first time you met.

“Y/n, it was just a joke.” He chuckles.

‘You’ve got to learn how to take a joke '' He smiles, laughing at your flustered face.

‘That’s mean..” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows.

‘How?”

“You don’t just tease someone like that. That’s like saying; I’ll suck your dick-” You cut yourself off from embarrassment

Too late.

Your eyes catch his, seeing a new look glinting behind them.

“Well, I never said I wouldn’t follow through with it..” His voice changes to a hushed whisper tone, making the room even more sultry than it had previously been.

“Me neither..” You admit, scooting closer to his side, laying a hand onto his thigh.

You’d never been this brave before. With anyone. But… something about Namjoon had made you want him to submit to you.

Both sets of eyes not daring to break the spell you’d both casted on each other. Lust, growing impatient with every ticking second. His pants tightening against the fabric of his trousers, indicating his arousal even more.

“Y/n.. we should..” You press your lips to his, quieting his attempts to reject the tension. He immediately tenses under your touch, hands leaving a fiery blazing trail wherever your hands could grasp onto. Lips crashing into one another like waves upon a seaside shore. Both, fighting for dominance.

His hand travels up the back of your graphic tee, resting the palm of his hands against the dips of your hips. Ever so slightly squeezing bits and pieces of your skin along the way. Your hips dig impatiently into the fronts of his trousers, His own, meeting you in unison.

“N-namjoon..” You wantonly moan against the flushed flesh of his mouth, his own desire returning the sound.

His hands dip even lower, reaching into the front of your underwear, rubbing gent;e circles against the throbbing bud. The other, coming to clasp around your breast, messaging the soft, plush flesh, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and index. His motions earn louder sounds from your side. His lips trail down your neck, sucking deep marks into the fleshy bit, before sliding your shirt over your frame.

“No bra?” He pants, examining your physique.

You shake your head. “I was about to go to bed..” He chuckles, resuming his motions, this time, lips meeting the protruding bud of your breast, taking it between his teeth.

“O-oh shittt” You throw your head back, an old friendly feeling coming back into your core.

“You like that?” Shit. His voice sounded exactly how you’d imagined that night.

Your hips rock gently against his, increasingly harder by each passing minute. Your entire breast almost soaked from his tongue.

‘F-fuck..Just like that.” His hips grind against your own, his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass through your thin sweatpants.

“Off.” His deep voice commands, flipping you onto your back. He makes quick work of the belt tucked loosely around his hips. He lifts your wrists to hug the metal Xs on his headboard.

“Are you okay with this?” You crane your neck upwards, checking out his neat work on your wrists. Now, being belted to his headboard.

“Mhm.” He slaps the outside of your thigh.

‘Imma need words for this, baby” You smirk, teasing the bulge of his trousers with your knee.

‘Yes daddy.”

He smirks, tightening the belt around your wrist.

“Good girl.”

Hooking his fingers around the thin materials, he easily removes both your sweatpants and underwear in one fine swoop. The cold air brushing against your core has your thighs clenching.

“The first time I walked in the store..” He tells, while lowering his face to kiss just above your public bone. Moving lower with each soft kiss to your skin.

“I wanted to taste this pussy for so long, baby” He mumbles, yanking your hips down to meet his eyes.

“To know how you taste.” He slides the tip of his finger past your folds, a slight squelching sound fills the silence.

‘To know how it feels when you’re wrapped around me” You moan, his thumb coming up to toy with your throbbing bud. Soft circles rubbed against the aching muscle.

“God, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already wet. Tell me darling” He grabs hold of your panties, opening your mouth forcefully to shove them inside. The sensation is new, nonetheless even more of a turn on.

``You a virgin baby?” You shake your head.

“Naughty baby” He licks a slow stripe up your core, making you moan against the slightly wet material that had been so forcefully shoved in your mouth.

“How dare you let another man inside this sweet pussy.” His voice is deep, a growl threatening to escape if he doesn’t get satiated soon.

“Looks like I’m going to have to punish you, kitten.”

His tongue immediately dives deep past your folds, the strong muscle making circles along the inside of your slick walls. You throw your head back against the headboard, not caring if you had accidentally hit it. The pleasure was far more overpowering than the paint you’d felt.

His thumb trails up to draw figure eights against your bud, moans slipping from the crack of the cotton material shoved down your throat.

You were so close. Practically being able to taste your release. His thumb, tongue and fingers were more than enough to juice you of all your worth. Your legs wrapped around his head so tightly, you might think you’d accidentally pop his head like a pimple. But, he stays put, using both of his strong arms to push your thighs apart. A string of saliva and your juices hangs from his swollen lips.

“As much as I’d like to die by these thighs right now, you still haven’t received your punishment.” His smirk is dark and hell-iously tempting. This man was the epitome of ‘sin’.

You wanted to do anything. Touch anything just to cum. But alas, your hands were tied. Literally.

“Cum on my tongue baby girl. I know you want to. You can do it, come on” His words of encouragement are all you need to send you over the edge. Like a rollercoaster about to drop down the hugely inclined rails. But-

His smirk is one only the devil portrays well enough. Dark, lustful eyes meet you halfway. You scream out of frustration, wanting nothing more than to come on his tongue like he said.

“Sorry darling. That was for sleeping with other men besides me.” You almost have tears in your eyes at his words.

‘And this,” He unties your wrists. Before you could jump him, he flips you around once more, bending you over his knee.

“Is for teasing me this whole fucking time.” One firm slap is applied to your bare ass. You yelp in shock -and pleasure- from the impact.

“nnmmjoon!” He continues to spank your ass, hard. Every smack though, earns you a soft bottom rub while he whispers to you;

“That’s my good girl. Taking your punishment so well,”

Smack.

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you. It’s almost over.”

Smack.

“You’re liking this, huh? Getting spanked by daddy so hard. I bet you could cum just by this.”

Smack.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Being so good for daddy. Can’t wait to fill you up after this.”

Smack.

“You dirty little slut. I’m gunna fuck you so hard you’ll forget every man’s name you’ve ever met. Only having my name in your mouth, got it?”

You can only lay still and take it like his; good, dirty slut..

You’re confused, horny, on the verge of crying, and you just want his dick now. Once you feel the final ass rub, he carefully leans you up, helping you slowly lay back down on the bed. His kisses trail all the way down your chest, hot puffs of air rests before a chilling cool air mixes them both.

“You did so well, baby. Such a good girl for daddy. Do you want your reward now?” He questions, but you’re too exhausted to answer. His voice, now a lot more soothing and calm, questions.

“Do you wanna go to sleep now?” You immediately sit up.

“NO! Pl-Please!” He looks up at you through glassy eyes. Somehow, you both are modeling the same dirty look in each other’s eyes.

“What do you want me to do, love? I need words, honey”

“F-fuck me! Please!” He nods, quickly stripping himself of the boxers he’d been wearing.He reaches over to his nightstand drawer, opens a square packet to slide it over his cock.

Before you could finish your sentence, he slides his cock in between your folds, already throbbing from how tightly your cunt is wrapped around his cock.

“F-fucking s-shit, y/n- You’re so tight, baby” After a few pauses, his thrust began to commence, sending you both into a loud stream of moans and groans, while skin slapping together mix in harmony. You tightly wrap your legs around his waist, not losing a second to begin to match his pace.

‘S-shit y/n.. Y-you’re gonna be the death of me” He chuckles, never missing a beat. Your hands finding the beginnings of his roots, fisting around them for support. Switching back and forth between scratching the living hell out of his shoulders and back, and almost ripping his hair out from such force.

“Fuck baby!” His lips came to catch yours, a heated makeout sesh was just what the doctor ordered for the cream filled pastry to be made. His switch positions, throwing you on top of his own body, making you ride him the rest of the way.

‘Fucking cum with me, baby” his hips thrust up to match your own pace, set to accord.

“F- ComING!-” Your breaths are now slowly coming to a controlled pattern. His sweat drips from his forehead onto your cheeks. His body lays limp on top of your own. His backside now has bruises in straight lines. Once he’s gained a little energy, he leans up to trail sloppy open mouthed kisses along your neck. The intimate act is not going unnoticed.

Before long, his back bedroom door swings open. A woman standing around 5’9 stalks the frame. Black bags and sunglasses sport her look.

“What the fuck Namjoon!!”

_____________________________________________________________

#BTS namjoon fic #bts namjoon smut #KNJ #kim namjoon smut #RM smuts #namjoon x yn #kim namjoon smuts #bangtan #bts kim namjoon

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muniimyg · 1 year

Text

F2F // KNJ

as your friend, he’s there for you. as your tutor, he’s there for you. as your lover… he’s halfway there

fully knowing you can’t pass the course without him, and him being self aware that he can’t go a few days without fucking you—nam joon agrees to be your tutor. it’s all fun and games until his best friend asks you out and you say; “yes”

navi | m. list | ask me ! | see note below for taglist request

pairing

tutor // smartass!nam joon + airhead // pretty privilege!oc

second lead syndrome: playboy!hoseok

au/genre

fwb // SLIGHT love triangle

love hate friendship

crack & angst

mini series // smau + written

warnings

implied smut + actual smut

name calling, dumbification, touches on technicalities of cheating, gaslighting, etc

parts

10/10

note: this fic is a mini series ‼️ therefore it WILL BE FAST PACED ‼️ please refrain from commenting on this post or the following parts posted to be added to the taglist . see note below 👇

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “f2f” // please DO NOT comment here or on the series . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks

index # f2f knj

01 // 02 // 03 // 04 // 05 // 06 // 07 // 08 // 09 // 10

end.

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terribles-world · 10 months

Text

The clash: 03

Main protagonist: jk x reader

Genre: slow burn, angst

Warnings: self-harm, usage of drugs, degradation, forceful intercourse.

Summary: Too immersed in the haunting pain of your nightmare, you invited your colleague to accompany you for a night. Will it turn out to be good or just another destruction in your life.

Word count: 2k

an: here is part 3 of 'the clash'. Hope you guys like my blog. I'm sorry for any grammatical errors or if anyone finds it uncomfortable to read. It's just I'm new to this platform and promise to improve myself further. Enjoy!

"Pardon. Do I know you" looking at the person who bumped into you a sec ago. "Of course not but maybe I want to know you more." he smirked saying the words to you. "By the way it's Yeonjun." forwarding his hand for a quick hand shake. "Oh it's ___!" "Up for a drink?" Looking back at the corner you see three girls throwing themselves on Jungkook's body made you think why can't you least enjoy a good drink with your new friend. Friends? Is it the appropriate world to be used.

"You look so innocent lying helplessly in the ground waiting for me to fuck you. Huh? Pretty little slut." As soon as he said those words your blurry eyes tried to find the face of the person. What you see is just a puzzled face, tall figure, broad shoulders. "P--Please let m-me go, I b-beg you." you pleaded clearly not in your right senses maybe the drink you took has much more effect of Hashish than alcohol. "Shh! Calm down lady I'm gonna fuck you fast and rough. Okay! nobody's gonna know. But in case if you are a virgin then umm-uhh" tears started rolling down your eyes. How did you even end up in this situation? "Let's start with your tits first." With that he tore your crop top left you with only bra. "P-please let m-me go. I b-beg you" your throat became dry with all the pleading but he didn't even care to listen to it even for the sake of humanity. Slowly losing your senses you tried not to close your eyes just to remember the moment of you being raped. He slid your jeans below your ankles then on the ground. Again the world throws you in another helpless situation. Dreaming of a man loving you, see the world in two eyes giving your everything to him, making love to him but this moment is nothing but left with a trauma in your life. Hearing the skin slapping sound, your hands tied in a belt above your head, the person thrusting in you mercilessly dropping his head in your bosom. You can't do anything but to cry only to regret what would have happened if you wouldn't have come here. That definitely would have saved you from losing your virginity, your dignity and yourself to some rapist.

Tears slowly flowing from your eyes waking up with a jerk. Same nightmare. Sleep is nowhere to be found. Sitting up you checked the time. It's 2:30 in the night. What you gonna do now. Maybe a quick shower could make you fall asleep. You undress yourself. Feeling pity looking at your thighs and you made it worse by cutting it with a blade few years just to erase the dark memories of that night. In the hope if it could be possible. Burnt marks on your side stomach made you think what an improvident act you did 5 years ago. Hatred comes looking at your own pathetic self which made you vigorously scratching yourself just to remove the imprints of the man who broke you. Coming out of the bathroom, opening your phone for doing a quick check on your Instagram scroll. And wow! Jungkook added a story with Yuna in a romantic date. Another phase of cries entered your system.

Looking at the couples in their seat of the coffee shop made you think the moment when you prayed and Jesus! You just wanted to have a normal life. No hurdles, no pain, just happiness and love. Isn't that everyone in here asks for? Maybe this is too much. Remembering all those moments when you were a teenager who thought your friendship with jungkook will someday be level up and termed as an official relationship. Alas! Shaking your extra dramatic unrealistic parallel thoughts get busy in serving customers.

"You're done?" taehyung asked leaning on the fridge. "Yeah! Not liking my presence?" Not even paying attention to the man who is busy noticing your face. "No just asking if you would like to eat out?" he proposed. Remembering you don't have any staple food for your supper then why not have dinner with a companion. At least you won't have to eat alone. Agreed on his proposal. "Okay! But only If you're paying." you grinned. "It's an honour ___" bowing down like a prince following by a laugh. However it makes you feel content to work here. More like distracting yourself from the terrible destruction that has been done inside your head.

Taking your seat in front of Taehyung, as he offered you to order dinner. Just about to order your sight fell on the couple at the very next counter of yours. Jeon Jungkook and Lee Yuna. The fuck! Can't they go somewhere else. Not wasting any time you decided to ignore them and order your food. The slightest joy you felt having a company has long gone now. The main purpose is only to eat the food as fast as you can and leave before anyone's notice. But guess what. Miss Yuna can't keep her shoes off of you. "___! What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?" she asked standing right next to you beside jungkook. Doesn't that punch affect her a bit. "More like eating dinner." you retorted slightly glancing at Yuna. Just then your anger boils when taehyung invited them to join us. Why on Earth does he want them to join you both? "Oh it's okay but only if you insist." Just then she grabbed the seat beside taehyung and your formal best friend sat beside you. You didn't even dare to look at his face. "So tell me you two now are a thing now?" You choked on the water from the words Yuna uttered just now. "No but ___ is a nice girl." tae replied looking at you. "So you are hitting on her in front of us." Yuna asked. "Not it's just we are goo-" you cut him up "he is my boyfriend." "What?" All three of them asked. Quickly grabbing tae's hand you answered "you don't need to hide our relationship to anyone Jagiya! Not to them" The look on taehyung's face was so apparent as if Jin snatched all his ice creams. With that your food has come to your table. Eating a lot more faster than you used to just to get rid of the two non existent strangers. And you are done. "Baby I will wait for you outside. Okay!" Kissing tae's cheeks you stood up. "Excuse me, if you would stand up I would like to go outside." Jungkook stand up with a close proximity which was your god damn weakness. "Sure." And you are out.

Puffing up a cigarette you looked at the street with people enjoying street food, couples roaming with hand-in-hand, vehicles moving alongside, it's peaceful. "Since when did you start smoking?"knowing the owner of the voice. "since when do you care" you stated without deviating your eyes from the street. "How long are you both dating?" he sat beside you looking at the couple who were enjoying the food. "Is any of that related to you?" you asked. "Not entirely. Cause taehyung is still my friend." Woah! So it's not even an indirect taunt. Slipping out the facts that you aren't friends with him. "Why don't you ask my boyfriend about it besides I need to have a quick look for him. Who knows slutty bitches are roaming tryin' snatch my love." Then you look at him. The same doe eyes which makes your heart beat so fast. It became so painful not because you both aren't friends instead there was a moment when you both couldn't live without each other. You advert your eyes. Standing up going inside the restaurant and wow the sight is so mesmerizing. Our dear selfless Yuna trying to clean Tteok-bokki stain from tae's chest. Quickly moving towards them you decided to interrupt the cute little moment. "Tae baby! what happened?" you cringed at yourself calling him baby. "It's nothing ___ Yuna's slipped." Slipped? Or intentionally made them slip? Knowing all her tactics. "It's okay! cover it with your jacket I'll wash it in our home." Our home? Just then jungkook was standing behind you. "Let's go then. Thank you for joining us Yuna and Jungkook." he politely said. "The pleasure is all ours." Jungkook proclaimed being a gentleman. Walking out with tae, he was so shocked, he couldn't be able to resist and asked the blunder going on in his head, "What was that all about?" Taking a quick glance you focussed on the road not knowing how to make an excuse about that. "it's just I don't know what came into my mind. I just blurted it out." panic was written in your face. "It's okay. But is everything okay between you and jungkook." he asked. How to answer that terrifying question now? "We are not friends anymore." couldn't be able to make eye contact. He quickly grabbing your hand "hey ___! Look at me. Shh! is this the reason you were so dull these past few days. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you." Pulling you into a quick hug. You nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. Peace. It's the perfect word which you are feeling rn. He kissed your hair and damn that cologne. Sniffing him more, tears started rolling from his eyes. "Umm ___." you heard an unfamiliar sound. Is that jungkook? Looking at your side and he is standing next to you. "You left your purse at the restaurant." "Thanks!" Taking the purse you look at him. And what? Is that tears in his eyes? Too focused on him, tae gently grab your palm intervening your fingers with his. "It's time to go home, honey!" Coming back to reality. Without even saying goodbye you both started to walk off.

On the way to your house he asked, "Are you okay!" Turning your face a little you replied, "would you like to sleep with me for tonight." Not being able to get a proper sleep cause the nightmares were too disturbing and haunting you for almost every night. He panicked. "It's jus-" cutting him off. "not the way you are thinking. I couldn't be able to have a proper sleep at night. So you could like company me only for tonight" you asked being ready for the denial. "Fine." He smiled.

Opening the door you invited him in, he insisted on sleeping on the couch while you take the bed and you agreed on it. Slowly drifting towards the sleep you feel relaxed."You look so innocent lying helplessly in the ground waiting for me to fuck you. Huh? Pretty little slut." "no, No, NO" you panicked. "___ hey I'm right here okay shhh shhh!" Tears are coming out of you. Your nerves calm down hearing his deep voice. This small act of his made you feel a little brave in sleep. Hugging the person tightly you slept peacefully. Waking up you look at the time. It's 6:39. Did you sleep that long? Turning your face you saw the beautiful man sleeping beside you. Too engrossed in noticing the facial features you didn't feel his hands on your breast and smooching it. Not knowing what to do just then something poked your thighs touching it was the biggest mistake you made. "Ahhh!" taehyung groaned in your ears. Just then you knew the thing you are holding isn't a thing but something else. Not knowing what to do, you closed your eyes. Shit! He is waking up. Coming to his senses, he immediately pulled back his hand panicking about his current situation. Placing a quick kiss on your temple he moved in to the bathroom. Hearing the lock sound of the door, you opened your eyes. What's this feeling? Homely? Or just another way towards your destruction.

So this is the end of The clash part- 03. Do let me know your pov reading this story. And keep supporting. :)

Happy reading!

#bangtan #k-pop #jeon jungkoooook #jk x reader #jkppost #jungkook #jk x y/n #jk bts #bts jk #jk jk #jk ff #taehyun fluff #taetae #yn #taekook #rm bts #k-drama

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borahaerhy · 2 years

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Coming Soon...

Fuckboy!Namjoon x Demi!Chubby!Tall Girl!Reader

FIC PUBLISHED HERE!

Summary: The second semester of your sophomore year in college has started and there are only two people in your creative writing class that have published works: You, and Kim Namjoon; a pretentious know-it-all that just so happens to be in the same frat as your best friend.

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, College! au, eventual smut

Chubby reader fics are few and far in between, and I feel like it's even harder to find tall girl fic, and I personally have never been able to find a fic where the reader was Demisexual*, so I thought I'd throw it all together into one badass MC for you guys! I also feel like a lot of chubby reader fics are mostly just them getting bullied, which is a harsh reality, but for this fic, MC's weight is not something she often gets looked down upon for. Someone might bring it up once or twice, but in general, people that have a problem with her size just don't talk to her lol. I still don't know if this is going to be a oneshot or a mini series, but if it is a oneshot she's going to be a LOOONG one.

Lmk if you want to be tagged :))

*Demisexuality is a sexual orientation in which a person feels sexually attracted to someone only after they've developed a close emotional bond with them. Forming a bond doesn't guarantee a person will feel a sexual attraction, but the bond is needed before sexual activity is even possible.

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bts-0t-7 · 5 months

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Under the Light of the ARMY Bomb | KNJ

Pair: Namjoon x idol reader

Summary: Surprising your long-distance boyfriend as a singer has its perks. But when an unexpected double surprise came for ARMY’s in the stadium that day, it was the absolute highlight of the event.

Genre: Pure tooth-rotting fluff, idol reader, idol Namjoon, established relationship au

WC: 1189

If you are ARMY, regardless of whether you have attended BTS concerts in person or virtually or even if you were just watching through clips, you know the exhilarating energy that they possess. Together with that, ARMY’s cheers and sing-alongs make the environment a thoroughly different environment.

Today marks the last day of the world tour for BTS and they were performing at the Seoul Olympic Stadium. Even standing outside, you were already alight with energy, a sea of ARMY’s waving their light sticks and singing along to the electrifying performance on stage. From the little slit along the stages, you saw Namjoon commanding the stage with his powerful presence, leading his members with equal amounts of charisma.

Every time, you would be part of the audience - a part of ARMY. But today will be unlike any other. Today, you had fully intended to join them on stage and give Namjoon the fright of his life.

Amidst the crowd, you were hiding in plain sight. With your own fandom and performances, it was rare to find a moment of spare time where the both of you could just enjoy each other’s presence without the worry of the future. It has been four years since the both of you have come out to the public about your relationship. Saying that there were no hard times would be a big fat lie.

You got threats on threats, making you constantly fear for your life. But there was also a section of ARMY and your own fan base that gave a positive output. You had changed your energy from them and did your best for them. You were glad that over time, people also grew accustomed to the fact that the both of you were dating. Not to say that there were no haters but just… lesser than before.

When you found out that your precious boyfriend and his brothers were performing in Seoul, you couldn't resist the temptation of surprising him. Of course, you had told his members and talked to the company and their managers, ensuring that it was indeed okay for the surprise to happen. Arranging the preparation with the help of BTS’s management, it was still a challenge to keep your presence a secret from your boyfriend. The boys were not the best at keeping secrets from Joon and his sharp eyes just seemed to see everything. And your resistance was diminishing by each second when you see your boyfriend performing, hot as shit and cursing his way through.

But it was all part of the thrill.

As the concert reached its peak and the vocal line was performing ‘Dimple’, you slinked backstage with the rest of the dancers, heart thumping with anticipation. The crowd was in a frenzy and this was the perfect moment.

Joining the line of backup dancers as they got onto the stage, shrouded in a hoodie and a cap, the spotlight was completely focused on the vocal line, allowing you a few seconds to prepare.

As they got to the chorus, you stepped forward, voice steady and heart full of love and excitement. The vocal line continued singing with you, harmonising their voices with yours with ease. In the background, ARMY’S cheers increased in volume as the ARMY bombs went crazy, but all you could see was Namjoon’s surprised expression. It took a moment for the realisation to set in that you were actually here. The wide smile that adorned his lips made your heart explode.

All that waiting was worth it.

It was unforgettable.

You and the boys continued performing, having the best time teasing their leader during the remainder of the song. As you faced ARMY and waved your own ARMY bomb, you could feel Namjoon’s eyes on you the whole time. But he couldn’t seem to take them off of you as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause as you bowed to them. Your presence on the stage was unexpected and everybody was living off it - including him. It was the best surprise that he could have ever asked for.

When the song ended, Namjoon ran out from backstage, clumsily tripping over himself. As he stepped forward, his hands trembled uncontrollably when he held your own. The rest of the boys were rowdy behind the both of you, shouting and teasing, revelling in the romantic surprise unfolding before their eyes. But all of that turns into the background when Namjoon looks into your eyes. All he could see… was you.

The crowd quickly hushed as Namjoon spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, what an announcement spoiler you are.” He laughed. “From the moment we met, from the days we spent together to the nights after every concert and phone call, I’ve always been thinking about it. You brought so much light into my life, to the rest of the boys, and to ARMY. I wanted to tell you when we decided to go on that date two days later but after this surprise, I can’t think of a better time to ask than now.”

The crowd went crazy and then went silent again.

Tears welled in your eyes as your heart rate rose to a dangerous level just thinking of the possibility of -

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up every day with you by my side and go to sleep every night with you in my arms.” Namjoon kneeled down on one knee, an open ring box in one hand and a microphone in the other. “Will you marry me? Can you take this clumsy, absolutely hopeless kitchen man in?”

The stadium fell into absolute silence, the air tense with anticipation.

But you didn’t hesitate. There were so many things you wanted to say but the words caught in your throat. Your mind was moving miles per second but all you could say was, “Yes! Yes, oh my gosh Namjoon, yes!”

The stadium erupted in applause and maybe you were just high from the adrenaline, but you swore that even the ground was shaking. But it was because of the cheers from the crowd and the ecstatic reactions of the rest of the members that made the moment even more unforgettable. Namjoon slipped the ring onto your finger, sealing the promise of a lifetime together. Namjoon’s hand cupped the back of your neck and brought you in for a heated kiss.

You prepared a surprise for him but got a larger surprise instead. You knew that you were going to forever be teased on this by the boys but you couldn't bring yourself to care. It was you and Namjoon - against the world.

As the concert continued, the atmosphere was even more electric. The unexpected love and joy in the air was palpable and your surprise appearance and engagement became the highlight of the night. Namjoon’s confession of love in front of thousands of fans marked a clear, new beginning - not just for you as a couple but for BTS and their dedicated ARMY as well.

It was a night of music, love, and memories that none would forget.

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lovecoree · 1 year

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hi !! first i wanted to say thank you so much for writing for black readers this means a lot to me 🫶🏽 i also have a request , could you write something about sitting next to namjoon at the fashion week and being endeared by him because of how sweet he’s acting and how fine he is 😭 just them flirting and then kissing maybe ? thank you for taking your time reading this <33

hello beautiful!

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 — 𝐊𝐍𝐉

pair: idol!Namjoon x model!reader

synopsis: flirting and talking to Namjoon was more interesting then the fashion show.

warning: reader is black coded, flirting, kissing, let me know if I missed anything !

a/n: this was rushed and is very short so I’m sorry !

BTS RM’s Smooth Interaction With model YN LN At The “Bottega Veneta” Show Goes Viral

Your night honestly got better while talking to Namjoon. Such an attractive man manage to make you smile. “I wish you were on the runway, so I could admire you more.” He whispered to you as the models began to walk down the runway. “But you can get the close up version right here.” Tilting your head with a playful smile on your face you watched as Namjoon eyes flicker with a sudden darkness in his eyes— if you could guess probably lust. The flirting was getting to the both of y’all and honestly y’all could care less who was capturing such an intense moment for their article for people worldwide to read.

You definitely have to thank your manager for letting you take a day off and coming up with an agreement to just attend the fashion show. Sitting next to Namjoon was a great decision, the way you quickly picked up a conversation with him and only focused on each other felt nice. “You’re right, I am even more lucky to meet such a beautiful model up close, maybe I’m pushing my luck even further but I’ll like to hang out with you after the show ends?” Namjoon waited for any response from you, the confidence that he showed you was masking his nervous state of rejection. “Or maybe you don’t—” “I’d love to Namjoon.” You smiled calming his anxiety down.

“Ok pretty boy, we are going to be late for our reservation.” You giggled as you wiped off your smudged lipgloss off his now swollen lips. Namjoon checked his phone, the bright light only being the brightness in the dark corner you both scurried off to outside. “It’s 10:05, we got time pretty.” The nickname made you weak in the knees, the moan you let out as he kissed you again passionately. His hands roaming your body as you wrapped your arms around his neck, wanting him to be close as possible.

“What about..your manager, isn’t he waiting for you by the car?” You breath out in between kisses. “He can wait, you’re more important right now.” Kissing down your neck you bit your bottom lip to contain any sound as a few more guest walked out the building.

yea..you definitely have to thank your manager later on.

#black reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x black reader #black female oc #black fem reader #bts #bts x reader #bts x black reader #bts namjoon #bts x poc #bts x black girl #bts x female reader

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enthusiasticharry · 1 year

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10.0k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: second chapter! i know a lot of you have been waiting for this one and i have too. this chapter is honestly so cute, if i do say so myself, but also has some very important plot points so do watch out! please let me know what you think, what you think of the development, and what you want to see next! i'm all ears! (also sorry this took a little longer than expected, been a lil busy with work)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, drug and alcohol use (abuse?), harry being a very sexy 70s rockstar pt.2.

𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟏 HERE

Los Angeles, Summer 1971

YN’s life had changed in so many ways that it was difficult to keep up with it.

One of the things that she had decided after she had left home that day, over a year ago now, was that she wasn’t going to allow her life to be governed by her past, instead, she was going to focus on the present.

That present at the moment, however, was definitely not one of her best moments. Doing a line of coke in her manager’s bathroom just before an important meeting wasn’t something that she was proud of when she looked back at that time in her life, but that was just her new normal. YN wouldn’t say that she became dependent on drugs after leaving her parents then, but now that was certainly the case. But then again, no one really admitted that they have a problem – then or now.

YN knew that she was late for the meeting that she had been told about yesterday, but YN didn’t care about that. The boardroom that YN walked towards was already full, and she could see Leroy’s face set the second that he spotted her walking towards them. Throwing the door to the room open, YN tried not to focus on the fact that all eyes were on her. There was a seat free directly across from Leroy, so she sat down there. YN pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and offered him one of her biggest smiles.

“You’re twenty minutes late, YN,” Leroy looked at his watch just to check that he had gotten the timings right, or maybe just to annoy her and make his point.

YN shrugged, “I was actually only ten minutes late but then I needed to use the bathroom.”

Leroy looked at her, and she knew what look he was giving her, but she just pushed that to the back of her head. At the end of the day, he was her manager – he didn’t control her.

YN had met Leroy a year ago, a few months after she had left her parents. She had been singing in a few bars here and there, and people were starting to recognise who she was. It had been a random day; YN couldn’t exactly remember the date when she had been approached by Leroy in a bar that she had just performed in. At first, she was a little creeped out by him, especially when he started the conversation by saying that he had been following her for a while and was impressed by what she had been doing. YN was off her head the entire night, and if it wasn’t for him giving her his business card, she probably wouldn’t have remembered the conversation the next day.

“It took you ten minutes to use the bathroom?” He asked, a confused look on his face.

“Leroy,” YN warned with a shake of her head, “You should never ask a lady what she does in the bathroom.”

He scoffed at her slightly and shook his head, “I’ll remember that.”

“Well, now is probably the time you should tell me why you got me out of bed before midday on a Sunday,” She smiled, obviously not being very sincere with it.

In all honesty, YN normally wouldn’t have been awake until the mid-afternoon, but the phone in her and Vivienne’s flat had woken her up from her slumber and it was Leroy’s assistant on the line, telling her that she needed to be in for a meeting at eleven. She had set off from her apartment already late, so by the time she made it she didn’t care and was just focused on getting there when she felt like it.

Leroy sighed, as though he was about to say something big and profound, “We’ve had a proposition.”

YN furrows her brows at him, unsure as to why he was making such a big deal out of this and still hadn’t told her, “Yes, okay, and what is this proposition?”

“We’ve had contact made by another artist's manager in regard to the two of you recording a duet,” YN was confused as to why Leroy was making such a big deal about this. He was obviously hiding something from her, and he needed to tell her what it was right now, or she was going to lose interest very quickly.

“What is it?” She sighed, leaning back in her chair, and crossing her arms across her chest. She was getting fed up, now, “You’re obviously keeping something from me, Leroy.”

“It’s only that, the artist’s manager contacted us…” He paused for a second, looking at the other men that sat around the table, “That artist… it’s Harry Styles.”

YN immediately shook her head, “No, Leroy.”

Leroy had known about the night with Harry over a year prior when they met. That was one of the first things they spoke about, as well as YN’s family. That night had changed YN’s life forever, for the better and for the worst. She truly tried to focus on the positive parts, but it was a little difficult when the negative overweighed that. One of the first things that Leroy proposed when he became her manager was to get in contact with Harry and do another show, but YN had been firmly against that idea.

“Don’t shut it down straight away, YN,” Leroy sighed, closing his eyes, and shaking his head, “Please listen to me.”

“I told you when I signed with you that I wasn’t going to sing with him again, Leroy,” YN was starting to get annoyed because he wasn’t listening to her.

YN understood that he wanted what was best for her, her career, and for their company. It was a shame that it sometimes meant them going against what YN said and wanted. She truly did try to stand her ground and make it so that they listened to her but there were times when she couldn’t do anything. The one thing that YN hated was when Leroy pulled the contract card. She knew that she couldn’t do anything because she was so high when she signed her contract that she didn’t read it properly. It was her own fault, but it was times like these that she could truly kick herself for it.

“I just want you to think about your career for a moment, YN, and what you want from it,” Leroy sighed, tapping his hands on the table as he did so, “I understand that you have personal feelings mixed up in this, but think about what this song will do. They may ask you to tour with them. You may be able to finally get that record deal signed the way you want it.”

YN knew he was right, and it killed her. It wasn’t even that she had personal feelings with Harry, because she couldn’t care less about what that man had said to her, it was just that night in general. There were so many things that she could have done differently, but it was too late to be thinking about that now.

After dwelling on it for a few minutes, she said to him, “If I say yes, what would I have to do?”

Leroy seemed to let out a sigh of relief, almost as though he hadn’t expected her to even contemplate saying yes to him in any capacity. In her head, she wasn’t thinking about the publicity she would get from it she was rather thinking of the experience that she may be able to have. She may get to go on tour, and the record label that Leroy had been trying to get her on might actually think about taking her and letting her have a shot at her own album.

It was difficult for a woman in this business, and YN realised that very quickly. Whilst people did care about her voice, they were more enthralled with her. It was the way she moved, and the way she dressed. People couldn’t take their eyes off of her because of who she was, and that was the thing that YN enjoyed for a while, but she wanted those people to enjoy her and her music now.

“They want you in the studio, tomorrow,” Leroy sighed, and YN had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, “Late afternoon, just for a sing-through before they make the decision about recording. But if it all goes well, which it will YN, you could have your first recorded song by the end of the day tomorrow.”

YN slumped back in her chair and brought her hand up to her face. She couldn’t believe it. She could actually have her first recorded song by the end of the day tomorrow, and all she had to do was impress Harry and his band, and probably his team. It couldn’t be that difficult, seeing as though she had done it a year prior without any problems.

“Tell them I’ll be there,” She nodded, pulling her sunglasses back down to her nose and standing up.

“YN, wait!” Leroy called as she started to walk towards the door, “You don’t even know where there is!”

She turned to him with a little lift on the corners of her cheeks, “Malibu, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“Just tell them I’ll be there, Leroy,” And with that, she let the door slam behind her as she strutted off down the hallway.

YN had no idea what to do with herself. If there was one thing she knew she had to do, it was celebrating, but she couldn’t get too fucked up – she had to be on her best behaviour for tomorrow. The second she had found Vivienne and told her the news; they were immediately making their way out of the house to meet up with a few of Vivienne’s friends for a celebration.

YN was supposed to be on her best behaviour, and she knew that, but there was also the nagging voice in the back of her head that said that she would have all of tomorrow morning and early afternoon to recover, so there was a slight margin for error.

That slight margin would need to succeed because YN took it way too far in celebrations that day – as she always did.

By the time YN woke up the next day, she was already late.

There was a pounding within her head that caused YN to want nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep, but then again that wasn’t anything that throwing back a few pills and washing them down with the half-drunk bottle of champagne on her bedside table wouldn’t fix. She sat up and placed her feet against the plush rug under her bed, bracing her hands on her knees before she actually attempted to stand up.

YN was just about to stand up when her movements were stopped by an unfamiliar sound in her room. She turned around to see a half-naked man asleep in her bed and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. This certainly wasn’t how she wanted to start today.

Standing up, she immediately grabbed a pair of shorts from the floor as well as a shirt. It wasn’t a familiar shirt, but she needed something – anything – to wear. She walked out of her room, pulled her hair up into a half-arsed bun on the top of her head and made her way into the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to change, wash her face and brush her teeth before she was grabbing her bag and Vivienne’s keys.

“Hey,” Vivienne called from the kitchen, frying pan in hand, “What are you doing with my keys?”

“Late for the studio, promise I’ll bring the car back in one piece!” YN pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek as she passed her. She opened the front door and just as she stepped out, she turned back to Vivienne, “There’s also a slight problem in my bedroom which I don’t have time to fix.”

Vivienne shook her head, “Go! You don’t need to be later than you are, but you owe me!”

“Thank you!” YN blew another kiss in her direction, “Love you!”

YN heard Vivienne call something back, but it was no use, she was already halfway down the steps and rushing towards Vivienne’s car. She pulled her sunglasses on, opened the door, and slipped in. The leather was hot on her skin, and she pulled the window’s all the way down before she even set off. The drive to Malibu wasn’t that long from where she lived, and with the window’s down and the stereo up, she made it in no time.

If this was YN a year ago, she would’ve been so nervous for this that she probably wouldn’t have shown up and if she did go, she would’ve shown up a few hours early. She didn’t actually know what the time was, but she could’ve guessed that she was a few hours late. Today, she didn’t care. She didn’t care how late she was when she parked in front of the studio, or how late she was when she burst through the doors with her sunglasses still on her face.

There was a girl sitting at the front desk, and her mouth slightly dropped open at the sight of YN walking in. YN had no idea if it was because she knew who she was or because of the state she was in – probably if YN had to guess, it was both.

“YN YLN,” She leant against the desk and tapped her nail on the wood, “Supposed to have a meeting with Harry Styles, which studio is he in?”

“Um,” The girl swallowed, as though she was nervous, “The second one, down the hall to the right.”

“Thanks, doll,” YN flashed the girl a quick smile and started her way down the corridor. Her cowboy boots tapped on the carpet with every step, and she clamped down on her bottom lip to stop the excitement from showing too much on her face.

The door was closed, and she didn’t even bother knocking before she pushed it open. Everybody in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to the girl, some of them with shock on their faces and others (mainly Harry) with a look of annoyance on their face. Harry was standing directly in front of her, behind glass may she add, but she was looking at him directly in the face. He had obviously been recording before she stepped in due to the track playing in the background, but the man behind the desk pressed a button and that stopped.

Harry pursed his features as he looks at her, his eyebrows furrowing, “You’re late.”

YN pulled her sunglasses off her face and pretended to look at a watch on her wrist, “Well, to me it looks like I’m perfectly on time.”

“You were supposed to be here two hours ago,” He continued, pointing to the clock on the wall.

“Well, I’m here now,” She shrugged, pulling her bag off her shoulder, and dropping down on the sofa next to her, “Are we going to record or not?”

“We’re not recording,” He snapped, a little too quickly for YN’s liking, “We’re just going to sing a song, and then you’re going to go home.”

YN shrugged, “Fine then, what are we singing?”

Without even missing a beat, someone passed her a sheet of paper which seemed to have the lyrics to a song called Cherry on it. They weren’t bad, they were actually quite good, but she just wanted to know why she had been asked to come in and sing on it. She made her way into the booth, happily accepting a pair of headphones from one of the technicians and before she knew it, she stood in front of Harry Styles for the first time in over a year.

He was still just how she remembered him from a year ago, but maybe just a little more tired. His hair was a little longer, and his features were a little more defined but the bags under his eyes are the thing that had grown the most. She didn’t know what had happened to him in the year it had been since they first met, and she didn’t really care, but it seemed to have taken a toll on him.

“I’m hoping that you’re going to sing it first,” YN spoke, stating the obvious as she looked at him over the paper, “Just so I know what I’m actually singing, and not making it up.”

He looked at her, and then at the man at the right of her and shook his head. YN knew that she was stating the obvious, but it was better to say it than to hide in fear and make a fool out of herself.

Harry moved towards the microphone, pulling his headphones on as he did. YN pulled her own on but stayed away from her microphone. The song itself was beautiful, and she was starting to understand especially why a female vocalist was wanted but all she could think was these were his words, from his perspective – why would she be singing them?

He still sounded amazing. Even though his appearance had changed slightly, his voice was still as entrancing as that first night they had met – maybe even more. Whilst he was singing, she couldn’t help but think of how she could merge and change the lyrics to make more sense. Make it so the song wasn’t just from his perspective, but also from hers.

The ideas were spiralling around in her head, and even though there was so much that she wanted to do she obviously knew the biggest thing was getting Harry on her side in this. That was going to be the biggest challenge. She could face it lightly, just dropping the idea in or she could be firm. YN didn’t have much patience, and she was already tearing her headphones off the second he stopped singing.

“It’s good,” She nodded, “But I can’t sing it like that.”

He looked shocked by her words, and furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean? What do you mean you can’t ‘sing it like that’?”

“You wrote the song, from your perspective,” YN stated the obvious to him, his arms crossing over his chest as he listened to her – at least he was listening, “You want a female vocalist on the track, and therefore you should have the other perspective, her perspective.”

“First of all, I don’t want a female vocalist on the track,” He shook his head, “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Well, then, whoever’s idea it was wanted a female vocalist.”

“Second of all,” He stopped her from saying anything else, “You can’t just waltz in here and start changing my song – that isn’t how this works.”

“Harry,” The man that was standing next to YN moved so that he was in between them, “Nothing is set in stone right now, why don’t we just listen to her version?”

“Jeff, this isn’t what we said,” Harry dropped his voice so that it was more hushed, but she could still hear every word, “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“But there isn’t any harm in trying,” Jeff tried to reason, and it seemed to work because Harry then turned to her.

“One time,” He lifted his finger from emphasis, “We’ll listen to your version once.”

“Perfect,” She smiled, moving so that she was standing behind her microphone now, “Shall we actually sing now?”

YN watched as he rolled his eyes at her, and she actually smiled. The room cleared so that it was just the two of them and everyone else went into the recording booth out of the way. The two of them put their headphones on and listened to the technician.

“Can I just get a test from the both of you?”

Harry sang a line, and then YN did. Once YN had, she turned her volume down a little bit because she seemed a little loud even to herself.

“Ready?” YN couldn’t even say anything, so she just nodded, gazing at Harry, who did the same.

Once the track started playing YN couldn’t actually believe that she was there. She was standing in a studio singing, maybe even recording a song if it went well. She truly did have one chance at this, and she wasn’t going to fuck this up. She couldn’t fuck this up for herself.

The track started, YN took a deep breath and knew that she was going to give her all. This was her opportunity for the taking – and she was going to take it.

“Don’t you call him baby/ we’re not talking lately/ don’t you call him what you used to call me,” Harry looked at YN, and she nodded as if he was allowed to continue, “I, I confess I can tell that you are your best/ I’m selfish so I’m hating it,”

YN moved so that she was closer to the microphone to indicate that it was her turn, “I’ve noticed that there’s a piece of me in how you dress/ I take it as a compliment,” YN continued, “Don’t you call me baby/ We’re not talking lately/ He doesn’t call me what you used to call me.”

When she had finished singing, and the track continued, her eyes bounced towards Harry who was staring at her. YN couldn’t tell what look he had on his face, but he didn’t stop, and she guessed that was a good thing. It must have been doing okay because everybody in the booth seemed to be listening to every word as well. It was surprising to YN because she wasn’t doing much but changing some of the lyrics on the spot.

“I, I just miss/ I just miss your accent and your friends/ Do you know I still talk to them?” It was at this point that a gravitational pull had made it so the two of them were facing directly at each other, singing whilst looking directly into each other’s eyes. It didn’t matter to either of them that people were watching, they were just in their own little worlds.

“You know he takes me walking round his parents’ gallery,” The look on his face as she sang those words, as though they were hitting something deep inside of him that YN had no idea about.

“Don’t you call him [me] baby/ We’re not talking lately,” When the two of them started singing together, it was truly as though nothing else could have touched them. It was just the two of them, singing about heartbreak whilst staring at each other. YN stopped singing to let Harry sing his version, “Don’t you call him what you used to call me,” Then, the next time that line came up, Harry stopped so YN could sing hers, “He doesn’t call me what you used to call me.”

Once not only the song had finished, but the track as well, there was silence in the room. It was as though nobody in the booth dared to speak and YN and Harry were still staring at each other.

Harry was the first to look away. He looked behind the glass at Jeff, and wiped his hand over his face before turning back to YN, “Do you want to record it?”

“Really?” YN couldn’t help but be surprised. There were a few times at that point in her life when YN was speechless, but this was one of them.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” He shrugged, “Should only take a few takes and then you can go.”

YN pretended to contemplate it for a second, but she already knew her answer, “Yeah, sure.”

The entire time that they were recording, YN felt as though she was in a fever dream. It didn’t seem real. All of the hard work that she had put in over the last year. All of the sleepless nights, the working late and the dreaming were all working up to this point. At this point in her life where she could say that she was actually recording a song. That people were going to listen to her voice and hopefully enjoy it.

They recorded the song full three or four times, two of those were on separate microphones and the last two were on the same. She was standing so close to Harry that she could smell his cologne, the wood mixed with that little bit of tobacco. Even though he had been an arsehole to her the first time that they had met, YN couldn’t deny that there was just something about him that drew her in. She wanted to know more, and she wanted to know everything. A man like him has some stories under his sleeve, and she wanted to know them all.

Whilst they were singing, there was a part of YN that believed that he might want the same. That all changed the second they stopped singing and he turned away from her and gave her such a cold shoulder that she almost did feel a chill. The second the last take was finished, Harry stormed out of the room without even saying a word to her.

Jeff was the one that came up to her, offering her a small smile as he did, “Once we’ve cut this, we’ll send a copy to Leroy so he can show you just so your happy before it's released.”

“Thank you,” She smiled, walking over to her bag, and pulling it over her shoulder, “It was amazing.”

He opened his mouth to say something else and then sighed, “I’m sorry about Harry. It was he who suggested having you come in actually, but you never know exactly what he is thinking.”

“Oh,” YN’s mouth was slightly parted with shock at that. Harry had given no inclination at all that he was the one who suggested she came and sang with him, not even the slightest one.

“He’ll come around to it, eventually,” He smiled, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

YN quickly turned on her heel and walked out of the room. The second she was storming down the corridor and towards the door, she was rattling through her purse for the pills that she knew she kept in there. As she pushed the front door open, she found them and immediately popped the lid. She already had two in her hand by the time she looked up, and immediately made eye contact with Harry who was standing having a cigarette a few feet away from her.

That didn’t stop her from dropping both of the pills into her mouth and swallowing. She turned away, breaking eye contact with him but she knew that with every step she took towards Vivienne’s car, Harry was watching her.

She wanted him to.

There were very few times in YN's life that she could say that she did something for herself. Her entire life before a year ago wasn’t her own – it was her parents. Even once she had left them, there was still that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that her parents might be watching, or they would be waiting for some sort of opportunity to pull her back to their way of life.

That was a difficult mindset for YN to get out of. The entire first three months after leaving home she didn’t leave Vivienne’s couch. Vivienne had tried and tried to get the girl to leave and do something, to come out with her on a night, but YN couldn’t bring herself to. Of course, she wanted to, that life was her dream – it was the life that made her burn – but she also knew that her parents could have had people watching her, waiting to bring her back and send her away and get her life straight again.

After those three months, she decided that she wasn’t going to live under her parents' watchful eye anymore. She wasn’t living with them, legally she was an adult who could do what she wanted and that was exactly what she was going to do. Every trip to a different club, every asshole that she had talked to from the music industry, and in most cases slept with, in the idea that it would get her somewhere, but it didn’t – they were all working up to this day.

The day when people, all over the world could listen to an album and hear her voice on it.

It baffled YN’s little brain, especially when she woke up the day of the release and played the vinyl of the record and there was her voice on the fifth track. Vivienne had surprised her with a bottle of champagne, and the two of them stood in the tiny living area of the flat listening to the entire album and basically screaming the entire time that YN was singing.

Even if YN wasn’t on the record, she still loved the entire thing. It was one of the most heartbreaking, rock n' roll records that she had ever heard, and over the past year, she had heard as many as she could. To say that she was a part of that, was one of YN’s biggest achievements so far in her life.

The only problem was – she now wanted more.

The Troubadour was a venue that YN had been to many times over the past year. She had heard some of the best musicians whilst standing in that room, and here she was walking into the building to perform with Harry and his band at their record release night. They were performing later that night, but YN had been asked to come a few hours earlier to rehearse and unlike last time – she was on time today.

YN walked into the dark bar, sunglasses still on her head, heeled cowboy boots tapping on the floor. She had a bag over her shoulder with the dress that she had specifically picked out for the performance but decided upon a comfortable pair of high-waisted flared jeans and a crotched white top to rehearse in. There were a few people behind the bar, but after giving them a small smile she made her way towards the stage, where Harry and his band were already rehearsing. They hadn’t noticed that she was there, so she pulled her sunglasses off her eyes and placed them on her head and listened.

Even in a rehearsal, where Harry himself had sunglasses over his eyes and he was just in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which wasn’t his normal performance attire, he was mesmerising. YN struggled to look away from him on a good day, but today it was actually impossible. Once they had finished the song, Golden, which was one of YN’s favourites of the album actually, she joined in the other people clapping. When she had, Jeff who was standing by the side of the stage turned and started to walk over to her.

“YN!” He had a beaming smile on his face, and YN had a few ideas as to why that could be. He greeted her with a hug which shocked her a little bit, but she accepted and offered him a small smile, “It’s good to see you.”

“You too Jeff,” She smiled, pulling her bag more securely on her shoulder before it fell off.

“Well, the band’s got one more song to do before Cherry, you could stay, or I could show you backstage where you can drop your bag off?”

“Please,” YN nodded, lifting her hand up to her head to wipe the sweat off her brow, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” He motioned for her to follow him, walking past the stage as he did. YN looked up at Harry, who was looking right at her and offered a small smile. He didn’t smile back, he just continued to look at her and drink from his water bottle. YN didn’t mind. He could do or say anything to her that day and absolutely nothing was going to ruin her mood.

“There’s a green room at the bottom of the hall,” Jeff explains as they walked. He stopped off at one of the doors on the right of the corridor, “This is yours, Harry’s across the hall and there are always people milling around if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” She smiled, passing him, and walking into the room.

“They should be ready for you in around ten minutes,” He gave her another smile and shut the door behind him. The second that he did, she turned and dropped her back against the door and had to bite her lip from screaming.

She was in her own dressing room, backstage at the Troubadour, waiting to rehearse her song so that she could perform it later that night. It didn’t make any sense to her. It was crazy. The room was small, but it had a dressing table and a sofa and a little cart that seemed to have a few snacks as well as water and whisky. She walked over and picked up the bottle. She had no idea what good whisky was, and what wasn’t but she remembered seeing something similar on her father’s bar cart that must have meant it was good.

Turning towards the dressing table she sat down, and it was only then that she noticed the bouquet of flowers next to the mirror. They were beautiful, all bright colours that reminded her of summer and the light in the world. There was a small card placed in the middle that she picked up, and in an unfamiliar scrawl were words that she never could have expected.

I was wrong. I’m sorry.

YN stared at the card, letting the words sink in. Her stomach was knotting and twisting just at the simple idea that Harry had thought to not only get her flowers but also apologise. It was certainly true that nobody knew what that man’s next move was. Not even five minutes ago he was staring at her in a way that made her think he hated her, but he didn’t. He had actually apologised to her. Was he apologising for the way that he acted towards her in the studio, or for the words that he said to her over a year ago? Maybe it was both?

YN placed the card back on the flowers and started to unpack her bag. She pulled her dress out and hung it out on the rail so that hopefully any creases in the material would drop. Next, she pulled out her makeup, just a bit that she had brought to touch up her face later, as well as some hair products just to make sure that her hair didn’t look like a rat's nest when she was up on stage. When she reached the bottom of her bag, she pulled out her pill container.

YN stared at the bottle for a second. In her head, she knew that she had taken two just before she had left the house and walked to the Troubadour. But then again, she needed something to calm her nerves before she went on stage. Walking over to the bar cart, she turned one of the glasses over and opened the bottle of whiskey. She poured enough so that just the bottom of the glass was covered and then a bit more. With that glass, she washed down two more pills and dropped the rest of the container back into her bag.

YN wiped the sweat off her brow and upper lip and then made her way towards the door. She didn’t know if ten minutes had passed, but she could still stand and listen to them even if they hadn't. Walking back towards the stage, Harry and Jeff stood talking about something and it looked like the rest of the band was waiting for her. YN gave Sarah a smile, which she returned with a small wave. She stopped just in front of them and beamed them a smile.

“We ready to do this, then?”

“Just need to set up your mic and then we’re good to go,” YN nodded and watched as people who obviously worked at the venue set her mic up. She thanked them and once it was ready, she stood behind it.

The music started from behind her, and even though there wasn’t a single person in the audience apart from the staff, YN couldn’t contain her excitement. The second that Harry started singing, she had to control herself. They weren’t putting on any sort of performance right now, they were just rehearsing and making sure that everything was okay for tonight, but then again, it didn’t matter the circumstance whenever YN sang, on her own or with Harry, she was performing every word. Her vocals weren’t the best, but once the first nerves had rattled out of her body and the pills had finally started to relax her, nothing could stop her.

Her eyes flickered to Harry a few times during the performance, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was playing and singing so effortlessly and for the first time during this thing, YN stood there and questioned what the hell she was doing there. Her life was shitty rich parties and playing up to the public about her perfect family – she wasn’t made for this.

Then he looked at her. The second that he turned his eyes towards her all of those thoughts left her head, and she knew that this was where she needed to be, and where she deserved to be. Music. Singing. Performing. These were the things that sparked the fire within her, and even if this wasn’t the life that was made for her, it was the life that she was going to make for herself. One day, she was going to be up on this stage on her own, singing her own record that people wanted to hear, and nothing was going to stop her.

The song finished, but Harry and YN were still looking at each other. The band were talking to some technicians about balance and some shit that YN didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter.

Without breaking eye contact, she mouthed, “Thank you.”

He just smiled.

YN had just finished smoking a blunt with two people she didn’t recognise or know the name of in the green room when the door swung open and in walked Vivienne. YN squealed and stood up, a little wobbly on her feet but that wasn’t going to stop her from wrapping her arms around her friend in a bone-crushing hug – her family.

Vivienne pulled away and placed her hand on YN’s cheeks, “Looks like you’ve already got the party started.”

“When haven’t I?” YN scrambled and grabbed Vivienne’s hand, pulling her out of the greenroom and down the corridor.

“Am I not allowed to say hello to anyone?” Vivienne laughed, pulling her bag tighter on her shoulder so that it didn’t fall off from her friend’s antics.

“Sorry,” YN laughed, stopping in front of her dressing room door, and pushing it open, “But I have to show you this.”

YN walked into the room with a squeal and dropped back on the sofa, propping her feet on the small coffee table in front of her. Vivienne stood at the door and looked around the room. There was a hint of a confused look on her face, but YN was too out of it to notice, and she was also too excited.

“What is it?” Vivienne asked, letting the door slam behind her, and walking further into the room.

“It’s my dressing room, Viv,” She laughed, “It’s all mine.”

“Wow, YN,” Vivienne turned and saw the flowers on the dressing table and made a beeline for them.

At this point, YN had dropped her feet from the table and had pulled a small glass pot filled with a white powder out of her pocket. It was a gift from one of those idiots she had smoked with earlier, but she wasn’t going to let good drugs go to waste. She tapped it out on the table, moved it into a perfect line and dropped her nose down to snort it.

Vivienne turned around, completely speechless at her friend. She made a mental note that she would speak to YN tomorrow, she wasn’t going to dampen the day for her. With the small note from the flowers in her hand, she held it up to YN who smiled.

“Who’s this from?” Vivienne tapped the paper against her finger, “And why are they saying sorry?”

Sheepishly YN shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“You obviously do,” Vivienne asked, dropping down on the sofa next to YN, “Or you wouldn’t be making that face.”

YN dropped her head back and dropped her face so that a false frown sat there, “I don’t know what you mean, I’m not making a face.”

Vivienne tapped the girl on her shoulder using the card and YN grabbed it, standing up and placing it back on the flowers where it belonged. She then crossed her arms and leaned against her dressing table.

“It’s from Harry,” She admitted.

“What did he get wrong?” Vivienne asked, furrowing her eyebrows, “What is he saying sorry for?”

YN shrugged, “Could be nothing, could be everything.”

“YN –”

YN pushed the hair that had fallen out of her face and stood up straight, “That doesn’t matter, anyway, because I need to get ready for the show and I need you to do my hair for me.”

Vivienne sat on the sofa and watched as her friend pull her jeans and top off and pulled on a white lace dress that stopped at her mid-knee and nearly cried. With her thigh-high cowboy boots that she never saw YN without and that crazy smile on her face – she looked like a rockstar. That was her best friend, and she was a rock star.

“Are you gonna help me?” YN laughed after she sat down and saw that Vivienne hadn’t moved, “Or you just gonna sit there?”

“I’m sorry, yeah,” YN touched up her face as Vivienne brushed her hair and made sure that it didn’t look like its usual rat's nest. Once her hair was better, Vivienne placed her hand on her friends' shoulders and squeezed.

“What?” YN smacked her lips together, after just applying a layer of gloss to her lips.

“Nothing,” Vivienne shrugged, “I’m just so proud of you.”

YN laughed and placed her own hand over Vivienne’s, “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

The two girls beamed at each other through the mirror, but their little moment was interrupted by a banging on the door. YN jumped up and bounced to the door and flew it open. Her excitement dropped a little when she saw who it was, and her stomach twisted.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Sorry for interrupting, but we’re about to go on.”

“Oh,” YN laughed, “I didn’t know it was that time already.”

“Yeah,” Harry pointed towards the green room, “We’re all in there if you wanna come.”

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay,” He nodded his head at her, his gaze stopping for just a second before he turned and walked away.

YN rushed back into the room and moved towards the table, grabbing her little glass pot, and dropping it in her pocket. Vivienne watched as the girl fluttered around the room, checking her make-up in the mirror first before turning to the bar cart and downing a glass of whisky like it was nothing. Definitely not the same girl she had given her first proper shot to over a year prior.

“You ready?” YN asked, slipping her arm through her friends.

“I should be asking you that,” Vivienne laughed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as ready for something in my life.”

The entire band sat around on the sofas; Harry stood in the middle of them. They were obviously waiting for her because all of their heads picked up when she walked in. She smiled and dropped herself on the arm of the sofa near Sarah.

“We made it, okay,” Harry started, and once he did even the people that weren’t in the band that was in the room started to listen, “Our album release show is at the fucking Troubadour.” There were cheers and claps around the room, “There are so many people that I need to thank, but we’re already late and Jeff may kill me if I carry on talking any longer, so, are we ready?”

Another chorus of cheers around the room, and the band was standing up and making their way towards the corridor that led to the stage. Harry was following behind them, and just as YN stood up, she caught his arm. He looked at her and furrowed his eyebrows.

“When are you wanting me?”

“Uh,” He lifted his hand up to his head, rubbing the crease that formed there slightly, “I think we’re playing it fifth, I’ll introduce you. You can watch from the side.”

“Okay,” YN nodded her head, watching as he turned to walk away, “I’ll be ready.”

YN and Vivienne locked arms and walked a few steps behind the band and Harry and took their place in the wings whilst they were performing. The second that he walked onto the stage; the crowd erupted into the loudest cheers that YN had ever heard in her life. They only seemed to get louder to the point that they were almost deafening when the music started, and Golden was being played for the first time.

“Golden, Golden, Golden/ As I open my eyes/ Hold it, focus, hoping/ Take me back to the light.”

The record hadn’t even been out for a day yet, but YN swore that she could hear people singing along, even herself at some points. It was mesmerizing, even watching it from the side like she was.

The next song was Watermelon Sugar, and if she didn’t know what the song was about before, she certainly knew after watching him perform. It was electric, and sexual and made every single hair on her body stand up. He knew what he was doing and knew exactly how to push the buttons of everyone in the audience.

“I want your belly/ And that summer feelin’/ Getting washed away in you.”

By the time Adore You started, YN was pacing up and down in the wings. It wasn’t that she was nervous because, in all honesty, she wanted to just be out there. She was getting more and more impatient, and the more she did, the antsier she got.

Without even thinking, she pulled her little glass pot out and tapped some on the back of her hand.

“Honey (ah)/ I’d walk through fire for you/ Just let me adore you.”

Wiping her nose, she tried to turn her attention back to the show, but she couldn’t. There was one song now between her and getting out there, and she had no idea how she was supposed to wait that long. She wanted to sing for that crowd, she wanted to hear them shouting her name and this wait was way too long for her liking.

“Lights up and they know who you are/ Know who you are/ Do you know who you are?”

This was it. The fourth song had finished, and the crowd were going wild. There was a pause whilst Harry was given his guitar and then he walked over to the microphone. YN shook out her arms, moved her neck from side to side and let out a deep breath.

“Now, as you know this next song features a very special guest on it,” To YN, the more he spoke the more it felt as though he was delaying her coming on stage, “This is Cherry and please welcome YN YLN to the stage!”

With one last smile and encouraging thumbs up from Vivienne, YN walked out onto the stage with a beaming smile on her face.

This is what she had been dreaming of. The second that she walked onto the stage; the crowd erupted. It was unlike anything that she had ever heard in her life, and it was better than any drug that she could take. Hearing each one of those people scream her name and be excited for her to sing was it for YN. This is what she had been waiting for her entire life.

YN looked at Harry and beamed a smile at him, and then the music started. She stood in front of the microphone that was there waiting for her and closed her eyes. She wasn’t just listening for the music, but she was listening to the crowd – and then she was listening to Harry.

“Don’t you call him baby/ we’re not talking lately/ don’t you call him what you used to call me,” YN turned to look at Harry, but he was looking straight forward at the crowd, strumming his guitar with such ease, “I, I confess I can tell that you are your best/ I’m selfish so I’m hating it.”

Harry took a step away from the microphone and YN moved closer to hers, “I’ve noticed that there’s a piece of me in how you dress/ I take it as a compliment/ Don’t you call me baby/ We’re not talking lately/ He doesn’t call me what you used to call me.”

“I, I just miss/ I just miss your accent and your friends/ Do you know I still talk to them?” Just as they had done in the studio when they were recording, the gravitational pull forced them to look directly at each other. Their little world was back, and they were both sharing the stage doing something that they loved once again.

“You know he takes me walking round his parents’ gallery,” Harry closed his eyes as she sang that line. YN didn’t know whom Harry was singing about, but it was obviously still very raw.

“Don’t you call him [me] baby/ We’re not talking lately,” The two of them started to sing together, and without even thinking, when it was Harry’s turn to sing his version, “Don’t you call him what you used to call me,” YN moved so that they were sharing a mic. They didn’t look away from each other, not even when YN had finished her line and the song had drawn to a close, “He doesn’t call me what you used to call me.”

The sound in the room was electric and YN brought her hands up to her face in shock and dropped her head on Harry’s shoulder, to which he laughed.

“YN YLN, everyone!” He called into the microphone, to which she smiled at him and bounced off the stage – much to her own disappointment.

The second she was off the stage, and the show continued, she was immediately hugged by Vivienne. The two friends jumped around for a minute before they turned back to the show. Every so often she could hear someone shout her name, mainly when Harry was talking as though they wanted her to come back onto the stage. It took every ounce of self-control that YN had to not turn and walk back onto that stage.

If one thing was for certain, it was time for her to record her own album.

The entire place felt as though it was one fire when the show finished, and they went back to the green room. The band were still high off the adrenaline (and other things), Vivienne and YN were having the time of their lives, and Harry was sitting talking to Jeff, almost normally and as though he hadn’t just performed in the greatest show of his life.

YN stood up, plucking a cigarette out of the carton that was on the side and picked up a lighter. She had no idea whose they were, but YN didn’t care.

“Where are you going?” Vivienne asked, lifting her head up from the man’s shoulder that it had been leant on.

“Just out for air,” YN laughed, popping the cigarette in her mouth, and lighting it, “I’ll be back before you know it, don’t miss me too much.”

“You know I will, babe.”

The girls shared a laugh and then YN made a beeline for the exit, swiping an unopened bottle of champagne from the side as she did. Even though it was the height of summer, it was still way too hot outside, and even the slight breeze didn’t do much.

YN dropped down so she sat on the steps, not caring if any dirt got onto her white dress because nothing was going to ruin her night. She definitely spoke too soon when she sat there for a good few minutes, cigarette dangling from her lips trying to open the damn champagne bottle that she had picked up.

The door opened behind her, and before she had even checked to see who it was, she was thrusting the bottle up in the air towards them, “Can you open this for me?”

“Sure,” YN almost dropped the bottle when she heard his British accent.

“You know,” YN started as he took the bottle from her and sat down, “We really have to stop meeting like this, Mr Styles.”

He laughed, and just as he did the bottle popped open and YN winced waiting for the liquid to spurt over but it didn’t. She accepted it with thanks from him and immediately brought the bottle up to her lips. Once she had done it, she passed it back to him and he did the same thing.

“If I remember correctly, it was you that followed me the last time.”

YN furrowed her eyebrows, trying to remember, “That may be true, but you were the one following me this time.”

He nodded and passed the bottle back to her, “And what is it that you’re doing out here? I thought you’d be in there, celebrating with everyone.”

“Just needed some air,” YN shrugged, “I don’t mind celebrating on my own for a while, either.”

Harry pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering YN one to which she shook her head and held up the one in her hand. He nodded and placed one between his lips.

“What about you?” YN asked as she watched him light it, “I thought you’d be in there celebrating with one of the twenty girls in there that all want to fuck you.”

“Wow,” He laughed, “You definitely aren’t that shy girl I met a year ago.”

“Yeah, well, I grew up,” YN sighed, opening her arms in a shrug, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I did all that last time around,” He shrugged, “I guess I grew up too.”

“C’mon,” YN laughs and bumps his shoulder with hers, “Nobody grows out of sex.”

Harry grimaces and shakes his head, “You do when it’s like that. Coked out of your head, not remembering where you are, who they are or even who you are at times.”

YN doesn’t respond. YN was shocked that he was even admitting that to her. YN didn’t have enough fingers to count all of the times that had happened to her, and for Harry to just openly admit that was shocking to her. It made her think that the two of them may be similar in more ways than just one.

“But anyway, you don’t need to know about that,” Harry shrugged, “What’s next for you then?”

“Well,” She sighs, taking another swig of the champagne in her hand, “I’m going to record an album.”

“You got a deal?” Harry sort of seems shocked by her words, “Congrats.”

“Well, I don’t yet,” He furrows his eyebrows at her, “But I will do, and if Leroy knows what’s good for him probably by the end of the month.”

Harry’s features furrow, “I’m not sure that it works like that.”

“It will do,” YN shrugs, “You heard what I did out there, you saw what I saw out there. They loved me.”

Harry nodded, running the side of his finger across his lip, “You got songs?”

“I do,” She laughs, “I’m not that delusional, I’m not just going to pull this album out of nowhere.”

“Well, at least you know,” He laughs, accepting the champagne from her again, “And anyway, I’m excited to hear it, whenever it comes out.”

“Thank you,” She smiles, resting her head on her knees, “What’s next for you then, rockstar?”

“Uh,” He tilts his head slightly, “Going home for a while, and then we go on tour in three months, maybe?”

“You truly are a rockstar,” She laughs, “Well any shows here, you know I’m just a phone call away. I’m sure the audience would love for you to bring me out.”

He laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind,” He taps his cigarette out on the concrete next to him, “You know, I’m glad that this is how it ended.”

“Yeah,” YN kept her smile painted on her face, “Me too.”

“See you inside?” He asks, standing up and making his way towards the door.

“See you.”

For him, this was the end. She had sung on his album and sang in his show and now it was time for them to part ways. YN didn’t know what she expected, or what she wanted him to say but it still felt very bittersweet, especially from her perspective.

Taking two pills out of her small container, she washed them down with the champagne and walked back inside the green room. Vivienne was still where YN had left her, and she dropped down on the sofa next to her, head falling in Vivienne’s lap.

“Nice chat, babe?”

“Yeah, nice chat,” YN sighed, allowing her body to be relaxed from the drugs and alcohol in her system.

YN was lulling her head side to side to the beat of whatever song was playing in the room when the door swung open. At first, YN didn’t think anything of it but when a gorgeous girl with blonde hair rushed past her and towards the corner of the room that she knew Harry and Jeff were in, she couldn’t help but have her interest pique.

She turned her head so that she was facing Harry and the mystery girl, and her mouth dropped open when the girl wrapped her arms around his neck and immediately kissed him. His hand rested on her waist, just above the hem of the tiniest shorts YN had ever seen.

With her lips parted in shock, YN turned her head up towards Vivienne who had seen the entire thing just like her and had a similar look on her face. They definitely seemed familiar with each other, as though this wasn’t the first time that the two of them had kissed, or even been together in public. Another thing that made YN think that was that nobody else in the room, maybe apart from the groupies that were there, even batted an eyelid at the actions.

It became even more obvious to YN when the girl dropped herself onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck as though it was nothing. It really seemed like nothing when she joined the conversation with Jeff, he was laughing and so was Harry. Now that YN thought about it, that man said nothing about having a partner earlier when she asked about sleeping with the groupies, but I suppose he did keep his cards close to his chest.

“Sarah,” YN called, catching the drummer's attention from the chair that she was sitting on, “Who was that?”

“Who was who?” She asked, leaning back into the seat more.

“The girl who walked over to Harry?”

“Oh,” Sarah laughed, “That’s Molly.”

“Molly?”

“Yeah, his girlfriend,” She said as if it was nothing, “Didn’t you know? They’ve been together for a while now.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, not moving her eyes away from the couple, “I didn’t know that.”

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