#another beautiful letter from namjoon
Text
221201 Weverse Translation
RM's Post ❇️
안녕하세요 사랑하는 여러분,
22년의 끝자락에서 인사드립니다.
내일은 음악을 시작한지 어언 15년,
20대의 마지막 달에 제 1집이 나오게 되었습니다.
많은 복잡한 생각들이 들지만..
전작들을 포함한 그간의 제 모든 작업물들이 이 앨범 한 장을 내기 위해서였다는 생각이 내내 들었어요
우선 너무나 감사합니다.
많은 분들이 그 사소한 진심을 눈치채주셨다는 믿음으로 더 용감하고 진실되게, 제 지금 형태의 심장에 근접한 음악들과 언어들을 블렌딩할 수 있었어요.
정말 행운이죠.
사실 타이틀곡을 정해두고 시작하지는 않았어요.
모든 곡들이 제겐 정말로 동등합니다.
대 스트리밍 시대에 4분 33초짜리 한글 위주의 노래를 타이틀로 들고 나가는 게 두렵고 조금은 심란하지만, 애초에 하입이나 노이즈를 위한 곡들은 아니었습니다! (진심이에요)
그저 제 아이디 아카이브처럼, 시간이 지나도 여전한 향을 가지고 많은 분들의 마음속에 기록되고 피어날 수 있으면 그걸로 충분하다고 생각합니다.
첫 솔로 앨범에 많은 분들이 참여하셔서 조금 의아하셨을 수도 있지만, 이번 앨범은 제가 스스로 큐레이팅한 전시 같은 앨범입니다. 그분들과 저의 융화를 봐주신다면, 납득하실 수 있을 거에요.
참여해주신 모든 분들의 주파수가 차마 대체할 수 없었던, 1순위의 섭외 대상들이었습니다!
저는 무엇보다 그 분들 모두에게 제 삶의 몇 분, 몇 시간, 어쩌면 몇 달 몇 년의 빚을 졌습니다.
저도 늘 누군가에게 그런 사람이 되고 싶었어요.
많은 컨텐츠들을 이미 만들었고 찍었고 발매가 다가오니 심란하고 허허로운 마음으로 집에서 혼술이나 한 잔 하는 중입니다만.. 십 년전이나 지금이나 진심이 진심으로, 사랑이 사랑으로 분명히 닿을 것임을 의심치 않으려 합니다.
모노처럼 아주 첫 단추부터 유기적으로 설계하지는 않았지만, '10 Blues Included'라는 설명처럼, 늘어놓고 보니 모두 제 안에 숨어있던 아름답고 다양한 쪽빛들이 되었습니다.
순서대로 들어주시길 당부드리며.
저는 제가 오래 전부터 생각해온 다양한 저만의 컨텐츠들로 이 앨범을 전개해보려 합니다.
모두가 마음에 들어해주셨으면 좋겠지만, 뭐 아니면 어쩌겠냐는 시원한 마음으로. 열 가지의 파랑 중 당신 마음에 드는 파랑이 하나도 없겠느냐는 당당한 마음으로 내일 찾아뵙겠습니다.
여전한 표정과 여전한 몸짓, 그러나 조금 더 정제되고 늠름해진 주파수로 그간의 제 오랜 편지들을 보냅니다.
소중히 받아주시면 좋겠습니다.
이 음악들이 만용이 아닌
당신들이 제게 주신 용기이길 바라며.
- 남준
(https://weverse.io/bts/artist/3-108552136)
Hello my loves,
greetings from the finish line of 2022.
Tomorrow will mark 15 years since I started music and will be the day that my 1st album comes out, in the last month of my twenties.
There is a lot of noise in my head but..
I’ve constantly had the thought that all my previous works were in preparation to release this one album.
Firstly, thank you so much.
I believe that a lot of people were able to notice my little expressions of sincerity and because of that, I was able to be bolder and more honest, blending the melodies and languages close to my heart.
I am very fortunate.
To be honest, I didn’t start working on the album with a title track in mind.
All the songs on it are truly equal to me.
I am a bit worried and anxious about releasing a title track that’s in Korean and is 4 minutes 33 seconds long in this age of streaming, but these songs weren’t made for hype or noise from the get-go! (I mean it)
Just like my ID ‘Rkive’, if I could leave traces that remain even as time passes and could be documented in the hearts of many people and come into bloom there, I would be satisfied.
You might have found it strange that so many people took part in my first solo album, but this album is like an exhibition where I curated everything myself. If you are able to look at my harmonies with them, you will be convinced.
All these featured artists have wavelengths that just could not be replaced, they are at the very top of people to have as guests!
Above anything else, I owe a debt of a few minutes, a few hours, or maybe even a few months or years of my life to all of them.
I have always wanted to be that kind of person to someone else as well.
I’ve already shot a lot of content and as the release approaches, I am having a drink alone at home feeling uneasy and empty..
For the past 10 years and even now, I am trying not to doubt the clear fact that sincerity is delivered through sincerity, and love through love.
While this wasn't planned out organically right from the beginning like Mono, like the explanation ‘10 Blues included’, once I laid everything out, it became these various colours of beautiful indigo that were hiding inside of me.
I hope that you will listen to it chronologically.
I am hoping to unfold this album with various kinds of my own content that I’ve been thinking of for a long time.
I hope that everyone will like it, but if not, well, it can’t be helped, I’ll be cool about it. I will greet you tomorrow with the confidence of knowing that there must be at least one shade of blue that you like amongst the ‘10 Blues Included’.
With the same expressions and the same gestures as always, but through wavelengths that have become a little bit more refined and confident, I send you these old letters that I have written over time.
I hope that you receive it with care.
I hope that this music is not reckless bravado, but courage that you gave me.
- Namjoon
Trans cr; Annie & Aditi @ bts-trans
© TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS
#221201#weverse#post#rm#namjoon#another beautiful letter from namjoon#lots of love to our amazing translator who translated it so wonderfully#indigo#bts#bangtan
201 notes
·
View notes
Note
Omg all of your works are so so good I’ve binge read them all😭😭😭 can I please request like an agedup!/ dilf!Namjoon with reader, dub/non-con? Daddy Joon just has me on my knees all day every day🧎🏽♀️
tysm I love you <3 and 👀
pairing: namjoon x reader
genre: strangers to lovers, doctor!namjoon au
warnings: implied murder, mentions of anxiety and neglect, hints of (emotional) parental abuse, obsession, corruption, dub con, misconduct, inappropriate medical examinations lmao, age gap, daddy kink, praise, soft manipulation, psychological humiliation, multiple orgasms, risky sex, creampie, implied imprisonment/pet play at the end??? (up for interpretation ajdjdfjdh)
Namjoon always had a soft spot for strays. A keen eye, too. And you? You were but a little kitten in the body of a tigress. A kitten without an owner. Not one that knew how to care for you, anyway, and sometimes that was a fate far worse than one of an orphan.
He wasn't quite sure what it was about you that caught his eye. He has never felt anything towards any of his patients, politely ignoring any subtle attempts at flirting with him. But after your first visit, he decided right then and there that he was going to help you get better; in every way he could. Bring out that little kitten from hiding and give her shelter, where she wouldn't need to pretend to fit in with the predators to survive.
Because now, you had your very own predator watching your back.
He looked forward to your every visit, although it pained him to see you unwell. When he noted the slight tremble in your hands as you sat in his office, he started weighing the pros and cons of referring you to a psychiatrist. Did he want to see you wither away to nothing? No. Did he want to hand you over to someone else? Definitely not.
Tapping his pen against his lower lip, he lifted his eyes from the computer to your face.
So beautiful. So frail. Oh, he could crush you if his hands weren't careful. Maybe he should; maybe you needed to fall apart and be rebuilt again. What a shame. What an opportunity.
Shall we leave it up to fate?
Gently, Namjoon reached out to take your hand in his.
"Listen to me, sweetheart," he sighed. "You're not well, and I don't think there is much more I can do. I think you need to see a specialist."
You only blinked at him, looking so lost, your brows furrowed softly.
Namjoon gave your hand a squeeze, then released it to swivel around in his chair, facing his computer again.
"I'm going to write you a letter of referral, and then-"
"I don't-" you interrupted him, immediately avoiding his eyes. "I don't think I want to see a psychiatrist right now."
Ah. There we go.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.
"I know it's a big decision, but you need help to get better."
You hesitated for a moment, laying your hands down in your lap. You fiddled with your skirt, and Namjoon had to physically restrain himself from letting his gaze wander down to the smooth skin of your legs.
"But..." You sighed, biting down on your lower lip. "Then..." Another sigh, like you couldn't quite figure out how to express yourself properly. "Can you help me?"
'Atta girl.
Namjoon took his glasses off and placed them on the desk beside him. He stayed quiet, watching you with dark eyes, waiting for you to wrap up your thoughts.
"I- I don't want to see anyone else right now," you managed. "It's hard enough to open up to one doctor."
His lips quirked. Check, mate. How perfect you were, building yourself a house of straws. How considerate for the wolf who wanted to devour you.
This was his cue to stick to his oath and do what was best for his patient. The only thing was that every patient's case differed; and he knew exactly what was best for you right now. What you lacked, what threw you off balance in the first place. Only he possessed the medicine that held the cure to all the aches of your soul.
He pretended to think it over, his eyes sincere as they stared into yours.
"Okay," he agreed, soft and quiet.
It was enough for a ghost of a smile to grace your face. His heartbeat picked up its pace.
"But," he continued, leaning down to grab a stethoscope from a plastic drawer, "I need you to work with me, okay? I want to see you get better."
You nodded instantly, your back straightening when he stood up from his chair.
"How about we start with a check up?" He suggested, placing a large hand on your shoulder. "Can you lie down for me?"
You relaxed beneath his touch, silently leaning back to sink into the leather bed. It was propped up, so you were really almost halfway to sitting up, but he gave you a warm smile, briefly moving his hand to rest atop your head.
"Good girl."
He noticed the deep inhale, the way you seemed to flush at the praise, and he had to busy himself with putting the stethoscope on in order not to barge into that little straw house and frighten you with his sharp teeth.
No. He'd claw at it, circle it, until you were curious enough to peek outside and consider what the beast had to say to you. And most importantly, what it had to offer.
He placed the cool end of the stethoscope on your chest. Your heartbeat instantly pulsed in his ears, loud, clear and fast. He looked down at you, sliding it an inch lower, his knuckles barely ghosting the swell of your breast.
A beautiful stutter in the rhythm followed.
"Are you uncomfortable?" He murmured.
You shook your head, your voice coming out soft when you answered.
"No."
"Nervous?"
You shook your head again.
Namjoon smiled at you.
"Good. There's no need to be."
He took the stethoscope off then and put it somewhere behind him, not paying it much more attention. Instead, he placed his hand on the crown of your head again, his thumb brushing over your temple.
"Do you get heart palpitations often?"
You stared up at him, those big, innocent eyes making it hard for him to remember that an entire world existed outside of you, outside of this room. Making him want to do bad things. Dip into that innocence and twist it inside out, just like you did to his soul.
"Sometimes," you replied quietly.
Namjoon hummed.
"Do you know how many physical conditions follow anxiety? Stress spreads like poison. Ignoring it is never a solution."
He noted the way his statement sank into you. Nothing he said was a lie; but how easily you accepted any words that fell from his mouth made his stomach tighten. Oh, he'd leave black handprints all over your pure, little soul. And he was okay with that. An eternal mark, proof of belonging to him.
You sighed. That made his heart tighten. Such a pitiful sound. How could he ever resist taking you into his care? Would a priest resist a sinner's confession? Never. It was a holy path, guiding people and helping them heal. You deserved the best of them all.
"That being said," Namjoon continued, "I'll ask you a few questions now, and press down on a few crucial places." He emphasized his point by putting some pressure onto his thumb, proceeding to massage your temple. "Is that okay with you?"
Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
"Yes."
His thumb slid down the soft, warm skin of your face, tracing the apple of your cheeks.
"Are you still getting migraines, love?"
You shook your head. Namjoon placed his hand on your tummy, his thumb once again drawing comforting, mindless patterns into the cotton material of your shirt. You exhaled softly.
"How about nausea?" He asked, keeping his voice low and his eyes on yours. "Did that improve at all?"
"A... a little."
It was difficult to focus on anything but the way you responded to his touch. He was mesmerized by how flustered you seemed, but how pliant all at once. Laid down before him like a sacrificial lamb, your fate long accepted. Perhaps even cherished. A lamb longing to be slaughtered and handed straight into the hands of their god, looking for the slightest proof of his existence; even if it came in the form of death. Always, in the end, yearning for their father's warm embrace.
"That's good," he whispered.
Cautiously, he let his hand slip a little lower, his palm brushing over your abdomen before it settled at its very bottom. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you didn't move or look away from him.
"But... medication can only help so much. Same goes for relaxation. The best way to solve a problem is to focus on its root, don't you think?"
You nodded once more, and he felt content and intrigued at the same time, his free hand settling down on your knee.
"Then let's do that."
He could see the way your gaze flickered to his hand, tracing the veins over it before flicking back to his face.
He gave you a small squeeze of reassurance.
"College has been difficult, hasn't it? Not to mention... everything else. Have you tried to socialize a little more like I recommended?"
His question prompted you to sigh once more.
"Not really."
Namjoon let his hand shift a little higher, coming into contact with your inner thigh. The softness of your skin alone was enough to stir warmth inside his body; but the way your muscles tensed suddenly only added fuel to the fire, setting him ablaze.
"Why not?" He questioned. "Humans are social creatures. Conversation, a sense of belonging, and even-" his hand finally wrapped around the flesh of your thigh firmly, giving it a squeeze, "touch, can bring tremendous comfort."
You gasped, and the sound made him throb. Meekly, you turned your head to the side, looking away from him.
"It's hard to change."
Namjoon gave your thigh another squeeze, a gesture that could have been comforting, had his hand not been resting on the very inside of it, tips of his fingers brushing the skin under your skirt. Instead, it was rather inappropriate; but you were nowhere near close to pushing him away. And that was an invitation enough for him to lean in a little, his lips stopping just before they touched your ear.
"Change starts within."
You swallowed thickly, frozen in place. Enthralled or perhaps frightened. Beautiful all the same.
"How?" You whispered, like you weren't sure what he meant.
Namjoon pressed his fingers into your leg, slowly pulling it away from the other. His lips brushed over your ear this time, his answer coming out equally quiet.
"Let me show you."
He could feel the shiver that went through you; it quickly morphed into the smallest, softest whine when he rested his hand upon your clothed core. He expected the heat and he expected the wetness, but not this much. There was a clear, damp spot forming on the cotton, burning beneath his skin.
His knees felt weak, his fingers pressing into it automatically to rub slowly. He let out a strained, shallow breath into your ear.
"Oh, I think you really want to learn, hm?"
Your hand flew up to his coat, grabbing at his collar helplessly. Namjoon lowered his head further and placed his lips on your neck, pressing a hot, heavy kiss right into your pulse point.
"I'll teach you, baby."
Your back arched gently at the name, thighs spreading more to encourage his touch, let him defile you whatever way he wanted. Something slipped out of your lips as you pulled on his collar; something like a moan. A moan in the shape of a word that made his head snap up sharply.
It was almost a whisper. But there was no way he wouldn't have heard it; you were all he could hear, feel and see right now.
"What did you call me?"
Though his pace remained slow, his fingers began to rub your clit harder, the soaked material so flimsy he could practically feel you pulse under his touch.
He stared into your eyes, watching you struggle to catch your breath through his ministrations. It appeared to be even more difficult when he asked the question, embarrassment instantly shadowing your features.
Namjoon tsked.
"Come on, you can do it."
He dragged his fingers away from the spot he was massaging, only to slip them underneath your panties.
"Say it again."
Your hips jerked in surprise. The heat of your soaked folds, bare under his fingers, made his cock twitch in the tight confines of his pants. God, you felt so perfect; divine, really. He pressed the tip of his finger into your clit, trying to coax you, his strokes firm and lazy.
You moaned. It was a heavenly sound. No angel choir could have compared. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.
"Daddy," it was shy and came with a shudder.
It was filthy and had him throbbing again, driving him to press his lips against your cheek as he touched you.
"Who hurt you, baby?"
The words came out soft, so unlike their actual mocking nature.
"A man takes advantage of you, and the first thing you can think of is spreading your legs and calling him daddy?"
The amused murmur went straight into your skin - and then deep, deep beneath it. He felt you grip his collar tighter, felt and heard the unsteady, shaky breath that fled you.
If you had been embarrassed before, you were mortified now, on the verge of crying. But he could also feel more slick gushing right out of you, and he sped up his movements on your clit slightly. His lips felt soft against your heated cheek, slow in making their way up to your ear.
"It's okay," he whispered. "That's a good girl. Show me where it hurts. I'll make it better."
A breathy, quiet moan was the only sound you were capable of producing. Namjoon let himself continue feeling and memorizing every inch of your skin he could, the bridge of his nose brushing your neck.
"Lemme fix it. Lemme fix you, sweetheart."
Your fingers dug into his shoulder, hips beginning to move in circles, mimicking his touch, following it straight into oblivion.
"Good girl," he repeated his praise in a quiet breath. "Gonna come for daddy?"
You pressed your face into his neck, whimpering into it. Your body answered for you, thighs trembling when it hit you, his fingers sticky and wet as they ceased their movements.
He didn't move his hand, though, kept it pressed against your cunt, even when a knock on the door made you jump.
"I'll be there soon," Namjoon called, ignoring your attempts at trying to close your legs and turn away from him. He grabbed your jaw and pressed his lips into yours, wasting no time in suffocating any protests and worries with a messy kiss.
With his forehead leaning against yours, he finally took his hands off you only to unzip himself. The sound startled you, your eyes popping open and shoulders stiffening.
He smiled at you, his dimples showing, as if he wasn't prying your legs apart to settle himself in between them.
"I- I-" you stammered nervously, shaking your head in protest.
Namjoon pressed into you, the tip of his hard cock rubbing right against your leaking entrance slowly.
"You what?" He breathed into your lips, dark, hungry eyes stuck on yours.
You mewled, fighting to keep your eyes open and your hips in place. How cute.
"You don't want to get better?"
You stared back at him, eyes hooded but brows furrowed, your chest heaving against his. The internal conflict was a lot, as was his cock twitching against your heat; but it was nothing you couldn't handle.
"Did you know?" Namjoon murmured. "When the soul gets sick, so does the body. Pretending all your life is gonna get you nowhere, baby."
The warmth of his hand burned into your hip as he pushed forward. The tip of his cock slipped into your tight heat, making your back arch beneath him. Namjoon's head fell into your neck, a low groan escaping his throat.
"I'll take care of you, I'll never leave you lonely or worried," he breathed into your skin, continuing to push forward agonizingly slowly. "You'll never... have to feel... that way again."
Each inch stretched you out so well, reaching deeper and deeper - until his hips were flush against yours and you felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.
Namjoon's harsh, hot breaths dotted your skin in goosebumps. He lifted his head to look up at you, entranced. Your eyes shone with unshed tears, mouth wide open, and he wondered if it was from the feeling of his cock inside you, or from his words. He wondered if your heart was also jumping out of your chest, desperate to get closer to his.
He got his answer when you tightened around him. His free hand travelled up your waist, hips pulling away only to slam back into you. Only one thought remained in his head. How divine you were, quivering beneath him and fighting to stay quiet. Right where you belonged; in his arms, at home. Where you didn't have to worry about obtaining money, acceptance or affection. You didn't even have to ask for it. You just had to take it.
He kept his pace steady, careful not to make too much noise, though it was hard with the way you were dripping and clenching around his cock. He tried to muffle the soft moans with another kiss, his tongue quick to slip past your lips. But it didn't do much to hide the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you. He could feel his spine tingling, a veiny hand settling on your breast to knead it.
He knew there was no time. But considering the fact that his balls were already tightening, it wasn't going to be a problem. He broke the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips.
"Gotta be quick today, baby," he breathed, pressing two fingers into your clit to rub it harshly. "Yeah? Is that okay?"
The way your pussy squeezed his cock made his hips stutter. He released your breast to slap his hand over your mouth as you started coming, his head finding rest in your neck once more.
His moans were quiet, raspy, his cock pulsating inside you. With how big he was, it seemed there should have been nowhere for his cum to go, and yet he filled you up with every last drop until his eyes rolled back.
You still quivered around him when he stopped moving, trying to catch some air into his lungs. He lifted himself up slowly, releasing your mouth to stroke your cheek instead. You looked so perfect; dazed and exhausted, lips swollen, the tension completely gone from your body. Namjoon could feel it too; the glow in his chest, the euphoria running through his veins. He leaned it to place a gentler, lingering kiss on your lips.
"You did so well," he murmured lovingly. "Such a good girl."
With delicate fingers, he grasped the drenched cotton of your underwear and held it carefully as he slipped out of you. Even if he could make a mess in his office, the thought of you going home with his cum leaking out of you into your panties was enough to make him twitch. He breathed out a sigh, zipped himself up and helped you sit.
"Good?" He whispered, eyeing you intently.
You shied away from his gaze but nodded. Namjoon smiled, then turned to grab a piece of paper and a pen.
"Your next appointment is on Monday," he scribbled on the sheet as he talked to you. "This is my private number and address. In case you need anything."
You stared at him uncertainly. Namjoon cocked his head, the tone of his voice kind, though it didn't match the darkness in his eyes.
"My door's always open for you."
Slowly, you lifted your hand and accepted the small note, planting both of your feet onto the floor.
"But..." you fiddled with the sleeves of your blouse, eyes still bright with tears. "O... okay. Thank you."
With a nod and a subtle smile, Namjoon opened the door for you. The low hum of conversation and soft lights lighting up the corridor reminded him that he still hasn't finished his work for the day. But with the taste of you still on his lips, he didn't really care.
Through the window in his office, blurred by the streaks of rain hitting the glass, he watched you get into your father's car. He narrowed his eyes as he observed the man's scowl, like it was an awful inconvenience that he had to wait this long. Only this once, Namjoon could sympathize with him. He didn't like waiting either.
And yet it was what he had to do for the sake of your well-being. Good thing that for this very reason, he didn't mind killing your father slowly. Who'd know if he exchanged a couple of pills? No one but God, and he feared no judgement. Where was God when he put you into the hands of a neglectful, harmful parent? As far as Namjoon was concerned, God's sins outweighed his own.
He could see you buckling up, still dazed and tired, withdrawn from your surroundings. The car began to reverse, and slowly you disappeared from his sight altogether.
Poor, little kitten. Searching for sustenance and warmth. He didn't even need to ask you to keep quiet, or worry about whether you'd show up at his door. He knew you would. Somewhere in your bones, you so clearly felt it. It was time for you to heal; time to find you a new home. And he had a pretty collar with your name on it waiting for you under lock and key. A pretty golden ring as well.
Only the best for his little girl.
💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @baalsgurl1913 @glowunderthemoon @sweetempathprunetree @era-genius @bucketofhiros @imnotlauriane @httpsbts @silv3rswirls @iceprincessviviane @osakis-gf @kooktrash @dollseung
#i have no clue and i am sorry dhdhdhd#yandere bts#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#bts scenarios#bts imagines#bts smut#bts reactions#bts yandere
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
dreamlike letters / 2023
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁘ february bts fic recs ⁘
𝐋 𝐄 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃
[ f ] 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ; [ a ] 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 ; [ s ] 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 ; [ 𝖼 ] 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄
(𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫) 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 ; 𝐣𝐣𝐤 @angelguk
❥ oneshot, { a }
maybe if you’d reached out a little further, held his hand a little tighter, it wouldn’t hurt this bad to let go. except it would - it always would. because the one person you’ll never be able to let go is jeongguk.
+ highlights: I love angst for a particular reason and your writing is another testiment as to why. What makes it so painful is in the way it's written--so beautifully, it hurts.
Every word you wrote was intentional with its placement which really pulls us in as readers. It's so easy to be immersed into your stories.
Your writing comes across soft and gentle, with witty remarks that make it lively and sweet. I just live for the poetic moments you've written in.
❥full review
𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 ; 𝐣𝐣𝐤 @vsualitae
❥ oneshot, { s }
Your days off finally matched up and after waking up later than usual, Jungkook is feeling well rested and quite amorous.
+ highlights: I am in love with the way you set the scene here. It made it so easy to be immersed and feel like we were really there in bed under the duvet with jk 🥺 There are tiny details like the description of the cold weather too and it made the entire thing more cozy. I loved the use of contrast in that way!
I live for reader and Jungkook’s dynamic! Their relationship seemed so authentic, just what I envision a fwb relationship would be like with him. One with lots of teasing and of course, it wouldn’t be jk without mentioning his competitive streak.
❥ full review
𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 ; 𝐤𝐧𝐣 @ahundredtimesover
❥ oneshot, { a + s }
For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.
+ highlights: I am feeling so many things all at once and strongly at that, that it is almost painful. you captured everything I love and admire about Namjoon and formulated it into something so beauful and introspective. The themes of love and intimacy are some of my favouite to read about. You've executed it so beautifully. The story is gut wrenching in all the right ways. There wasn't a moment where my heart wasn't in my throat, I feel so much for this couple.
❥ full review - to be posted !
+ misc // non - bts // k-pop
𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐠 @dark-muse-iris
❥ oneshot, { a + s }
On the last night before you break up with your girlfriend of two years, you say goodbye the only way you know how.
+ highlights: I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much pain in my life omg.
I feel so much for Reader and Handong. The dramatic irony here is what makes everything so painful. Reader spending this night with her knowing it’ll be the last while Handong remains none the wiser (I am ill).
Your writing was so beautiful and that is what makes it more painful. The contrast of Handong’s pleasure, and what lies ahead just beyond the threshold of their relationship. How reader can’t help herself and continues to fuel the fire.
❥ full review
#so sorry loves i was really hoping to get more reading done this month#bts fic recs#bts fics#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#bts fanction#seokjin smut#seokjin angst#seokjin fluff#namjoon fluff#namjoon angst#namjoon smut#yoongi fluff#yoongi angst#yoongi smut#hoseok fluff#hoseok angst#hoseok smut#jimin fluff#jimin angst#jimin smut#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst#taehyung smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#bts masterlist#jungkook fics
218 notes
·
View notes
Text
Epilogue
I know we've already said our farewells but after todays BangtanB Admin 2 talked me into writing another tiny post because vmin. Truly as much as we weren't ready for the OT4 live, we hadn't been ready to get this BB so quickly, to see and hear them say goodbye to each other, or for Tae to quite literally apologise to Jimin for not being able to see him off the next day while Jimin told him he had nothing to be sorry for since he was going first.
Seeing these two say goodbye to each other, it broke my heart on so many levels. Vmin being vmin aside, they are chingu and so incredibly close with each other, mean so much to each other, and yet because of damn enlistment they got separated. I'm glad though that Namjoon has Tae close to him, just like Namjoon said to Tae himself, and that they'll be able to see each other occasionally and perhaps have meals together, though they aren't training together. And before someone asks why Tae and Namjoon didn't use the buddy system like Jimin and JK did and tries to spin some annoying story in our messages, it's because Namjoon is too old for it.
Another tiny tangent I'd like to go on before I continue is that I implore all of you, and especially shippers of one particular ship, to stop romanticising the enlistment experience and all it entails. Enlistment isn't a fun little trip or vacation, it's an unjust gruelling and extremely hard time for all enlisted men. One of the translators for the English edition of the BTS book was asked by ARMY to translate Namjoon's letter on weverse but he declined to do so and gave a very nuanced and important explanation as to why. Please go and read it here. And before anyone comes (again) into our messages and claims I would speak differently if vmin went together, no I would not. This moment in their lives, the enlistment period, it fucking sucks. Plain and simple. We've seen what can happen with idols during enlistment, just look at Taemin's experience, so really, there is nothing nice and fun and chill about it. Or remember the incident with Seokjin and the nurse, hell knows what could've happened. It's hard and awful and it's unfair that after all that they have done, the members were put into a position where they knew there was no way they could not go, even if they would've been given an exemption because that's the kind of pressure they're under. We've seen how uncomfortable his shaved head made Jimin, how sad and devastated Jimin and JK looked in their final lives and in this BB. So set aside your delulu glasses and look at reality, especially as foreigners. We know nothing so let's not act like we know anything.
Anyway, seeing JK approach Namjoon, pet his head and then Namjoon turn around, his eyes turning all soft and fond as he realised it's JK and then enveloped him in a tight hug...and to think that's the hyung because of which JK even joined BH in the first place. My heart. And Namjoon, too, was sad that he wouldn't be able to see JK off the next day either.
It was sad that we couldn't see Hobi, Seokjin, and Yoongi but we knew that would be the case from past experience. But it was nice to see JK sitting in the car talking and being obviously sad and then Hobi's hand appeared to pat his head to comfort him and JK closed his eyes to enjoy the moment and calm his emotions. Truly the bond the hyungs and maknaes have is beautiful.
But with that the Tannies are all gone now and it'll be six months on the dot until Seokjin will be released and come back to us for FESTA 2024. But the members repeatedly said they've prepared lots of exciting things for us so we can look forward to that.
And with this, we say farewell and we hope to see you again healthy and happy and doing well.
As for our blog, with Admin 2's plans for a BL break, we've started watching Love in the Air since it's a very popular BL. Once we'll finish it, we'll let you know what we think of it.
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
BTS Festa 2014
Just a collection of the videos, links and articles gifted to us from the very first Festa celebration!
It all started with the Festa Guide YouTube video they made for us on June 2nd
youtube
They shared a collection of photos from 2013, titled BTS 1st Anniversary Photo Album 2013 which you can see all the photos in the link
They released the cover for their festa Bang Talk Magazine Cover on Fancafe which you can see here
Then they released their second photo album for this festa, titled Growth. (Follow the link for all the photos) And some of my favorites are these ones:
Their second Bang Talk fancafe release. Which you can find the clips and adorable baby bangtan Polaroids. I don't have trans for these unfortunately. But this is my favorite set
Adult Child Special Choreography Stage
youtube
They release another Bang Talk on fancafe, you can see the photos they took and photos they drew here
Beautiful Special Choreography Stage
youtube
They released another Bang Talk called Keyword Talk which had a lot of photos from AHL and more drawn photos. You can see those here and my favorite one:
Another Bang Talk called sorry not perfect was released that had just 25 photos of pure adorable chaos that you can see here
Their self written profiles for the year with translations are under this link
Hookgayo teaser released (lmao they are cute)
youtube
Bang Talk interview that I don't have trans for and a bunch of adorable photos. Titled one year ago today. My favorite picture:
2014 Family Photos. You can see them all here, and these are my 2 favoites
Jin also shared a series of tweets about making their shared celebration meal for their anniversary dinner and they are SO FUNNY and so cute and with so many photos. Just give the tweets a look lmao
Festa Kkul FM, our first festa video!
youtube
And finally ending with their handwritten letters to ARMY. You can read the trans to their letters here! They are so sweet
Not officially part of festa, but basically is part of Festa... they released the song So 4 More after the Festa video. Here is the Bangtan episode of them working on it
youtube
And the BTS episode of Chef Jin for their 1st Birthday Party celebrations! And everyone getting their dorm ready for their party!
youtube
And the photos posted to their Facebook titled "Behind Festa 2014: Preparation from everyside" you can see all those photos here. They are so cute!
And that was our first ever Festa! Hopefully all those links work for you guys and if anyone has translations for those Bang Talk links, let me know and I'll add them!
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Map of Mrs. Kims | KSJ, KNJ, KTH | North: 03
🧭 Fic Masterpost and Schedule 🧭
Chapter Pairings: Taehyung x female OC; Bongseon x Jihu (that’s right, we’ve got another taste of smut goin’ on)
Chapter Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Mature
Word Count: 13k | read on ao3
Series Synopsis: Mrs. Kim is tired of being accosted in the grocery store, at her art class, and even in the country club restroom about her three incredibly gorgeous but stubbornly single sons. So many women are vying for a spot on Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung’s arms, but these three boys are dead set against settling down. Hopefully, Mrs. Kim’s trusty map of the city’s fourteen top bachelorettes will finally guide them to true love.
Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Kim line as brothers, slice of life, family drama, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, unrequited love, fluff, angst, smut (food play, oral sex, vaginal sex)
Author’s Note: This is my love letter to our funny, sweet, and heartwarming ARMY, and it is particularly dedicated to all of you who have been so kind and generous with your time, your laughs, your feels, and your own beautiful stories! You can read the original ask that prompted the idea, check out the asks and snippets that have followed, and follow #amomk to check out all the still-ongoing asks / snippets / drabbles!
Taglist (italics mean I couldn’t tag but will get you the fic!): @acertifiedhoe @acsycharm @afangirllikeme-blog @apprentlyeveryusernameistaken @arandomcyborgsayshi @awinkies @babycoffeefire @bluejin0812 @btseditsworld @codeinebelle @dearbambideer @downbad4yoongi @dreamamubarak @ducksflysblog @dvalitaes @effielumiere @elyte @emmmui @firesighgirl @greezenini @helenazbmrskai @hobiiiiiworld @imaginativedreams @jimcartop @jkkit @kflixnet @lynnloveslokiredacted @m-yg93 @miffy1997 @miscelunaaa @missbickerbocker @mochilatae @morti13 @pb-n-juju @purpleheartsfortae @purpuravm @qhuedie21 @raplinesmoon-main @reliablemittenmain @rurugoeson @shina913 @skyys-universe @somewhereofftheglobe @sumzysworld @sunnietee @svgahigh @takaiko @tryagain-84 @yuugehn
Yoongi grimaces at the inefficacy of this 1-ply piece of paper in getting all of the sticky, maple icing out from the corners of his lips. He means well, but his eyebrows are tight and stitched together when he asks, “How was it?”
Namjoon shrugs, content with letting doughnut crumbs fall where they may. It’s Friday, anyway.
He grins, but it’s just a one-dimple grin.
“Ah, maybe the next one will be better,” Yoongi mutters, taking another hungry bite. “And you’ve got, what, at least two or so dates after that, right?”
“Yeah.”
Both of them stare out at the wisps of cadet blue slowly starting to etch themselves into the sky as they sip their iced coffees in silence, perched side by side on the hood of Yoongi’s mid-level sedan, which is parked in its usual place and highly coveted spot, over by the side exit, just by the band hall.
Yoongi’s left boot heel slips a little on the bumper. When he readjusts, he looks left to see Namjoon chewing his bite of doughnut very slowly. Effortfully. Jaw flexing and releasing way more than it needs to. As if speaking aloud the words that are forming in Namjoon’s racing brain.
“Was she… mean?” Yoongi asks.
Namjoon lets whatever thought he was crafting fall away like his crumbs.
“Actually,” he says, icing flying out of his mouth as he smiles again and turns to face Yoongi, “she was really nice. And really smart.”
“Hmm. Nice and smart.”
“I mean, who doesn’t like nice and smart?”
“Apparently, you,” Yoongi jokes, smirking and taking another sip of coffee.
Yoongi watches as Namjoon sets down the rest of his Boston cream doughnut in the box and closes the lid, placing the box between them and looking back out at the sky.
Yoongi nods while he presses his tongue against the edge of his straw, taking a quick gulp as the rising column of liquid gets pinched off and slides back down into the rest of his drink. He licks his sweet lips and swirls his ice.
“Was she nice and smart?”
Namjoon turns to Yoongi. His chin wrinkles, and his brows rise in question.
“The Sadness Girl?” Yoongi tries.
Namjoon laughs.
Normally, he has three distinct laughs.
And Yoongi pairs them with situations like a sommelier pairs wine with food.
Yoongi’s favorite is Namjoon’s oldest laugh. The laugh that probably burst forth from him when he was a baby. The laugh encoded by his genes. It’s his truest laugh. Not that Namjoon has a fake laugh, really. Honest, and showy, arguably to a fault, with his emotions, Namjoon could never disguise something as wonderful as joy. So, in that vein of honesty, it should be labeled as Namjoon’s completely unencumbered laugh — which, despite every attempt to look away, cover his face, and redirect its energy out of other people’s faces — completely trumpets out of Namjoon’s wide-open mouth in all directions, quickly filling the air with musky, buoyant, balsam notes of cedar and winter berries. It’s full. It echoes. A real chortle. And he chortles when he’s caught off-guard, but pleasantly surprised that he’s also kind of right about something. It pairs exceptionally well with finger pointing, “I knew it!”s, and “I told you so!”s.
There’s also Namjoon’s giggle. Like gears that stick a bit. The sound of a ratchet adjusting a bolt. Metallic. Grinding. Shorter spurts, forced through his pinched throat, hovering teeth, and two-( always two-)dimpled smile, more air and spit than voice. It’s percussive. Quick. Kekeke. It doesn’t last long. All treble and mid-tones, zero bass. It’s meant to dart through conversation, zipping things up to make sure that everyone safely gets to the next topic. His nostrils flare when his giggle comes out. It needs more air to push it through. It pairs well with his look of momentary confusion, the top of the bridge of his nose caving in a bit as it strains under slight worry, until he can see the rest of the conversation through.
There’s even Namjoon’s sheepish, high-pitched, sing-song, tee-hee. Soprano and sweet. Like a moscato. A dessert wine of a laugh, let out at the end of a highly satisfied meal of his favorite things. An inadvertent, shared look with Taehyung when losing his turn at a hand game in the backseat of a long, long drive. A muttered, impatient joke that slips from his Jin-hyung’s lips as they help their Appa check the foundation of the front porch swing every fall. When an annoyed Yoongi stands his ground during weekly department meetings about the disappointing size of the tangerines in the cafeteria. It even has citrus notes itself. It pairs well with his chin rising, a quick, backward thrust of his head, and squinched eyes. Fond. Like when he spots something tiny, adorable, and cute.
But this laugh?
It’s different.
It’s not even really a laugh. It’s more of a punctuation mark. One of those abstract ones that was ahead of its time, like the interrobang, intended to try to convey something that everyone knows and feels, but can’t quite describe, and can kind of already express in other ways. Just as his jaw had been working at imaginary words, so too does this laugh work at the prospect of something being funny but not… quite. It’s low. Barely perceptible. Almost nonexistent. A hush. Something finished before starting. A punctuation mark at the end of no sentence.
Yoongi notes that it pairs well with wide, glistening eyes that are so black that they almost seem blue.
“They told you about her, huh?” Namjoon asks, turning his black-blue eyes out to the cadet blue sky, like the good soldier that he is.
Yoongi stares at him for a moment, pupils unwavering. And then, he crams the rest of his doughnut in his mouth, giving up on the tissue-thin napkins that have all but dissolved, choosing to wipe his hands on his pants instead, and stretching backwards, palms and fingers spreading across the cool, red metal, a little wet with some reformed dew.
Through hastily chewed doughnut fluff, Yoongi says, “Ma did, actually.”
“Eomma? Really?”
“Yeah. Last time I came for dinner.” Yoongi swallows. “She cornered me by the bathroom next to her studio.”
“That’s why we never use that one.”
“Well, she asked me if you were secretly seeing anyone, and I said, ‘Since when has Namjoon been able to keep anything a secret?’”
Namjoon scoffs.
“Obviously,” Yoongi goes on, reaching for his iced coffee, “I told her no. And then she told me to encourage you to take a look at the version of the map that she had at the time. She said the top picks in your candidates all had Sadness Girl qualities.”
“Sad Girl.”
“Mm?”
“Just Sad Girl.” Namjoon shrugs. “And you don’t have to call her that.”
“Oh, then, what was her na—”
“You don’t have to call her anything.”
Namjoon glances over at Yoongi to see how the sentence lands. He always forgets that he doesn’t have to do that with Yoongi. Yoongi always understands, and he shows so with a series of slow, wavy Yoongi nods that pair well with a contemplative lick of his lips.
Yoongi smirks. “She was also trying to give me the most updated version of her application form for my own map.”
Namjoon’s eyes brighten with just a bit of gold. “You should take her up on it! She’s really systematic in her approach— We could go through this madness together!”
“Don’t you already have brothers for that?”
“So then all the brothers would finally be in on this,” Namjoon points out. “If anything, it’d be a great story! Y’know, ‘Hey, Yoongi, remember the time eomma helped you find your soulmate?’”
Yoongi’s shoulders sink. Not out of embarrassment. They sink because, around the Kims, he can actually relax.
But then he spots something that reminds him that they need to get on with their day.
Hopping off the hood, Yoongi says, “This is y’all’s story. Not mine.”
Namjoon smiles. “If it’s ours, then it’s a little bit yours.”
Yoongi chuckles as he throws open the driver door, quick to throw the flimsy box with its flimsy napkins in his seat.
“C’mon. We’ve gotta go.”
“But—”
“Bro, get the lead out of your big, goofy feet — I’m trying to help you here.”
Namjoon frowns. “Help me? Help me with what?”
“Yoongles!”
The sound of a new voice pairs well with a thin streak of pink starting to thread through faint, white clouds starting to wake and fluff together for the day.
When Yoongi sighs in annoyance, he almost blows them away.
“Yoongles, I know that’s your car, and I brought the maple—”
The figure stops in her tracks. Namjoon can just make out her arms falling to her sides. Something seems to topple to the ground. Another box of doughnuts? The logo looks so similar.
“Is that…” Namjoon blanks on the name. “She teaches those seminars for the gifted kids? There’s, like, a physics one? Wait, is it physics? I know it’s something with a P—”
“Like I said,” Yoongi says, nearly halfway to the school’s entrance as more and more of the faculty’s cars pull into the parking lot, “I’m trying to help you here. Let’s get inside before the parents start to queue up for drop-off.”
Namjoon scrambles off the hood of Yoongi’s car, grabbing his half-full iced coffee and clutching the strap of his messenger bag resting at his chest.
“Yeah, some kind of stomach flu,” Jin replies.
He listens as his boss’s pleading voice drones on in the back of his head, but his attention is paid in full to the words on his screen.
“Bit of a fever,” he reads. “Some cramping. I think it’s some bad seafood that I ate.” His boss’s voice is only getting stronger until he reads, “Diarrhea! Loads and loads of diarrhea.”
He swivels his desk chair around and stares out the window.
“I don’t know about you, sir, but I’ve never had it this bad before. Honestly, like, I had to use an app to order some cleaning supplies because I haven’t been able to get off my toilet — let alone out of my apartment! — long enough to shop for my—”
His boss’s words start decreasing. Decreasing in count. Decreasing in fervor. Decreasing in demand to rethink taking one measly day off. Jin has only worked for one company, and he’s banked nearly 365 of them during his stellar tenure.
“Thanks for being so understanding,” Jin says, voice sweet but eyes rolling, “I really appreciate your kindness during my, uh—”
How should he phrase it?
“Time of, um, need.”
Just a few, short words later, Jin puffs out his cheeks and triumphantly blows out some air at the sound of his boss disconnecting from the call.
It’s frustrating to call for a day off when his mind is still technically working. It’s just working at something else entirely.
He pulls up his dear eomma’s map. Smirks at how he can hear her voice narrating each aspect in sing-song during family dinner earlier that week. Even though he won’t go through with any of this, not for real, he has to admit that it’s nice to see his eomma so well-intentionally passionate about something again.
Three down, and eleven to go.
He isn’t sure about the first (he’ll wait for Namjoon’s sappy playback later), and he’s already said goodbye to the second, with an egg white omelet, some back and forth about when they’re going to see each other again (they won’t), and one last kiss on Kamou’s sweet lips.
But it’s the number 13 that still weighs on his mind.
He drags the window of his eomma’s email to the left and snaps it to lock. Then, he clicks on a new tab and drags it to the right, doing the same. He smiles as the corners adjust automatically. It’s so satisfying when things just do what they’re supposed to do.
In the new tab, Jin looks up the old Camp Kanu website, wondering if there would be any photos from his time there.
Their time there.
It stings a little that he finds them in the Archives section of the site.
She looks the same.
Jin wonders if he looks the same.
He looks up his work profiles. There are so many professional networking sites with the same, standard, simple headshot of Jin in a suit.
He thinks he looks the same.
At least, it’s plausible that someone from his past could recognize him.
It’s happened before .
His phone rings.
It has moved from his pocket in his pants on the floor to his pocket in his pants on the bed to his desk, right next to him, after having put his clothes in his hamper and getting changed into a fresh pair of sweats. “Hi, Eomma,” Jin says after putting her on speaker, his voice tight, hoping that because his keyboard is clacking right next to the receiver, she won’t be able to tell that anything’s different.
“Seokjinnie, don’t forget that the annual boat race is this Sunday,” she replies. “The weather forecast said it might rain, but the club said they were going through with the event no matter what. You boys are still planning on racing, right?”
A needless question.
“Of course, Eomma.”
The line goes quiet, but when Mrs. Kim says, “Hmm,” or maybe as far back as when she called in the first place, Jin knows that this conversation was never really about the boat race, and that it is far from over.
“Is it a slow day today?” Mrs. Kim asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Usually, there’s always people chattering in the background. Even this early.”
Jin didn’t realize how attenuated his office’s background noise had grown to him, but that tends to happen when you’ve stayed in the same place for nearly ten years.
“Ah, yes, well,” Jin replies, clearing his throat and suddenly keyboard smashing DFJKSLJWWTJ OIF NKLJDSFKLJSDFOKAALKJJKLSDFJLKSDF into the search bar in an effort to, well, do what, exactly? Feign preoccupation? Express surprise?
Vent?
“Well,” Jin repeats, “I decided to log on from home today.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Should I move the date days to a weekend?” Mrs. Kim asks. “The date didn’t tire you out, did it?”
Jin smiles.
“Seokijinnie?”
“Let’s just say that it put more than a little pep in my step.”
“Seokjinnie.”
“And I think it did for her, too.”
“Seokjinnie!”
“What?”
“You didn’t!”
He giggles.
“Kamou is a great candidate, and so lovely and sweet, and I wrote in the rules that—”
“Don’t worry, Eomma, everything is on track with your plan,” Jin interrupts, though he’s deleted the random keyboard smash from earlier and is instead typing a name, a well-constructed, melodious name, into a search bar.
Song Mari.
“Well, since I’ve got you,” Mrs. Kim says, too eager, “why don’t you, y’know, tell me about it!” Jin can hear Mrs. Kim��s eyebrows knit together. “The nice parts, I mean.”
Mari apparently has over 500 work connections. Her profile picture is of her shrugging, as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Jin laughs.
“Ooh, does that mean that you had a good time, then?” Mrs. Kim asks hopefully. “Had fun? Good conversation? Good food?”
Jin starts perusing some of the posts on the site. Shared job postings. Encouragement for colleagues. She’s a designer now? That plays. She was always the best at making those plastic, criss-cross-y, keychain or backpack zipper, um, thingies.
“The restaurant was a little cold, the bread basket was stale, and the steak was overdone,” Jin rattles off. “But Kamou is a—”
He can’t help but smirk again. Kamou’s thighs around his waist. Her nail-dug trenches still present on his back. Her lips pouting, and sucking, and skating, wet against his cheeks as she moaned what she wanted next.
Things can also be satisfying when they do what they aren’t supposed to.
“—a good girl.”
“Good.” Mrs. Kim sighs. Relaxed. “Good.”
Jin looks back at the map. His hardworking eomma has put so much detail into every aspect. The grayed out city blocks, carefully traced and stitched together from several different satellite maps and even updated to reflect areas under heavy construction. The precise rating system, with every compatibility percentage denoted in scientific notation, carried over to two decimals. The iconography, the incredible iconography, consistent in design style and color, cartoonish in tone, perhaps for levity. So much time, and love, and care, put into each heart. Every star.
The black dot, in comparison, looks like a keyboard smash.
Jin tilts his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. You know I always encourage that. You can always ask people things.”
Jin isn’t so sure.
“How did you find her?” he wonders.
“She filled out an application.”
“Right,” Jin says, blinking and straightening. “I know she filled out an application, but, like, how do you judge the applications, really? Are you soliciting applications from anyone and everyone? Do you have certain core criteria, or…?”
“Oh, so now you’re interested in the specifics!” Mrs. Kim chuckles.
“I guess you just did such a good job with my first date that I wanna pick your brain,” Jin says, glancing at the screen once more before spinning his chair to the right and getting up.
He talks as he walks back out to the kitchen, suddenly craving something sweet.
“What is it that you liked about Kamou so much that made you think to pair her with me?”
Does he have any fruit?
“Was it an instantaneous thing?”
He might not actually have diarrhea, but it is true that he hasn't gone shopping in a while.
“Or did it take some time, triangulating what you know about me, and what you learned or observed about her, and the answers that she gave?”
He stands over his fruit bowl, at the sad smattering of not-yet-but-nearly-bad apples, grapes, and bananas. He should pick one of them. Before he knows it, they'll turn, and he’ll just end up throwing them out.
“Well, seeing that she wanted kids definitely put her in the running,” Mrs. Kim laughs.
Jin sighs and abandons the fruit. He already knew that he wanted cereal. He always wants cereal. And he’d been craving it since making that egg white omelette a few hours ago. He should’ve just poured himself a bowl then.
He does now.
“That isn’t the only reason, though,“ Mrs. Kim replies, amidst the clinking of corn flakes.
The plastic bag inside of the box of cereal slides back down as Jin angles the cardboard back.
“It’s not?”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Kim says softly. “Is that really what you think this is about?”
Mrs. Kim turns to her husband, still snoring, lying in bed beside her, blissfully unaware of the resulting smile that she has on her face. She isn’t careful about not waking him when she gets out of bed. She doesn’t have to be. He’ll be out for at least another hour, when she finally decides to start frying up some sausages. Or maybe it’s that she just automatically starts frying up sausages when she intuits that he’s about to get up. Frankly, Mrs. Kim can’t tell anymore, and Mr. Kim will really only be concerned about the sausages.
Shuffling in her house slippers toward the front door, Mrs. Kim clicks her tongue and asks, “Haven’t you been listening to me this entire time?”
“I have!” Jin protests, mouth full of cereal.
“Have not!”
“Have too!”
Mrs. Kim opens the door, leans out the door jamb, and checks the mailbox on the wall.
“I think about your personality. You’re so kind. Generous. Charming. Sometimes, to a fault.”
Coupons, some bills, and some local ads.
“I think about your interests. Talents. Sense of humor. Funny. Also, sometimes, to a fault.”
She smiles at Jin’s soft laugh.
“Your big hyung heart.”
More bills. There’s a flea market event coming up. That might be fun.
“And I think about what you need.”
“Need?”
“Yes, Seokjinnie. You know, you do need things.”
“Uh-huh. A strong six-figure salary. A happy family life. Fun times, great friends, and good food. Except maybe that steak.” Jin scoffs. “Please, Eomma, tell me — what exactly do I need?”
Mrs. Kim closes the door behind her and shuffles back toward the kitchen.
“You need someone who has all of those same beautiful qualities of yours that I just listed, and to shine them back onto you.” She tilts her head. “Plus a healthy amount of patience. The easy kind. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily say they have that quality. Patient without even realizing it.”
Jin smiles. Fiddles with his spoon a bit. Watching the light, and his distorted reflection change, nose widening as he turns the spoon over to face its shell.
“Sooooo… thennnn… what are the things that help you, like, cross people off your list?”
Mrs. Kim tosses the sorted mail down onto the kitchen table.
“Well, for starters, I cross off anyone who doesn’t have a stellar career, who didn’t get high marks in school, who doesn’t have a healthy family history, who don’t have blood types and Myers-Briggs answers that aren’t compatible with yours, and who don’t want marriage or kids.”
“Wow.”
“But that’s just to start.”
Jin shakes his head, a heavy, unsurprised breath escaping out of the right side of his mouth.
“Only kidding,” Mrs. Kim says.
Though she isn’t.
Not entirely.
“It really comes down to genuineness. Do they seem to want to get to know you? And to be honest, sometimes, it’s not even about getting to know you, specifically.”
Mrs. Kim walks into the kitchen and flips on the light switch before reaching for the refrigerator door, cradling the phone with her shoulder and pinning it to her ear, and pulling out the clear pitcher of water.
She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a glass as Jin scoops up another bite of cereal.
“It’s about someone who is open to getting to know someone. Anyone. Open to all that it takes. The discussions. The empathy. The time. The sacrifice.”
She sniffs.
“But it also wouldn’t hurt if they were an ENTJ fire sign with at least a Master’s degree in a lucrative field that gives her a yearlong maternity leave package for each of your five kids.”
Jin holds his breath like his next spoonful, just hovering in front of his mouth. Like Mari’s breath against his ear, carrying a secret. Like Kamou’s breath washing, warm, over his lips, carrying seduction.
He lets the breath out.
“Well, if you’re so decided… then why did you entertain a black dot at all?”
He lowers his spoon just a bit.
“Why did you ask Tae-Tae to torpedo his date with Mari instead of just rejecting her from the process completely?”
Mrs. Kim frowns. “Ugh, that was more of an unavoidable favor.”
“For who?”
“Her eomma.” Mrs. Kim frowns. She reaches into the fridge for the opened, now half-pack of sausages.
Jin’s next questions will have to wait.
He stuffs his spoon into his mouth.
“Do you know how Tae-Tae’s date with her went, by the way?” Mrs. Kim asks quickly.
He places his spoon in his bowl, empty of cereal but still full of milk. “No,” he says. “We’re catching up later, though. Around dinner.”
“Alright.” Mrs. Kim reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a pan, setting it on the stove. It lands with too sharp of a clang! , though it isn’t loud enough to rid her of the storm of thoughts that are forming. “Anyway, I hope that’s the last we see of her.”
“Mm.” Jin places his bowl in his sink. “OK, well, I should go now. Do some work.”
“OK, then.”
Mrs. Kim draws in a short, soft breath.
“Seokjinnie?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Eomma.” He pauses, heart swelling. Growing heavy. A little too heavy. “And, well, thank you. Y’know. For…” He smiles. “Just. Thanks.”
Mrs. Kim grins with satisfaction. The satisfaction of having raised a kind, appreciative son. The satisfaction of being right. And doing right by him.
“Bye, sweetie. Have a good day.”
“You too. Bye.”
Mrs. Kim switches on the burners. She smiles at the sound of the flames coming to life. And she smiles even wider as she hears something beside her. A quiet, familiar scuffling of slippers against the kitchen tile.
She turns to find a glasses-less, squinting Mr. Kim in his robe, hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep and fingers scratching his white tee-covered belly.
“Sausages?” he asks hopefully.
Taehyung tells them that it was much later in the evening than anticipated, so he wasn’t sure if there would be any tacos left when he ordered his usual. He doesn’t know why he always picks tacos. Yes, they’re cheap. And he can always count on his usual place being open late.
But there’s just something about them.
There was something about the way the tortilla chunks, cheddar cheese strips, and lettuce shreds sprinkled across his sheets, like confetti celebrating the moment, little breadcrumbs detailing the trip from her thumb in the corner of his mouth, to the heated kiss, to those first bites into her skin.
“Damn, not too hard,” she moaned, as Taehyung pulled away from her collarbone and unwound their legs from around each other.
He lifted her shirt, up and over, smiling at the sight of her breasts jiggling in their bralette.
“Sorry. I’m hungry.”
“Then here.” She smirked with such glee as she reached over for the box, pulled out another taco, and said, “Though I wonder if you’d like to eat a different kind of taco.”
There was something about the sound and feel of the shell crisply breaking against his cheek, as she smushed the taco into his face, cackling with laughter as he playfully narrowed his eyes.
He rested back on his knees, straddling her thighs, and glaring down at her. “What are you playing at?”
“Me? You’re the one who brought these into the bed!”
There was something about the way sour cream looked when painted over her skin. And like her jeans had so easily slid down and off, the sour cream moved so easily too, barely nudged by Taehyung’s index finger, tracing cloud-like lines up the side of her thigh, to her hip, across her stomach.
He licked at the dollop that he had placed on her navel, letting the tang of that cream mix with the salt of her sweat, pressing it against the roof of his mouth to let it spread over his tongue.
“Gonna paint you with more,” Taehyung murmured, licking the trail of sour cream down to her shaven mound.
She squirmed when he said that, twisting the other way and whining when his tongue delved into her folds and tasted an unanticipated dessert.
“Mmm, you’re sweet,” he observed, taking a moment to nibble on her lips.
She reached back and gripped his headboard. Slid her hips down his sheets a little. Made sure she was right up against his chin.
He opened his mouth wider, grabbing her thighs and digging his cream-covered nails in as his neck craned left and right, head bobbing slowly until she started to whimper.
His thumbs reached inside and spread her wider, and his head shook from side to side, faster and faster as she rolled against him in desperation.
Just as she was about to come, he let go, and pulled away entirely, a mix of cream, spit, and her arousal glimmering on his nose, lips, and chin.
Her eyes flashed open at his sudden absence, and her hips started bouncing up and down in want.
Taehyung only smiled as he reached for the box of food.
He chose blindly, but the first hot sauce packet that he picked had a funny little message: Burning For You.
She snorted as he giggled and placed the perforated edge of the packet in his teeth and ripped, hot sauce spraying out, dabs of it getting on her face and chest.
There was something about the way those packets of hot sauce dripped all over her body. The heat took on a different quality as he licked each drop.
She was so soft that he couldn’t help running his tongue, and his hands, rough and calloused near his nail beds and on the sides of his knuckles, all over her, the hot sauce stinging in places where he bit and chewed.
Her skin was perfect.
He guessed, at least.
If there were blemishes, or bumps, or scars, or moles, Taehyung’s fingers didn’t catch them, though that’s not to say he wouldn’t love to get more time to find out where each and every single one of them were.
But maybe that would be for the next time.
Tonight, he was too focused on the way she moved against his body, the hot sauce starting to get sticky, their skin starting to peel away when they would come apart.
He wasn’t the only one who was hungry. She took every inch of him, though it was a bit of a squeeze to get all of him inside. He’d push slowly, and then have to wait while her body wriggled around him. From her throat, an urgent groan would signal she wanted more of him. And then he’d push slowly again, his head hanging forward, eyes squinched shut so as not to lose composure, tongue busying itself by licking hot sauce from her gorgeous nipples as he waited for her pussy walls to relax just a bit more.
And then he’d push slowly again.
The time came for him to move faster, though, cock pulsing as he slammed inside.
“Gonna? Paint? Me?” she panted.
“You want it?”
“Yes, god.”
Taehyung’s hips shifted into double-time, his hands gripping her shoulders, dimples forming in his ass cheeks as he clenched and strained.
She clenched, too. Warm. And needy. He could feel her sucking him in deeper, and when he moved with her, he started to feel the tip of his cock hitting her innermost wall.
Her squeal turned into a wandering moan, high-pitched and tense.
“T-too much?” he panted.
She shook her head no and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her and lifting her legs in the air.
He grunted, clasping her even tighter, moving his arms under hers and circling them up to grip her shoulders from behind.
He left his lips by her ear.
“Where do you want it?”
“My tits.”
She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, wrinkles forming in the corners.
“Ah, fuck, Tae, I’m gonna come so hard.”
Taehyung’s right hand slid up against the pillow behind her so that he could cradler her head.
She came apart, shaking, legs unable to hold themselves up. He caught her right leg, his hand whipping back, the inside of his upper arm pinning the side of her knee to his waist. Her left leg quivered as she did, kicking out to the side and sending tortilla, cheese, and lettuce bits into the air.
She laughed as she came, letting out a surprised shriek during an aftershock.
Taehyung slowed to enjoy the scene before him and take pride in the art he had created.
But his cock was throbbing with need.
He grunted and started pumping again, and as she nodded yes with more fervor, his strokes became longer.
His hips used that backward motion to propel him out, a string of precum still linking him to her until it tore apart at the rush of cum spurting out of him, mixing with the hot sauce on her breasts, swollen from the friction.
She rubbed her fingers in that incredible mess as he took deep breaths to calm down, before rubbing those same fingers across his chest in contemplation.
She traced a trail up his neck.
She smiled wildly when he lifted her wrist to lick himself off of her fingers.
And when Taehyung proudly recaps all of this in detail during their video call, Namjoon laughs and says, “That reminds me of something Jin-hyung did.”
Taehyung frowns, and then pouts in annoyance. “What??”
All Jin and Taehyung can see is Namjoon’s ceiling, so they miss the way that Namjoon smirks, as he palms the wall, kicks off his shoes, and uses his socked feet to set them upright by the front door.
“Eomma was telling me about this thing hyung did whenever she was pregnant with me, and then you,” he goes on. “Something about painting her stomach with food. Jin-hyung was so eager to feed us that he would slather her with stuff. Oatmeal. Ketchup. Peanut butter . Other stuff . She had to leave it on her stomach for a little while and wash up when hyung wasn’t looking, or he’d get frustrated and insist that she sit back down on the couch so that he could ‘feed’ you all over again.”
Jin grins. “Copycat!”
“There are even pictures!” Namjoon answers, his eyes lowering, and then moving side to side as he picks up his phone from the floor and starts to type.
As a picture of toddler Jin, baby Namjoon, and a younger Mrs. Kim pops up in the group chat, and Jin and Namjoon’s exclusive laughter has the audacity to fill his living room, Taehyung gets further lost in his faraway look. But it quickly dissolves when those laughs turn into long stretches of high-pitched, increasingly satisfied breaths.
He twists his face and stares at his own, motionless thumbs propping up his phone screen.
“Not every single one of my personality traits is one of your hand-me-downs, you know,” Taehyung scowls. “Plus, technically, Namjoonie-hyung, you were copying Jin-hyung, too!” His voice is starting to get louder, but also waver. “A-and, and—”
“OK, OK,” Jin says quickly. “No one’s really a copycat. We’re brothers, and best friends. It’s normal for us to do things alike, isn’t it?”
Namjoon chuckles teasingly as Taehyung rolls his eyes.
“Anyway, say more about your date,” Jin goes on, a little flatly. “Sounds like you and Mari ended up having a fantastic time.”
“No, hyung, this was with Dal,” Taehyung clarifies. “My friend, from that shop.”
Jin stops chewing.
“Weren’t you paying attention?” Taehyung asks, delighted in his hyung’s expression, and no longer able to mask the bit of a grin that he’s been holding inside all along. “It’s like I said. I didn’t have to launch any torpedos. Mari-noona ghosted.”
It’s been a couple of years since she last taught an art class, but Mrs. Kim will never forget the concept of a classroom “T-zone”. She can still see the ancient, Java-coded graphic in the first tabbed section of every start-of-semester manual. This T-zone referred to the students who tended to sit in the front row and middle column of the classroom. With clean, bright, eager, shining faces, they’re the ones who, sometimes thankfully, sometimes annoyingly, always showed up. They always listened. Always participated. The overachievers. The high performers. The elite.
She was always grateful for them.
But Mrs. Kim herself was decidedly not one of them.
She still isn’t.
Every week, she chooses the easel in the back, by the window, next to the instructor's bookshelf. There’s something familiar about it that she can’t quite name, something that helps her access an aspect of her creativity that feels so much like her old self.
Her young self.
Today’s topic hits close to home, too.
“This feeling that we’re trying to evoke,” the instructor goes on, cleaning her brush and eyeing the next color on her palette, a pale, Atlantic green, “is the feeling of being by oneself.”
Mrs. Kim feels her heart twinge. Not for herself, back then, or now. She can be by herself, no problem. But it’s been three whole lifetimes since she’s been completely by herself. And, unlike those three lifetimes, she knows what it truly is. How it truly feels.
She tries to forget Taehyung’s most recent text message.
Tries to stop thinking of ghosts.
She paints a black streak on her canvas. In warning.
“You may know the feeling as loneliness, which is when we are by ourselves and fraught with anxiety. There is pain. There is fear. There is the sense that you have been abandoned, perhaps due to your own actions, or due to some kind of inherent flaw.”
As the instructor dabs gently at their canvas, Mrs. Kim nearly pokes a hole in hers.
“But there is also another feeling. One that is peaceful, and content. One that reminds us that we are whole, and enough. Just by ourselves. That we aren’t inherently missing anything. That life is additive, never subtractive. That everything we receive, we receive because we are ready for it. We are gifted, never punished.” The instructor smiles at their work, and then smiles at the class.
Mrs. Kim looks up and raises her eyebrows, her arm slowing under the instructor’s gaze.
“That feeling, my lovelies, is called solitude,” the instructor finishes, nodding once. “Blissful, content, wholesome solitude. Don’t take it for granted, friends. Some people go their whole lives mixing up the two, finding an inability to appreciate neither.”
Mrs. Kim looks back at her tortured canvas, all poked and prodded, and lets out a tiny, contemplative breath.
As the class begins to pack up, her eyes shift over to the easel next to her. A gorgeous, serene canvas of pastel pinks and purples, with something small in the background. A building of some sort? Or a figure, way in the distance?
“Is that loneliness, or solitude?” Mrs. Kim asks.
The girl who painted it stops what she’s doing and smiles back.
“Probably a bit of both, to be honest. I don’t know if there's as distinct a separation between them as our instructor thinks. But what do I know?”
What could she know, Mrs. Kim thinks, looking at the girl’s sweet face, unmarked with life’s trials. But, surprisingly, just as memorable.
“I think I know you,” Mrs. Kim realizes. “I saw you at the grocery store a little while ago, right? You were with your mother, outside?”
The girl nods happily. “Yes! I’m, uh, Yang Hwan?” she answers. Mrs. Kim lights up at the name, remembering the shy girl, always in braids, who also didn’t sit in the T-zone. “I also took beginner and intermediate art with you in school.” She giggles. “But that was a very long time ago.”
It can’t have been that long ago, given Hwan’s apparent age. But Mrs. Kim still feels her own age at the comment.
“Ah, how are you?” Mrs. Kim asks, grinning. “Has life treated you well?”
Hwan nods. “Very well. Got my family. My art. Studying it in college now. Can’t complain. Very grateful.”
She clearly means it, but Mrs. Kim notes the clipped sentences, different from the pastel-colored melody with which she spoke of the blurring between loneliness and solitude.
“You’re an artist,” Mrs. Kim sighs, her heart soaring. “How are you finding it? The journey?”
“I can’t see myself doing anything else,” Hwan admits, brightening. “I obviously wasn’t very good when I was in your class. But you and some of my other teachers really sparked a passion for me. I became obsessed.”
She leans forward and shows Mrs. Kim her wrist, where there is a tiny tattoo of a paint brush, with some royal purple paint dripping from its tip.
Hwan smiles sadly at her tattoo.
“But do you buy…”
When she meets Mrs. Kim’s curious eyes, Hwan decides to bail.
She pulls her sweater sleeve over her tattoo.
“Well. Anyway.” Hwan picks up her bag of supplies. “I’ll get out of your hair. See you in class next week?”
Mrs. Kim smiles.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you’d maybe want to have some coffee or tea with me?”
The café one block over thankfully always has free tables. After putting their supplies in their respective cars, and more coins into their respective parking meters, Mrs. Kim and Hwan swing in through the café’s aqua doors and settle at one underneath a pretty, golden chandelier, sitting down in two lemon curd-colored, velvet chairs, in front of one mug of matcha tea, and one tall taro boba.
“Thanks,” Hwan says, both to the server setting her boba down in front of her, and Mrs. Kim placing her credit card back into her wallet.
“Thanks for the company,” Mrs. Kim says, smiling knowingly. “I usually come alone and read or call my boys.” She tilts her head. “Besides. I wanted to know what you were about to say. It sounded like you had a thought forming.”
They both take a drink, each of them savoring the sweet, creamy, mild tastes.
Ironically, it’s Hwan who feels steaming heat in her cheeks.
She gulps down her sip, her cooled tongue now able to move a little easier.
“Formed,” Hwan clarifies. “Always forms. Keeps reforming. Duplicates. Grows. Every day. Without fail.”
Mrs. Kim knows to stir her matcha a little more. Not to pry. To wait. To let Hwan chew and swallow her boba uninterrupted, so that she can work out each letter of every word.
“Someone in our class asked you how you knew you wanted to be an artist,” Hwan recalls, her chipped jade fingernails fiddling with her thick, plastic, pink-lined straw, “how you knew you’d be fulfilled. How you knew you hadn’t made the wrong decision.”
Mrs. Kim grimaces. “And then I said something trite and stupid, didn’t I?”
Hwan laughs, and Mrs. Kim takes delight in seeing youthful stars in Hwan’s bright eyes.
“You told us that making that decision, or any kind of big life decision, is never going to be easy. That we’re never going to be 100% sure of anything. But, also, that nothing is 100% permanent. So, we should always work hard, and be prepared, and go with what’s in our hearts. Even if it changes. Especially when it does.”
Mrs. Kim nods slowly. “OK, that wasn’t terrible advice.”
“It wasn’t. It was pretty good advice, actually.” Hwan smirks. “Got me this far. And, not to be judgmental, but I’m relatively unscathed, especially compared to some of my friends who, incidentally, didn’t take your class.”
Mrs. Kim chuckles, raising her mug to her lips.
Hwan watches as Mrs. Kim takes another sip. And, amazingly, instead of launching into some parable or spiel, Mrs. Kim simply sets her mug back down on the table and waits for Hwan to go on.
“Uh… well, so,” Hwan stumbles, “it’s like, y-y’know…” She sighs. “It’s like this.” She grips the bottom of her drink, swirling it around on the table, condensation on the surface tracing the pattern, pulling apart, and then reforming again. “I don’t know if I buy what our instructor said about being whole, and that being enough. I know I love creating art with every single muscle fiber and electrical impulse in my heart. But… the older I get… it just feels like something is always…”
Her drink comes to a stop, leaving on the table several wispy, watery circles, not quite attached.
“…missing.”
Mrs. Kim nods. “Mmhmm. Been there.”
Hwan blinks. “Y-you have?”
“Of course. I find myself there from time to time, even now.”
Mrs. Kim’s gentle, kind eyes soften at Hwan’s speechlessness.
“I’m a human,” Mrs. Kim replies, “and a woman. Doesn’t exactly make things easier in this world.”
“But you have a career?” Hwan sputters. “And a husband? A-and a family? And your family, your sons, your husband, your career, are all so successful, I—”
Hwan’s eyes start darting around the room. To the cash register. To the doors. Up to the chandelier. Over to the bit of lemon curd yellow chair back that she can see between Mrs. Kim’s left arm and torso.
“Everything OK?” Mrs. Kim asks, furrowing her brow.
Hwan’s eyes grow wider. “No! Well, I mean, obviously not! As accomplished and content as you are, you still feel like something’s missing?”
Mrs. Kim bites her lip and wishes she could go back in time and bite her tongue instead. “See, I knew I wasn’t always great at advice.”
The table starts to shake. It’s barely noticeable, but Mrs. Kim realizes it’s because Hwan’s leg is starting to bounce.
“What’s got you worried?”
“I guess I was kind of hoping for a different reaction from you,” Hwan admits, eyes still darting around, but contained to the table top.
“What were you hoping to hear?”
Mrs. Kim doesn’t need to ask. She’s got enough life experience to know what Hwan was hoping to hear.
Hwan doesn’t have as much life experience, but she is smart enough to know what she wants to hear, though, she is perhaps even smarter for knowing that Mrs. Kim won’t say it.
“That if I just stay the course, I’ll figure it out,” Hwan offers anyway, voice dripping with dejection. “That, eventually, I’ll find whatever’s missing. That it’ll all fall into place.”
The street is starting to fill up with more people. People spilling out of all sorts of Saturday morning classes. Art classes. Yoga classes. Kickboxing classes.
Mrs. Kim’s eyes trace their outlines. “Actually,” she says, “I’ve found that you can always help things along. That you may even need to help things along, from time to time.”
All of these Saturday morning students start to bunch up into blobs. Group into families. Cluster amongst friends.
Pair off into couples.
Mrs. Kim’s eyes settle on one man standing by the bookstore entrance, looking out at the street periodically while checking his phone.
“Can I ask you a question?” Mrs. Kim ventures.
“Sure,” Hwan replies, smiling politely through her nervousness, “although, given what I just opened up to you about, I don’t think I’ll have any answers.”
“I think you will.”
Mrs. Kim furrows her brow.
“What does it mean when someone gets ‘ghosted’?”
Hwan’s eyes widen. “Oh!”
“Not to insinuate anything other than my old age,” Mrs. Kim says warmly. “I think I might know what it means, but even if I don’t, I still don’t like the sound of it.”
“W-why?” Hwan asks. “Wait, did one of your sons— No, they’re too nice to— Unless, was one of your sons— But that’s, I mean, that’s impossible, because there’s a whole line of— A-all the applications, and the standby li—”
She shakes her head.
“Sorry. You asked about ghosting.”
Hwan picks up her boba and cradles it with both hands, leaning forward slightly and speaking before taking a long sip. “Um, well, it means that someone didn’t show up.”
The rage is starting to bubble up Mrs. Kim’s throat. “Like getting stood up?!”
“Y-yes,” Hwan confirms carefully, “uh, l-like getting stood up.”
Mrs. Kim figured as much.
How sharp is her paint trowel? Is it in the car?
“But!” Hwan adds, “I feel like getting stood up has a certain connotation of rejection to it. Ghosting isn’t exactly the same.”
“So, that’s it, then? There’s nothing else behind it? Nothing…” Mrs. Kim’s eyes narrow. “Unpleasant?”
“Actually, usually, it’s because people want to avoid unpleasantries.”
Hwan sets down her boba but keeps her hands, still tucked into her sweater sleeves, around it.
“Ghosting is much easier than showing up and facing situations. And it’s not just used in dating types of situations. People ghost on stuff like hangouts and job interviews all the time now. It might be weird to think about, but my friends and I even have this unspoken understanding. It’s just kind of expected that even though you might make plans for something, other factors, like how you feel that day, or other things that pop up along the way, or maybe even nothing at all, might change the energy around it. It’s almost like there is no such thing as making concrete plans anymore.”
Mrs. Kim shakes her head sorrowfully. “But to disappear like that? With no communication, whatsoever?”
“It doesn’t feel great,” Hwan says quietly. “But I think there’s… It’s…” She takes a deep breath that starts unsure but comes out decidedly. “Things just feel so overwhelming. Don’t you feel that? There’s just so much more. Many, many more things to face. More people to face. And so many more ways to avoid facing them.”
Mrs. Kim tilts her head. She’s no stranger to meeting things, and people, head-on. But it’s because there were only a few ways to meet them. Jin’s always complaining about how exhausting it is to work his fancy, cushy desk job, and it hasn’t been until recently that Mrs. Kim has realized that it must be overwhelming, being able to be reachable no matter what, whether it’s through his personal or work emails, his personal or work phones, or his company’s four platforms for direct messages, of which only two seem to work properly at a semi-consistent clip.
“That may be true,” Mrs. Kim concedes, but I don’t think I approve of ghosting. Communication is always multidirectional. And there’s something to be said for accountability.”
Mrs. Kim is surprised that Hwan merely sips her boba tea. That she isn’t more outraged by this.
How many times has Hwan been ghosted?
Has Hwan ever ghosted anyone else?
As she tries to read too-neutral Hwan’s face, Mrs. Kim wonders how many times she has technically been ghosted herself. Her one-track mind wouldn’t have noticed, let alone kept a tally, before moving on to the next thing.
Mrs. Kim has no time for ghosts.
Then again, if all the ghosts in Mrs. Kim’s or Hwan’s lives had actually materialized, what would have gone differently? Would they be sitting here now, in this lovely little café, two pairs of charcoal and paint-stained hands sharing two delicious drinks on a sunny Saturday afternoon?
“Thanks for explaining it to me, though,” Mrs. Kim adds. “With your context I think I’m beginning to understand. Appreciate the, uh, perhaps… generational… differences.”
Her smile softens, like a line of charcoal smudged. Maybe not as bold, but just as present, and just as wonderful.
Hwan sits up suddenly, her hold on her drink loosening just a tad. “I’m glad I could actually be valuable to someone!”
Suddenly, Hwan is standing, thanking Mrs. Kim for the drink, explaining that she needs to head home, and leading the way back to their respective parking meters.
And as Mrs. Kim stands by her car, watching Hwan wave as she drives away, Mrs. Kim wonders what in the world would make Hwan ever think she wasn’t.
“C.”
“Hmm?”
“The answer is C.”
“Ah.”
“Do you know why?”
“What?”
“Do you know why the answer is C?”
Jihu blinks, and everything becomes clear again. He looks at the group around him, each person shooting haughty smirks right at him.
“Uh—”
He looks down at his book and realizes that he’s not even on the same page as the others.
“Sorry, what question are we on again?” he asks, flipping forward a few pages, checking the others’ books for the page number, and flipping back again.
“Chapter 15, practice question 32,” Yong-hyun replies, with the haughtiest smirk of them all.
Jihu starts to read the question, lips moving along, shaping another unfathomably polysyllabic chemical compound, when Yong-hyun’s finger lands on the page, right on top of the diagram just above practice question 33.
“Beckmann rearrangement,” Yong-hyun says. “Note the oxime.”
Jihu nods quickly. “Right. Right. The oxime.”
“Alright, out with it,” Mi-rae says, elbow landing in the spine of her open book, chin resting in her open palm. “You’ve been so distracted.”
“Oh,” Jihu laughs softly, “I just thought I saw—” His eyes widen. “Um, I just thought I s-saw someone I, uh, know. Sorry to derail things. We can pick back up.”
“It’s not just today,” Jung-kwon says. “You’ve been late. Hard to get a hold of. Especially for our late-night study groups. And your wardrobe.”
Jihu frowns as he looks down at his white button-up and black slacks, perfectly pressed. “What about it?”
Jung-kwon exchanges a knowing glance with Mi-rae.
“I smell a girl.”
“Mmhmm. Thought so, too.”
“Someone finally worthy of the Kim name?” Yong-hyun asks. “Your parents must be thrilled. Especially after hearing all of your bitter diatribes against tradition.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Jihu replies, throat flexing to keep his vocal cords calm. “I’ve just been… I don’t know. Tired or something.” He scratches at his collar. “And I ran out of clothes. A-and I thought I saw someone I know.” His eyes crinkle a little. “Someone who, uh, owes me money.”
“Oh shit, a good ol’ Kim family shakedown.” Yong-hyun claps his hands and rubs them over one another. Like a crime boss. Or a hamster. “How much do they owe you?”
Jihu shrugs. “Not much.”
“Isn’t any amount too much?” Yong-hyun points out.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Mi-rae echoes in warned surprise.
“Want us to get it for you?” Jung-kwon asks. “Even with what went down, you still have a reputation to uphold.”
“No, no,” Jihu insists, “that’s really OK—”
“Now’s not the time to be proud, Jihu,” Mi-rae replies. “Everyone knows you’re clever. But it’s not an easy thing to deal with, being cut off so suddenly. We’re trying to help.”
Jihu looks around at the group and can’t help but notice the haughty smirks haven’t really left their faces. And maybe Jihu hasn’t really left the world that has plagued him with so many more questions than answers.
“Thanks, but, really, I’ve got it,” he replies.
He closes his book, the thick halves slamming dully.
“I should try to catch up with them. See if they have the money.”
“Want us to come with?” Jung-kwon tries again, as the group watches Jihu collect his things. “Backup support?” He leans forward in his chair and gestures to the black leather jacket draped across its back. “Rode my motorcycle today.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Badass intimidation factor.”
Jihu snaps his mouth shut as he swings his right backpack strap over his shoulder, and his dimples deepen as he forces a tight smile, gives a wave, and walks away.
He glances down at his shoes. Makes sure that his laces are tied. Reminds himself not to break into a run. Takes extra care not to stumble.
Because if there’s anything unworthy of the Kim name, it’s absolutely the fool who stumbles on his way to meet Bongseon, draped gossamer, peony pink, waiting at the top of the spiraling library staircase.
Her cheeks start to match that pink when she catches sight of Jihu walking— jogging— walking toward her.
And her voice is sweet as peonies when she squeaks, “Hi.”
“Hey.”
Jihu leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You excited?”
Bongseon keeps her eyes closed a second longer. Everything is somehow warmer, better, when Jihu is around. “Honestly, no,” she finally answers, opening her eyes and looking up at him. “I feel pretty numb.” And then a smile peeks through. “Well. Felt.”
Jihu giggles softly. “Gross. What’s happening to you?”
“I know, right?”
She rolls her eyes and clasps Jihu’s hand.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” He squeezes her hand a little. “And thanks for… y’know. Understanding.”
Bongseon nods. “Of course.”
He tilts his head and gazes at her, the wrinkles in her forehead slowly disappearing. It’s, frankly, a prize in and of itself to get to be one of the few people in the world who gets to see it. But he still isn’t exactly sure why this merits an “of course”.
“Your parents really aren’t coming?” Jihu asks. “No one in your family? No siblings, or aunts, or uncles, or—”
“No, but even with everything you told me, I’m excited to meet yours,” Bongseon replies.
She lets go of Jihu’s hand and starts off in the other direction.
As her black heels clack against the floor, Jihu accepts that maybe this is a bit of an escape. From an uncomfortable conversation. From a seemingly painful past. From the intensity of whatever has been building between them. But Jihu will always revel in the feel of Bongseon’s hand nervously slipping from his.
Because it means that he got to hold it in the first place.
The top floor of the library wasn’t the first choice for this exhibit, but it quickly became a contender when funding finally came in for the leaky roof, stained floors, and air conditioning renovations. Judging has been taking place all day, streams of people weaving in and out of each piece of art on display, those in blue ribbons noting their comments on cards that are placed into a black box in the center of the room. But students and faculty alike don’t care as much about that. They shelled out for tickets to see the architecture of the new ceiling, the imported couches and carrels, and the fancy glass floors that, due to one embarrassing yet thankful mishap with the dean’s secretary, became frosted just a week before an unsuspecting Bongseon bought this dress.
“A vast improvement,” Bongseon observes, looking around. “I can see myself studying here.” She winces. “That is, if I’m still around.”
Jihu wraps his arm around Bongseon’s waist and turns her a little, aiming her toward the one familiar thing in this room.
One big frame, housing one big charcoal sketch of multiple layers of Jihu’s form, his body in slightly different positions in each layer. Sitting. Reading. Talking. Laughing. Watching. Everything that Jihu was. Is. Encapsulated into one frame.
“You see that?” Jihu asks, gazing at Bongseon’s wide eyes.
“I’ve seen it once or twice.”
Jihu pinches Bongseon’s side, and she lets out, and quickly muffles, a squeal.
“Well, I know a secret about them.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jihu leans down to whisper that secret into Bongseon’s ear. “I hear they’re going to win this competition.”
Bongseon gnaws at her lip, and in the process, smudges her lipstick just a bit.
“Don’t do that.”
Jihu blinks.
“Do what?”
Bongseon frowns. “Don’t pretend to give me something that you know you can’t.”
Jihu’s hold on Bongseon’s waist loosens a little.
And at the sound of the second familiar thing in this room, his hold dissolves altogether.
“Jihu??”
Bongseon decides right there and then that Jihu must be an anomaly. An alien of some sort. Adopted, at least. Because Director Kim and his wife, the Mrs. Kim that she’s learned so much about over the past few months, project anything but warmth.
They project strength. They command respect. And they elicit fear. It resonates in the way they march forward, like troops toward battle. The way they scan the room, seemingly for threats. And the way they furrow their brows upon coming toe to toe with their son.
Bongseon can feel Jihu tense up. So she follows suit. But she waits to ball her fingers into fists.
“Jihu,” Mrs. Kim repeats.
Jihu can feel the nearly invisible hairs at the tail of his spine stand on end, and he straightens unnaturally to let them unfurl.
“Eomma. Appa.”
Director Kim is barely there, silently counting down the minutes until this ridiculous event is over, and he can get back to his chair in his study.
“I thought that you had your study group with Yong-hyun and the others?” Mrs. Kim asks. “We saw them taking their places at a table about an hour ago, and they said that you were going to join them.”
“I did,” Jihu says. “But—”
“It’s good that you’re here,” Mrs. Kim replies. “There are many wonderful people here to introduce you to.”
Jihu’s eyes brighten, and his dimples appear as he pulls his cheeks into a small but happy grin. “Funny you should say that because—”
“Haneul!”
The face that turns at the call of that name is a face that all the other campus golden ratio girls would envy. She smiles politely and raises her eyebrows before turning back to the professor with whom she was speaking.
“Hmm, seems she’ll be just a moment,” Mrs. Kim observes.
“Good, because, uh, actually, I was going to say that I wanted to introduce you to someone, too,” Jihu persists. “This is Pan Bongseon.”
His arm circles around Bongseon’s waist, firming with resolve, and making Bongseon’s lips curl into something instead: a surprised, proud smile.
Bongseon’s waist bends, her hips supporting a perfect, 90-degree angle, and her strategically chosen dress revealing nothing except her obligation to honor.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Director Kim, Mrs. Kim.” She smiles weakly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Have you?” Mrs. Kim asks, bored. She looks around Bongseon, eyes never quite meeting. “Then again, most everyone in this room has, ah, heard so much about us.”
She shoots Director Kim a pleased look that goes completely missed.
“Yes, what with your illustrious careers,” Bongseon remarks, hoping that she’s not nodding too eagerly.
“Talk about illustrious. Bongseon’s one of tonight’s finalists,” Jihu says proudly. He gestures to the piece behind them. “Her piece is right here. The medium is charcoal. Isn’t she phenomenal?”
Director Kim stands in place while Mrs. Kim walks forward to get a better look.
“I don’t get it. Who is it supposed to be?”
“It’s not supposed to be any one person,” Bongseon answers. “The prompt called for human models to depict life in motion.”
Mrs. Kim frowns. “But he’s sitting?”
“I wanted the piece to show how we spend most of life moving time forward,” Bongseon answers. “By ourselves. In these small moments.”
Mrs. Kim stares at the piece again. “Well, the piece certainly feels small.”
Bongseon scowls.
“It kind of looks like you, son,” Director Kim chimes in, with an air of intrigue.
“Just, ah, Bongseon’s ability to c-capture the Everyman, I guess,” Jihu stammers.
Feeling unnerved, Bongseon says, “It is him. He saw my ad for models. I paid $50 for a session.” She crosses her arms. “He was very kind, and very happy, to take the job.”
Mrs. Kim smirks. “Fascinating.” She steps closer toward the plaque next to Bongseon’s piece, hunching forward slightly, crossing her arms and squinting her eyes to read the summary, as if needing more proof. “You know, Jihu, if you need money, you could always just come home.”
“Not now, Eomma.”
Every time Jihu says it, he says it with a little more determination. As if the “not now” is slowly but surely transforming into a “never again”.
Mrs. Kim turns to Bongseon, arms still crossed, eyes still narrow. “If you think trying to buddy up with my son will nab you this scholarship, you’re sorely mistaken. We merely paid for the renovations and are attending this function in order to see the changes. We have no stake in who wins or loses. Though I certainly have an eye for prediction.”
Bongseon places her hands on her hips. “Then we have two things in common, it seems. An eye for prediction, and deep care for your son.”
Jihu brightens again, dimples deepening.
Mrs. Kim’s face sours as her head turns, chin moving over her shoulder. Her eyes scan the room again. “Professor Im!” She uncrosses her arms and waves for Haneul to join them. “You’re hogging her!”
Haneul sheepishly grins to the sweet, older man speaking with her. She says something seemingly equal parts charming and kind, given the way he smiles and nods gratefully. After a gentle handshake, Haneul makes her way over to them. She parts a crowd that has gathered around one of the sculpture entries, the figure of a ballet dancer mid-twirl. And like that ballet dancer, she strides, long, and graceful, toward Mrs. Kim, smiling politely and perfectly when she says, “Hello, Mrs. Kim. Everyone.”
Haneul doesn’t bow. At first, Bongseon wonders if that gives her a leg up in the real competition for the evening. Until she realizes that Haneul doesn’t need to bow.
And at that realization, Bongseon starts to shrink, wondering how hard and for how long she would need to stomp her feet to fall through the frosted glass.
“Haneul here is a scholar set to go abroad to study political science,” Mrs. Kim introduces. “Jihu, I think you and Haneul would make great friends.”
“I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you,” Haneul says happily. “Your eomma has bragged about you non-stop since I’ve met her.”
“It’s because I haven’t hit on every accomplishment yet,” Mrs. Kim says with glee, smoothing a slight ruffle in the shoulder of Haneul’s pure white blouse. “Come to our dinner party in two weeks’ time. I’ll send your mother the invitation, and I’ll seat the two of you together. You can catch up then.”
“I won’t be attending the party, Eomma,” Jihu insists.
“Nonsense, you’re coming,” Director Kim replies. “Your grandfather will be in town.” He leans forward. “Whatever else is going on in our lives… well, you’d better be there to see your grandfather.”
“Excited to be a part of it,” Haneul says, grinning at Jihu. Her eyes shift to Bongseon. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I think I might be in the same dorm as you. I’m in 205, with my suite mate.”
“308.”
“Lucky! You got the single dorm!” Haneul smiles. “Will you be at the Kims’, too?”
Bongseon tries to remember how to speak. That she is worthy of speaking. “Oh, I—”
“Family only,” Mrs. Kim says, with an encouraging wink.
Haneul’s head dips back slightly, and Jihu rolls his eyes.
“It’ll be a wonderful event,” Haneul says diplomatically. “They always are. But if you’ll excuse me? I’m volunteering at this event, and I believe I need to help set the stage up for the announcement of the winners and the dean’s closing remarks. We’re due to start in about fifteen minutes.”
“Go shine, Haneul, like you always do,” Mrs. Kim replies, nodding with proud approval.
“Thank you, Director Kim, everyone,” Haneul says respectfully. “And thank you for the donations to get these renovations done. Our student body is so grateful.”
As Haneul takes her leave, elegance and class wrapped up in the human form, Bongseon feels her own body disappearing into nothing. A better reflection of what she is.
“Go shine?” Jihu mutters. “Haneul volunteered. She’s just setting up the stage. Not even standing on it. Bongseon got here due to her artistic excellence. ”
Mrs. Kim tosses the statement right through Bongseon’s chest, Mrs. Kim’s eyes still not quite landing anywhere near Bongseon’s face.
“Please, Jihu. Only stars shine.”
“Fuck my parents,” Jihu says.
Bongseon stops on the second stair of the entrance to her dorm, her purse swinging under her shoulder. Her long lashes blink in surprise. Despite the issues they had, Jihu had never used disrespectful language about his parents.
“I-I’m sorry, did you just—”
“Fuck! My! Parents!” Jihu repeats, stronger now.
Bongseon looks around.
“C’mon. Let’s go inside. Someone might hear you.”
Jihu can barely keep his words in his mouth, muttering the entire time it takes for them to get from the front door of the building to Bongseon’s single dorm.
“They didn’t cut me off,” Jihu bursts, not even a full second after Bongseon closes her door. “I need you to know that. I need you to know that they didn’t cut me off, and that I’m the one actually refusing to accept their money.”
Bongseon raises her eyebrows. “OK.”
“They try to wire me my tuition every month, and I rip up the check. Every time. Because it’s the principle of the thing.”
“I hear you. Understood.”
“You could make something out of those ripped checks. Whatever that art style is. With all the bits of paper, and the glue, and you turn it into something else.”
“Papier mache?”
“Yeah. But not really. Because I threw all the scraps away.”
“Papier mache isn’t really my forte, anyway.”
Eight, Bongseon notices. Jihu has angrily paced the same line back and forth eight times. But now, he comes to a stop.
He scoffs. “Can you believe them? I was so excited to introduce you to them, introduce your art to them, and they just pulled their same old shit! And now I have to go to this dumb dinner and meet this girl? All because they’re so threatened that I could dare to see things differently than they do, that I could open up to someone who makes me feel—!”
Jihu catches Bongseon’s thoughtful gaze.
At the sight of her, his eyes widen and blink rapidly behind his glasses.
Bongseon’s eyes linger on him for a moment.
And then she takes a couple of steps forward.
Reaches up for his glasses.
Folds the earpieces down.
Sets them on top of a stack of books on her desk, just to her right.
“What do you feel?” she asks quietly.
Jihu’s eyes soften.
“That’s it,” he admits, shrugging. “You… y-you make me feel.”
It’s surprising that it doesn’t happen in her studio, which is where he’d imagined it happening. With the door locked, it’s quite private. So much of her passion resides there. And it’s where they met, so it seemed like the most obvious place. He can’t believe that it happens in her dorm. He can’t believe how lucky he is to be able to be in her living space, where she eats, and sleeps, and lies on her couch while watching TV, and does her dishes. He can’t believe that this is where he’s cupping her cheek in his hand and kissing her with such intensity that he knows this is where it’s going to happen.
Her hands reach for his belt.
“We don’t have to,” he whispers quickly, lest he get his hopes up too early.
But Bongseon smiles the way she usually smiles.
Confidently.
“After tonight? Everything that you’ve said? How can we not?”
Jihu moans as he rushes forward for another kiss, and then another.
The peony pink dress looks at home on the couch. So does his button-up and slacks.
Her white, lacy bra and matching panties look beautiful on her floor. So do his dress socks, and his boxers.
And Bongseon looks exquisite in her bed, naked and excited, pulling Jihu on top of her and hooking her left arm around his neck.
That excitement. Contagious and thrilling.
Jihu realizes that that’s one of the feelings he always has with Bongseon.
The feeling of being wanted.
“I’m so glad you want it too,” he confesses, his hand snaking between her legs.
She bites her lip and lets out a moan at the feel of his fingers spreading her apart, slowly rubbing back and forth to coat his hand in her abundant arousal.
“Badly,” she whispers. She grips his wrist. “Can’t you tell?”
Jihu nods into their kiss, and his fingers massage her clit, hand staying where she holds him, as her hips start to rock back and forth.
Bongseon lets out a moan, head hanging back, teeth raking against her lips as she sucks in a breath to last her. As she moves, she raises her chest to him, and his kiss-swollen lips stamp a trail down her neck, and between her breasts.
She hoists herself up, and hugs his neck, while his free hand curls into a fist, the tops of his knuckles digging into her mattress like his knees are, springs creaking as she bounces heavier, and heavier, against him.
Her throat closes up. All of her muscles tense. A scream presses against her tonsils, but they refuse to let it out. All Jihu can hear are his fingers sloshing around inside of her, and his own quiet, eager grunts.
When she comes, she lets go completely, her back hitting the bed, head landing on her pillow, hair strewn around her.
She lets out a gasp, air rushing into her body. She moans in delight, which turns into a more than satisfied, “Mm- hmm,” before rolling onto her belly.
Jihu lets out a quiet sigh as her ass slopes into view, her back arching, her hand combing through her long hair, and her pretty eyes peeking through as she looks back at him.
He bite his lip as he lines up behind her.
He’s patient as he slides into her. He’s so thick, and she’s so tight, that her juices are more enjoyable rather than useful. Still, she’s dripping everywhere, making an absolute mess.
Jihu loves getting to make a mess.
“Deep,” Bongseon instructs. “Long, and deep. Slow at first, yeah?”
She feels his nod, as it waves down his body and through her mattress’s springs.
A moan of ecstasy escapes her open, wet mouth as Jihu goes as deep as he can, cock curving slightly up, tip touching the back of her walls.
When his hips start to pull away, the suction created by their tight, wet muscles makes them both double over, as it pulls him inside again.
Without looking, she reaches for him. Intertwines their fingers. Presses the back of his hand against her chest.
He fights through the suction as he pulls back. He nearly slips out of her. But then he pushes his cock head deeper, and his shaft rushes along her walls to slam into her again.
Bongseon’s head angles back, and she lets out a low, intrigued moan.
“What you had in mind?” Jihu asks through grit teeth.
Whimpers are all that come out of Bongseon’s mouth. There’s barely any room for anything else against her gulping, heaving breaths.
He bends down, his lips lightly brushing against the back of her shoulder as they move together, full, and slow.
“You know how long I’ve thought about this?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve drifted away and pretended I was kissing you? Fucking you? It’s all I wanna do.”
“Jihu.”
His cock fills her up with the same heat that radiates from his gaze. His smile. His broad chest. Every smirk, every kiss, every long day of work ended with a hug to cover up all the unspoken words, her temple pressed against his beating heart.
He plunges deeper, stuttering on the way in.
Bongseon bites her bottom lip so hard that she thinks it might rip off and expose the bone
“Deep. Slow. You knew exactly what to tell me. You’ve thought about it, too. You’ve wanted it, too.”
Bongseon isn’t usually one to show her hand, but it’s getting harder to fight the “yes” es collecting in her throat.
She wonders if he’ll fuck her there, too. Fuck them out of her. Fuck all the words, and thoughts, and spirals out of her seemingly ever-busy mind.
How does he do this? Torture her and make her feel so at peace, so whole, at the same time?
Their backs arch and curve, sometimes snaking to opposite sides, playing with angles that release curses and unlock bursts of pleasure, sudden tension of hands gripping and teeth biting when it’s especially good.
“Tell me,” Jihu pleads, voice still low, but thinning with urgency. “Tell me this is what you wanted.”
Bongseon whines, squeezing his hand tight, and squeezing her flesh tight, making Jihu moan into the back of her neck.
“Tell me you want more. Wanna give you more.”
Bongseon sucks in another breath, moving her hips back against him, telling him the only way she knows how. The only way she can. Her throat is too tight, voice too lost.
“Wanna give you everything.”
She nods, and Jihu slides his right hand along the seam of her right thigh, fingers finding her clit.
Bongseon bucks back, letting out a yelp as his fingers gather together and start to circle, pressure building.
“Want it all,” Bongseon finally admits, her voice far away. “Want you. All of you.”
As they move, they dip into the mattress and bounce up, rocking gently.
And then, violently.
Bongseon’s chin hits her pillow, and she starts to splay out, barely able to stay as tight as she has been. Her walls are fluttering, and Jihu knows that she won’t be able to last.
“Just let go,” Jihu murmurs, placing his left palm in the small of her back as he speeds up.
She nods. Doesn’t even bother moving her hair out of her face. Just lets her body take over, spasms and movements seemingly just as incoherent as anything that she tries to speak aloud.
When she comes, she wails, spit landing in her strands.
He comes soon after. Repeated grunts, soft “ohh, ohh, ohh” s, match each explosion of cum that springs from him.
When he collapses on top of her, she reaches back for him, fingers finding the back of his head.
She taps him twice.
“Well done.”
He laughs, lips brushing against her cheekbone.
“Now, get off of me. I wanna do something.”
Jihu rolls onto his side, kissing her there before she jumps out of bed, hair flowing behind her, footsteps punctuated by excited giggles.
She gets to her desk and looks around. Even with the clutter, her sketchbook is easy enough to find. Her pencils, though, always go missing. Remembering that she was last sketching when lying on the couch, she picks up Jihu’s shirt, and then her dress and purse, and finds the near-stub of a pencil between two cushions.
She sets Jihu’s shirt back down. As well as her dress.
But she holds onto her purse.
She grabs the pencil and sets it atop her sketchbook on her desk.
But then she opens her purse.
Stares at the first place certificate.
As well as the check.
They each have her name on them, printed carefully, in elegant cursive on her certificate, and in serifed, clear, official font on her check.
She sets the certificate and the check on her desk, both face-down.
And then she grabs the sketchbook and pencil.
She jumps back into bed, having returned with a pencil and a sketch pad.
“Stay still, OK?”
Jihu grins. He knows not to talk as she primes her space.
After a moment, Jihu can’t help himself. He rushes forward and presses his lips to her bare shoulder, making her laugh and gently protest, as she flips her pencil under her index finger and over her thumb and middle, as her palm presses against his chest to push him back against the headboard.
Jihu’s never seen someone so consistently and intensely focused. And he’s not seen Bongseon like this, fresh off the glow of a win. In more ways than just one.
He lifts an arm and bends it behind him, resting the back of his head on his forearm. And, as he’s done for the entire time he’s known her, he watches her work.
It’s amazing how content he feels, just watching her. He’d watch her for as long as she’d let him. And he’d watch her do anything. Sketch another scholarship-winning piece while bathed in the afternoon sun. Read on the top floor of the library. Cook. Laugh. Sleep. Think.
Come.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jihu tells her, making Bongseon roll her eyes. “I mean it. Just thinking about the way you looked when you…” He smiles. “I’m gonna be thinking about that for a while.”
“Not the only one,” Bongseon giggles, half of her brain in that moment, and half of her brain focusing on how to make sure to get the line of his left pec just right.
“Bongseon.”
“Mmm?”
“I hope this isn’t a one-time thing.”
“Me neither.”
“Good.”
Jihu doesn’t need a breath. Doesn’t stutter. Her confidence is so contagious.
“Because I think I may be falling for you.”
Bongseon looks up from her sketchbook, eyes wide.
Jihu snores.
Loudly.
And a lot.
Bongseon can’t help but fondly chuckle every time Jihu lets another one out. Though he’s loud, and the rattle in the back of his throat might raise concerns about his health, it’s indescribably comforting to watch him sleep so deeply, to know that he’s so comfortable in a place that has only ever been hers.
He doesn’t stir when she gets out of bed. He continues snoring when she makes some tea. He sleeps right through the kettle whistling. So Bongseon is sure that he definitely won’t wake up when she slips out of her room, just for a few minutes.
She takes the stairs instead of the elevator, as if trying to keep Jihu from hearing that, too.
She pads down the hall. Everyone else is definitely asleep. But she has no qualms about waking a particular person up.
She knocks on the door, and when it opens, Bongseon feels so relieved to know that she’s memorized the number correctly.
Bongseon looks up into Haneul’s tired but curious eyes.
Hanuel’s voice cracks when she speaks.
“Y-yes…?”
Her realization grows as more light enters the room and enters those curious eyes, helping her to answer her own question.
“You’re the artist?” she asks, voice still not warm enough. “From today?”
Bongseon nods. “Yeah.”
“Um… well… Congratulations, again?” She raises her eyebrows. “But why are you—”
“I’m really, really sorry to wake you,” Bongseon replies, “but I need your help.”
“Right now?”
“No. Two weeks from now.”
Haneul tilts her head, as Bongseon raises hers.
“Please don’t go to the Kims’ dinner.”
🧭 Fic Masterpost 🧭 Drabbles
#bts smut#bts fluff#bts angst#taehyung smut#bts fanfiction#ksmutclub#magicshopsgate#ficscafe#purplearmynet#kflixnet#a map of mrs. kims#amomk#jin x female oc#namjoon x female oc#taehyung x female oc#jin smut#jin angst#jin fluff#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#namjoon fluff#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst
78 notes
·
View notes
Note
4, 17, 18, 45, 46!! For the ask game!!
4. Awwwww maannnnn! Top 10 songs is haaaaarrrdddd *whiny whiny whining*...but also fun! 😁 Okay, so here we go in no specific order (accept for numero uno):
Mikrokosmos 💜✨
Love Yourself: Answer
Life Goes On
People (Agust D)
The Astronaut (Jin)
On
We Are Bulletproof: The Eternal
I'm Fine
Tomorrow (B/c it's Yoongi's favorite, and he is my favorite 💗)
Sweet Night (V)
*Special Mentions: Best of Me, First Love, My Universe (I have been a Coldplay fan since high school), Moon, and Blood Sweat and Tears
I really like songs that deal with love (love of self, other, etc) and human relationships, and I think this comes out in my favs. But this was me being really straight-up about which ones I play most often, my list could be so, so much longer lol.
17. Tae's, hands down. He has this really elegant aspect to his style that always underscores even his gaudiest and edgiest fits. His style also reminds me of someone whom I loved dearly and lost, and I think I connect to his fashion on a sentimental level as well (which I think he would approve of? lol). I wanted that bag he designed so badly!! Maybe one day...
18. I would say I have Tae's personality (predominantly) with Namjoon's interests! My mom always tells me (she's Army as well) that Tae and I would be able to understand each other without words, and that Namjoon and I could talk to each other to death! 😂 I could elaborate on this endlessly, so I'll just leave it at that I guess.
I also want to add that I think I am a lot like Jimin as a romantic partner (or what I would imagine he is like), and I'm an enneagram type 2 - so I feel like I share existential motivations with Yoongi.
45. Ooh, this is a toughie. Okay, Imma do my best here, because realistically I would think about this for WEEKS, but here goes nothing (note: these gifts are ones I would give the members if we were friends, they are way too intimate for fan gifts, lol😅) :
Namjoon: I would buy him a piece of art that reminded me of him. I would probably choose from the works of Yun Hyong-keun, and include a letter describing how the piece made me feel, and all the lovely ways it reminded me of the person he is. I see Namjoon as really valuing words of affirmation from those he loves, and as someone who struggles to see himself positively often, I would hope a gift like that would remind him that he is a beautiful soul who is deeply loved every time he saw it.
Jin: I would buy him a professional kitchen stocked with rare ingredients and attached to an intimate dining area. A place he could mess around with learning to make all kinds of dishes, and feed his many friends without having to actually run a restaurant. I feel like one of the reasons he loves food so much is that it brings people together. He'd be the host with the most!
Yoongi: I think I remember hearing him saying somewhere in an interview that his parents got rid of the brown piano he references in "First Love". If it was within my power I would hunt that thing down, have it refurbished, and give it to him if it was the last thing I fucking did. But I would have to, like, drop it and run. I couldn't see him receive it, because if he shed even one tear over it in my presence I would sob until I died of dehydration.
Hobi: I've noticed that Hobi, of all the members, seems most interested in mentoring upcoming artists. He watches the elimination shows and knows the contestants by name! I would found a dance school called "Hope on the Street" in his name. He would be the head of the board of directors. It could run independently and he could be as involved as he wanted so that during busy times, he wouldn't be faced with another thing on his plate, but he could still make all the decisions regarding its operation. I imagine he would love to drop in on classes and do surprise lessons.
Jimin: Is there anyone in the history of the world who longs to hear "I love you" (or likes to say it) more than precious Park Jimin?? I would collaborate with members on this one. Jimin likes to travel, so I would probably gift him a trip with the members. I know he said he wanted to go to Europe with them again. I would have all the members sign a lock and put it on that bridge in Paris that symbolizes eternal love. He also likes to party, so, maybe rent out a club with bottle service a la Dom Pérignon?
Tae: I would give him the biggest roaring 20's bash of all time. Like, a Gatsby style party where he was the man himself. A champagne fountain and a jazz band and everyone is wearing their flapper finest and a giant cake with pretty people popping out of it...
And each member would give a toast saying what they love most about him.
I would also wave a magical wand that made people leave him alone about his love life if I could, and just let him be happy 🤷♀️
JK: I would give him flying lessons so that he could get his pilot's license and then give him the chance to fly a jet. I feel like he would absolutely be doing loops and corkscrews through the sky in no time flat. He also loves Army, so I would compile a book of all the sweetest Army comments and dedications and put them together for him. Maybe submissions where he can see some first names and faces of those who were willing just so that he can see how many people adore him and are grateful for his love for his fans.
46. Hmmmmmm...I would love a Yoonjin colab, tbh. I love their friendship, and as Yoongi's styled has softened it would be so awesome to hear alongside Jin's. (uau, padada!🥰)
Thank you for the asks, @orchidyoonkook , ILY!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
1 4 DAYS - KIM SEOKJIN
Jin and Y/N have been married since they were eighteen. Now, for about two months, they don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. Y/N is a hard-working woman, trying her hardest to gain a higher position in the company she works in, and seems to not find any time for love anymore. Jin is different, he is rather consistent with his low-wage job, always thinking that there is more to life than work. Y/N and Jin used to be very free-spirited, but as they grew up Y/N wanted to have a family and grow old together with Jin. Jin was not keen on growing up just yet, adulthood scared him and he decided to distance himself more and more from Y/N. Somehow Y/N decided to plunge herself into work. And Jin is now alone in an empty bed, regretting his decisions, drowning his problems in alcohol.
MASTERLIST
Prologue
Part 1 [»]
| pairing | kim seokjin x female reader
| genre | second-chance, love triangle
| warnings | maybe smut, mentions of divorce, depression, excessive alcohol use
| rating | PG 13-16
| word count | 1.1 k
| authors note | my ff are also on wattpad, pls don't steal my stories or give credits if you're inspired.
P r o l o g u e
Slamming his fist on the bar in front of him, he drunkenly shouts for another glass of whatever liquor he has been devouring for the last two hours. The barkeeper threw him an annoyed look, but slid him another glass of cheap whiskey with three ice cubes swimming on the surface. As fast as the glass was served, it was gone. The barkeeper shot the man a surprised, but also disgusted look, not asking any further though. "I'm married. To a beautiful, intelligent woman. Believe it or not." the man slurred. "Sure you are" said the barkeeper, clearly not believing the drunk, disheveled man. "I don't usually drink this much, but it has been a rough few months you know..." the drunk trailed off. The barkeeper only shook his head and tended to different people on the other end of the bar. "Pff, I thought barkeepers had to listen to their guest. That is literally their job. Asshole." the man mumbled to himself.
He was actually supposed to meet his friend Namjoon here, but he seemed to be running late. Right now though he couldn't care less. He is in his feelings and drowns them in alcohol after the events that displayed this morning.
Flashback to this morning
Jin could actually pull himself together this morning and even got out of bed to take a shower. The bed he used to share with her. Everything in this godforsaken apartment reminds him of her. He decided it was time for him to eat something, so he went to the fridge and was greeted by emptiness. "I guess I'll have ramen again..." with a sigh he began to put the kettle on waiting for the water to boil. Suddenly a thought came to his mind that he has not looked into the mail for very long. Jin has called in sick from work for the past few weeks, he would usually look into the mail on his way there, well he hasn't looked at it in a while. With all the mail that was built up in his mailbox, he headed back inside to sort through it. Advertisements. Bills. More Advertisements. A letter from a law firm? Has he forgotten to pay for his parking tickets or something? As he opened it and skimmed through the letters everything seemed to move in slow motion. His heart started beating really loud in his ears and his lungs stopped pumping the air through. A divorce. She wants a divorce...
Flashback end
Jin gets slapped into reality by his friend Namjoon, who has arrived and bumped his shoulder, while squeezing onto the barstool next to him. "I'm so sorry I'm late Jin, work was hell today," Namjoon said, already ready to rant about his busy day. He ordered a martini and turned to Jin again, realizing his friend was in some kind of delirium. "I guess you've had enough to drink huh?"
"She wants a divorce. She hates me" Jin suddenly cried into Namjoon's shoulder. His whole demeanor changed and his drunken state made him emotional and weak. Namjoon hated to see his friend like that, but he knew it was coming for him. They have known each other for almost seven years now and he has never seen his friend that broken. Y/N and Jin were high school sweethearts and got married at an early age. Namjoon and his wife got married rather early too, but they are still together. He had to watch how Jin and Y/N slowly distanced each other from one another and he had a good view of both sides because Y/N already told his wife that she's ready to move ob from Jin. It hurt him too, they're both his best friends after all. "I...I don't know what to say. Wasn't it foreseeable? I mean you don't live together anymore and you both got very distant...it was just a matter of time that she cut ties completely. Matter of fact you're not even together I think." Namjoon said hesitantly.
It was really just a matter of time. Y/N, Jin's soon-to-be ex-wife, has always been such a hard-working person. She wanted to have a great job and then get married and have children. Jin was rather scared of growing old and having kids. He lived an inconsistent life and liked to have fun with his friends. He never saw himself as a father figure, maybe because he never had one growing up, or maybe because he was scared of losing his youth. That is basically how the arguments between the two of them started. The distancing from each other followed suit. Y/N decided to bury herself in her work, with no work-life balance whatsoever. And Jin decided to distance himself from Rory and concentrate on himself. Which led to Rory renting an apartment closer to her workplace two months ago and Jin, just now, realizing what he's done. Or what he's done wrong.
As soon as Y/N left with her last suitcase, Jin knew he was in deep shit. The love of his life just left out of the door and took his heart with her. And that feeling is shit, believe it. "I need her." Jin sighed. "Well, you're realizing that pretty soon...". Namjoon said sarcastically. He wasn't on anyone's side during this break-up. He knew Jin and Y/N since forever, they were the ones to introduce him to his now-wife. Kaiya, Namjoon's wife is Y/N's best friend and is obviously the biased one in this situation. Namjoon decided to stay impartial, but he silently wishes for them to get back together anyway.
"Namjoon, I'm going to get her back. This divorce will not happen. Y/N will not slip through my fingers again!" Jin shouted ambitiously. Namjoon looked around a little embarrassed, they were in public after all. "And how exactly will you do that? Do you even know if she loves you anymore?" Namjoon said.
That stung Jin's heart more than a little. He had to sit down on his barstool again. Does she even love him anymore? Has Y/N fallen out of love? Jin's confidence went from 100 to 0 very fast. "I still love her... I even remember the first time I said it to her" Back in Highschool they had two Calculus classes together and Jin wanted to talk to her so he made a dumb pick-up line and it actually worked on her. He asked her "Are you the square root of minus one? Because you're unreal!" And she laughed so much. It is a dear memory that he wishes to remember for ever. Remembering. Remember? Remember!!! She has to remember her love for him! Jin jumped out of his seat again. "If she does not love me now, I simply have to remind her of her love for me. I will make her fall in love with me all over again. I will make it up to her and give her the life she deserves." He said almost stumbling over his own words. "I guess that could work if we would live in a romance novel or something. This is real life Jin." Namjoon answered.
"Give me 14 days and the divorce will not happen. I will have the love of my life back in my arms. You'll see Namjoon, you'll be the godfather of our children! 14 DAYS!!!" Jin screamed while running out of the bar stumbling a little, straight to where his apartment is, that he used to share with Y/N.
"Shit, I'm going to have to pay this bastard's bill now..." Poor Namjoon.
#kim seokjin#seokjin#jin#bts jin#bts ff#bts ffs#bts#bangtan ff#bangtan smut#bts smut#kim namjoon#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#wattpad#bangtan seonyandan
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Red Thread (09)
pairing: idol!namjoon (third pov) x fem!reader (first pov)
genres: fluff, smut, angst
tropes: soulmate au (red string), magical friends, two idiots in love
summary:
After a tragic event, you find a letter that gets you out of your comfort zone. Meeting Namjoon seems to be simple, but then you see the thread. The string brings about life changing decisions. Are you both ready for it?
chapter warnings: panic attack maybe? mentions of female body parts
word count: 1300
author’s note: horny but respectful namjoon - we? i stan
< previous | masterlist | next >
~*~ If you enjoy this chapter, please reblog it! ~*~
NAMJOON’S POV
Even though it was two days ago, Namjoon still thought about the way he had asked her to join him on this hike. When he typed it out with his thumbs, he had felt confident he was being flirty but not over the top. As soon as it was out there, though, Namjoon wondered if she had taken it the wrong way. He meant what he said, but there was also the unwritten meaning of what he had mentioned. Being alone, in the middle of the night, could be taken with sexual undertones.
Nathan had pointed out it would be uncomfortable for him to be a third wheel, so it was decided he would be with his family at the camping site near the start of the long trail. Namjoon had been too nervous about asking her out to remember his security detail. This way, Nathan would be in the area if he was needed. Namjoon was unsure how to explain having his friend on a romantic hike without spilling everything at once. He still had some time to figure out the best way to bring up the topic of his life back home.
Now that she was in step beside him, boots crunching on leaves and rocks on the trail as she made her way slowly uphill toward the campground, he kept getting distracted by the movement of her hips and the way her breasts moved. Every now and then he would get the toe of his own boot caught on a rock when he saw her bite her lip. His mind was now thinking of her as a sexual partner, and that was not what this trip was about. It was supposed to be a way of getting to know her and even to bring up the idea of soulmates in a romantic setting. He had only known this woman for a few weeks, which made him feel like an ass for getting an erection during a hike.
“Water?” Her breathless voice got his attention as she held up a metal bottle full of water, standing to his left. She had let him borrow one that was a dark blue with purple sparkles, while she drank from one that was orange with yellow sparkles. She grinned at him, sweat shining on her skin on the unusually warm, autumn day. “We’re about halfway to the campground. The next clearing has a great view of the city. And bathrooms.”
“Sounds beautiful,” he answered, watching her swallow as she drank. She wiped her mouth when she was done, and Namjoon inwardly groaned. Did she notice how horny she was making him? Namjoon kept his body turned, trying not to let his obvious bulge ruin the moment. He decided to change the subject to something that was not sexual in anyway. “How’s your mother’s list coming along?”
“Oh, uh…” She hesitated, fumbling with the clasp on the backpack where the bottle could be attached. “I.. I got to cross off another one a few nights ago. The night we made our plans, actually.” She cleared her throat, like she wanted to say more, but seemed hesitant. He frowned and took her hand in his. As soon as their skin touched, a few literal red sparks went off above where their hands were connected.
He stared at his hands, barely breathing, waiting for her to freak out. Instead, she squeezed his hand and stepped to face him. He raised his eyes slowly to catch hers, the world calming around them.
"That was…," she trailed off.
"Weird?" Namjoon couldn't think of anything else with his head jumbled with emotions and thoughts. The lyricist in him was stunned to silence by the magical idea of a red string connecting soulmates. He licked his lips nervously, eyes moving to hers. Is this the time to make his move, to lean forward and kiss her?
"I saw it when we had lunch," she admitted, pulling her hand away. Those words brought reality back into focus. She held up her right hand, palm toward her own face. She wiggled her ring finger, where Namjoon saw the thread. "I saw yours first, then mine as we talked."
"You can see mine, then," he replied, holding his hand up, mirroring her movements. He took a step back to give himself space to see the situation clearly. She reached out with a finger and poked his string, causing a pleasant shiver to run through his body. He pressed his lips together to keep from groaning, trying to ignore lust and focus on the conversation.
"Yeah, but it's not really real… like I can't grab it and take it off." She stepped toe to toe with him and studied the string on his hand. Namjoon took a breath through his nose as she held his hand with both hands, turning it to see if the string changed. It didn't. The closeness had her breath grazing his skin.
"You know what this is?" He asked, abruptly pulling his hand away, needed a moment. The conversation was happening too quickly. She blushed and put space between them, ducking her head as if embarrassed. Namjoon held back the urge to lift her chin back up, missing her confident smile. Instead, he wiped his brow and took another drink to give himself something to do.
"Hollie saw it before either of us. She said her family are matchmakers. And crystal readers," she added softly, playing with her bag straps. Namjoon pictured the woman in his head, not surprised Hollie took those things seriously. Himself, though… this was still something his brain was trying to accept.
"My friend Taehyung saw mine before I did, on a video call the other night," Namjoon admitted. He waited a moment, wondering if she was going to say the magic word of ‘soulmate’ first, but was interrupted by voices nearing them from the path ahead. He put a hand around her waist without thinking, under the backpack, and stepped close to give the approaching hikers space to go around. A group of young women appeared around the corner and made to walk around him.
As soon as the group was behind them, Namjoon heard the loud question.
“Wait, was that…?”
Another person shushed the speaker quickly, and a quick back and forth followed. Namjoon felt eyes on his back and held his hiking partner closer, pressing his hand on her back to make her start moving forward. If they start forward, maybe the women would leave him alone. He felt his control of how he wanted to talk about his life slipping.
“Oh my god, that totally looks like Kim Namjoon!” a different voice gasped, barely hiding their whispered words. Namjoon pressed his lips together, hoping she hadn’t heard the words. It was clear she had, though, as she turned her head just enough to catch the conversation behind them.
“Wanna try to go a little faster?” It’s getting late in the afternoon, and I’m a little hungry.” When she nodded and began to hike the path once more, Namjoon stayed close, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. Namjoon did his best to keep the pace quick but even, although he wanted to grab her hand and run forward as fast as possible.
“Don’t bother him, Regan, he’s with someone!” The one woman who seemed to pay attention to her surroundings tried to keep the other from whatever she was about to do. Rocks crunched under shoes as someone began to approach from behind. Suddenly, they stopped, and Namjoon let out a breath he had been holding.
“You’re right, Fallon. I shouldn’t bother the guy; I don’t want to be that kind of fan.” The disappointment was evident in her voice, but the steps turned and moved the opposite direction. “She’s cute, though… don’t they look cute together?” Regan’s voice faded as Namjoon continued to march up the hill and turn the corner. Even though he had avoided the encounter, his shoulders were starting to ache from the tension.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Book Thoughts - Dans les fôrets de Sibérie (Consolations of the Forest: Alone in a Cabin in the Middle Taiga) by Sylvain Tesson
It all started with a quote that Namjoon shared on IG, from the book "Dans les forêts de Sibérie" (Consolations of the Forest: Alone in a Cabin in the Middle Taiga) by Sylvain Tesson. I don't know whether he read the book, but since it was on my reading list...
Note before we start: This is going to be a French and English thread. There was no way I would have read this author's work in English! So, if you have any questions, feel free to ask them.
This is an autobiographic story, with a simple pitch: the author decides to fulfill a dream - to live as a hermit for six months in a small wood cabin next to the Baikal lake in Siberia, before he turns 40. The book follows his journey, his introspective experience, as a diary.
This book is a gem! The poetry and the wordplay is beyond beautiful. While I wanted to share many quotes, the translations did not deliver the impression I had in French.
An example:
"Pointillé des pas sur la neige : la marche couture le tissu blanc."
The translation goes:
"Footsteps dot the snow
Walking sets short black stiches
into the white cloth"
The English version does deliver the global feeling though, but yeah...
The author learns the ways to survive in this remote place, compares his hermit daily life to what he would do in his fast Parisian life, reads a lot (brought TONS of books with him). He gradually sets in a routine, recording and writing down his experience and his thoughts. Days go by slowly. Time does not have the same meaning there.
"Time wields over the skin the power water has over the earth. It digs deep as it passes."
In fact, everything he writes is not only deeply meaningful, but you can visualize his words so easily in your mind.
"Time wields over the skin the power water has over the earth. It digs deep as it passes."
"If nature thinks, landscapes express the ideas... There would be the melancholy of forests, the joy of mountain torrents, the hesitation of bogs, the strict severity of peaks, the aristocratic frivolity of lapping waves."
Another example of this "visual representation" of the author's way of writing:
"When the lake is as slick as oil, the reflection is so pure that you could misread which half of the mirror image was which... The reflection is the echo of the image; the echo is the image of the sound."
Apart from the external part of the daily life, there is also the introspective journey. The author wonders what he will find if he looks inside. That's another reason why he chose to go there, alone.
"The courageous course would be to face things: my life, my times and other people... What am I?"
I don't know whether NJ read that book, or just the quote from somewhere else, but I was surprised to read about another book NJ posted on IG in this book too. But then, as I mentioned previously, the author read a lot during his 6 months...
"Addressing the young poet Franz Xaver Kappus, Rainer Maria Rilke writes in his letter of 17 February 1903: 'If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it, blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches"
Speaking about quotes, this is the one Namjoon put on IG, with the original text in French:
"Ecoutant la musique de la houle, je regarde griller mes poissons embrochés sur des pics de bois vert en pensant que la vie ne devrait être que cela : l'hommage rendu par l'adulte à ses rêves d'enfant."
Who else but the author to give you an idea of what he felt and wrote in his book? I found a very short interview on YT with some snippets of the documentary that he did while living there. He speaks English fluently.
youtube
The French documentary on the author's experience, is complementary to the book he wrote. Here goes the English version.
youtube
There is also a 2016 movie called "In the Forests of Siberia" and while it is a great movie, it's not the original story from the book but an adaptation with a new character. The music is hauntingly beautiful and matches perfectly the visuals.
Here goes the trailer of the movie:
Do I recommend the book? Yes! I really enjoyed escaping to this hermit life in the first days of the year! If you can, I recommend reading the French version. Maybe watching the short interview will help you understand the mindset of the author too.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter 6
Reader’s POV
I woke with a start. Groggy from sleep, I slowly remembered where I was. I first thought I had been dreaming, but the man next to me was no dream. He was softly snoring beside me; one hand thrown casually over his head. He was beautiful. I couldn’t believe I was with him.
I looked at the clock and thought about Jimin's note. I had no idea where the café he mentioned was so, if I was going to make it there by 7am, I needed to hurry. Carefully unwinding myself from Hoseok’s embrace, I tiptoed as quietly as I could. I threw on my black accessories from the previous evening. It was a little disturbing how I already instinctively knew to disguise myself. Was this something I could picture myself doing on a regular basis just to spend time with someone I cared about?
I worried he might wake up while I was gone, so I left a note. Getting coffee seemed like a good excuse to be out this early. I looked up the directions for the café on my phone. It wasn’t too far away, so I could walk there and still make it on time. I pulled my hat low and marched down the sidewalk.
The café was practically deserted. An older gentleman stood at the counter; another was sitting by the window reading a newspaper. I looked around nervously.
“Hello,” a voice greeted me. I jumped, startled by his sudden proximity. “I’m glad you came,” Jimin smiled. He ushered me to a table in the far back.
“I hope you don’t think this too forward of me,” he began. His voice was smooth, and he enunciated each word carefully. “To be completely honest, I asked you here because my friend was quite taken with you after last night.”
Was he talking about Hoseok? It was unbelievable, the friendship that these men must have that they would notice and interpret such tiny cues in each other. It was endearing that they cared so much for each other. I was jealous of their relationship.
“Your friend?” I asked warily.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Would you consider meeting him for dinner? I admit, I was a little presumptuous and have already made the arrangements. The only thing left is for you to say yes.”
Completely innocent, yet deceptively sneaky, I found it impossible to say no to his smile. I hadn’t really considered saying no. The excitement at possibly seeing Hoseok again was too much for me to resist.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. "The driver will pick you up at seven.” He asked for my number then politely excused himself.
While I was waiting for our coffee, my phone vibrated. It was a number I didn’t recognize, but something nudged me to answer it.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” the voice on the other end said. “This is Namjoon.”
I gasped. “Uh…hello,” I mumbled.
He chuckled. “I found your number in the front of the notebook, and I wanted to call you. I read your letters last night and I wanted to know if you’d like to come to the company and talk.”
“Oh, wow. I never expected anything like this to happen. Not in a million years. I would like that. If it’s really okay. I just mean, I know you guys have sort of a…crazy…life. I don’t want to do anything that might cause problems for you.” I was rambling.
“It's absolutely okay,” he assured me. “Please, don’t worry.”
I laughed. “I would be insane to say no.”
I walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping to get back before Hoseok woke up. I didn’t want to answer any questions about where I had been, and I didn’t want to lie either. The room was still dark. Setting the coffee down on the table, I was startled by a soft voice.
“I missed you,” Hoseok said stretching sleepily. He patted the bed. I had never seen anything cuter in my life.
“Coffee,” I smiled, handing him a cup. “I thought it would be less conspicuous for me to go out.”
“I’m sorry that everything has to be so complicated,” he frowned.
“It’s okay,” I lied. “I understand why it has to be this way.”
I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for them to have to hide so much of their lives. I forced a smile, hoping he would be happy again. I couldn’t stand seeing him upset. I was already dependent on his smile, like an addict, even though I knew this was going nowhere. I was going home soon and would never see him again. Leaving was going to be the hardest thing I would ever do.
“You’re wonderful,” he mused, interrupting my thoughts.
I blushed. If he only knew the real me. I wasn’t wonderful or special at all.
“I mean it,” he said softly, his hand cupping my cheek. His face was inches from mine, the sound of his quiet breathing the only thing I could hear. I tried to look away, but his hand was firm on my cheek. He moved toward me, then hesitated. Surprisingly, he was unsure of himself.
His tongue caressed his bottom lip as if in slow motion. With a dizzying intensity, his lips were on mine. Warmth flooded my cheeks, radiating down to meet the pounding of my heart. I tasted the bitterness of black coffee; the sweet citrus of his cologne overwhelmed my nostrils. My head met the pillows, the weight of his body now pressing into mine. How was I supposed to say no to the overwhelming desire racing through my veins? Where would I get strength to resist the irresistible.
“Stop,” I said, gently pushing him away. The devastation on his face was excruciating. He looked defeated.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I teared up. “I just…I…”
Hoseok’s POV
I was mortified by my lack of control. The connection I felt with her had overpowered my common sense. I wanted to wipe the tears from her face, but I worried my brash actions would cause her to shrink away. I sat with my shoulders slumped, furious with myself. It was my fault that she was crying. I wished I could turn back time and stop myself from making her cry.
“It’s…just…” she hesitated. “I told you, I’m leaving in a few days to go home. And then I’m never going to see you again. I’m already more attached than I should be and when I have to leave…when I have to leave…it’s going to break my heart.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” I whispered, scared to say the words aloud. Hesitantly, I took her hand. “It would break my heart too.” She had no idea how attached to her I was already. The thought of her leaving was crushing.
“I have a life,” she responded. “I have to go home. I can’t just drop everything to stay here, no matter how much I might want to. And you have a life too. I’ve been crazy to think that I could ever be a part of that.”
I pulled her close to me and she didn’t resist. Wiping the tears from her face, I whispered, “Please, don’t cry. You’re too beautiful to cry." She chuckled. “Why would you think that you couldn’t be a part of my life?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re…you…and I’m nobody.”
I sat up, turning to face her. “You’re not a nobody,” I insisted.
“You don’t even know me,” she declared.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know you. But I want to know you. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. I don’t know how it will work, but I want it to work. We can make it work.” I kissed her forehead and pulled her even closer. I knew in that moment that I was willing to do anything for this woman. It was at the same time terrifying and exhilarating.
My mind wondered to an imaginary world where she and I lay every night, our bodies intertwined, falling asleep in each other’s arms. The buzz of a cellphone drew me from that world. She unwound herself from my arms and handed me my phone.
“You should really check that,” she chuckled.
“Shit!” I blurted out. “It’s Namjoon.”
I apologized for missing his calls. I told him I had had a migraine and slept in and he told me about the afternoon meeting. Y/N had curled up on the couch. I planted my hands on either side of her shoulders.
“You look exhausted,” I murmured
She yawned. “I am a little sleepy.”
I smiled. “I have to go, but can I see you again?”
“Yes, you can.” she giggled.
“Why are you laughing?” I whined.
“Because this is too good to be true. I just can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I gushed, pecking on her cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Yoongi’s POV
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I realized the woman we were meeting was Y/N. I glanced in Jimin’s direction; he was as shocked as I. He shrugged his shoulders. I couldn’t even look at her. Why was I like this?
Taehyung immediately hugged her, as if he’d known her for years. Hoseok was staring at her, and the look in his eyes seemed like more than simple admiration. I nudged Jimin.
“What’s up with Hoseok?” I whispered. He followed my line of sight. Hoseok was still staring and smiling.
“I’ll find out,” he asserted.
“We’re all really glad you could come this afternoon,” Namjoon started. “We don’t get many opportunities to sit down with fans and chat. After reading your notebook, it was important for us to be able to have that opportunity with you.”
Y/N tapped her toes on the floor and twisted her hands in her lap; probably trying to sooth the same anxiety I felt. Namjoon noticed too.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked her.
“A stiff drink?” she joked. I laughed out loud. She was witty and beautiful.
“I’m kidding,” she chuckled.
“I could always use a stiff drink,” Jimin agreed.
“We know,” Hoseok rolled his eyes.
My mind wandered back to his odd behavior, and I started watching him again. His eyes never strayed from Y/N for more than a few seconds. He followed her every move. She watched him too, but more discreetly. Something was going on between them. The thudding of my heart in my chest let me know that it wasn’t anything good. I shifted, leaning into Jimin, trying not to attract attention.
“Something’s up,” I whispered. “Look at Hoseok.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he breathed. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Namjoon gave me a stern look. I could shut up, but there was no way I could focus on anything but the disaster that my mind was already creating.
Hoseok’s POV
I smiled warmly at Y/N, hoping to help her relax. It was cute how she nervously intertwined her fingers in her lap, and when she awkwardly replied to Namjoon, I couldn’t help but giggle. She blushed and my heart melted. I had felt so much like myself with her, and I was eager to feel that freedom again. As soon as this meeting was over, I would make plans for tonight.
I was pleased that everyone seemed to like her. I knew Tae already did; that was a good start. I wanted to make sure that the others had a chance to realize how amazing she was. Before leaving, I made eye contact with her and smiled. I nodded my head slightly, hoping she would catch my meaning. I wanted to see her.
I excused myself and went into the hall to wait. A few minutes later, she came out. I pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I knew it was risky, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her hand and led her down the hall behind me. Pulling her into an empty office, I closed the door behind us. I couldn’t wait any longer and tugged her close to me.
“I missed you,” I murmured into her ear. I could feel her smile against my cheek. She giggled as I kissed her neck, and I couldn’t help but laugh too. She made me so happy. I didn’t want to contain it.
“I want to see you again soon,” I breathed through quick kisses.
“Me too, but right now, you should go before someone misses you,” she scolded playfully.
I knew she was right, and I hated it. “Wait for my call.” I kissed her deeply. Reluctantly, I let her go. I headed to my studio to try and get some work done. I doubted that I would be able to focus, I was completely distracted by Y/N.
I had gotten little done when Namjoon called. I invited him to come by.
“Hey,” he greeted me, plopping down on the couch. There was something on his mind. “So…” he hesitated. “I saw you coming out of that empty office…and then I saw Y/N coming out. Is there something I’m missing? I thought you two just met?”
“Oh…” I grimaced. “I didn’t want you to find out this way. I’m sorry. We had a connection last night. I like her, and I want to get to know her better. I know what you’re going to say. It’s dangerous and what am I thinking, and…”
“HOSEOK!” he interrupted.
“What?” I sighed dejectedly.
“Are you happy?”
“Yes, more than I have been in a long time,” I replied quietly.
“Then I’m happy for you,” he smiled.
“Really?” I was shocked.
“I mean it. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you!” I said, jumping up to hug him.
#bts#bts jhope#bts suga#bts sope#bts jung hoseok#bts min yoongi#jung hoseok#min yoongi#fanfic#kpop fanfic#jhope#suga#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts jhope fanfic#bts suga fan fic#jhope fanfic#suga fanfic
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about…Indigo by RM. (A letter to Namjoon)
(I wrote the original text of this on the day of the album release. Many of my thoughts are linked to my first impressions, but I have added a lot to ensure it fits the style and theme of this blog! Nonetheless, in honour of one year since the release of Indigo, here are the words I want to say to Namjoon about it!)
Dear Namjoon,
Wow…it’s been – 10 months? – since I last wrote to you? Crazy. I think, eventually, the things I was thinking about began to feel like too much to dump on your head. But when I heard you were going to release Indigo, I knew I needed to come talk to you again.
The thought of listening to your album pulled me out of bed on this cold winter morning. I struggle to get up with these late sunrises, but you gave me something to look forward to. With the way I loved ‘mono.’ and wrote so much about it, I thought it was fitting to write about your second solo work, ‘Indigo.’
‘An archive of your 20s’. It’s interesting that you release this just as you turn 30, and just as I turn 20. I think it’s always interesting to look back at how far you’ve come when you reach such a milestone. I truly love how I have seen your personality flourish since ‘mono.’ From the RM who wrote about navigating loneliness and solitude in the world to an RM who showed colours of being carefree, grounded, wise, creative, and is growing closer and closer to himself. Every song on this album felt like observing different works in an art gallery, in an exhibition about RM. So, what you thought to put across came right through! I loved it dearly and listened to it on the way to college today. I even played it while studying later!
I’ll talk about the songs now. The only problem when I wrote to you about ‘mono.’ was that I had to keep it short since I planned for you to actually take time and read it, though I had so, so much to say about it.
1. Yun (with Erykah Badu)
From the first note, I could hear that you had worked with Erykah Badu on this. It has a blues feel that I enjoyed. The first thing that struck me about the song were these lyrics – “a finger pointing to a mountain/saying it’s the place I need to go now” and “Why would you veer onto a trail from the highway”. I was shocked that it was similar to lines from a poem I had written about the year 2020 – I wrote,
“January
was like a never-ending line
looked like a measuring scale
marked by goals and not numbers.
in February
the line joined another to form a path
that led to a lofty mountain in the distance.”
I won’t write the rest here now, but it surprised me how similar this thought was across both our experiences and writings.
Besides this, the whole premise of the song was beautiful: ‘You gotta be a human before you do some art’. It reminds me of ‘ON’s’ lyrics – “you gotta go insane to stay sane” – throwing yourself into art to feel level-headed amongst the madness of the world. And yet, your song took a different spin on this – it could mean, “gotta be human,” grounded and aware, to express your feelings clearly and articulately through art. However, being human before you do art could also mean that “you gotta go insane” – being passionate through your art – “to stay sane”, or human – making art passionately is inherently what makes us human. I really love the way this song deals with trying to find your purpose and direction through the art you make, by taking inspiration from an artist that you look up to so greatly. You wrestle with the difficulties of going solo after years beside a team and then accept that it’s always been in you to do something different, unconventional and impactful – much like making a song based entirely on what it means to make art, drawing on the works of your favourite painter. This song felt like listening to a painting – it’s truly masterful and I’ve never heard anything written like this in my life!
2. Still Life (with Anderson .Paak)
I wrote so much about Yun and it wasn’t even my favourite song on the album! Okay, Still Life – it was a really fun number that was gentle and energising to listen to. I love the paradox of ‘Still Life’ being something that ‘carries on’, and embodying that in the way you live. My mother, who paints still life in the traditional Dutch technique, told me something interesting about it too. She said that still-life paintings came about with the rise of the merchant class, and they essentially portrayed their rich and decadent lifestyles. Each item portrayed in a still life has meaning – these meanings often relate to the fleeting nature of life, of wealth, of such decadence. So, in a way, still life is really something that is always “moving” and going forward. Though it’s “still”, capturing a specific setting or moment, it lets that moment carry on forever. But it also shows how fleeting every moment is through the objects it portrays. I wonder if you knew this, but when my mother told me this, I immediately thought about your song!
I’m thinking about the multiple ways you interpreted the words ‘still life’ in these lyrics. You describe yourself as a ‘still life’ as above – a painting, an artwork on display to others in all its grandeur as a famous member of BTS. But also, you’re “still life (still alive)” – your life continues to move and change – you “can’t be locked in the frame” and are always moving, changing and flowing with where life takes you. Where you also say “I calmly live errtime,” it made me think that the word ‘still life’ actually comes from the Dutch ‘stilleven,’ which literally means something like ‘quiet life,’ ‘still (as in silent, calm) life’ – despite everything you show off, you still try to find moments of calmness and stillness in an ever-changing life through your love for art and knowledge. As you end the verses with the lyrics “look at my stain,” I hear once again how you want to make an impact through your art – while you may change, your personality and life may change, the impact that your art has will be constant, much like a still life. Another incredibly insightful song made with beautiful metaphors from the art you are so passionate about!
3. All Day (with Tablo)
Can I first say that it warmed my heart that you worked with Tablo!! I know how you’ve looked up to him and it was beautiful to see you both come together – your voices mesh so well! This was another energising hip-hop number that I enjoyed. I particularly loved hearing Still Life transition into All Day – the similar rhythms and melodies at the beginning made it an excellent choice to put them one after another on the album.
This song sounds fun and energetic and always has me dancing along, but the lyrics are truly very insightful. I really enjoyed your take on the algorithm and information age – “Fuck the AI, fuck the algorithm/I need to think, fuck all the rhythm/My biorhythm gives me no time to think…” The poetry of these lyrics is amazing and wonderfully captures the repetitive way that AI and algorithms feed us information and content, preventing us from thinking on our own. Thus, we really are fighting to live life authentically and find our true selves when we’re surrounded by machines trying to tell us what to think. I love how these first few tracks focus on retaining your humanity, purpose and drive when the world is against you . In ‘Yun,’ you focus on the importance of ‘being human till the death of you', in ‘Still Life,’ on moving forward and not being locked into a single idea of yourself, and with ‘All Day,’ on the importance of dreaming, living and having your own perspective in an age where you’re constantly fed information, beliefs and thoughts. It was really a different perspective on things and I enjoyed listening to this song!
4. Forg_tful (with Kim Sawol)
I really liked this song a lot. It was one of my favourites with the gentle guitar melody and I felt so comforted by your wonderful singing voice! The song conveys an anxious sadness beautifully. I really like this lyric – “I’m sorry, I have so many thoughts/I don’t have enough memory.” The double metaphor between forgetting regular things when your mind is too cluttered with worries, and being a phone or laptop that’s running out of storage because it’s filled with too many things is wonderful. Trying to go through the motions when you’re struggling can make you feel much like you’re a machine running on empty. “With numerous thorns/The morning that comes and goes/In my own way/I am anesthetising myself…” I loved how this captures the feeling of your repeating thoughts taking over days and nights, such that you feel numb to everything and days pass by you. The song reminds me of a sudden moment of quiet contemplation – it feels like suddenly finding yourself alone in an empty field, and realising that the constant slew of your thoughts has made you numb, forgetful, and bare, much like this song’s simple accompaniment and melodies.
5. Closer (with Paul Blanco and Mahalia)
6. Change Pt. 2
Haha, it’s late and I’m getting tired now. But I really do want to mention each song.
I really enjoyed listening to Closer – it presented a completely different façade of your music that I hadn’t heard before. I really enjoyed listening to a painful love song from you – something I had not heard in a while! The song conveys a very deep sense of yearning and beautifully shows the feeling of parting from someone. The repetitive rhythms in your verses at the beginning convey frustration and pain. Meanwhile, Paul Blanco’s verse completely changes up the vibe of the song, creating a suave tone which feels like reminiscing on intimate moments spent with someone you lost. The outro, meanwhile, felt like a resigned acceptance of the situation – you’ve truly lost this person, there’s no “take two” and you force yourself to let them go despite how painful it is.
Change Pt.2 was a song with a very cool vibe! It grew on me after I listened to it a few times. The saw synth creates a very raw and angry noise when you sing "Fuck that wiki, fuck all those infos" and describe how people are stuck on old ideas of you and don't realise you have changed. The grating sound of the saw synth matches the anger you’re conveying to people who don’t see your growth. But suddenly, after the second chorus, "things change people change" I hear blues chords on piano – it's a refreshing and gentler sound, followed by "you gotta admit it/don't you get it still/someday a great grief will take over you.” Your anger seems to change into a calm, nonchalant acceptance that people who stick with the old versions of you and don't see your growth will face consequences. Those who treat you wrong will get their karma. All you can do is move on and accept that you will keep changing in the future. I truly loved how you used the music to convey these thoughts.
7. Lonely
This was my favourite song on the album! I think writing about loneliness is just so universal. As someone who has felt lonely a lot, I connected with the song easily.
The guitar and simple melody and beats were pleasing to my ears. I think this song paints a different picture of loneliness compared to other songs you have written about it. Songs like ‘uhgood’ sounded dark and grey, like a deep sadness. But ‘Lonely’ sounds blue, it contains sadness but also frustration and a wish for change. While the other songs seemed to skirt around the feeling of loneliness, (“feeling out place hurts so much/unless you experience it you won’t know it”) and approached it cautiously, as though not wanting to accept it, ‘Lonely’ screams it out loud and hits the heart instantly (“I’m fuckin’ lonely/somebody love me”). Something about the sound of the song gave off the vibes of a city of tall buildings passing by you in a car – you watch life pass by while you feel lonely and too small amongst the largeness of a foreign place.
I’m not sure when you wrote this among the years you’ve archived. But I do hope this feeling has passed you by. I wonder where you wrote this and which city inspired it. You helped me greatly during my times of loneliness – I truly hope that we, or anyone at all – can do the same as you did for me. I cherished this song since I first connected with your music over this feeling.
8. Hectic (with Colde)
I was most excited to see you working with Colde!! You introduced me to his music when you recommended his song ‘Poem (Shhh)’, and since then I have grown to really appreciate his music. I really liked this song too and I think your voice fits beautifully with Colde’s. You are both two of my favourite rappers/singers, so it was a collaboration I really awaited.
I thought the introductory 7 seconds of the song truly captured its essence. The tempo of the beats at the beginning seems to be getting faster, but really, their tempo is the same. The only thing that changes is the volume and the fade-in of the cymbal. I feel like that completely fits the theme of a stressful and hectic day. It specifically portrays the feeling of being stressed or burnt out because of familiarity, because of doing the same thing again and again. It feels like everything is speeding up around you and you can't keep up. But truly nothing's changed – it's the over-familiarity and stickiness of your routine which grows louder and seems to make everything so stressful. It's interesting because you speak of living in Seoul and your busy schedules and life in this song and convey it so simply in just 7 seconds.
I see a lot more frustration in the lyrics from Tracks 4/5. It was interesting to listen to this and think about how hectic city life gets. People often have long days that begin very early and end very late at night, with long commutes and busy work hours – ‘endless chasing’ to make their living that seems romantic at first in a big city, but really ends up being quite tiring. And yet, people in these big cities still have a strange attachment to the place they live in and the life they have, despite how crazily tiring it is – “we still love and hate this city”. I think you both captured this feeling beautifully and I was so happy to listen to how a collaboration between two of my favourite artists turned out!
9. Wild Flower (with youjeen)
This song broke my heart, honestly. I can barely bring myself to write about it because it’s so emotional and I’m not sure what I could say when you’ve expressed the deepest feelings of your heart so wonderfully to us. I remember listening to you during the Festa Dinner and I was pained because even then, I could sense the exhaustion you were feeling. But with this, you opened your heart up to us, and I truly hope your time away will give you some respite.
Your voice is open and filled with raw emotion as your describe how your passion, “yearning for flames” truly started to burn and you now wish for a “barren field.” A place where fame is not blooming, exploding, stimulating you constantly like a wild flower field, while you desperately try to figure out your next steps in a world that has its eyes on you. I love how you twist the lines “where’s your soul, where’s your dream” from your song Persona. Persona comments on the human sense of identity and how learning who you truly are is something you go through all your life, and thus you never truly know your “soul” or “dream” which constantly changes. However, Wild Flower uses these lines in a much more emotional way – asking them as serious questions with a sense of, “when did I lose my passion?” where did my soul and my love for my dreams go in the midst of achieving them?" Youjeen’s emotional voice on the chorus only adds to the beauty of this song and it truly reaches straight to the heart. I know you feel like you cannot go on and are losing touch, and in those moments, stopping is the best you can do. The fact that you continued with such vigour despite these feelings, for our sake, is so admirable, and I truly hope you know that we have been proud of you with every choice you have made.
I cannot convey how much I do think that whatever you did these past two years was impactful and that truly, I do not know what my life would be without you all. I have said it many times, and I will say it again, but you are indeed so, so impactful. You are not speaking silence at all. I hope you are able to rediscover your purpose, dreams, destination and happiness. We will wait for you till then and will always support what you do. You don’t have to be like others to us, we just want you to show us you, however you choose to do that. Thank you for sharing these very personal emotions with us. We will wait in the purple ocean for your return from the flower field.
10. No. 2 (with parkjiyoon)
This song felt like a direct opposite to Wild Flower – the opening notes are similar, but the message is completely different. With the previous one, you look back on the past, wondering where your passion and dreams went and how to move forward through the exhaustion. With No.2, you remind yourself that through everything, you’ve always done your best with what you know and thus it’s best to not look back at past mistakes constantly when life “remains like a bonus” to be lived right before you.
The first verse is unconventional, saying “I smile/that I ain’t gotta prove myself/That I ain’t the one/That I ain’t the shit” – usually these are compliments, but it seems you take the pressure off yourself, saying that it’s okay if you’re not perfect, if you’re not all that, so long as you learn, pick yourself up and move forward, living life just as it comes. This song feels so gentle, almost like a hug and a pat on the head. This was such a hopeful and reassuring ending to the album – a beautiful message about accepting yourself and all your past mistakes. I enjoyed the vibe of the song and it was definitely one of my favourites!
Overall, thank you for Indigo. I really enjoyed it and have been listening to it again and again in order, like you recommended. It flows beautifully, showing the beliefs, then the feelings, and lastly, the hopes of Namjoon in his twenties. You created it masterfully, with some very talented creators!
I hope you’re resting a bit after the album release. I hope you know we are really enjoying it. I loved seeing your thoughts about it on Weverse – reading a long letter from you always cheers me up. I hope you share some behind stories soon for the album – I would really love to hear more about it!
As always, I love you and miss you. I hope you’re staying warm and healthy in the winter.
Lots of love x
#writing#music#adagio apassionato#bts#rm#kim namjoon#namjoon#suga#jin#jimin#indigo by rm#jungkook#jhope#v#kpop
1 note
·
View note
Note
Ryen. I have been waiting for Bewitched, Body & Soul ever since you dropped the drabble and this fic was worth the wait! Your writing is so beautiful and captivating!? I love the banter between OC and Namjoon, the cameos by Jin and Tae, the goodbye letter Namjoon wrote and how OC was trying so hard to keep it from the rain because it would be what she thought was the last memory of him (I teared up). Another one of my favorite parts is how you also weaved Orpheus and Eurydice into the story. Ahhhhh it was also really fun to see how the fic didn't follow the exact timeline from Pride and Prejudice, so I was really eager to see where you would take the story next. I wanted to really read this slowly in order to savor it, but like OC I'm also impatient and wanted to see how the relationship unfolded 😂 I'm sorry if this isn't really coherent, honestly there's so many things that I love about this fic, but I just wanted to say thank you for writing this! Now where can I find my own Darcy/Namjoon 😭
oh.. oh my gosh. this is so damn kind of you!! i don't even know what to say??
i'm very touched that you read it in the first place, but all of this is so wonderful to hear🥺 the banter/dialogue was always so fun to write for that one, especially reader's sASSSS. with his letter... yeah i was not ok during those scenes. :')) heartbroken when going through the rain scene! knowing that the last remains of what you love is fading away with no way to stop it? devastating. crushing. i will sOB.
and the orpheus/eurydice was refreshing for me to add because it was a challenge to incorporate into the overall storyline! the fact that it made it into so many spots was surprising but in a good way.
you're welcome, and thank you so much for reading! if i could send you a darcy joon of your own, you know i would!!
0 notes
Text
The Wedding Arrangement
You are in love with your best friend, the only man who matters, Kim Seokjin.
Unfortunately, he's just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgmental jerk.
Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.
Pairing: Construction Contractor Namjoon x Physician’s Associate Female Reader
Genre: Romance; Enemies(?) with Benefits; Enemies(?) to Friends to Lovers; Smut
Word Count: 44,200+
Warnings: Profanity; Alcohol; Depiction of giving birth; Psychological distress caused by a strained parental relationship; They literally aren’t even enemies ya’ll, just kinda pissy for a minute; Explicit sexual content; soft dom Joon if you squint, biting, scratching, fingering, oral (male and female), protected sex, stupid amounts of kissing cause ya’ll know my brand
Note: This story features a black reader-character
Commissioned by namaslaylife on Twitter. You watched the entire insanity of my writing process and I can’t thank you enough for your patience and trusting me to tell your story 💜
Music: Zayn - TiO, Giveon - For Tonight, James Arthur - Can I Be Him, Ella Mai - Naked, Why Don't We - 8 Letters, Kiana Lede - I Choose You
If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi or purchasing a fic commission.
Crossposted on AO3
Writing Masterlist | Join my Taglist?
April — Y/N
Spring barely kissed the trees lining the sidewalk, budding hints of green as soft as sage or vibrant as lime spreading across recently bare branches. The blossoming greenery wreathed the restaurant you approached in the prettiest hint of early April. Inside, the waiting area buzzed with activity, voices carrying as you waited for the hostess to finish with the guests in front of you.
“Oh my god, did you see that guy they just seated?”
“He’s definitely famous. I think they took him to VIP.”
“Can you imagine holding onto those shoulders in the middle of the night? I would kill for a chance.”
“Miss?” You pulled your attention away from the muffled conversations around you and back to the smiling hostess as the other guests walked away.
“Yes, I’m meeting someone. I believe he’s already here. Dr. Kim Seokjin.”
Checking her seating charts, you watched her eyes flick back to you, suddenly slightly more scrutinizing. Internally, you rolled your eyes. You were used to it by now, the jealous curiosity of strangers as they realized you were the one he was waiting for. It wasn’t as though you didn’t look good, especially tonight, dolled up for this posh restaurant in your black cocktail dress, styled courtesy of your fashion-forward roommate. She had made sure it hit you at all the best angles and none of the bad.
No, it had nothing to do with you. It was simply that Seokjin looked more god than man and people always took notice.
“Yes, miss. Right this way.”
You weaved through the restaurant, trailing behind the speedy hostess as she guided you back into the sparsely populated VIP section.
“Hey, short stuff!”
Seokjin hurriedly stood from his seat when he saw you approaching, wrapping welcoming arms around you as soon as you were within reach. You melted into his chest. He had always given the best hugs.
Somewhere in your dreams, this was the part where he would lean you back and kiss your lips with a passion just bordering on inappropriate for the public. He would look you over and tell you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, that he couldn’t wait to spend all night with you.
But disappointingly, this wasn’t your dreams. This was reality. And in reality, Seokjin was your friend. One of the best. But nothing more.
“Why are you hugging me like you didn’t just see me at the hospital two days ago?” you mumbled into his shirt. He finally let you go, tall enough to smirk down at you even though you were wearing heels.
“The last time I saw you, there were three coffee stains on your scrubs and your right eye was missing most of its mascara. I’m just so proud of you for taking a shower.”
You pushed lightly against his chest in mock irritation at the insult, no matter how accurate it had been. The last night you’d worked had been hell. "I’ll take that as confirmation that you're ordering at least two of the most expensive bottles of wine this place has."
He chuckled and you took your seats. Strangely, the restaurant had seated you at a table with four chairs, but you supposed they moved things around in this section to keep people comfortably separated.
“Maybe only one bottle tonight,” Seokjin said with an easy smile. “I don’t need anyone in trauma complaining that I left their most capable PA with a nasty hangover.”
You knew Seokjin well enough to know he wasn’t joking, both about your poor tolerance for too much alcohol and about his respect for your job that you did best when not recovering from said abysmal alcohol tolerance.
You’d learned quite a lot about him, in fact, over the past two years. You worked as an emergency medicine physician’s associate in one of the busiest emergency and trauma units in the country. And in the same prestigious hospital, Seokjin worked as a cardiothoracic surgeon, operating on countless hearts and stealing the hearts of plenty more each day. Since you’d met during a company-sponsored luncheon, he had tried to lure you away from the trauma unit more than once to work with him instead. But you loved the chaos that was the emergency unit too much to leave it.
The friendship between you had taken off quickly, the compatibility irrefutable. Between your love of his questionable humor, his appreciation for your love of a good meal, and the passion you shared in athletics, you and Seokjin felt immediately in sync, inside the workplace and outside as you spent more of your free time with him. You probably spent too much time together, some days overbaking under the sun on tennis courts, other people watching at coffee shops or stopping in theaters to watch and complain about terrible indie movies. You always found each other during long nights at the hospital or spent evenings together at dinner, talking about everything under the glow of the moon, baring your soul with someone who made it feel kindred. Guarded as you were after years of relationships gone sour, Seokjin gave you a safe, comforting space to just be yourself.
About a year in, you thought things between you might move beyond friendship. Leaned together on your couch, you’d both been active participants in a spontaneous kiss that should’ve changed your relationship.
It hadn’t been the best kiss of your life, it was true. You were willing to let that evolve naturally as you kissed more. But Seokjin had only responded with a shy laugh, chuckling something about kissing his sister. You laughed along to hide your disappointment. After that night, you both agreed to forget about it and settled firmly into only friendship. You dated. He dated. And life had gone on happily with the best friend you could’ve asked for in it. Sadly, it hadn’t stopped your pining for him, your desire for one more chance at something more. But you endeavored to move past that every day.
A waitress finally came by for your drink order.
“I’m starving actually,” you said, eyes raking over the tiny menu. “Do you want to get an appetizer or something?
He winked at you. “I knew you’d be hungry, don’t worry. I already ordered something. I just hope I got enough for-” His eyes went over your shoulder, arm extending up. “There he is. My bro!”
Seokjin was up out of his seat and your eyes followed him as he embraced one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, which was quite a compliment about someone when they stood next to Seokjin.
He had to be at least six feet tall, making even Seokjin look small in comparison. Or maybe that had to do with the massive biceps and broad, muscular chest that were surely straining against the seams of his t-shirt.
You blinked.
He was wearing a thin white t-shirt with a black blazer on top in an attempt to dress up the look. But the effort seemed to stop there as you took in his oil-stained jeans and dusty black boots that had definitely never been polished a day in their existence.
Though he looked a little out of place against the glittering backdrop of this five-star restaurant, you didn't consider yourself one to judge a book by its cover. And any friend of Seokjin's was sure to be one of yours. You slid on your warmest polite smile as Seokjin turned to you to make introductions.
"Y/N, this is Namjoon. He’s been one of my best friends since childhood. We practically grew up together," Seokjin explained, waving the man in your direction. You stood from your chair to greet him properly, holding out your hand for him to shake.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, your smile turning a little more genuine. The name was familiar. Seokjin had definitely mentioned him a few times while telling you humorous snippets of his childhood. The way Seokjin had always spoken about him gave you good vibes. And seeing him a little closer, as his rich brown eyes lidded with a sharp curve that made his gaze magnetic flashed your way, you felt your face warm just a little. Shit, he was handsome. He gripped your hand back firmly, engulfing yours with broad palm and long fingers. The skin of his hand felt warm and roughly textured against yours. A wave surged through your body at his touch, an indescribable tingle sent coursing through your skin. Namjoon’s eyes widened a little as though he could feel it too, his movements pausing for just a second before he slowly let go of your hand.
"Joon, this is Y/N,” Seokjin continued as you all took your seats, both men sliding into the ones across from you. “She works at the hospital."
Namjoon gave you a shy smile so charming your heart made a strange thud that vibrated in your throat. His dark brown hair shifted a little as he dipped his chin in your direction. It looked thick, soft, and quite pleasant for running your fingers through.
A thought crossed your mind then. Was...was Seokjin trying to set you up? Now that you thought about it, he hadn't exactly given you a reason why you were meeting at a place like this. He was no snob when it came to food. He would eat at any hole in the wall as long as things tasted good. Had he brought you both here to set up some kind of blind date?
"The hospital?" Namjoon asked, quietly echoing Seokjin’s words, gaze never breaking from yours.
"Yes, I'm an emergency PA,” you said, trying to ignore the sudden nerves rattling your voice. “Uh, physician's associate."
"Oh," he said. His lids lowered slightly over the soft, coffee brown of his eyes in that disappointed look of judgment you were sick to death of seeing on people's faces. “Like a nurse, right?”
Your jaw clenched. Typical. The average person had such a difficult time grasping that PA’s existed, let alone how vital they were. Did they all think doctors were miracle workers in a room by themselves? How many lives wouldn't have been saved if you hadn't been there?
On top of that, this grease-stained neanderthal had the nerve to look disappointed that you weren’t a surgeon, as if nurses weren’t some of the most vital members on every hospital’s staff. You took back your heart-thudding from a moment before, chalking it up to a second sense for sniffing out assholes instead.
You rubbed a hand over your arm to soothe your irritation, trying to hold yourself back from saying any number of hot-tempered thoughts aloud in an attempt to correct him. Thankfully, Seokjin came to the rescue before you went on an explosive tirade over how important your position truly was.
"Thanks for coming, you guys. I have some big news and you're the only two I wanted here for it."
Seokjin was smiling wider than you thought you’d ever seen. News?
“I’m engaged,” he said, lifting his arms with a dramatic flourish and bouncing his excited gaze back and forth between you and Namjoon.
A car could have come crashing through the restaurant then, tires skidding across the table between you all. You wouldn’t have moved. The world had frozen in place.
“Wow, man. Congrats.” Namjoon’s eyes flicked in your direction for a second as if he thought Seokjin might be talking about you. “To who exactly?”
“Hani. I think you’ve both met her at least once. We’ve been dating for about eight months and...yeah, she’s the one. I proposed last night and she said yes.”
Hani. Gorgeous, sharp-faced Hani who barely seemed interested in spending five minutes with other human beings, let alone in marrying someone. Hani that worked for her family’s tech conglomerate and only perked up when asked about complicated programming or groundbreaking computing advancements. Hani that Seokjin had only mentioned a handful of times since he’d started dating her, that you thought he would’ve ended things with months ago. She had never seemed Seokjin’s type, but he was always dating someone, so you didn’t think anything of it. Certainly that nothing would come of it. Had it really been eight months already? And even if it had, he was ready to marry her? A sudden headache clawed at the back of your head, threatening to make you dizzy where you sat.
A waiter finally arrived at the table, bringing glasses of wine and setting down two platters of food that you assumed were appetizers. But any trace of hunger had dropped from your stomach. You only stared at Seokjin, unable to move, unable to respond, mouth probably hanging open.
“I brought you both here because I want the two of you to plan the wedding. Of course, you’ll work with a wedding planner. But I want all the decisions up to both of you.”
“Us?” Namjoon asked in confusion, making another of his judging glances in your direction. “Together?”
You tried not to glare back and instead focused on your friend who beamed at both of you with a level of giddy happiness you’d never seen on him before. He was serious. This was really happening.
“The wedding will be in six months, in October. Hani isn’t really big on these kinds of things. If it were up to her, we’d sign some papers at a courthouse and move on. But I want us to have the proper experience, beautiful, romantic, and perfect. She deserves that.”
Seokjin placed a hand atop yours across the table and the other on Namjoon’s shoulder. “You’re the two people who know me the best. Y/N, I know you'll keep it practical. Namjoon, I know you'll make it romantic. Please, you’re my best friends. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.”
You returned to your apartment in a daze, barely remembering the drive over. You hadn’t touched the wine, had barely eaten. While Seokjin and Namjoon had chatted about their memories as children and Namjoon mentioned something about a contracting business, you’d barely absorbed a word. Everything felt numb, gray, distant. Seokjin was engaged. Seokjin was getting married. He was getting married to some girl that wasn’t you. The information was there, floating at the edge of your mind. But it wouldn’t sink in.
Married.
When you unlocked your front door you could tell you weren’t the only one having a rough night. The delicious smell of spices and herbs hit you in a rush and suddenly your lost appetite was finding its way back.
Your roommate, Momo, was standing in the kitchen tossing ingredients back and forth between two skillets and a pot. Dressed like she was on her way to a weekly fashion event in one of her thrifted vintage finds, Momo wasn’t the type to be caught looking anything but stunning even while barefoot at home.
“Did you eat a lot? You have to have a bite, I swear it’s the best I’ve ever made,” she said, moving to turn off one of the burners.
“No,” you said, but it was only a whisper.
She looked up, pausing with a spoon poised over a skillet. “You ok?”
You stared out over the rest of your apartment, at Momo’s cat Peeko curled up in his well-clawed cat bed, at the sad, half-dead parlor palm plant drooping next to the television. At the windowed wall of your balcony that reflected the purple and blue of twilight. Like a nasty bruise, you thought, as the pain of the evening finally started to sink in.
“No.”
"Me either. Had my first interview for visual designer at one of the top fashion magazines in the entire world and I blew it."
Your shoulders sagged a little more. She had been preparing for that interview for weeks. "Mo..."
"Take Yoongi and JK dinner first. I’ll make us plates.”
The end of any soul-shattering night, such as one where your best friend that you happened to be in love with tells you that he’s getting married and you now have to plan his wedding alongside his jerk of a friend, could always be improved by a bit of Momo's cooking. At her direction, and because it was easier to follow instructions than to think for yourself at the moment, you took a plate to your neighbors on either side.
Jungkook, an up-and-coming MMA fighter who had found quick success and fortune, always stared down at you with grateful, innocent eyes wide as saucers as he accepted what you assumed was a rare home-cooked meal. On the other side, Yoongi, a popular late-night radio talk show host, mumbled gentle appreciation for his dinner, or rather, breakfast each time. He’d thanked you once with a really fancy record player and another time with front row concert tickets to a band you and Momo both loved, though how he’d found out you loved them you still weren’t sure.
On your way back from Yoongi’s you watched the door across the hall from you swing open and two people hoisting a few heavy-looking boxes heading out and down toward the elevators. You made out the word “movers” on the patch of one of their sleeves. So the jerk was finally moving out.
He had scoffed at your roommate’s cooking the first time you’d offered as if accepting the kindness of a neighbor was beneath him. The apartment complex you lived in was an upscale one, especially considering the amount you paid on rent, but it wasn’t in your or Momo’s nature not to at least attempt to be friendly with the people who lived nearby. If he didn’t trust you he could’ve at least taken it to be polite and thrown it out after. But, based on the way he ignored you any time you’d seen him around the building, polite didn’t seem to be part of the asshole’s repertoire. You didn’t know a thing about him and turning his nose up at anything Momo made had earned him a spot on your shitlist from then on. He had never bothered either of you or hosted loud parties or anything, but you were happy to be seeing him go and hoped your new neighbor would be a lot friendlier and have a hearty appetite.
Back in your apartment, Momo had set up two plates at your dining room table. She waved at your seat and started to pour a healthy serving of wine into a glass for herself.
"Come on, let’s eat and talk, babe. Spill," she said before tipping a forkful into her mouth.
You parted your lips, intending to tell her to go first. But the sudden lone tear you felt slipping down your cheek changed your mind.
May — Namjoon
So you were stuck up. Namjoon could deal with that. He’d met enough of Jin’s doctoral buddies and accepted builds for enough petulant trust fund kids to know how to hold his own against anyone who thought a certain bank account balance or career made them better than anyone else.
But did you have to be so fucking hot?
His dick had wanted to jump out of his pants and propose at the first sight of you back in that restaurant, poured into your black dress, all curves and legs, the prettiest brown skin, and a smile that he was sure had brought many a man to his knees.
Jin had already warned him that he wouldn’t stand a chance with you, considering luxury vehicles were one of your requirements of people you dated and Namjoon hadn’t bought a new pickup in eight years. You might have been attractive enough to give him a fleeting thought of turning up at a dealership, but in the part of his brain not driven by his libido, he could accept having no chance with you.
Except now he’d be spending the next six months making decisions for his friend’s wedding with someone who hardly saw fit to make conversation with him. You’d closed up, that radiant smile faltering even more once he mentioned his construction business. You’d seemed less and less interested as the night wore on, presumably disappointed after discovering that you’d have to work with someone like him, someone whose money came from long days of working-class labor instead of countless years of schooling.
After a long day made even longer by a contractor he’d had to fire at the last minute, he finally pulled up to the first wedding venue of the evening and hissed a quiet curse as soon as he spotted you on the walkway.
A goddess in every sense, you looked as good as you always had since the night he’d met you. Today you wore a deep red summer dress that rippled in the warm breeze. It made your beautiful skin sing and very likely had a designer tag stitched inside. This was the third time he’d joined you viewing venues and the sight of you still punched him in the gut every time. Enough to make him give the whole car situation a little more consideration.
Meanwhile, you looked at him exactly as he had come to expect. Sometimes jobs ran late and he couldn’t help arriving at venues caked in dust and probably smelling of sweat. Maybe there were stains on his jeans or he hadn’t taken the time to knock every bit of mud off of his boots or run home for a quick shower and a change into cleaner clothes. You didn’t exactly turn up your nose at him as he joined you, but your appraising eyes told him enough. You didn’t like him. It wasn’t a fair assessment on either side. You didn’t even know him.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. Job ran behind. Wedding planner meeting us this time?”
You had such a cutting way of looking at someone with those alluring eyes, like you could suss out a person’s depths if you studied long enough. He felt your analyzing gaze linger for a few more seconds before you spoke.
"Just us, I’m afraid. I think the planner is just there to research and narrow things down. We get the final say between us, so it’ll probably just be us during all this.” You glanced at your phone. “We have four venues to view before the sun goes down and I have to be at work tomorrow before the sun is up so let's get this over with."
You turned on your heel heading toward the doors and Namjoon assumed he was meant to obediently follow after.
"Still not a fan of looking at stunning wedding locations?" he asked, legs much longer than yours helping him fall in step beside you quickly. In the beginning, he’d tried to hold back, to keep his socialization to a minimum. If you really were a snob, he didn’t exactly want to waste any effort on being friendly with you. Better to just stick with what was needed to get this wedding planned and get out of each other’s lives. But sometimes his curiosity slipped out. You seemed so unimpressed by every place you’d both been to so far, maybe even a little irritated to be involved. Namjoon found it fascinating. In spite of himself, he wanted to know more about you.
"If you'd looked at the price list the wedding planner sent for the places we’re looking at tonight you'd understand why I'm not much of a fan.” You shook your head, adding the last bit quietly though he could still hear, “All that money for one day."
His steps slowed as he gave you and your long, flowing dress another once over. "Huh."
You noticed him fall behind and turned back to look at him curiously. "What?"
"Nothing. You just didn't strike me as the frugal type, princess."
"My name is Y/N,” you said, eyes narrowing at him slightly. “And I'm not really sure what judgments you're making about what "type" I am, but you should probably assume they're wrong and stop while you’re ahead."
Namjoon hooked a thumb at the edge of his worn-in jeans. "I think that goes both ways."
"Whatever," you said with a petulant roll of your eyes and pulled open the venue’s front doors. "The tour guide’s waiting for us. Let’s go."
Alright, so you really, really didn't like him. His eyes fell to your ass as your hips swayed away through the entrance. He could work with that. It made you that much more irresistible.
Your poor judgment of him aside, you certainly didn’t miss any details as the guide showed you both around the venue. Namjoon didn’t know much about Hani’s tastes, but he knew Jin would appreciate the classic, rustic atmosphere. It was charming and with a million string lights and floral arrangements, it would make the perfect location for a low-key, romantic wedding.
"Both of those fans are caked in dust, those wood beams are rotting in the corner, and I’m pretty sure that’s mold covered by what I think is two layers of wallpaper. Plus they say it can hold seven hundred guests, but that would be an uncomfortable squeeze in here.” You rattled off the imperfections after the guide had left you both standing in the reception hall. “Not this one."
Namjoon gave the place another once over. Well, he still thought it looked charming.
“Alright, princess. Next place?”
You only scoffed at him and took off toward the exit. If only you knew he was starting to really appreciate the look of you walking away.
Unfortunately, neither of the next two locations were up to your high standards either. The first, an upscale hotel, all gloss and cold ivory and no heart. You both agreed Jin would hate it. The second, outside a wooded bed and breakfast. Though you both liked the outside space, you were worried about the unpredictable October weather and the inside of the house was too small for the absurdly large guest list the wedding planner had sent over.
Namjoon was starting to assume tonight would be another bust until you both pulled up to the last one. Jumping down from his truck, he joined you in front of your own car, mimicking your wide-eyed stare at the venue grounds.
“Wow,” you said quietly.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Backdropped by a snow-capped mountain in the distance, the venue’s main building sat at the edge of a crystalline lake, reflecting pale blue and lilac in the dwindling evening sun.
“Weather permitting, the ceremony and reception would be held out here on the green, with flower-lined gazebos for protection from the sun. And if the weather isn’t so great, well…” The tour guide didn’t bother to finish her sentence, throwing open double doors to the site’s main building.
It was just as breathtaking inside as it was out on the grass, with pale stone walled arches, glittering chandeliers, and patchwork-tiled floors with elegant swirling designs. But the winning focus of the view was the wall of glass, the soft silvery curtains that shimmered in the sunset, pulled aside to highlight that perfect view of the lake, clouds rolling slowly between the mountains in the distance. The sight made Namjoon's breath hitch.
The guide was adamant that the two of you have the experience before making any choices, encouraging you and Namjoon to link arms and walk down the would-be aisle together. A fraction of regret flashed through him that he hadn’t been able to shower before heading over, especially when you smelled so heavenly, like flowers and vanilla and something else, something intoxicating. But you only hesitated a second before taking his arm and walking slowly up the aisle alongside him.
You didn’t drop his arm once you reached the center of the room, both of you still staring out at that incredible view. Outside or inside, this wedding would be breathtaking.
"He’s going to love this,” Namjoon said, still a little breathless. “Can't you see it? Jin and Hani here, all the guests over here. Purple and pink ribbons and lace, flower arches and strings of those little lights everywhere. This place is perfect."
“I’m not so good at visualizing things,” you said quietly. You seemed to finally notice your arm still looped around his, slowly pulling away in a move that was almost endearingly shy. You walked toward the window and stared out in what he assumed was awe. “That’s for the creative vision types like you I suppose. I have to see it to know if I like it or not.” You gave the space another once over, up toward the intricate arches of the ceiling and back down the length of the room. “But I do think you’re right. Seokjin would adore this.” Namjoon couldn’t understand where it was coming from or if he was reading you wrong, but it almost sounded like admitting that had hurt you in some way.
You pulled out your phone, swiping back and forth between the information the wedding planner had sent, analyzing more of the costs and what would be included in the venue.
"Alright. This one is the most expensive, but I think it’s worth it."
Even after seeing a place like this, you were still focused on prices and value. When Jin had all but handed you both a blank check with the only instruction to make his dream wedding come true.
"You're close to Jin, aren't you?" he asked, once again ignoring his rules when it came to you.
You looked up at him with confusion. "He's my best friend.”
"Then why are you being so miserly about this? He can afford any of these places."
"It’s because he's my friend that I'm trying to choose carefully. Don't get so excited over spilling open someone else's wallet that you let these people railroad you in the process. Their job is to take advantage of doe-eyed suckers like you. I'm here to focus on the numbers."
Namjoon crossed his arms, a little amused at being called a sucker. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to suppliers’ price gouging if they thought they could get away with it. But considering he did miss obvious flaws at the other sites that he wouldn’t have normally, maybe there was a grain of truth to your words. "He was right. Practical to your core."
"Blind romance will get you ripped off. I can see why Seokjin didn't want to do the choosing himself. I know he would've gotten carried away with all this glimmer and his wallet right along with him. And I don't know that you're faring much better, Mr. Kim."
"Just Namjoon. So I suppose you're with Hani then. Just go to the courthouse and call it a day."
"No. You keep misreading me. I know how important a beautiful wedding is to Seokjin. He deserves that."
The question escaped him before he could stop himself. "What about your own wedding someday?"
You had never worn a ring and he hoped it wasn't yet another false assumption. You sighed, gaze sliding past him, back toward the rippling magenta of the lake. A faraway look glossed over your eyes, almost sad.
"I'll worry about that if I ever find another...any potential candidate."
“You just haven’t found the right person to have you dreaming of that kind of romance.” Namjoon didn’t know why, but he wanted to offer you some kind of comfort if he could. You still didn’t look away from the view as you spoke, your voice coming out a little quieter.
“Whoever that person is, they either don’t actually exist or they’re already with someone else.”
One deep breath later and you were walking away from him again. He followed you into the tour guide’s office and stood by as you successfully haggled the price down for the October date.
“A pleasure, Mr. Kim,” you said once the deal was done and you both headed back to your vehicles.
“Just Namjoon, please. Was it a pleasure? I don’t feel like I did much besides gawk.”
“Well, we’re just here for Seokjin, right? That’s all we need to do.”
“Right. Well. Have a good night.”
He watched you and your red dress slide into your car and pull out of the parking area, staring after your car for a while until you were far out of sight. So you didn’t like him. And yet he couldn’t help wanting to know why you seemed so sad when you spoke about love, as though it was a train you missed that was never coming back.
On the drive home, he tried to remind himself over and over again that you were off-limits, but even that didn’t stop his mind from wandering, trying to think of what he could do the next time you both had to meet that might bring that pretty smile he’d seen on the first day back to your face.
“Sowon, I swear to god-”
Namjoon would’ve ripped the airpod out of his ear and thrown it across the room, but it was his third pair already and he didn’t want to shell out for another set if he could help it. Still, he might do anything to keep from having to talk to his baby sister for one more minute. Since she’d been born, everything in Namjoon’s life had to pause in the wake of whatever Sowon wanted. But the movers were going to be there any second and he still had half a room to toss into boxes before he was ready.
“Joonie, don’t you dare swear at me right now,” she whined into her phone. “If you make me cry again, Nayoung promised she would remove at least one of your testicles and I want to be an aunt one day.”
“I’m not trying to make you cry, munchkin, but you’re busting my balls enough that your wife might not find anything left when she gets here.”
The sound of a hairdryer kicked up in the background of the call and faded slowly as Sowon moved elsewhere inside her salon. “I’ll pay you back for the tile you ordered, I swear. I just saw this new design in a magazine and the baby tried to kick his way out of me in excitement. His first kick! I have to have it. Please, it’s my dream home.”
Namjoon had seen the pictures she’d sent. The brand was so popular in the design space right now that it was constantly out of stock and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this set was going to be the same.
“If that stuff’s back ordered it’s gonna put my team behind on the build. I’ve got four other sites going already. I can’t afford to get them off schedule over this.” He tried to work as he talked, shoving as many miscellaneous items into a box as he could and ripping through a strip of tape with his teeth to attempt to seal it shut. “And this is the fourth time you’ve changed your mind on something we were just about to start. You can’t keep making last-minute changes like this.”
Namjoon’s doorbell buzzed then, signaling that the movers had arrived. He looked over his things still in unorganized piles over half the room and cursed under his breath. “I have to go, the movers are here. I’ll do my best to get it, but if I can’t we’ll have to talk about other options later. And stop looking at magazines, please? I’ll do almost anything for you, but I’m trying to run a business.”
“You’re the best! Love you, Joonie!”
Namjoon sighed and stared down at his unfinished mess, praying that the movers would be willing to help him gather his things together. Maybe if he mentioned he was at the mercy of a woman who was both five months pregnant and very used to getting her way. He was half a year into building a dream home for his sister and her equally particular wife, Nayoung. When it had started, he'd only had one other job going, with contractors who welcomed the work even if he was only doing it at cost for her. But since then, his contracting business had been doing great, several high dollar residential and commercial jobs coming his way. It was so great, in fact, he'd had to turn down a few jobs because he just didn't have the contractors to spare. And that was with him showing up and doing all kinds of work himself, electrical wiring, plumbing, and handing arrogant city inspectors back their asses on site.
Thankfully, even in the wake of his unpreparedness, the move went fairly smooth. The understanding movers helped him shove the rest of his things into boxes and get his belongings to his new place in one piece.
As he stared out over the sea of things he'd have to find a spare minute to unpack, the doorbell to his new apartment sounded. Had the movers forgotten something? He hurried to the door and tugged it open, expecting one of them to be holding a box that had gotten tucked in the back of the truck.
And yet who he found in his doorway was you, standing in the hall dressed in the most casual clothing he’d ever seen you wearing, with a paper plate of something that smelled delicious in your hands and a look of shock on your face that likely matched his own. After a few of the most awkward moments of his life, you finally broke the silence between you.
“Namjoon?”
“What are you doing here?” The question had more bite to it than he’d meant, but it was setting off alarm bells that you’d somehow found his apartment not even an hour after he’d moved and after dealing with his sister and moving all day, Namjoon’s patience was at its thinnest.
“Uh, I live here.” You pointed to the door behind you. “Across the hall. Did you...this can’t be real, but did you just move in?”
“You live here,” he repeated slowly.
You nodded, still staring up at him with disbelieving eyes.
“Uh...now I do too.”
“I cannot believe this. Of all the apartments in this city-”
“Good housing is hard to come by, this place has great ratings, and I lucked into the vacancy.” He breathed out, trying to shake off his defensiveness. As unlikely an event as this may have been, there was nothing to be done about it now and he needed to redirect his weariness away from rudeness. He tried a smile instead. “Anyway, what’s this?” he asked, eyes flicking toward the plate in your hands.
You blinked down at it like you’d forgotten you were holding it. “Oh. My roommate cooks a lot and she always makes too much. But she’s shy so it’s my job to hand it out to the neighbors. I figured whoever just moved in might be interested in a hot meal since you probably spent all day moving. But I had no idea it was you. That’s...some kind of coincidence.”
“That’s so kind of you both,” he said. “Now I’m quite happy to be your neighbor.”
“So…” you said, rolling your eyes and holding out the food in his direction. “You interested or what?”
“Hell yeah. I’m starving.” No one had cooked for him in ages. And whatever your wonder of a roommate had made already had his mouth watering. At least, he was pretty sure it was the food and not the gorgeous woman handing it to him. “Please tell her I said thanks.”
You gave him a stiff nod and with one more disbelieving glance, headed back through the door just across from his. So it was true. He really was your new neighbor.
It wasn’t until he’d shut the door and set the plate down on his counter that he remembered he hadn’t even thanked you for bringing it over.
As often as you claimed to work, you seemed to have impeccable timing when it came to Namjoon’s at-home activities now that you were neighbors. Particularly when he’d come home with a hookup date and you came down the hall just in time to watch him take the girl into his apartment. You didn’t let your eyes linger and he appreciated your discretion any time you had to meet about the wedding.
And then you saw him with the third date.
And then the fourth.
Of course, he wasn’t embarrassed about sleeping with different women. He was always busy and a quick hookup from an app kept him from having to play the dating game he didn’t have time for. He just wasn’t interested in someone knowing his habits so well. Especially you.
Truthfully, he would’ve preferred to get into a relationship with someone, to stop with the hookups and actually get to know a woman for once. But, considering the disaster that was his last relationship, right now he was happier just putting his energy into work and taking care of his needs with something casual here and there. Besides, he’d caved and accepted a new worksite for the sake of the business and at this point, he just didn’t have time to dedicate to a relationship like a partner would deserve.
Thankfully, he was alone when he returned home one night to find your roommate standing just outside his door. He’d only seen her a handful of times, walking with you in the parking garage, but it had been enough to figure out that she’d been the shy cook you’d talked about that first night.
“You’re Momo, right?”
She started at his voice and seemed a little reluctant to actually face him. A sudden blush spread across her cheeks and Namjoon stopped, leaving a considerable gap between them to give her some space. She dressed as immaculately as you usually did, but at least she wasn’t giving him that familiar judgemental gaze he often got from you for his simple, sometimes dirty, t-shirt and jeans.
“Hey, is everything alright?”
“Our...kitchen sink won’t drain. I need to get ready for work and I’m afraid it’s going to spill over and leave a mess by the time Y/N gets home. She said you fix houses or something so I thought…” She hurriedly turned away, heading back into her apartment door. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just call maintenance.”
“Hey, it’s alright. I’ve eaten better in the last few weeks than I have since I lived with my parents. I don’t mind taking a look for you.”
“Hey, Bob the Builder is fixing our sink. I’m late for my night class, bye!”
Namjoon couldn’t see you from his spot under the sink, but he didn’t hear your footsteps coming into the apartment for a few moments, even after Momo’s had disappeared down the hall. He chuckled to himself at your surprise.
Needing to change wrenches, he sat up, careful not to hit his head on the side of the sink. You were standing next to the counter, staring down at him, your expression unreadable.
“Bob the Builder?” he asked, looking up at you with a one-sided smile. He couldn’t hold back his snicker at your embarrassed glance away.
“That’s your nickname,” you mumbled.
“Oh yeah? You talk about me enough to give me a nickname?” He pushed up from the floor and up to his kit on the counter, fishing out an auger from the box. You were wearing casual clothes again, skin glowing a little as though you had been working out or playing sports. It still wasn’t fair how the sight of you could do that to him, make the strangest ache twist at the base of his chest.
“Complain. I complain about you enough. And since you’re here, you want to tell me why you haven’t returned any of my emails about the guest list? The save-the-date invites that are supposed to go out in less than a week.”
“Emails, grandma?” He leaned forward onto your counter, close enough that your intoxicating scent enveloped him, warm vanilla, a faint floral scent, and still that hint of something richer. “You could’ve just text me.”
You stomped off away from him to elsewhere in the apartment and Namjoon smiled to himself as he went back to work on the sink. He was antagonizing you, he knew it. But it was worth it to hear the pretty little hisses you made when you got frustrated with him. He was starting to grow a taste for your short-fused temper.
A few more minutes of work and he finally got the sink unplugged and safe to use. You reappeared as he was washing his hands, offering him a glass of cool water from the fridge.
“Thank you. For coming to fix this.”
He shrugged and accepted the cup from you, fingers grazing against yours as you handed it over. “Payback for all the food.”
“Still, you didn’t have to.” Your eyes softened a little as you looked up at him, warming to him in a way he hadn’t seen before. In a way, he wanted to see much more of. In a way that made him think more about what he could do to get you smiling at him again.
“It’s alright. You're good with your hands. I'm good with my hands,” he winked and placed his free hand against his stomach. “If my guts are ever falling out for some reason, I’d come straight to you, Doc McStuffins.”
“I’m not a...you know what, forget it,” you huffed in irritation, warmth immediately vanishing. You took a judging glance at his abdomen. “You’d be lucky if I gave you a bandaid.”
Namjoon chuckled to himself. Why were you so cute? More importantly, now that he was standing so close to you, why was his only instinct to lean over and kiss you? Frustratingly, your lips did look enticing. But he was pretty sure you’d be the cause of his gut injury if he tried anything like that.
Your eyes flicked down to his lips for a split second before jumping back to his eyes. Then, with one more frustrated scoff, you stomped away from the kitchen and down a hallway to what he assumed was your bedroom.
Alright, so maybe he had been reading you wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling that overwhelming attractive pull that had been hounding him in the weeks since you’d met. Maybe, just maybe he’d be able to count on you for more than a bandaid after all.
June — Y/N
“You sure you want to do this?”
Seokjin’s fingers were laced through yours, a trusted anchor holding you steady. You squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment, steeling your resolve before giving him a quick nod.
“Yes, I want to.”
Walking with him felt like the deepest betrayal to someone who definitely didn’t deserve it. Which was why, as the two of you strode past the sign in the yard with “Open House” written in bold, black letters and walked up the steps of the elegant, contemporary home, it was with a tight knot in the base of your belly only barely outweighed by your excitement.
The house had only been listed that morning and, after falling in love with the realtor’s photos, you jumped at the chance to view it. You managed to rope Seokjin into coming along for moral support or perhaps just to keep you from signing anything in a reckless craze.
You toured the place in a whirlwind, your love of the house expanding for each room you viewed. It felt sleek and yet cozy, with beautiful lighting fixtures and flowing, open spaces that truly gave it a welcoming touch.
“Don’t say anything stupid,” Seokjin warned under his breath as the realtor approached the two of you.
“If you’re looking to buy your first home together, I can guarantee this is the perfect place for a new family.” She looked back and forth between you and Seokjin expectantly and your best friend, saint that he was, still didn’t stop holding your hand. You took a deep breath and forced yourself not to make an offer on the spot, only giving the realtor a hollow smile. She glanced at her watch and then back to the pair of you. “I have three more viewings this afternoon and, at this price, it won’t stay on the market. If you’re going to make an offer, I need to know now.”
You wanted to. Deep in your bones you wanted to buy this place and make it into the home you’d always dreamed of. The apartment you lived in now with Momo was nice, with all its amenities and pretty views of the city. But the itch to own your own place had only grown stronger over the past two years you’d lived there. With your mother’s debts finally paid in full and all the shifts you picked up at the hospital, you had more than enough saved for a down payment and a short-term mortgage. You were ready, and yet...
You sighed, giving the realtor another sympathetic smile. Or perhaps it was guilt since you knew you’d only wasted their time by showing up.
“We’ll have to think about it, I’m afraid. I’ll call you in an hour and let you know.”
You left holding Seokjin’s hand just as tight as you had entered, only having the strength to let go once you reached your car.
“You know, now that you know Namjoon, I’m sure he’d get you a really good deal on a new build customized exactly how you want.”
“First of all, your buddy doesn’t like me very much so I doubt he’d be inclined to get me a deal on anything. And second, Mo would never accept it. I barely convinced her to move in with me to begin with and I know she’s suffering because of how expensive it is. She won’t even let me help. I can’t leave her, Seokjin. She’s like my sister.”
Your roommate’s main passion was her graphic design and art business. Unfortunately, she hadn’t quite found her footing yet in the industry, so she supplemented her income teaching art history and beginner painting at a junior college part-time and being a substitute for high schools whenever she could. It was enough for her to afford half of the rent at the apartment you shared together while working on her business, but only just barely.
You wanted to pay more of the bills since you made more, but Momo’s pride would never allow it. She may have bombed her interview, but another company had bitten and she’d been on one interview so far, with a second-round scheduled in a couple of weeks.
“If I get this one, I could finally afford to buy Peeko the cat castle he deserves,” she’d said after they’d called her back to come in again.
“I always thought your priority would be buying something from the latest couture season,” you’d joked.
“Nah, I’ll always be the vintage steal queen you love.”
And whenever the stress of working so much and struggling to get her career off the ground got to her, which was often, she was in the kitchen cooking enough food to feed an army base and impress any celebrity chef. Her anxiety kept you and your neighbors very well fed.
You hadn't told her you were thinking about buying a house. You knew she would refuse to live with you and that she couldn't afford your apartment by herself. But the draw to finally move out of that place, to have something you could call your own was strong. So you fed your demon by viewing random houses for sale and fueling your dreams for the future. Property edging, Seokjin called it.
Your phone vibrated in your bag and you fished it out, but your body froze up as soon as you saw the name on the screen. Seokjin glanced down at your reaction and snorted in disapproval.
“Ignore it.”
“I can’t. My mom must have told him about the article. That’s the only reason he’d call me.” Your submission had been selected to be the primary feature in an upcoming issue of the ELRS Medical Journal. It was one of your proudest achievements to date, but you didn't dare hope that your cosmetic surgeon father would agree that you had anything to be proud of. At least, you tried not to hope.
“Yeah, maybe he’ll finally have something other than shit come out of his mouth for once.”
You sighed. “Seokjin, please. He’s still my dad.”
Seokjin reluctantly held his tongue. Your friend definitely had a few choice words for your father ever since he’d learned how odd your relationship with the man was, but thankfully the two had never met. You took a deep breath before finally answering the phone.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Your mother tells me you’ll be the guest of honor at some second-rate medical journal charity dinner.”
Straight to the painful point, like always. You gathered up what bits of courage you could find before responding.
“ELRS is one of the top five medical journals in the country-”
“Debatable.”
“A-and the research I’ve done on medical bias against racial and ethnic groups, especially black people in the trauma setting-”
“I have to question the integrity of a journal that would allow research submissions from someone who isn’t even a professional. Do you think my assistants are wasting their time researching topics too advanced for their expertise? No. They are being as nurses should and helping me.”
“It’s...associate.”
“What?”
“We’re physician’s associates. And we’re not nurses, dad, you know that.”
He gave a dismissive grunt. “Anyway, I have to go. Tell your mother to put your little show and tell on my calendar, but they’d better not expect a donation from me if they’re taking research from anyone. Love you.” The call went dead before you had a chance to say anything else.
Anger welled in your throat met by the embarrassment that seared molten hot through your ears. It was like he couldn’t hear your voice, like you spoke a different language. Except you always read his messages loud and clear: You were a disappointment.
Yet he never ended a conversation with anything other than that he loved you. You never said it back, even if he gave you the chance. You’d learned a long time ago that they were empty, meaningless words. Love? You didn't really want it when that's what it felt like.
Seokjin looked on for a few moments while you gripped your phone tight and stewed in your thoughts.
“You gonna be alright, kid?”
You blinked back hot tears and refocused on your friend in front of you, ignoring the trace of pity you found in his stare.
“Yeah. I’m gonna get home, I’m working a double tomorrow and I’ve got to meet Namjoon at the caterer’s after.”
“Shit. Listen, you don’t have time to deal with all this wedding mess on top of everything else. I’ll just have Namjoon-”
“You know nothing pisses me off more than when you coddle me like that,” you cut him off. “Let me do this for you. I can handle it.”
Seokjin sighed, laying a hand against your shoulder and giving you a light squeeze. “You sure?”
You offered him a smile, though it was difficult to make it feel genuine.
“Nothing will stop me from making sure you have the wedding day to end all wedding days, bestie."
“What’s this, princess? I’m so used to seeing you all dolled up.”
You were tired. Too tired to meet a damn caterer, too tired to climb into a truck, and too tired to ignore exactly how irresistibly sexy Namjoon was as he pulled open his passenger door for you. Stupid, thin, gray t-shirt that clung so well to his muscles you could see the definition of his pectorals and latissimus dorsi. Stupid tight, black jeans that cupped his ass so perfectly you wanted a glass of wine to pair with viewing something so fine.
You blinked, realizing you hadn’t responded or moved to get into his vehicle. Namjoon stared at you expectantly.
“I worked an overnight and stayed a little after because the ER got slammed at the end of my shift,” you explained, digging deep for energy to hoist yourself into the passenger seat. “This is the best primping I have to offer at this point. You’re lucky I’m not drenched in blood.”
He nodded and closed your door, hurrying over and sliding into his driver’s seat. “You do look tired. Is that why you needed a ride?"
You shook your head. "My car’s getting work done. I was just gonna call a ride service, but I didn't want us to be late. Thank you for coming."
"Any time, princess.”
You sighed at his insistence on that nickname. “For the hundredth time, please stop calling me that.”
He pasted that irritating smirk across his lips, the one that infuriated you for managing to make him even hotter, for making that stupid, adorable dimple appear on his cheek.
“For the record, I like seeing you like this," he said a minute later.
“What, a mess?”
“Like a regular person.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course the judgemental ass had something to say about the clothes you wore. Momo took pride in her skill of finding amazing clothing at low prices and you would never complain about all the style tips she gave you on your own wardrobe. But you didn’t dress nicely to look good for anyone but yourself, and least of all a man you had only ever seen in jeans and sweatpants. You tried to remember to keep your guard up with him, to not let your thoughts drift to the times you had seen him around your apartment building in those sweatpants, to the considerable impression his body made in them as he walked.
“Lovely. Do my non-work clothes make me seem like an alien or something?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, sounding a little flustered. “They’re just not so casual. Maybe you’re allergic to denim, what do I know?”
It annoyed you, how mercurial his personality seemed since you’d met. One minute he was closed off, quiet and uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere with anyone else than stand within an inch of you. The next, he was almost pleasant, making conversation and jokes, or sharing his odd sense of wonder at the entire wedding process. Asking questions about you like he gave a damn.
You didn’t bother to respond, relaxing your body a little more into the seat and focusing on not falling asleep. Namjoon in denim might have been your weakness. If he didn’t have whatever chip on his shoulder with all his assumptions about you, and if you thought he found you attractive in any way, you could’ve easily seen a path to the two of you ending up in bed together. Though with him moving in just across the hall from you, that might’ve been a little too awkward.
“Y/N?”
Your shoulders jerked at the sound of Namjoon softly calling your name. The truck sat parked just outside a cream-colored building with a charming brick facade. The Sweet Spot bakery window looked enticing, lined with colorful cakes and delicious-looking baked goods.
“Sorry,” he said. “I would’ve let you sleep, but our appointment starts in a minute.”
You shook your head, forcing yourself to ignore how considerate it had been of him to let you nod off at all, and climbed out of his truck. Namjoon opened the bakery door and you both headed inside, met with wonderful smells of crisp fruits and syrupy sweets.
“We’re here about the Kim-Ahn wedding. We have an appointment,” you said to the man behind the counter, still trying to shake off your fatigue. You had to get through this for Seokjin. A few nibbles and you could go climb into your bed for a day and a half.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” the cherub-faced man said with the prettiest smile. “I’m Park Jimin, owner of The Sweet Spot. Please come back to our tasting room and I’ll get everything set up for you.”
Jimin guided you both to a modest room with a glass-topped dining table, two settings placed next to each other, plush comfortable chairs, and warm lighting.
“I’ll bring in several appetizers, entrees, and desserts in courses to allow you both to try a variety of dishes that would be available for your October date.”
Your brain moved quickly enough to correct him. “We’re here on behalf of the bride and groom.”
Jimin nodded in understanding and left, quickly returning with a tray of tiny, sample-sized appetizers. You and Namjoon ate through them, the entrees, and finally the tray of small desserts. You took notes throughout, though Namjoon didn’t really offer any commentary.
In a rare moment of agreement, however, you both looked wide-eyed at each other after tasting a pomegranate dessert filled with some kind of jelly that squeezed out inside your mouth when you bit down. It was surprisingly delicious, easily the tastiest thing on the entire tray of sweets.
“It would seem the best ones squirt when you eat them,” Namjoon said, that infuriating smirk back on his face. Some of the sweet jelly had landed at the side of his plump lips, and it wasn’t fair how much you wanted to lick the glaze from the corner of his mouth. You made yourself refocus on the task, taking a bite of a square of decadent chocolate and enjoying the pleasant surprise of caramel that melted in your mouth. You had stood from your chair once the desserts arrived, moving around the table and looking back over your notes from each of the courses. Plus, you usually thought better on your feet. Namjoon followed your lead, out of his chair while he took bites of things from the platters, but still he didn’t offer any of his thoughts.
“Why don’t you tell me your thoughts on your favorites?”
Namjoon shrugged and popped another dessert into his mouth. "Whatever you think."
You sat down your phone and worked hard to pull your temper to a calmer place, a difficult task given how tired you felt. Seokjin would’ve been quite proud.
"If you would rather I make all the decisions on my own, then why are we wasting our time together?"
"Because Seokjin asked us both to plan this wedding," Namjoon said simply.
"And yet I'm the only one making any actual decisions. Honestly, Namjoon, I'm the only one who seems to care."
"I care plenty. Just not about the food.” Namjoon casually popped another dessert into his mouth. “Jin will literally eat anything, he's not going to care about whether the cake has gold leaf or if the appetizers are covered in truffle oil. So let's just pick some things most of the guests might like and leave it at that. Seriously, you don't have to turn every decision into a case study. It's a wedding, not a med school thesis."
Right. Because you hadn't gone to medical school. And he knew that by now.
“Do you try very hard to be so unlikeable or does it just come to you naturally?” You tried to keep your tone even, but the desire to snap was there, simmering just beneath the surface. He had the strangest ability to get under your skin just right.
He licked a little leftover frosting from the tip of his finger. “Most people like me just fine. I think the problem is on your end, princess.”
“I’m not going to ask you again to stop calling me that.” You took a deep, moderating breath. “Let's just choose a nice cake for our nice friend and get the fuck out of here nicely.”
Namjoon smirked again and you felt hot rage and something else just as fiery course through you. “Tell me what the non-nice alternative is. I like to know my options.”
You glanced down at the trays of food samples. “You end up with squirting cake all over your face.”
He only arched an eyebrow.
"Uggh. Stop it. We're enjoying cake. Nicely."
"It would be nice if I could actually get you to shut the fuck up and enjoy something for once instead of dissecting everything in front of you."
This son of a bitch. And he had the nerve to keep standing next to you, casually leaning his perfect ass against one of the chairs as though you weren’t three seconds away from launching him out the prettily-curtained windows.
"Charming,” you sneered, narrowing your eyes up at him. “Is that the kind of poetry you use to sweet talk all your dates?"
You had never brought up any of the times you’d seen him take women back to his apartment. Besides the fact that it wasn’t your business, it wasn’t as though you had any kind of relationship with him that required you to talk about his dating life. But if he wanted to keep taking petty shots at you, you were fully equipped to play along.
He seemed mildly thrown by your statement for a moment, shoulders tensing a little. But his smile returned, somehow a thousand times more mischievous than ever before. "I have better methods."
You stepped closer to him, refusing to break your gaze, your hand at your hip. "Being an arrogant douchebag for example."
Namjoon’s lips crashed into yours, his heavy hand at your waist the only thing keeping you from stumbling back into platters of pastry. Any concern for a mess, however, was whisked out of your head as soon as his lips connected. It was all heat in this kiss, sparks and fireworks sizzling the connections in your brain, the explosive version of what you’d felt the first time he took your hand. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt on their own, pulling him closer, your hip leaning into the possessive grip he held at your waist.
He fisted his other hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a moan from you as his teeth pressed into your bottom lip. His tongue met yours as your lips parted in response, a blaze spreading through you at the sweet taste of him in your mouth. Rough fingers slipped beneath your shirt and found purchase, making your bare skin tingle at the contact. You hated that you’d wanted this for so long, that it had to be his touch that made you feel this alive, setting off a sudden need for more of him, an unquenchable thirst for everything Namjoon had to offer.
You only barely held back your whimper of disappointment when your lips finally parted, blinking open your eyes to stare up into the darkened brown of his.
“That usually works,” he said in a low whisper and you could feel the rumble of it through his chest, your body still pressed against him, neither of you in a hurry to move away. You might not have been charmed. But you had certainly shut up and enjoyed.
His lips caught yours again and your eyes fluttered closed as you fell back into a kiss that had no right being as satisfying as it was. Namjoon’s fingers cradled the back of your neck, his other hand still underneath your shirt, pressing against your low back and curving your body into his even more.
He didn't stop kissing you when the caterer knocked at the door, barely parted his lips from yours when it swung open, the heat of his mouth hovering over yours. His sharp, dragon-like eyes held you in place, casting a bewitching spell, staring so deep into yours you thought he could see into your past and maybe your future.
At least him holding you this close hid the thick of him, already hot and hard even through his jeans, pressing against your belly.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry,” the caterer said. What was his name? Jimin? Why did his voice sound so distant? “I must've misunderstood, I thought you said this was for a friend's wedding. No need to be shy, you two. I see lovebirds all the time. I brought a few more dessert samples you might like. Please take your time!"
Something clinked against the table next to you, presumably another tray of food, and he was gone just as quickly. You didn’t dare look away from Namjoon. He still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t stopped staring at you like he planned to take you apart, slowly, piece by piece.
He kept staring after the door shut and you thought for a second that he might be trying to talk himself out of this. But if you were going to take this plunge, you planned to come out soaking wet on the other side.
You did as you had been dying to for so long and slid your fingers into his hair, dragging a gentle scratch along his scalp. His eyelids fluttered a little at the movement. You nudged his face forward and leaned up, rejoining your lips with his.
His finger traced slowly along the skin of your hip, gliding slowly up to cup your breast inside your bra. He ran a rough thumb across the raise of your hardened nipple through the cloth, drawing a moan out of you and into his waiting mouth.
"Is this what you need, hm?" he murmured, lips still pressed against the corner of your mouth. His thumb made firm circles against the peak of your nipple, your body responding to his touch, throbbing with the need for that and for so much more.
Gauging your response, his hand slid slowly from your breast and down your body, landing between your thighs where he cupped your heat through your pants.
"What about here?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Wondering how effective I can be here?"
Your back arched into him, pressing you against his chest as he slid his fingers back and forth between your legs. His breath was on your ear now, hot and damp.
"The answer is very," his deep voice rumbled, sending a quiver down your entire body. He wanted to toy with you and, as much as part of you wanted to play along, a much stronger part ached too fiercely for what he was dangling in front of you. You gripped his wrist and slid his hand up, pushing the tips of his fingers past the band of your pants and against the searing skin inside.
"Prove it."
You watched a flame spark in his dark eyes as his fingers slid down your center, meeting the wetness that had been building since his lips landed on yours. He let out a pleased growl, leaning forward to kiss you again as his thumb grazed the sensitive bud of your sex. He circled it slowly and you devoured him while his fingers worked, feeding him moans as he found speed, swallowing the intoxicating flavor of his lips as he kissed you, as he slid one thick finger into your core, then another.
"You like this? Like how my fingers feel between your legs?"
You only responded with your body, grinding forward against his hand. You wanted him to keep going, to keep pawing at the pieces of you until he had finished what he started.
“You’re so wet for me already. How long has it been, princess?” he purred with a rough squeeze at your breast with his other hand.
Witty responses felt too far out of your reach. In truth, it hadn’t been that long since your last hookup, a couple of months at the most. But they hadn’t smelled the way Namjoon smelled, like soft soap and the richest, woody musk, making your mouth water with want. They weren’t burning underneath your skin the way he seemed to do so skillfully. And their hands definitely hadn’t gotten you this riled up this quickly.
Unwilling to be an inactive participant, your hands went to the front of his jeans, giving his long, thick length a firm stroke. As your thumb slid back and forth near the head of his cock, it seemed enough to finally crack him.
He exhaled a shaky growl, night expanding in his eyes. “I’m going to bend you over this table and fuck my name right out of your mouth.”
You closed your eyes at his words, biting back a moan as he thrust his fingers roughly into your heat again and again.
You whimpered as he slid his hand from your pants, the loss of him inside you too great. Namjoon turned you around by the hips, forcing you to splay your hands against the cool glass of the table.
He hooked his fingers into the band of your pants, sliding down your scrub bottoms and panties. You looked back to find him kneeling behind you, lips kissing down your ass cheek with a satisfied groan. With your legs spread, he lowered his face between your thighs and dipped his tongue inside your wetness, dragging it flat from your sensitive clit to your waiting entrance. Your back arched in response, hips pressing forward into the table.
“You have no right to taste this good when I don’t have time to eat you properly, princess,” he murmured, fingers making one more stroke against your ass. The urgency hadn’t escaped you either. If you were both doing this, with no clue when Jimin might return to the room, you didn’t have much time to immerse yourselves in one another. Namjoon was standing then, the drag of his zipper pulling your attention back to him.
Your eyes went wide at the sight of him unveiled, the soft, pretty pink of his enormous cock at attention, thickly veined and curved at just the right angle that would have you clawing at the walls.
"Condom?" you breathed out.
He nodded and fished one out of his jeans pocket, rolling it on in record time.
“Are you sure you want this?” His hand gripped the bare skin of your ass with a stroking squeeze. Just knowing he was standing behind you, ready to plunge his cock inside your wetness had you eagerly pressing your hips back in his direction. You nodded impatiently.
“Uh uh, princess. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to fuck me you smug piece of shit. Please .”
Even with how wet you were from his fingers, even with the lube from the condom, it was a tight squeeze. Namjoon’s cock felt even more enormous than it looked, your back arching as he slid himself into you slowly, inch by satisfying inch.
"Fuck," you hissed once he bottomed out.
"Say it again for me."
"Fuck,” you whined, leaning forward into the cool glass of the table. “Fuck me."
He didn’t oblige as you asked, staying still in you, waiting for you to adjust to his size. You pressed your hips back against him, urging him to move inside you.
“Please,” you begged with ragged breath, dying to feel him driving into you over and over.
"Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “But I just knew this pussy would fit me perfectly." He pulled himself out to the edge and you wanted to cry. Until he slid back inside, filling up every bit of you to the brink. Out. And back in with an agonizing thrust. Another. And another, until he had built up a slow, deep rhythm that left you just satisfied enough while still craving for so much more that he had to offer. You squeezed around him, enjoying the low moan it drew from his lips, the way his fingers dug harder into your hips.
“You like the feeling of my cock deep inside you?"
"Yes,” you whined. “Fuck, yes. You feel so good."
His hands went to the front of you then, pulling your body up to arch into his chest, pressing himself deeper into you. You felt his fingers close in lightly around your throat.
"My name, princess?" he said, sliding out and slamming himself in to the hilt, forcing you to gasp at the impact.
"Namjoon,” you panted.
He thrust into you again, so deep you swore you could see stars exploding. "There’s a good girl. Again."
"Namjoon. Please. Don't stop."
He didn’t, pounding into you, his fingers finding their way back between your legs, rolling over your swollen clit and pulling your pleasure along at his mercy.
"Right there. Oh my god. Right there, yes,” you babbled, lost to the satisfying stretch of him, to his skilled fingers that felt so rough before, but felt so perfect rolling against your clit now. “Don't fucking stop."
His teeth scraped along your neck, his other hand rolling one of your nipples between his fingers.
"God damn, your cunt feels so good. I want to feel you cumming around me." His lips were at your ear, pressing a light, warm bite against your earlobe, deep voice rumbling straight through your body. "Can you do that for me, baby? Cum for me? Let me feel you come apart on my cock."
You wanted to cum for him, to ride him into your orgasm and squeeze his cock dry. You met each of his thrusts with your hips, driving him into you as deep as he would go, savoring every stroke of his cock as he curved into you just right again and again and again and again.
“Y/N.”
He had been demanding that you say his name the entire time. But hearing the guttural sound of your name on his lips was your undoing. Your orgasm crashed into you, body clenching him tight, shivering in his grip as it rolled through you in waves of dizzying release.
You heard Namjoon growl low into your ear, shuddering groans as he joined you, pressed into you at your deepest as he spilled inside you.
His breath ghosted your ear in light pants as you both came down from your high. You only let yourself savor it for a moment before you pressed your hands against his, shifting your hips to slide his softening cock from between your legs and slowly pulling yourself from his grip until you could turn your body to face him. You caught the thick vein pulsing at his neck first, the light sheen of sweat across his face serving as proof of your illicit activity. His eyes were like a predator's on you, watching tentatively for your next move.
You had no intention of making this awkward. You were both adults and sex was just sex. If anything, you felt like a little of the tension between you had finally been exercised. And, if nothing else, even if you found each other mostly intolerable, it boosted your confidence a little to know that the sexual attraction you’d been feeling for weeks hadn’t been one-sided.
You collected yourself, bending to tug your pants back up and over your hips. He did the same, redressing quickly and fastening the buckle of his jeans. You offered him a napkin from the table for the used condom and shoved the evidence into your purse. No point putting the poor caterer through seeing that something so indecent had gone on in his tasting room.
There was a knock at the door just then, Jimin returning with perfect timing.
“Well, what do we think? I hope we’ve been able to impress you today,” he said with a cheerful smile. You shifted a little, trying to block the sight of your handprints against the glass of the table from his view.
"Your food is certainly...inspiring. We'd absolutely love to book you for October."
Once everything was set and scheduled, you climbed into Namjoon’s truck and considered taking a real nap on the way back to your apartment, exhaustion truly catching up to you now. He had been giving you sidelong glances every once in a while, but you intended to stick to your plan and act as though nothing had changed. That was, until he spoke up in the middle of the drive.
"So we’re really not going to talk about what happened back there?"
"There’s nothing to talk about, so no, we're not,” you said, crossing your arms, leaning back into the seat, and closing your eyes. This was not a big deal. You still hardly liked this man at all. He just happened to have a fantastic cock. And hands. And voice. But it all didn’t mean anything. “We're going to enjoy a quiet ride back to our apartments and not see each other again until we meet the florist or I run into you and another one of your hookups in the hall. Whichever comes first."
July — Namjoon
“Does Y/N seem ok to you lately?”
Namjoon watched you and Hani, sitting on a neat little loveseat at the other side of Jin’s living room. On the surface, you were patiently scrolling through wedding dress photos trying to gather some semblance of style for a woman who was clearly uninterested. He was learning your signals slowly. When your patience wore thin, your temper and matching tongue waiting just beneath the surface to strike. When your smiles were genuine reflections of your joy. And when they were for survival, like the one plastered across your face right now.
Wearing a short dress in a bold shade of blue that made the deep cinnamon shades of your skin look even richer, you looked stunning tonight. Well, that wasn't true. You looked stunning every time he saw you.
Were you ok? He didn't know. You were still an enigma, still closing off most things beyond business whenever he spent time with you for wedding planning.
Was he having a hell of a time not thinking about you every day? His eyes went to your lips, to the memory of how soft they felt against his own, to the sweet taste of your tongue sliding against his, the erotic sound of his name in your voice while he was buried in that magic you kept between your legs.
Definitely.
“What do you mean?”
Jin took a slow sip of his drink, gaze concentrating on you and his fiance. “I’m just worried about her. She works too many hours in the most stressful unit, she still makes time to do research for publication, and her family is...anyway. Now I’ve put this wedding thing on you guys without thinking and I’m feeling pretty shitty about it.”
“We’ve got the wedding planner doing most of the leg work for us. And I don’t know her that well, but I know I speak for both of us when I say we want to see you happy.”
“Just, if she seems kind of off, will you let me know? Help her out for me. I’ve seen what burnout can do to people.”
Considering how serious you seemed to take everything you handled, Namjoon could understand Jin’s concern. “Yeah, of course, I’ll do what I can. She’s not going to share her secrets with me or anything though. She barely likes me.”
Jin raised a questioning eyebrow. “Huh. She thinks you don’t like her too. What happened with you two? Did you try to hit on her?”
Namjoon hesitated, unsure how much you would want Jin to know about how far you'd both gone. His friend seemed to take his silence as confirmation.
“I warned you you weren’t her type. You’re going to be working with her for a few more months so just be nice to her. She can be a little guarded, with good reason," he said and Namjoon saw the protective flash in his eye as he spoke the last part. "But once you get to know her she’s....one of a kind."
“And you and her have never…?”
Jin shook his head. “Nah, it’s not like that. We just get each other. I love her like she’s my own blood. So be nice to her.”
Namjoon cocked his head. “When have I ever not been nice?”
“Yeah, I don’t get it either. Everybody likes you. You must’ve really screwed up to get on her bad side. So play nice and fix it. And look out for her for me.”
Namjoon picked up his own drink, attention drifting back to you. Your smile wavered somewhere between genuine and polite as you continued slow progress in your wedding fashion efforts. He wasn't your type, but you'd had sex with him anyway. Not that that meant anything serious. Still, he wanted to know what it took to slip past your guard and get to know you really. To keep that smile turned all the way to genuine.
He gave Jin a short nod. “You got it.”
“Do you think she really loves him?”
It had been Namjoon’s suggestion that you both ride together to Jin’s for dinner. And you’d seemed lost in your own thoughts after you’d left, so the ride in his truck had been silent until you asked about Jin’s fiance.
He could understand how things between Jin and Hani looked. Jin had been a warm and welcoming spirit ever since they were kids. People flocked to him naturally, found comfort in his jovial personality. Hani was a stark contrast in every way, serious and stone-like in most of her manner. But Namjoon didn’t doubt her feelings at all. Every time she looked at Jin, he could see how she felt clear as day.
“She loves him. I can tell.”
You scoffed. “What, you’re a mind-reading builder now?”
“You can see it in her eyes, the way she looks at him. They’re the real deal.”
You sighed deeply. Namjoon would’ve given anything to know what was going through your head. There wasn’t any obvious tension between you and Hani that made him think you disliked her. But there was something odd going on there that he hadn’t yet placed.
“Well if you’re such an expert at romance, why are you single?” you mumbled. There it was, that misguided stinger he was getting used to whipping out in his direction. “Why haven’t you swept the girl of your dreams off her feet and whisked her away to a palace or something?”
He chuckled. “Palaces are quite expensive. Lot of materials, probably lots of historic zoning laws, exorbitant permit fees.” He laughed more at your dissatisfied huff. “Seriously, just because I find weddings romantic doesn’t mean I’ve got my own love life sorted.” He shrugged, more a physical shake off of bad memories than anything else. “One day.”
Unfortunately, it seemed like he’d said the wrong thing. You closed up again, not offering him anything else for the rest of the ride. Fortunately for him, you both had the same destination, rode the same elevator, and walked down the same hall to return home. As you reached your apartments and turned toward your door, he caught your wrist.
“Princess,” he said softly. You didn’t resist when he pulled you back lightly, turning you to face him. He had intended to simply do as Jin wanted, to ask if you were doing alright, maybe invite you over for coffee and attempt to make nice. But you stared up at him with your beautiful eyes, like a starlit galaxy calling him home, and his desire shifted.
Namjoon waited a few more moments, waited for you to shake yourself loose, to tell him you wanted nothing to do with him. But you didn’t, only looked up at him curiously. He moved closer to you, watching your lips slightly part as his hand cupped your face.
He leaned forward, gently meeting his lips against yours, giving you space to still push him away if you wanted. The smallest spark grew into a dazzling flame when you leaned forward into his chest, when you kissed him back and fanned the flame he wanted to feed more, growing it into a roaring fire.
He punched in the code to his door and backed you both into his apartment, arm around your waist while yours slid up over his shoulders, as kisses turned to bites against your lips, to you sucking on his tongue. He kicked the door closed behind him and finally broke away from your mouth, panting, sure you could feel the hard press of him against your body.
“Son of a bitch, we’re doing this again, aren’t we?” you breathed but didn’t pull away.
“You’ve been thinking about it since then, haven’t you?”
“Unlike you, I have more important things to-”
His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, a spark of something electric jolting through his fingertips at the touch. Your silence made it clear you felt it too.
“Me too,” he whispered.
“I-I never said it wasn’t good sex.”
“We can do better. What do you say?”
You frowned. “Namjoon, we hardly even like each other.”
Why did you think that? Alright, so he had thought you were a little stuck up in the beginning. But that impression had already shifted and he wasn’t sure what he needed to do to shift yours. “I don’t know. I very much enjoyed fucking you into that table. Surely that’s enough for now.”
He watched the wheels turning in your head, running through whatever scenarios you imagined might come of an arrangement like this.
He flexed his fingers against your inner thigh. "Just sex, princess. A lot, if you want. We’re together all the time planning this wedding anyway and we’re just across the hall from each other."
“...Just sex?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I’m game if you are.”
You bit your lip. "What about all your dates? Won't they miss you?"
"You gonna start judging me for my hookups while we’re in the middle of agreeing to be fuckbuddies?"
"Fuck-neighbors. Fuck-acquaintances, really."
Namjoon raised an eyebrow.
"No, of course I'm not judging you. I just don't want to interrupt things for Miss Tuesday or Madam Saturday."
He tipped back your head, exercising his highest level of restraint by placing a soft kiss just beside your lips. He had only just finished kissing you, so why was he already dying for more?
"Don't worry about anyone else. I'm not dating anyone."
“Fine. But just until the wedding is finished. And we don't tell Seokjin. I don't want him thinking I like to throw my vagina at his friends."
Namjoon's mouth lifted in a smile that bared his teeth.
"Glad you’re up for this. Because I've been dying to eat you and make your cake squirt."
You grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him close enough that your lips ghosted warm over his as you spoke, a challenge in your tone. "You better be that good."
He was.
In fact, he was so good with you, his tongue swirling against your clit, his fingers curled inside you just right, that he made you make a satisfying mess in his sheets twice.
"Good?” he asked when he finally came up for air. “Though with the way you were holding onto my hair, I probably don't need to ask."
"I’m not here to give you an ego boost. Just shut up and fuck me."
With that, he could oblige. He started with you from behind again this time, bending you over his bed and planting slow kisses down your back, cupping your ass in his hands. He loved the feel of your body against him as he sank deep inside you, loved watching the bounce in your ass each time he drove home. But he wanted to watch you come apart this time, watch you unravel with his name on your lips.
He came staring up at your beautiful body on top of him while you slid him deep inside over and over, your nails raking across his skin, his hands at your hips rolling you to your own orgasm. You didn’t hold back, voicing your enjoyment between murmurs of his name, a blissful release that brought him pleasure deeper than flesh.
Once spent, you slid down into his sheets and curled against him. Namjoon hurried to peel off the condom and toss it away, then slid his arm around your waist and pulled your body closer into his. He would’ve never imagined you a post-sex cuddler, but he was learning that you would always challenge whatever assumptions he made.
“I still don’t know that I like you very much,” you said softly, lips brushing against the skin of his chest.
He reached up and ran a thumb against your still peaked nipple. “Oh, I can definitely tell.”
Namjoon could’ve kept holding you, touching you, could’ve worked his way around to another go for you easily. You didn’t stay in his bed for much longer though, slipping out of his sheets and sliding back into your pretty, blue dress. He pulled on a pair of shorts and helped you zip up, then walked you out of his room toward the door.
“What are these?” you asked on the way, eyeing a couple of the three-dimensional home models that sat scattered across his kitchen counter. He suddenly felt a little self-conscious, considering his place wasn’t in the tidiest condition.
“It’s a model home,” he said, reaching out to flick a battery-operated switch that mimicked lighting inside the one you were looking at. “I make them with a 3d printer. Easier to try out new designs that way and help customers decide what they want on new builds.”
You glanced at him with something like wonder, kneeling to take a closer look. That brilliant smile that was all genuine spread across your face as you gingerly touched the tiny doors and plastic windows.
A new heat flushed through Namjoon, a strange mixture between embarrassment, pride, and a sudden, odd need to impress you, to find every way to coax that smile out of you.
“Hey,” he said, and you turned your attention back up to him. “You uh...you’re ok, right?” Alright, not the smoothest he’d ever been. What was it about you that always sent him tripping over his words? He watched your eyebrows knot in mild confusion.
“Did you forget we fucked before? I mean, your dick’s big, but it’s not that big. I promise you’re not going to hurt me.”
He cursed to himself. “No, I-I meant-”
You stood and started for the door again. “I gotta go. We’re meeting the travel agent next week about the honeymoon. And if you don’t send me an actual opinion on the final invitations by the end of this week, I’ll make sure you understand exactly how blue your balls can get.”
Right. Back to business. You had your purse in your hand already, standing in his doorway and waiting for nothing but his agreement. You were a striking force and impossibly, Namjoon felt his attraction for you suddenly ratchet up another level. Jin had asked him to look out for you, to help you more so you wouldn’t be stressed. He could do that.
“I’ll get you your email tomorrow, grandma.”
Namjoon was on such unsteady ground with you. You had already let him know you didn’t like him very much. Half the time he felt like you were angry or disappointed with him over some wedding detail that he hadn’t remembered or responded to you fast enough about.
But you were at his apartment every night for the next two weeks, save for the one evening shift you picked up to help a co-worker. Ass up on his couch. Pressed against the wall of his shower. On your knees beside his bed. His balls were the farthest from blue as they had been in a long time. He became so familiar with the taste of your pussy that it lingered in his very satisfying dreams and he missed the warmth of your body every time you got up to leave. Whether it was you texting him or him messaging you to come by, he was happy every time you showed up at his door.
Which was why, after you left from meeting with the travel agent and securing what was going to be the most romantic honeymoon of the decade, Namjoon couldn’t wait to take you back to his place and continue exploring all the things that made you grip his sheets for dear life. In his eagerness, he let you know as much, whispering his plans in your ear while you walked to where he had parked. And you left him pleasantly surprised when your hands went to his chest and pushed him back against the sun-warmed side of his truck.
“I know how much you like to take your time,” you said teasingly, fingers tracing between his muscles down his shirt. You hooked your fingertips over his belt and brushed against his stomach, setting off sizzling sparks across his skin. “But I really should take a break from you and work on a speech I’m giving soon. I’m afraid you’ll have to call up one of your other ladies tonight.”
Oh. “What are you giving a speech for?”
“An article I wrote is going to be in a medical journal and I’ll be the guest speaker for a charity dinner,” you said, surprising him with a sudden shy glance away.
“Oh, wow, that’s amazing,” he said, carefully enthusiastic. He had already gathered that you were sensitive about your position based on how defensive you sometimes got whenever the topic was broached, though he hadn’t quite pinned down the reason why yet. “I thought only doctors got to submit to things like that.” Admittedly, he didn’t know much about the medical world, but he understood enough to know it was a great achievement for you.
“Right,” you said, tugging your hands away from him and taking a slow step back. “Because having an M.D. is the only way someone is smart enough to write about medicine, right?” He watched you shut down in record time, watched you cross your arms across your chest, your stinger poised and ready to strike. “What should I expect? It's not like you’ve ever had any respect for me or what I do anyway.”
“No,” he said, trying to correct this flaming train before it went careening all the way off the rails. “What are you talking about, Y/N? I respect you entirely.”
“Yeah, and that’s why when we met you treated me like I didn’t matter after you found out I wasn’t a surgeon like Seokjin.”
He blinked.
“I...I’m going to be honest, I hardly remember you telling me your profession.”
“Exactly,” you said, as though it confirmed every suspicion you had. Was this why you didn’t like to talk about your work around him, why you were so defensive on the topic? Because you thought he thought you didn’t matter? He wanted to reach for you, to cement how he really felt with physical touch. But he held back since you looked like you might remove a finger if he got anywhere near.
“No, I mean...god, this is not going to be a good look for me. Y/N, you are drop-dead gorgeous. It took me a while to wrap my head around any words coming out of your mouth past ‘Hi’."
You looked confused and he pressed on.
“Actually, I don’t even remember if you said ‘Hi’ or not. What I remember is the hottest woman I've ever seen in a dress that I wanted very badly to be responsible for removing."
You lowered one arm, then the other, cupping your hands together in front of you instead.
“You never said anything about finding me attractive after,” you said quietly. “Not until...you know.”
He took a chance then, reaching out to slide his hand between yours. You let him separate them, let him slip his fingers between and through your own.
“I asked Jin if you were single that same night. He told me I wasn’t your type. Told me he’d never seen you date someone who drove a pickup.” He lifted your joined hands, tugging your body closer just a little, and pressed a light kiss against the back of yours. “If I’d known he was cockblocking me, I would’ve just asked you out. You weren’t exactly warm toward me afterward. So I figured he was right, that you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. You checked out on our conversation that night and every time we met up it was like you didn’t want anything to do with me. I guessed you looked down on me or something.”
You took an unconscious step toward him.
“I’ve never looked down on you. I…” you trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed. He stayed quiet, nodding slightly to encourage you to continue. “You show up from your work sites all the time in your t-shirts and tight jeans and honestly...you’re not the only one that was thinking about removing clothes.”
“Oh,” he said with a chuckle, though an uncharacteristic heat was suddenly flooding into his cheeks.
“Do you not know how sexy you are when you show up clearly having sweat half the day away? You’re a walking erotic novel cover, Namjoon.”
His smile probably came across as unnecessarily cocky after hearing that you had those thoughts about him, but he felt more bashful than anything. “So, just to be clear, we both respect each other and want to fuck each other senseless.”
You laughed and gave a small nod. Slowly, he watched your defenses lower, watched that genuine smile that he loved slowly spreading across your lips. He kept your fingers clasped, lifting his free hand to your chin.
“I’m sorry my assumptions about you manifested as a lack of respect.”
You shook your head. “Once I thought you were judging me I gave back the same. I guess I let my insecurities project and read them into whatever you said. I’m sorry too.”
“Even if I didn’t know what you do, I’ve seen your mind in action,” he said. “I know that you’re brilliant.”
“And I respect the skill it takes to do what you do, and all the hard work too, Joon.” You glanced away for a moment and he watched the wheels turn while you decided where you wanted to go from here. “So...we start over maybe?”
He slid his fingers from yours and instead held his hand out between you. “Kim Namjoon, general contractor.”
You accepted it with a firm handshake. “Y/N, emergency medicine PA.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said and leaned forward a bit, lowering his voice a little to whisper the rest in your ear. “I’d be honored if you’d let me take you home and fuck you into my headboard for a few hours. If you’re not too busy, that is.”
You leaned your body into his, pressing him back against his truck once more.
“You know, I think I’d enjoy that very much.”
August — Y/N
With the air clear between the two of you, sex with Namjoon only got more frequent. He was always so plainly genuine, casually admitting that he hadn’t been sleeping with anyone else, that he didn’t plan to. Of course, he could’ve just been saying whatever he thought you wanted to hear. But the longer you spent around him, the more you trusted that he was telling the truth.
You fucked on his living room floor, on his kitchen counter, in his tub, and against his bathroom sink. You fucked in his bed, in your bed, on the floor in front of your balcony window, got caught on your kitchen counter by a very embarrassed Momo, and, once, had a very rough ride in your apartment's elevator.
But your favorite place was in his truck. Your thighs spread across his lap while his cock slammed deep inside you over and over, his big, rough hands rubbing, squeezing, slapping your bare ass, his mouth at your breasts, sucking and biting your nipples like they were his favorite candy, applying just the right amount of pain.
As you got more comfortable together, you learned that he liked to be in control, enjoyed handling you with a measure of roughness, telling you exactly what to do for him, and leaving you sore and stinging from his mouth, his hands, and a couple of times, his belt. It wasn't fair how good sex with Namjoon was. It was like he had some secret code to making you orgasm that no one had ever unlocked before, and making the entire path there just as enjoyable as the finish line.
Your enjoyment didn't stop there. He would also show up during breaks in your shifts, or pick you up after. He came for a booty call of course, but he also brought you coffee and late lunches and sweet snacks he had learned you liked. He would stand outside with you in the warm, late summer air, making you laugh while you both leaned against the cool metal frame of his truck and spent time actually getting to know each other. You learned about his little sister that he adored more than anyone else in his life. About his family that lived far away from them both. You learned that landscaping was still his favorite part of a build and how he'd shocked himself so bad on electrical one time he'd pissed himself. And you learned a million ways to make the pretty dimples show up in his cheeks.
You also forgave him for the nights when he was so tired that you didn't make it to sex, just sort of made out and cuddled until he fell asleep. You both had a problem with working too much, so you wouldn’t begrudge him his exhaustion when you too often felt the same. Though, instead of leaving, you’d gotten into the dangerous habit of staying over, of sleeping through the night wrapped up in his arms.
Tonight, after a quick meeting with the venue’s DJ, you noticed him rolling his shoulders and stretching uncomfortably, even on the drive back. You knew the kind of work he did was hard on his body and today must have been rougher than usual. He didn’t even question it when you followed him into his apartment. You grabbed his hand and guided him into his bedroom.
“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lie down for me,” you suggested quietly.
He obeyed without a word, lying face up on his bed. You swirled a finger, signaling him to turn onto his stomach instead. You watched him roll over, treating you with the sight, the muscles of his carved torso and well-defined arms flexing as he moved.
You climbed on top, throwing a leg over the side of his hip to straddle his body. Stretching your fingers, you got to work, pressing and rolling his muscles under your hands to help relieve some of the ache and tension. When he started releasing soft groans of pleasure you knew you’d guessed right.
"Did you start out as a masseuse?” he asked, mumbling into his sheets. “Because I think this might be your real calling."
You smiled to yourself. "Nah. Just good with my hands like you say. And understanding the body helps. You looked like you’ve been hurting."
“Had some contractor issues and pushed my limits today to pick up the slack, yeah.” He groaned again as your thumbs kneaded a particularly tight knot. “And yet I’ll go back to it tomorrow.”
“How did you get into this kind of work anyway?”
"Is it a cop-out to say it just sort of happened? You know, Jin knew he wanted to be a doctor by the time we finished high school, but I had no idea what I wanted to do. Instead of wasting money on a random degree, I worked for a year landscaping with one of my uncles. That turned into helping with repair work, then I went to a trade school for electrical and...well, I guess it spiraled from there."
You continued your massage as you spoke, rolling the heel of your palm in rocking motions up and down his back.
"You ever regret not going to college for anything? Architecture maybe?"
"Nah. Don’t get me wrong, I know some amazing architects. But I'm happy every time I finish a build on some family's first house or a bright-eyed entrepreneur’s new office. This is enough for me."
“So you’re killing yourself for your dream.”
He chuckled softly. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“I’m just saying...from one workaholic to another, you are allowed to relax occasionally. Take tomorrow off. Your back will thank you.”
“I guess I do relax a little more since I met you.”
“Sex with me is relaxing? I like to think I work you pretty hard.”
Namjoon chuckled and rolled over onto his back, holding your hips in place so you stayed straddled across his lap.
"I’m half-tempted to change the deal just to get a massage from you every night."
You raised an eyebrow. "And what would be in that for me?"
He considered for a moment. "Momo mentioned something about you guys needing a cat tree. I could build you one."
"I mean, Peeko is her cat so that’s not really for me. What is this, your subtle way of saying you don't want to have sex with me anymore?”
His arms slid up your sides, pulling you down against his chest.
"That would be the stupidest mistake I could ever make," he said quietly before claiming your lips with his own.
With less than two months left until the wedding, some very rude part of your brain acknowledged that things with Namjoon would be ending soon. You distracted yourself from that disappointing fact by burying yourself in speech prep and, counterintuitively, drowning yourself in as much Namjoon as you reasonably could.
He'd picked you up tonight, smelling like sweat and sunlight and old cedar and kissed you in the parking lot like he'd waited a decade to see you again. You'd wanted to rip off his clothes and indulge in him right then, but he held you back, teasingly saying he wanted to wait, wanted to take his time with you all night in his bed instead. It didn’t stop you from sucking his cock the entire ride home.
He backed into the doorway of his apartment, pulling away from you for just a moment, probably to kick the door closed. He paused then, eyes focused somewhere behind you.
“What?” you asked in an impatient whine. You turned around to find a red-eyed Momo behind you in the hall, wet streaks staining her cheeks.
“Mo! Oh my god, Mo, what happened?”
She barreled through Namjoon’s doorway and straight into your chest.
“They didn’t pick me. Why, Y/N? Why does this keep happening to me?”
You ended up back in your apartment, Namjoon hovering anxiously behind the two of you while you hugged Momo on your couch. She’d had her fourth interview earlier in the week and was sure she had this position secured. Only to hear today that they had gone with someone internally instead. Your friend was crushed, tired of playing the rat race game on a playing field that only highlighted her weaknesses instead of her strengths. Of course, she looked amazingly well-put-together even in her darkest hour. “Look good, feel good” had always been her motto. But her vintage, designer finds and carefully crafted handmade pieces weren’t helping her to feel very good tonight.
You offered to spend the evening with her and however many bottles of wine she needed, but she shoved you back into Namjoon’s arms, saying she just wanted to drown herself in loud music and her art tablet for the night.
Back in Namjoon’s apartment, the mood had shifted to one more solemn. He offered you a beer and collapsed into his couch next to you while you worried your lip over your friend.
“She’s such a talented artist. But interviews...well, you’ve seen her. She’s shy about just about everything and it probably comes across as a lack of confidence or something. I hate it so much for her.”
“Design is definitely an industry of connections.” Namjoon looked thoughtful, rubbing a hand back and forth across his jaw. “You know, I have a buddy, an architect that’s been looking for an in-house artist. He’s got high standards, but he’s probably the most patient, understanding friend I have. I can give him her card if you don’t think she’d get offended.”
“I’m sure she’d never turn down an opportunity like that. It’s the kind of job she’s looking for.” You dug around through your purse until you unearthed one of her business cards and handed it over. “Thanks, Joon. That’s really kind. I’ll let her know to look out for contact from him.”
You offered to find somewhere else to crash, but Namjoon suggested you stay close just in case Momo needed you. You ended up draped across his lap while you watched a movie, his hands innocently kneading your hip at some point and reminding you of the heat you’d felt before.
It didn’t take long for your lips to find their way back to his cock, for his skilled fingers to end up buried inside your wet folds. You slowly worked your way around to sex right there on the couch, Namjoon sliding you into his lap and leaving sore spots along your neck and chest with his teeth. You rode his lap in a lazy roll that let the sweet pleasure between you linger until you reached your luscious climax and him not long after.
Lying together in the afterglow, Namjoon ran his fingers against the side of your thigh, apparently one of his favorite places to touch you. His fingertips were calloused and rough against your skin, the texture comforting somehow. You closed your eyes as he stroked you, your face buried in the warmth of his neck.
“You’re always so soft,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. You didn’t hold back your smile against his skin.
"Because putting on lotion is a black woman's best defense against looking like we dust with flour.” You felt his fingers pause. “What? I've seen those crusty ladies you bring back to your apartment. They need body cream, not body glitter. Unless ashy is your type."
He chuckled. "Why do you seem so convinced that I have a type?"
"Because everyone has a type."
"Mm. So tell me yours."
“Let's see." You slid a finger up to his mouth. “Soft, thick lips.” You trailed your hand down to his bare chest. "Powerful muscles.”
You let your hand trail down his stomach, cupping your hand over his half-hard cock. “Big cock just like this.”
He pulled your hand away and slid his fingers between your own.
“I'm being serious.”
You made a deep sigh.
“I've never really dated someone seriously. My personal record is ten dates, by which time I usually find out they're a borderline narcissist with expectations for a submissive babymaker, have a fetish for fucking black women, or that they have premature feelings that I’m not ready to handle so I run screaming into the night. So I guess my type is ‘not the right person’.”
He glanced down at your intertwined fingers between you, thumb stroking against the back of yours.
“Or they’re taken, right? That’s what you said before.”
“Yeah, or that.”
He bit his lip like he was hesitating on whether he wanted to finish his thought.
“Like...maybe they’re getting married sometime soon?”
You started to answer with a maybe, then blinked.
“Wait, I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest-”
“I knew something was going on when we were at dinner last month. You were trying so hard with Hani and I couldn’t figure out why you were acting so tense with her. But that’s it, isn’t it? You’re in love with Jin?”
You wanted to yank your fingers out of his, to shove yourself off of his couch and stomp your way to your apartment. But something inside you burst, a bubble that had been long overdue to pop finally letting go of all its tension. Your shoulders sagged a little, chin drooping until it rested against Namjoon’s chest.
“I had a crush on him for five minutes, but that was over a year ago,” you said quietly, deflated. “We’re friends now, that’s all.”
He said nothing for a while, that uncomfortable silence filling each crack in the room. You were in love with Seokjin. Or something like it. You’d had such strong feelings for him once. But now that he was getting married, now that you were helping him cement his life with the woman of his dreams, you didn’t know where your feelings had fallen to. Where they stood now.
“At least let me pretend then,” Namjoon said, finger lifting your chin up. He stared down at you, gaze soft.
“Pretend what?”
“That you’re not in love with my friend while you’re sleeping with me.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“It’s not my business-”
“Then learn how to mind your own,” you snapped. Still, you didn’t pull away, didn’t take your fingers away from his. Maybe, you thought, it was time for you to face this truth, to try and accept what this marriage meant for you. Even if someone else had to lead you there.
“I’m not asking you to work through it on my account, Y/N. I’d just like to pretend I’m the one on your mind when my cock’s in you.”
You propped yourself up on an elbow. “What, you mean no one else has ever crossed your mind when you’ve been with me?”
His smile was tentative but unmistakably roguish. “With your perfect tits in my face, trust me, I’m not thinking about anyone else.”
“Good. Because your sheets are nicer than mine, so I don’t want to have to stop coming here yet. Don’t pick a fight with me.”
His smile widened a little more. “Maybe I want to. We haven’t tried angry sex yet.”
You didn’t want to laugh, but it worked its way out of you anyway. Namjoon stroked a finger lightly across your jaw.
“Why do you run screaming? Isn’t it good for someone you’re dating to have feelings for you?”
You didn’t answer for a long time, letting your thoughts pile on in the silence. So many thoughts. At last, you finally spoke, so quietly you doubted he could hear. “So they don’t have a chance to be disappointed.”
After checking on Momo, who was still locked in her room with her headphones on, you ordered a late dinner and set up in front of Namjoon’s coffee table to finish the movie you had been watching earlier.
You ended up prodding around one of his home models, asking him questions about what had inspired some of the prototypes. Even though your feelings were muddled, the innocent joy that made his cheeks swell when he talked about constructive design was still enough to coax a smile out of you.
“Why are you even living in an apartment? Why not build one of these places for yourself?”
He sat back against the couch, staring thoughtfully at the model in front of you.
“It’s like a hairstylist who won’t cut their own hair. You look at houses all day, every day, and you’re not even sure what you like anymore. I don’t know what I want, but I’ll know it when it’s time.”
You thought about all the homes you had viewed during open houses, your secret realty adventures that you couldn’t fulfill just yet. You’d fallen in love with design after design, but had any of them really been it? Without an answer, you could understand Namjoon’s perspective that much better.
“What about you?” he prompted.
“I told you, I’m not very good at visualizing.”
“Try.” He held up a large hand, covering your eyes with his palm. “Close your eyes and tell me what you see.”
It was silly. And impossible. What did a person’s dream home really look like? Walls? Doors? Fancy light fixtures and durable tile floors that looked eerily like wood? You didn’t know. Or rather, maybe it was that all that was extraneous. All you knew was that your parent’s house had been too big, too cold and empty. It had never felt like a home. All you wanted was something that did. Something cozy, where everyone inside felt like family, like they were accepted. Like they belonged.
“I just want somewhere that feels like home.”
Namjoon uncovered your eyes, his eyebrows knitted with kind consideration. Patiently, he asked you about styles that caught your eye, the kinds of rooms you dreamt of having, color schemes that sounded good to you. But he asked so much more than that. What having a home felt like to you. What you wanted to do there every day and night. If you thought you would live there alone or with someone else.
You woke up the next morning to soft, golden rays of sun glinting off the glass of the coffee table. A small writing pad with Namjoon’s scribbled notes lay next to him, your body in his lap, curled against his chest, one of his arms around your waist holding you close.
Strangely, the first thing you thought of was home.
The rest of August flew by, cake design selection, finalized gift lists, thank you card designs, hair and makeup scheduled, marriage license application, final selections with the florist. The list of tasks between you and Namjoon was endless. Thankfully, Seokjin had chosen not to have a bachelor party, but he insisted that Hani should have a bridal shower. It was a painful affair, given Hani’s penchant for disinterest in the entire wedding process and your still reeling feelings from your conversation on Namjoon’s couch.
It also meant that the charity dinner where you needed to have your speech prepared was creeping closer. Everything you wrote somehow felt inept. It wasn’t that you weren’t an expert on your topic or even that you were worried about speaking in front of so many of your colleagues. Only that the sudden pressure of your father being in the room made all of your words sound hollow and pointless.
Namjoon came by one evening, drawn by the smell of Momo’s cooking, and found you spread out at the dining room table, scratched out versions of your speech hiding the placemats and laid out silverware.
Momo shooed him away from the kitchen, insisting nothing was ready yet and that he would only get in the way. He headed over to you instead, peeking down at your work over your shoulder.
“So when is this presentation of yours anyway?”
You leaned back a little in your chair, trying to will away the stress that had tightened your neck throughout the evening. “About a week before the wedding. It shouldn’t conflict with anything we need to do.”
“And you’re really this nervous about speaking in front of an audience?”
Why did he have to be so perceptive? Why couldn’t he have been just as clueless as most men and asked for a quickie before dinner instead?
You dug the heels of your palms against your eyes. “It’s not that. My parents will be there too. And my dad is…” Your relationship with your father escaped words. How could you explain loving someone, craving love from someone who was such a disappointment in his own role? “I don’t actually know why he’s even coming. He’s not exactly been my biggest supporter.”
Namjoon didn’t say anything and you looked up to find him kneeling next to you, silently encouraging you to continue. You weren’t sure you wanted to say more, to bare exactly how insecure being around your own father made you feel.
“Anyway, Mo’s teaching a class so she can’t come. Seokjin was supposed to come, but he got roped into a conference at the last minute. And I just…” you trailed off, the thought of the evening to come making your stomach turn over. You flicked the edge of one of your discarded papers.
“And it’s black tie, right? I’ll have to buy something.”
Your fingers froze before you could make another irritated flick, head snapping back in Namjoon’s direction.
“What?”
“Just want to make sure I’m not underdressed while you talk about rearranging people’s guts in the middle of the night or whatever it is. And be sure to tell them no seafood for me.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. If your brain had felt sluggish before, it was at a full stop now. Namjoon? Wanted to come?
“Why?” You blinked at the modest smile he offered up, your brain coming crashing back into the present. “Why would you do that?” you asked, rushing out the words. “Why would you want to come?”
“Because it sounds like you need someone in that audience who believes in you. So I’m coming to support the smartest person that’ll be in that room.” He moved to stand, pressed a soft kiss to your temple before returning to his full, towering height. “That’s you, just in case that wasn’t clear.”
He headed back toward the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and trying to sneak a bite from one of Momo’s simmering pans. Your bemusement manifested as a breathy laugh, full to the brim of warmth and nerves, surprise and gratitude, and something that stirred deep inside your chest, that grabbed hold tight to you in a way that said it planned to endure.
“Thanks, Joon,” you said, and even though you were sure he couldn’t hear you, you figured he knew you’d said it all the same.
Spending time with Namjoon outside of when you had sex or worked on the wedding was starting to become commonplace. You hung out at each other’s apartments when you knew you were both off work. You went on a few runs together, and sometimes even bumped into each other in the building’s gym. He was hesitant about joining in on any of the sports you and Seokjin played together, half because of disinterest and half because he didn’t want to get injured. But he never missed his gym days. He said it was because construction was so much physical labor and keeping his body strong helped fend off any accidents.
It sparked your interest in seeing him work. Was it partially because you wanted to see him flexing those muscles using power tools and hauling construction materials to feed your fantasies? Absolutely. But you also just wanted to see him on site, in his element, doing what he clearly loved. Still, you didn’t want to push at the boundaries of whatever the strange relationship between you had become, so you didn’t ask. And with Namjoon, so surprisingly intuitive, you didn’t have to.
Joon: You free?
Y/N: I told you I was off today, remember? It was like four hours ago, right after you literally licked your own cum off my ass.
Y/N: You need me again already?
Joon: Wondered if you wanted to go visit one of my worksites
Joon: And you know I do
You didn’t even make it to his bedroom. Your shorts were lost somewhere near the door and he had a condom on before you passed the kitchen. He had your back against the wall in his hallway, your body lifted effortlessly into his arms. He sheathed himself inside you with a satiated groan, as though he had been waiting for months to bury himself between your legs, as opposed to a few hours.
“Fuck, a thousand times and I still can’t believe you feel so perfect,” he hissed into your skin, biting down on your neck, sucking the flesh with wet heat. You leaned your head back against the wall, eyes rolling back as he thrust into you just right. Every time, it was so right.
Both your moans echoed in the hall, your legs locked around his waist, hands threaded into his hair. You came together, a flurried tornado of pleasure as your body squeezed out everything he had to offer and his body gave it so willingly. He rested his forehead against yours after, panting softly and holding your stare with his own. Then his lips met yours and you realized that your hunger for him was impossible to sate, that some selfish part of you would always crave for more of him. With one last lick into your mouth he pulled away.
“We're late.”
You cocked an eyebrow in amusement. As though he hadn't just spent five extra minutes kissing you while he softened between your thighs. "I didn't know we had a schedule. Besides, it's your site isn't it?"
“This client's a little different. She's a stickler for punctuality. Come on,” he said with a not so gentle squeeze against your bare ass still cupped in his hands. “We need to go.”
After you had freshened up in the bathroom you met him at the front door, taking your time admiring the thick muscles of his thighs wrapped tightly in his jeans until he turned around at your footfall. His eyes trailed over you brazenly, then he reached out a hand and cupped your face, kissing your lips again. And again. And again.
“What about your client?” you murmured into his mouth.
He groaned. “I know. How do you do this to me?”
“Fucking takes two people last time I checked.”
Another long kiss. “You drive me crazy, baby girl. Every time it's like I've been starving until I finally have you.”
“Maybe you've just never eaten this good.” You kissed him one last, indulgent time. “Let's go, you glutton.”
An obscenely handsome young man approached the two of you as Namjoon helped you down from his truck.
“Hey, boss! Thought you should know I went to the six-bed site earlier for measurements and the owner was riding my ass about where you were. You really need to call her.”
Namjoon made a deep sigh. “Yeah, I’m ignoring her calls today. She’s asking for impossible variances and I just don’t have the patience to tell her she can’t have her way.” He pushed closed the door behind you and you looked curiously between the two of them. “Y/N, this is Taehyung. He’s one of my plumbing contractors. Does HVAC for me too in a pinch.”
“Whoa,” Taehyung said dramatically, giving you a not at all shy look over. “Who’s this beautiful thing and where have you been hiding her?” A charming, wide smile stretched across his face. Scratch that; he was deadly handsome. “If you’re our new foreman, don’t blame me if I take my sweet time working at this site.”
Before you could even think of a response, Namjoon had positioned himself between you and the other man.
“Shut up and get back to work, Tae,” he said, and you didn’t miss the rough drag at the edge of his words. With a heavy hand pressed against the small of your back, he guided you away, up the dirt drive and toward the beautiful, unfinished house.
Though the grounds were still unfinished, the house itself was a beautiful masterpiece, all textured white stone and natural wood designs. The makeup was sleek lines and unique architecture, with romantic, sweeping glass double doors that currently stood open at the home's entrance. Whoever Namjoon was building for had beautiful taste and his team had definitely done justice to the build so far.
“Namjoon, this place is going to be gorgeous,” you said as you stared around the structure in awe.
“It better be or I’m going to leave one hell of a nasty review.”
A very pretty, very pregnant woman in a light yellow summer dress stepped through the house’s entryway, a tiny mini fan clutched in her hands to fend off a little of the late summer heat.
“Y/N, this is Sowon, my little sister.”
Oh, right. His special client.
"Oh! So I finally get to meet the girl that's got my big brother all wound up."
"Sowon, don't start,” he said with a level of irritation you only ever heard between siblings. “I told you she's just a friend. Where’s Nayoung?"
"Mhm. You know,” she said, ignoring his question and leaning toward you conspiratorially. “He hasn't introduced me to a girl in over two years. I was beginning to wonder if he'd given up. It’d be a shame since he's the biggest romantic."
"So I've learned." Sowon's eyes widened at that and you rushed to correct yourself. "Ah, we're helping plan a mutual friend's wedding together. Namjoon's tastes definitely come off as romantic."
“Hey, you’re here.” A dark-haired woman with fantastic hips and a fairy-like, adorable face walked up from a dirt path that curved around to the rear of the property.
“Oh, there you are. Y/N, this is Nayoung, Sowon’s wife. I’m building this house for the two of them. Well, soon to be three. Though I guess my nephew will be sixteen before I’m finished since they keep requesting changes every other week.”
“What happened to the customer always being right, Joonie?” Sowon said with a pout.
“I’m building this thing for you at cost. You’re no customer, you’re a-”
“I had a question about some of the outside window trim and a section of the stone siding,” Nayoung interrupted in a tone that edged on no-nonsense. “I know your team is good, but maybe they’ve been in a hurry lately.”
Namjoon eyed Sowon, concern settling in a wrinkle across his forehead.
“You shouldn’t even be out here like this, Sowon. It’s blazing and they haven’t finished installing the AC yet. What if you pass out?”
Sowon slid one of her arms around yours. “I’ll be with Y/N. Didn’t you say she was a doctor or something? I’ll be safe.”
“Emergency medicine physician’s associate.”
You blinked, surprised that Namjoon was the one offering up the correction you’d given so many times before. A mild heat filled your cheeks and you placed an arm over Sowon’s in a bid to ignore the strange feeling spreading across your chest.
“You go do what you need to, Joon. I’ll look after her.”
His eyes softened for a moment, first at his sister and then toward you. He reached in his pocket and tossed you his keys. “Fine. At least go sit in my truck with the AC.”
Namjoon and Nayoung turned then to head back down the dirt path that curved around the edge of the house.
“Don’t mind him, he’s always been a little too protective. Let’s go sit over there.”
She guided the two of you to a small wooden bench set up beside what would likely become a flowerbed.
"You sure you're alright in this heat?" you questioned just to make sure. The sun was feeling pretty brutal and even in your t-shirt and shorts, you were starting to sweat.
"I know, I look like I'm going to pop any moment. Don't worry, I'm not due for another week and a half. And I kind of like it out here. Hand me that water bottle?"
You did as she asked and looked her over while she took a long drink. The way her expanded tummy hung, low and heavy, it really did look like her baby might arrive at any moment.
“So what's the real story with the two of you? Joonie would never tell me. He still acts like it's a secret how people get pregnant, and yet I’m the one that’s having a damn baby.”
“Oh, we're just friends.”
She tilted her head curiously. “He must not have told you. I'm a psychic. I already know you're not just friends.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a medium and I do psychic readings for people. So you can’t really lie to me. I can tell there's more between the two of you than friendship. You like him?”
Namjoon was near the edge of the house, still talking to Nayoung. He was busy inspecting something about the exterior, bent low in his concentration. Even from here, you could see the way he tightened his jaw, forming a masculine crease along his cheek, the way his lips slightly puckered and his eyebrows knitted as he focused. It was the smallest thing, but something you had begun to appreciate in him at some point. One on a very long list of small things. It also didn’t hurt how irresistible his ass looked in his jeans.
“It's just casual,” you admitted.
“Oh, honey,” she said, placing a hand against her stomach. “Those looks between the two of you are anything but casual. You do like him.”
Did you? Of all things, your mind went back to the morning you’d woken up in his lap, feeling a strange level of comfort that you couldn’t remember feeling before.
“Fine. Maybe I have a little crush. Anyway, things really are casual so I don’t want him to know any of that.”
“Ok, sure. A crush.” She took another swig from her water bottle. “I lied by the way. I'm a hairdresser."
"You!"
Sowon giggled brightly. "Joonie is always busy, but he’s never late to meet me for anything. And yet he's been late meeting me here twice in the last month. I suppose I have you to thank for that?"
You gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "Guilty. Sometimes we're a little slow at getting out of bed."
"Good,” she said, though her eyes squinted together a little. “That means he's having a good night."
You tried to hide your smile.
"I like you, you’ve got good vibes. You know, he hasn't had a long-term relationship in a few years. Not since his business started to take off. It’s like he thinks he doesn't have the time anymore to invest in someone like they deserve. I really was worried he'd given up. So if you think there's a chance for something less casual, don't let it pass. My brother...he just wants someone to love him as much as he loves them."
Was that something you’d ever be able to offer anyone? You had run away from so many relationships before they could reach that stage. You shook your head. It wasn’t worth it to consider. You and Namjoon were just having sex for a few more weeks. After that...after that…
Sowon was looking at you curiously. You cleared your throat.
"Right. I'll think about it."
You saw her squint again and a small dip appeared in her cheek as though she were biting it.
“Hey, you sure you’re alright?”
“I think so. Just a little kind of squeezing pain.” She shook her head as if to shake it off. “I’m not due though.”
“I’ve seen just about everything in the emergency room, Sowon. Due dates mean jack shit. Have you been timing the pain?”
She didn’t need to answer. A sudden gush of fluid burst from between her legs, landing at her feet and splashing you both.
“Shit,” you cursed.
Sowon looked horrified and you could see the impending freak out as her eyes widened. Like a switch, your work mode flipped on.
“Don’t panic. I can take care of you. I just need you to listen to me, alright? Do you think you can stand?”
She nodded, hand still at her very swollen stomach.
“Is there anywhere in the house with running water?”
“The...the kitchen is hooked up.” She grit her teeth as she spoke and you suspected she had been sitting through the pain for a lot longer than she wanted to admit.
“Alright, put your arm around my shoulders and I’m going to get you there. If you feel too much pressure you let me know right away, alright? Keep breathing.”
The gift of height clearly ran in their family. She was taller than you, but you did your best to support her. Her arm at your waist, you walked her slowly toward the house, pulling out your phone and dialing emergency for an ambulance.
Namjoon and Nayoung spotted the two of you as you came closer and came running over.
“Joon, hurry. Help her inside. She’s going into labor.”
Unfortunately for Sowon, she’d chosen to have her dream home built on the outskirts of the city. It would be at least fifteen minutes until an ambulance could arrive. You tossed your phone to Nayoung and hurried inside to help Namjoon. You spotted an island in the kitchen with a finished countertop.
“We need to get her up there. I need warm water, clean towels or clothes, and some kind of cord to tie off the umbilical in case the baby comes before emergency gets here.” Namjoon helped you get her up onto the counter as Sowon's moans of pain began to escalate. You put a supportive hand on her shoulder.
“Listen, I’m not going to lie. It’s going to hurt like a bitch, alright? But I’m here and your wife and your brother and we’re going to get you and your baby through this just fine, alright? You trust me?”
She gave a weak nod, brow already dotted with sweat, and then another excruciating moan had her squeezing tight on Namjoon’s arm. He looked paler than you’d ever seen him.
“If you don’t think you can handle watching birth, take over for Nayoung and keep us updated with an ETA on the ambulance.”
He nodded quickly and Nayoung handed him the phone. You instructed her to help hold Sowon’s legs and support her at the edge of the counter.
“They should be here in ten,” Namjoon piped up. You noticed he had moved quite a distance from the three of you. You reminded him to round up any clean towels or clothes and a shoestring before you set back to focusing on Sowon.
Hurriedly, you washed your hands and arms, thankful there was a bottle of soap nearby. Sowon was crying out now, and after removing her soiled underwear, it definitely looked as though this baby wasn’t planning to wait for anything.
It wouldn’t be the first time you’d helped deliver a baby in a pinch, but it was definitely the fastest you’d personally seen a woman go from calmly sitting to crowning. It only took a few more minutes to confirm that that was definitely a head you were seeing coming toward you between her legs.
“Keep breathing, Sowon. Breathe deep for me and you’re going to push.” She cried out her confirmation in a mixture of frustration and pain. “I know it hurts, but you’re strong and your baby is almost here, alright? You’re doing great.”
It only took a few good pushes and a couple more screams, and Sowon’s baby was out in the world, sliding into your arms, and serenading you all immediately with his wailing song. Sowon slumped back onto the counter and Nayoung was sniffling tears as she held her hand and looked on at their son.
“Welcome to the world, little guy,” you cooed at him. “Born right in your own home.”
You hurriedly cleaned him up as best you could with the towels Namjoon had brought and wrapped him in Nayoung’s jacket before placing him against Sowon’s chest.
“Ambulance will be here in one minute,” Namjoon said from somewhere beyond your shoulder. You tied off the umbilical with the shoestring, happy to leave the cutting to the emergency crew with sterile equipment. Sowon and her son were cradled in Nayoung’s arms, the two mothers laughing and crying together. Moments later the sirens of the ambulance finally arrived.
You gave them all the information you could while they rolled in to load Sowon and baby onto a stretcher. Namjoon spoke up shakily as they hurried Nayoung and his sister out to the ambulance.
“We’ll meet you at the hospital, Sowon. Right behind you.” He turned to you and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. He looked almost as bedraggled as Sowon had, sweaty, his normally peach-gold skin gone ashen as though he’d seen a ghost.
“Welcome to the miracle of childbirth. A lot of men faint, so trust me when I say you did fantastic,” you offered as comfort.
"You...” he breathed, then cleared his throat and took a step toward you. “You are the sexiest woman alive."
You chuckled. "Women have been delivering babies for thousands of years, Joon.” He was leaning closer still as you spoke, something unexpected circling in his eyes. “And, more importantly, I’m covered in your sister's blood and amniotic fluid. Definitely some piss, maybe shit. Please don't kiss me. At least let me wash-"
He didn’t wait for you to finish your sentence, enveloping your lips with the plush of his own. You kissed him back, never able to resist his mouth on yours. Given the circumstances, you figured it was just his excitement over the situation flaring in your direction. Still, there was something about the way he kissed you that set part of your soul aflame every single time. This time was no exception.
“Whoa, boss!”
You broke apart and turned to find Taehyung standing in the archway leading into the rest of the house. “What the hell happened? We heard the sirens and now you’re in here making out with the hot foreman covered in blood. Do I want to know?”
You and Namjoon exchanged a look and then, with a secretive giggle, you headed to the sink to wash yourself off before you both headed to the hospital.
When you arrived at Sowon’s room in the postpartum unit, she was smiling and staring down at the little bundle that had obviously become her entire world. She let out a weak squeal when she looked up and saw you and Namjoon standing at the entrance.
“My hero. Oh, and my big brother too. Come in, please come see him.”
She handed him over, looking much cleaner and warmer than you had left him, pink-faced and perfect. You held him for a few moments, in awe over how a wrinkly little miracle could so preciously steal your heart. You noticed Namjoon still standing far back, just looking on at you while you held him.
“There’s a couch there if you think you still need to faint,” you joked, nodding behind him. He blinked a few times, eyes settling back at your arms.
“...I’m an uncle.”
“Yep.” You made your way toward him. “Why don’t you hold him for a little?”
“No no no, I, I’ll, he’s...he’s so tiny.”
“Come on, Uncle Bob. Time to get used to it.”
With a slight tremble, Namjoon cautiously took him from you, and after a few adjustments, he had his nephew cradled properly in his giant hands.
“Great. Now that I know you can hold him, I’ll feel better when I drop him off for you to babysit,” Sowon snickered from the bed.
“Hey, buddy,” Namjoon said in a whisper. “Hey, my little guy.”
The sweet cadence and the unmistakable affection in his voice and the glistening shimmer in his eyes that made him look close to tears suddenly sucked everything out of the room. There was a strange vacuum surrounding you, this vision of Namjoon holding that baby. You couldn’t breathe, could only stare as something struck your chest and burrowed deep, your lungs unable to expand in its presence.
This was more than a little crush, more than sexual infatuation. You...you liked Namjoon. A hell of a lot. You saw the desire for a future with him unfold in front of your eyes, not as something impossible, but something you suddenly wanted to run headfirst into. And that thought was terrifying, sent fear spiraling down your back, and shocked a gasping breath out of you.
Namjoon started to panic at your noise. "Oh no, a-am I doing something wrong? Please take him, I don't want to hurt him."
"No, no," you said in a rush, trying hard to wipe your thundering emotions from your face. "You're doing great."
His unsure smile returned to one of pure joy as he stared down at his nephew. He resumed cooing at him in little sentiments of love, and your heart jerked up and down irregularly at the sight. After a few minutes, he was released from the baby’s spell, handing him back to you for fear that any longer and he would do something wrong. You hurried back to Sowon’s side, bending low to hand over her beautiful bundle.
"Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
You responded with an awkward nod, still not sure if you were present in your own body. Sowon tilted her head a little closer toward you.
“My parents would like you too,” she whispered. Your eyes went wide at the implication.
"What are you saying to her?" Namjoon piped up suspiciously from across the room.
"Oh. Nothing she shouldn't know," Sowon said and followed up with a wink at you.
“I really hope you like the view of my ass.”
Seokjin stared up at the walls dotted with multi-colored rocks towering before you both. His smug smile broadened. “I wouldn’t know, short stuff, since you’re always behind me.”
You shook your head and dusted chalk from your hands while you watched Seokjin’s precise hands fastening his auto-belay. He’d asked you to meet him at the gym for an early morning rock climbing session, of course coupled with a friendly wager of the loser buying breakfast.
After a few climbs, at least one of which you definitely won no matter what he said, you both sat down to take a break, staring up as other climbers ascended the wall.
“So how are you feeling about everything?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you going insane planning my wedding alongside your intensely busy life?”
You reached up your arms into a rolling stretch. “Even if I was, I’d still do it, Seokjin. You deserve the wedding of the century. And the marriage to match.”
A warm smile spread across his face at your words. “Between you, Namjoon, and definitely Hani, I think I’m all set.”
You worried your lip a little, wanting to finally get out something that had been nagging you since Namjoon had left your emotions spinning on that couch.
"You know, I call you my best friend."
"And I call you the same,” he said with a small nod.
"But your guest list is insane. Look at all the people in your life who are coming in a few weeks to celebrate your happiness. It feels like I’m stealing a title that shouldn’t belong to me. I've only known you for two years."
"One, they’re coming because you and Namjoon have put together one hell of a wedding. And two, I love a lot of them. But it’s not about how long you’ve known someone. I would've been happy getting married with only you in my wedding party."
You leaned against his shoulder.
"Dramatic as usual."
"Y/N, you make me feel more like myself than anyone else."
"Hold on, I think you're meant to save those words for your wife."
"Nah, it's different. This isn't romance. It's just...love. I love you as a person and you love me as a person, and we actually see each other as real, whole people and accept every good and bad bit. I know you'll be there for me no matter what. You're the only friend I can say who knows me inside and out that way, Y/N."
You did. You knew exactly what he meant. Any of the remaining clouded feelings you’d been trying to sort through instantly became clear. It was that simple.
"Yeah. You too, Seokjin."
"And it'll probably take the rest of our lives for us to find one sport you can beat me at so we’re stuck with each other at least until then."
"When are you going to accept that I'm better than you at everything, just in a shorter package?"
He laughed and threw an arm around your shoulder, hugging you close against his body. Seokjin was everything anyone could ever want in a partner: confident, secure, sensitive, honest, kind, gorgeous, brilliant. The greatest friend.
And that’s what he was to you. Your friend.
You would’ve never told Seokjin you loved him to his face. Or anyone really, for that matter. The phrase felt sacred and foreign, like something you would only say with you were absolutely sure beyond a doubt that it was love that you felt. Yet Seokjin said it freely. He told you he loved you, he text you he loved you, he called you ‘love’. But you never said it back and he never questioned you or made you feel weird about it. And maybe that’s because it wasn’t the kind of love you always expected, but something different that you hadn’t fully let yourself accept.
You understood now that you were never in love with him. You simply loved him.
“Oh, hey, it’s none of my business, but do you think you could let Namjoon down easy? He’s a pretty sensitive guy.”
Your muscles tightened for a brief moment. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re just having a good time, but he’s...look, just be gentle.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. “How did you even know about us?”
He shrugged. “The way you acted around each other at my place. So comfortable with your bodies close. It was obvious something had happened. Besides, you’re not my best friends for no reason.”
You looked away, a little embarrassed. “It’s just a casual thing.”
“Yeah, I figured. You two don’t seem like each other’s type. Though I guess neither did me and Hani and look where we ended up.”
“Yeah,” you responded quietly.
“Whoa, you didn’t argue? Does that mean…?”
“No. Stop, whatever you’re about to say, you’re wrong. It’s just casual, for real.”
“Ok.”
A couple of minutes passed, the two of you watching another climber that definitely had you both beat on speed and skill effortlessly scale the wall. But a question emerged at the top of your thoughts.
“Why did you tell him I wouldn’t be interested?”
“You’ve given the time of day to like four guys since I’ve known you. Porsche, Mercedes, another Porsche because you didn’t learn your lesson the first time, and quite humbly, a Lexus. I didn’t think Joon’s muddy pickup would fit your standards for dating material. I was wrong, apparently.”
“Shouldn’t you be attaching blood vessels to coronary arteries instead of clocking the make and models of who picks me up for dates?”
Seokjin only chuckled.
“I don’t date people based on the car they drive,” you said.
“I know. I didn’t give it a lot of thought, I guess. I was so stressed about the engagement and Hani’s family, I kind of brushed it off when he asked. But look, you guys worked it out on your own.”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re not dating, but...yeah. Anyway.”
“The last girl he was serious about...he probably told you, but she turned him down when he proposed.”
“No,” you said, not sure if you should be surprised that you’d never heard anything about it. “He’s never talked about that. What happened?”
“He’s only ever said that she didn��t love him as much as he thought. I don’t know if he’s ever gotten over it. Kind of threw himself into his business after that, only ever talks about casual hookups really. That was about two or three years ago now, I think.”
You weren’t sure what to do with this new information. Namjoon had never acted like he was recovering from any emotional baggage when the two of you had sex or even just hung out together.
“Well, if that’s how he copes...” You trailed off, unsure of what to say.
“Yeah. But you’re pretty special, you know? Might be too much for a guy like him to resist. I just don’t want him to get hurt whenever you decide you’re done, so promise me you’ll be gentle, yeah?”
“We are so not serious. But ok, I promise.”
“Come on,” he said, standing into a long stretch. “I only have to win one more set to earn the most delicious frittata of my life.”
“So you admit I won one!”
“I admit you think you did and that I’m a very generous kind of guy,” he said, tossing a wink back in your direction.
You stared after your best friend with a smile on your face that didn’t feel like it would be fading any time soon. Seokjin, who wasn't just beautiful on the outside, but had a beautiful heart as well. You always joked that he ended up operating on hearts because he knew what a perfect one was like: he carried it inside his chest.
"I'm so happy for you,” you said as you caught up with him, though that wasn’t entirely what you wanted to say.
"I love you too, short stuff. I'll always love you."
September — Namjoon
"Where are we going?"
"No matter how many times you ask me, I'm not gonna tell you," you responded in singsong.
He’d told you he didn’t usually bother to celebrate his birthday and you’d made a face at him as though that was unacceptable.
“We may only be fuck-acquaintances, but I have to make sure you enjoy your birthday.”
You’d slept at his place last night. And this morning, which just happened to be the start of the birthday in question, you’d woken him up before sunrise, blindfolded him, and dressed him without letting him see the clothes. Now he was in your car while you drove him to some unknown location. Exactly when had he begun to place so much trust in you?
“We’re almost there anyway,” you said. Not long after he could hear the car slowing down as you parked it at this mystery location. You came around and helped him out of his side of the car and finally removed his blindfold.
He stared up at the beauty of a mountain he only saw from a distance most days. It was even more impressive up close, thicketed with trees and flowers, a winding gravel path the start of a trail up its side.
“We’re going on a hike,” you said with glee in your cheeks. He looked down at himself, realizing you had dressed him for just that.
How had you even known he’d wanted to come here? Had he mentioned it? Even if he had, it couldn’t have been more than once.
“Come on,” you said, holding your hand out for him to follow. “We’ve got to hurry and get to the first checkpoint so we can watch the sunrise.”
It took you two hours to reach the checkpoint and Namjoon loved every minute of it, seeing the natural beauty of the ascent light up around you both as the sun began slowly peeking over the horizon and through the trees. Seeing your natural beauty as you ran ahead excitedly and pushed him to climb faster, but were also willing to slow down with him and soak in everything he wanted to observe with curious eyes.
As you finally approached the steps leading to your goal, Namjoon blinked a few times, trying to decide if he was having some kind of hallucination. Waiting there at the top of the stairs was Jin, Hani, Sowon, and Nayoung. His sister waved down at him excitedly.
“Happy birthday, bro,” Jin said with a sprawling grin.
Inside the sweet little cafe that served guests who’d arrived, Namjoon asked how early they all must have gotten there to meet up.
“Of course we didn’t walk this thing, not with the baby,” Sowon said while Nayoung leaned over their son’s stroller to adjust his blankets. “You can drive to the first checkpoint from the other side of the mountain. Y/N said we’d all be meeting you here for birthday breakfast. And cake, but who doesn’t like cake at six in the morning?”
Namjoon felt speechless, could only stare at you in awe while you laughed over some joke Jin had made that he’d missed.
He didn’t know. That you’d been paying attention to such small things. Enough to know that he’d wanted to come here, but never gave himself a free day to do it. Enough to know his favorite food would be served here, or to have his sister bring an ice cream cake in the shape of his favorite cartoon bear. He didn’t know you were willing to do this much for him.
Your way of care was so subtle that it had taken him this long to realize you’d been doing it at all. When you ordered or made breakfast with him whenever you slept over, a meal he often skipped because it felt like he just didn’t have time, but you insisted he eat to keep up his strength. When you asked curiously about his love of art. He didn’t think you were particularly interested in art or designs, but you would let him go on for half an hour about artists he loved, listen when he and Momo got excited and gushed over dinner, really listen and ask questions, leaving him feeling understood. When you left adorable, colored sticky notes with smiley faces stuck to his fridge to remind him of wedding tasks and appointments and, that one time, to have a nice day. When you leaned him back against you on his couch and kneaded the day’s tension out of his shoulders without him even saying a word.
He wasn’t sure you realized you did half the things that you did for him either. That compassion and empathy just came to you in naturally silent ways.
Jin pulled him aside once everyone had eaten their fill of breakfast and cake, the two of them stepping out onto the checkpoint’s terrace.
“Last time I checked, you two didn’t like each other very much,” Jin said. “Your relationship must’ve improved a lot considering she’s the one who set this whole thing up.”
Namjoon gave a non-committal nod, still unsure of exactly where he stood with you.
“We’re getting along.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Joon. You like her.”
“Yeah, but it’s just a casual thing.”
Jin’s smirk came across a little suspicious, but Namjoon brushed it off. “I’ve known you since you were three. That’s not a ‘just casual’ face.”
Namjoon glanced back across the terrace just to make sure you hadn’t come out of the cafe.
“Don’t say anything to her. I get the feeling she’ll run away if she thinks I want anything serious.”
“You’re right. She probably would.” Jin slung an arm across Namjoon’s shoulders. “Just don't get hurt. And please don't hurt her either. As her brother from another mother, I couldn’t be happier if something worked out between you two. But as someone who knows both of you very well, you're highly sensitive people in such different ways and I don't want to see either of you in pain.”
He didn't want to cause you any pain. Quite the opposite.
“We’ll be alright. You focus on your big day coming up.”
You joined them at the edge of the terrace then and, after a few minutes appreciating the view, Jin made what was an obvious excuse to go inside and check on Hani, leaving you both alone to stare out over the fresh morning sky.
“You set all this up?” he asked quietly. “For me?”
“Mm,” you hummed, staring dreamily out over the fresh blue of the skyline.
Jin’s warning had been clear. There could be no expectations between the two of you. You were hardly compatible, wanted different things for the most part. And yet his arm ignored his pleas for reason and wound its way around your waist anyway. You only reacted by leaning your head against his chest.
“Y/N. Thank you.”
“Happy birthday, Joon.”
He responded by pulling you closer. It was. He was happy. Happy he'd been born. Happy all the years of his life had led him to this moment. To you.
You gave him his second gift once you were both alone that night. You had gone home to shower and returned to his door wearing nothing but barely-there, black lingerie, all pretty silk and lace. You gave him a lap dance so sensual it made him sweat and a blowjob so phenomenal it almost brought him to his knees. You’d laid him back on his bed, told him to let you do all the work, and rode his cock luxuriantly, rolling your hips on top of him in the magical way only you could and letting his name fall from your beautiful lips like a chanting prayer. You didn't argue when he couldn't resist you, pulling you down to kiss him, lifting his own hips to bury himself in you to the hilt. And he could only oblige when you begged for him to fuck you harder, turning you over onto all fours, hips slapping your glorious ass again and again until you both unwound together and collapsed into a sweaty heap against his sheets. You lay together, you curled into his arms, smelling like sex, flowers, and sweet musk, your breath light on his neck.
He felt himself split. Was this still just sex? The connection he felt with you had expanded so far beyond that. The need to hold you in his arms, to kiss you, to spend time with you, enjoy life with you. It was quickly ballooning around you both.
"I hope you had a good birthday," you whispered, nuzzling into his neck, already half-asleep.
He thought about you both at the final checkpoint of the mountain, the radiance in your skin as you stared out over the breathtaking view of the forest sprawled below and the city beyond. The way you’d hugged him close despite both of you being sweat-soaked from the challenge of the final climb. The way you’d even thought to pack his favorite snacks to share before you began your descent. He hadn’t felt so free, so triumphant, so happy in a long, long time.
Jin was right like always. You really were one of a kind.
“The best one yet.”
“How do I look?”
At the sound of your voice, Namjoon looked up at you from his spot on your couch. There was a violent detonation in his chest, an upsurge so powerful he could no longer breathe. Think. Move. He could only stare at you, the most beautiful creature nature had fashioned, and wonder how, after all these months, the sight of you could still do this to him again and again.
It wasn’t the dress. He had learned over the months that, though you enjoyed looking well-put-together, you were just as happy wearing your medical scrubs or dressing casually in t-shirts and shorts. And you looked just as beautiful wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts as you did in your off-shoulder black evening gown and strappy heels.
No, it was how dressed down you had become, letting him see your nerves, being willing to share your vulnerabilities and trusting him to accept you as you were. Namjoon’s feelings shifted, colliding like stars and forming a new wondrous galaxy containing you and him, settling him in that new place. For a second, he thought he might faint.
You looked down at yourself, smoothing nervous fingers along the silken fabric of your dress. “Mo picked it out for me. Said I needed to represent the bold, intelligent women with impeccable fashion sense.”
Still in a daze, he somehow found the strength to lift himself from the couch and move to stand in front of you. He lifted a hand to your chin and tilted your face up, smiling down at you. You closed your eyes as he leaned close, as he pressed the softest kiss to your forehead.
“You look like a dream.”
You laughed nervously, then reached up and adjusted his tie a little. He tried not to notice the slight tremble in your fingers.
“You too.” Your eyes flicked up to his face and his heart did another of those inexplicable explosions in his chest. “You’re wearing your glasses?”
“Yeah.” You knew he wore them considering you’d slept over at his place enough times to see him take out his contacts and switch to his glasses. “Contacts are easier on-site, but I thought tonight the glasses would make me look a bit more like I belong.”
You flicked one of the small, silver hoops at his ear.
"My dad will love the earrings," you said sarcastically. Namjoon's fingers joined yours at his ear.
"Should I take them out?"
"No, no" you said hurriedly, pulling his hand away. "Just be yourself. You're great just how you are. You don't need to impress anyone."
"And you have nothing to be nervous about. You're brilliant and you should be proud of everything you've accomplished. Don't let anyone take that away from you."
You nodded unconvincingly. "You're right. You're right, I know."
He suddenly shared your nerves, worried about meeting the man who could make someone like you, a truly unstoppable force that could also command rapt attention, feel this unsure of yourself. But he would be there to support you no matter what.
“I’ll be right there cheering you on.”
Leaving the apartment, Namjoon glanced up to see a doe-eyed young man and a shorter one with sleepy eyes sharing a kiss just outside of one of the other apartment doors.
“Oh!” you said, making them both jump a little and turn their attention to you. “I didn’t even know you and Yoongi knew each other, Jungkook.”
The taller man’s cheeks immediately turned an embarrassed shade of pink, but the other smiled and gave you an appraising once over.
“You’re the most beautiful meal delivery service worker I’ve ever seen, sweetheart.” Namjoon felt a slight pang of jealousy at the way his words made you smile. “You two have a good time tonight wherever you’re going.”
You waved your goodbyes to the two men and Namjoon took your hand and led you down the hall toward the elevators.
“You’ve never met them?” you asked after he said he didn’t know them. “They live on either side of my apartment. Momo has been feeding them ever since we moved in.”
“I think I’ve seen them around, but I guess I never paid much attention. Must be something in the building’s water though if all the neighbors are fucking.”
You snickered. “Who knows? Maybe if I’d shown up with dinner a day later, you would’ve decided Jungkook was your type instead.”
The elevator doors slid open to let you into the parking area, but Namjoon held your hand firm, pulling you back against him and pressing a deep kiss to your lips.
“I think you were right on time,” he said softly. “What kind of life would I have if I never knew what it was like to kiss you like this?”
For a second, as your eyes widened in front of him, he worried he’d crossed a line. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say it. Everything felt so much different than it had an hour ago. Suddenly, he didn’t want to stop holding your hand. Suddenly, he didn’t want to think about either of you entertaining anyone else. He had just tripped into dangerous territory and felt entirely unprepared for what that might mean.
“I guess we’ll never know,” you said quietly, then leaned forward to meet him with another kiss.
He offered to drive your car, assuming you wouldn’t want to show up in his truck, but knowing you would want to look over your speech notes about a hundred more times before you arrived at the venue.
He wasn’t extremely uncomfortable wearing a formal suit like the black one he was in now, but once you’d both arrived and headed inside the museum gala room where the dinner was being held, surrounded by people who clearly belonged to wealth and status and could speak your medical language, he felt a little fraud to be standing by your side.
The only thing keeping him grounded was you, was the way you twined your fingers through his when he’d helped you out of the car, and the way you hadn’t let go, even while you were both seated at the speaker’s table near the head of the room.
As the event began, and he watched you barely touch your drink and wring your cloth napkin into a twisted mess in your other hand, he wished he could offer you the same comfort. You kept glancing around the room, struggling in your lack of focus to keep up meaningful conversation with the other guests at your table. One by one, they each left to speak, and with each one meaning your presentation would draw closer, your leg bounced a little more anxiously.
“Tell me there’s something I can do to help you calm down,” he leaned over and whispered. “You’re creating enough restless energy to start a skid loader engine.”
“I’ll be fine once I get on stage. It’s the waiting that makes me nervous. That and my parents aren’t here yet. I’m starting to hope they don’t show. And I’m nervous that they still will. I don’t know.”
You gripped his hand a little tighter in your lap as someone on stage rambled on about chain of survival modifications for infants or something. He had to do something to help you, even if it was only enough to distract you from your nerves for a moment. And if there was anything he knew that could also demand attention from both of you, it was food. He reached onto the table and pulled a bit of bread from the basket, smearing a little butter onto it and lifting it to your lips. It pulled you from your distractions long enough to look down at it and back up to him in confusion.
“Eat.”
“You...you buttered my bread.”
He smiled at you. “Yes, I like to think I’m good at that. Eat. It’ll help you calm down.”
You laughed a little and accepted the offering, and Namjoon noticed a little of the tension in your shoulders relax as you ate.
The gray-haired woman sitting next to you leaned close enough to talk to you. “You and your boyfriend are adorable,” Namjoon heard her say. “He’s been staring at you with those worried eyes since you sat down like you might collapse any second. And he’s right. There’s nothing to be nervous about, dear. I’ve read your work. You’re a brilliant PA.”
He expected you to correct her, to let her know that there was nothing serious going on between the two of you. But you only smiled shyly and asked a little more about the woman’s career, leading to a few minutes of pleasant conversation in your field that Namjoon didn’t bother to try to follow. He was just happy to watch your nerves finally settle.
At last, it was your turn to speak. Namjoon expected you to finally drop his hand, but when you stood you kept holding on and he took your cue to follow him to the side of the stage to wait to be introduced. As the MC called your name and introduced a brief synopsis about your featured article, you froze where you stood in front of him. He followed your gaze toward the doors of the venue where an older, black couple were making their way to seats at one of the vacant rear tables. With your reaction, he assumed they had to be your parents. You hadn’t noticed when the MC finished speaking and beckoned for you to come forward. Namjoon gave you a small nudge at your lower back.
“They’re calling for the smartest person in the room, princess. That’s you.”
You sucked in a breath like you had forgotten to take one for a while. Then you nodded, looked forward again, and made your way onto the stage, finally letting go of his hand.
It was like watching a flower bloom. You took to the stage as though you had been made for it, your broad smile reflecting the confidence that only grew more and more as you found your footing and settled into your presentation. Of course, he didn’t have much of a baseline for what your study and findings had revealed. But it didn’t matter. Anyone with as much passion as you clearly had for what you did deserved the spotlight now focused on you.
Staring up at you behind that podium, dazzling like a damn star, so proud of your hard work, of your accomplishments, with that fiery passion you always told him had something to do with your astrology, but he knew was just an integral part of who you were, Namjoon realized exactly how deep in he had gone.
He liked you. He knew, for certain, that he wanted to be with you.
Before he had much more time to process that revelation, your presentation ended to rounds of polite applause from your peers. You had your hand on your chest as soon as you were off the stage and heading toward him. You had been so nervous, but no one who watched you on that stage could’ve known. Because that’s what you did. You put on a brave face and pushed through, no matter the situation.
You reached him and Namjoon didn’t know what to expect, but you just buried your face against his chest. His body reacted on instinct, wrapping his arms around you tight to hold you closer.
“That’s my girl.”
The words were out so quickly he had no chance to catch them. You weren’t his girl. But the desire for his words to be true grabbed him by the throat all the same. He liked you. So much. “You were amazing up there, “ he said, hurrying to correct.
“My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to throw it up,” you said quietly into his tie. He ran a comforting hand along your back and pressed his lips to your temple.
“Let’s head back to our seats for the rest. I’ll butter all the bread you want to eat.”
With your speech done, you opened up a lot more to the others at your table. You introduced Namjoon as a close friend, pointing out that he was in construction instead of the medical field. Surprisingly, he handed out two business cards before dinner was finished. But mostly he was just happy to see you in better spirits, smiling and exchanging ideas with people who clearly respected you. You still gave a few nervous glances to the couple at the back of the room, but on the whole, he could tell you felt proud of how you had done and that was all that mattered.
They finally approached once dinner was cleared away and members of the event began to mingle with drinks in hand.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the older woman said, pulling you into an awkward hug. The older man’s face was screwed into a frown that could only be read as disapproving, but his hug was surprisingly warm. Still, as soon as you were out of his arms, your hand was back in Namjoon’s.
“Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Kim Namjoon. He works in construction, but he was nice enough to come support me and let the medical world bore him to tears for a night.”
“Lovely to meet you,” your mother said with a meek smile. Your father offered him a stiff nod, but Namjoon noticed his focus was all on you.
“You were wonderful on stage, we were so proud. She was impressive, right dear?” your mother urged. Your fingers tightened just a little in Namjoon’s hand.
“Yes, well,” your father said and cleared his throat. “It likely could’ve been shorter, but I would applaud the team that worked with you on the data. Nice of them to let you do the presenting, of course.”
“There wasn’t a team, Dad. This was my research I did on my own.”
He scoffed. “Come now, you’re a capable assistant. No need to lie about your sources, they’ll be listed in the article anyway. You’ve always been a terrible liar, honey.”
“Either way, you did a great job. We’re glad we could come tonight.” Namjoon got the feeling your mother was used to attempts at diffusing situations between you and your father. But he also knew when your stinger was raising in defense, ready to strike out at any moment. He could almost see the shadow of your anger rising in front of you.
“It’s associate. You’re the surgeon, Dad. I’d think you could learn something as simple as an abbreviation.”
Your father spluttered a little, but you pulled your hand from Namjoon’s and crossed your arms over your chest instead.
“I don’t even know why you came.”
“I came because I love you,” the old man said with all the venom of someone who didn’t know what those words meant. “I thought you would be grateful we would even show up to this mockery of real professionals. If you would just go back to school and finish your M.D. instead of wasting your time-”
“Honey,” your mother hissed and it seemed to remind your father that you were all technically surrounded by others, that Namjoon was still standing there beside you. He watched your arms drop to your sides, watched your shoulders deflate, all the pride you had been feeling earlier slowly leaking out of you like a pierced balloon.
He was angry now. Angry that anyone could say they loved you and yet have that kind of effect on you. They may have been your family, but what kind of friend would he be if he let you walk away from tonight with anything but your head held high?
“Excuse me, sir? I was under the impression we’d all gathered here tonight to support your daughter’s extraordinary achievements. You seem to be the only one in the room intent on undermining them instead. Perhaps we could go back to focusing on the positives tonight?”
Your mother looked intensely appreciative at his attempt, but when your father’s eyes landed on him, Namjoon could feel the slicing heat behind them. He understood now where exactly you got that cutting look from.
“Adorable. You brought your man of the month to come and help you feel proud of your shortcomings. This doesn’t concern you, boy.”
"What about your pride? Tearing down your own damn daughter when she's supposed to depend on you to lift her up. You're a disgrace.”
“Who the hell do you think-”
“You managed to raise a brilliant, dedicated, hard-working, compassionate woman and instead of treating her like the gift she is you shit on her during what should be one of her proudest moments." Namjoon’s fingers laced through yours, pulling you away from your parents. "If that's all you have to offer then she's got better things to do with her time. Come on."
“Y/N. Y/N!” Your father called out behind you both, but Namjoon needed to get away from him before his anger wormed its way through his body. He needed to get you out of that man’s radius. You followed him as he led you through tables and past other guests until it felt like he finally put enough distance between all four of you.
He turned to face you, trying his best to collect himself, to quell his anger at your father of all people speaking to you like that. It was difficult when he got a good look at you, seeing the light that had been in your eyes before dimmed this way.
“Hey,” he said, trying to call your attention back from the faraway place inside yourself you had disappeared into.
You brought up one hand to your arm, cupping it around yourself like you needed to hold yourself together. You met his eyes, but you didn’t say anything.
“Do you want to stay? There are plenty of your colleagues here who have a lot of respect for you, I’m sure.”
Your reactions were slow, but you took a glance around the room, then shook your head. “I’d rather just go.”
He squeezed your hand, the one he was happy you still let him hold, and headed toward the exit. You were quiet on the way out of the venue. He helped you into the car and as soon as he slipped into the driver’s seat he took up your hand again, held it all the way back to the apartment. He didn’t miss your other hand as it occasionally came up to your face, wiping away tears he couldn’t see in the dark. But you said nothing, so he said nothing, just gave your hand a gentle squeeze every now and then.
You sat quietly for a few moments after he pulled into your parking spot.
“Sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?” he asked after more silence had passed. “We could find a club and drink until we can’t stand up. Or I know the best burger truck in the city that would love to see you in that gown.”
You stared ahead at nothing and Namjoon would’ve given anything to get inside your head and pull you out of whatever storm you were fighting through in there. Finally, you shook your head. “I’m tired.”
You paused in the hall just before you reached the crossroads of your door and his. You glanced at Namjoon’s apartment and hesitated for a moment before turning toward your own. He caught your hand again before you could take a step, slipping your soft fingers back between his own. The look you gave him was enough to seal his decision. He pulled you gently toward him and punched in the code for his door. You followed his lead and walked silently after him into his apartment.
Helping you out of your gown, he left it crumpled on his bedroom floor, giving you one of his t-shirts to put on instead. All he had to offer was beer, but you took it from him all the same and accepted his embrace when he guided you to the couch and sat you both down. You shared the quiet space, some nature documentary on his television playing low once he turned it on.
Namjoon wasn’t sure how much time passed before you finally spoke up.
“I thought...I could help people faster as a PA.”
“And you were right,” he said quickly. “You help people every day.”
More silence passed, more of that tempest inside your head tumbling your thoughts in directions he couldn’t know.
“I never would’ve been good enough for him. Even if I had gone for the M.D. Could’ve become a lawyer. Could’ve been a fucking astrophysicist and he would’ve found something else to be disappointed in me for. Maybe that’s the only reason he had a kid in the first place. To give him someone to look down on.”
Namjoon hesitated, but only for a second.
“He’s your family so I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but fuck him.”
“Fuck him…” you repeated slowly.
Shifting closer to him on the couch, you curled yourself into Namjoon’s body. He lowered his lips to your forehead, trailing slow kisses down your cheek and you melted into him, eyes fluttering closed. He thought about seeking out your lips, giving in to what could easily turn to heat between you. But he drew his lips away instead, leaning back into the couch, arms around you, holding you close against his chest. This peace was what he wanted to give you right now if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t offer you answers, but he could offer you strength.
You fingered absently at the end of his loosened tie.
“My parents. They’re the reason I dream about owning a house, you know,” you said, and he realized you were sniffling, that there were warm tears landing against his shirt. “Ever since I left, all I’ve wanted was to find a place that felt like the home I never got to have. Where people go and feel happy and welcome and safe and...wanted.
“My mom wracked up a lot of debt a few years ago, debt she didn’t want my father to know about. So I’ve spent a long time helping her to pay that off. But even when it was done and I could afford to finally find the place of my dreams...I still haven’t.” Your voice grew quiet, face turning to muffle your words against the fabric of his shirt. “I still haven’t found home.”
Sometime later he felt your body jerk as you woke suddenly. He watched you blink away the confusion of where you were, eyes trailing up until they landed on his.
“Shit, sorry,” you said in a groggy voice, hurrying to sit up. “I’ll...I’ll go back to my place.”
“Shhh,” he hushed you, kissing your cheek. He slid his arms underneath you, pulling you up as he stood, and cradled your body against his chest. He carried you into his bedroom and laid you down, climbing in beside you and pulling his sheets up to cover you both. He had no plans to let you go anywhere. If you were going to face this storm, he was going to stand in it with you for as long as you would let him.
The quiet returned and Namjoon said nothing, just laid next to you and waited while you decided what you really wanted.
“Tell me about your day.”
“Hm?”
You turned to your side to face him. “I want to hear about the site you worked at today. Please?”
So Namjoon told you, about the city inspector that wouldn’t stop busting his balls because he’d refused a date with the man’s daughter months ago. He told you about a miscommunicated order that left him with an overabundance of bricks in the wrong color and the homeowner that decided they were into the mismatched look anyway.
You curled against him and listened for a long time, until finally your shoulders relaxed and he heard your breathing slow. He pressed his lips to your forehead lightly and the arm he had slipped around your frame pulled you into him a little closer. You murmured a soft response that he could only interpret as gibberish and molded your body against his in your sleep. It was a struggle as he tried and failed to ignore the powerful thudding at the base of his throat as you sought out his closeness.
You were a strong woman, proud, and deserving of all that you had earned. You were beautiful and caring, empathetic and sweet. You were adventurous, confident, spontaneous, and surprising. You were insecure, and defensive, and battling demons he couldn’t begin to understand.
You were all those things and Namjoon’s gut told him all he wanted was to hold each piece of you as close as he could for as long as you would allow. He wanted to learn all of you inside and out and treasure each facet that made you who you were.
He was in so much trouble.
Namjoon handed you a tissue discreetly, hidden by the crisp, white linens of the banquet table. You nodded in slow appreciation and dabbed at your damp cheeks as one of Jin’s friends from med school finished a story about how Jin had dropped studying for a grade-breaking exam to go on a faraway drive and support him while his friend met his birth parents.
It was the last toast and Namjoon was captivated by your reaction. He could see, as anyone else probably could, just how much Jin meant to you.
“You alright?” he leaned over to ask once the toast was finished. You nodded and crumpled the tissue in your hand.
“Yeah. Just a little in awe. So many people love my best friend and it’s because he’s such a genuinely good person.”
“Always has been,” Namjoon confirmed. “You teared up a little during Hani’s brother’s toast too. Maybe you’re more of a softie than you realized.”
“Maybe,” you said, your voice far away, gaze hanging on where Jin and Hani sat, surrounded by their family, laughing and smiling. “There really are so many different kinds of love. Or something, I don’t know.” You sat up in your seat a little straighter as if to shake off your thoughts and took a short sip from your wine glass. “Don’t make fun of me.”
Namjoon found your free hand in your lap and cupped it with his own, offering you a squeeze he hoped let you know he understood. The rehearsal dinner evening would be over soon. After dessert, Jin and Hani would bow out and head home to prepare for their big day. And the remaining fifty or so guests had the option of visiting the adjacent, swanky bar and nightclub for a few drinks and a late evening of partying.
Tonight, you wore a form-fitting gold cocktail dress and he’d had to look away several times, both for the safety of his heart and the modesty of his lap. The idea of leaving with you was so selfish he didn’t want to admit that it was all he wanted to do. But he hadn’t given you any hints. Mostly, he hadn’t said much to you at all.
Ever since that night at the gala, Namjoon had been stuck sorting things out in his head, trying to figure out what to do about you. You still had sex regularly. You still spent most nights asleep in his bed, wrapped up in his arms. He still brought you coffee at work, you still hung out at each other’s places, and he still found you in his kitchen in the mornings making sure he had something to eat.
But everything had changed so much. His feelings had only increased in intensity each day. When you took him up on his offers of joining him on a bike ride, jogging by the river, or surprised him with a spontaneous visit to a botanical garden. Things he loved to do, but hadn’t bothered to for years because…was it because he was so busy? Or because he hadn’t been reminded of how important the rest of his life outside of work was until he’d met you? How fun it was to share the things he truly loved with someone else. Someone who genuinely seemed to care about what mattered to him, what made him happy.
The right thing would’ve been to tell you how he felt. Even though he already knew it would push you away from him, he still owed you that much, didn’t he?
“Drinks?” you asked, as everyone prepared to end the evening. He had hardly responded before you were off, switching your way into the crowded bar next nightclub and heading straight for the bar. You had a shot in you before he had even ordered one drink.
“You remember the wedding is tomorrow, right?”
“So? Our tab is on the wedding that I…we…so meticulously budgeted. I’d like to take what I earned and get at least half of a shitface.” You grabbed at his tie and waved down the bartender. “We deserve to have some fun. Take a shot with me. One won’t put you over the limit.”
Reluctantly he had one shot with you. You grabbed onto his tie again and tugged him out onto the dancefloor. He almost lost you twice, twirling and coiling your body to the music, dancing with strangers and back to him. He knew you were only having a good time and he tried his best to relax and have it with you.
“Another shot?” you said as you headed back to the bar with him after dancing to what felt like a million songs.
“Maybe that’s enough. You’re going to end up with a full shitface if you keep going.”
“What’s wrong with that? Sounds like fun.” Your words sounded a little slurred already against the backdrop of the pounding music. Namjoon glanced down the bar, barely missing the stares from a few men that had definitely been focused on you.
“Not when there are people nearby making eyes at you like you’re a wasted, easy target.”
“What, you worried someone else might offer me a better deal?”
“I’m just saying that we have the wedding tomorrow and we’re still kind of in charge of making sure everything goes right. Why don’t you let me take you home?”
Instead of responding, you grabbed your new drink and danced away from him, sinking into the crowd of bodies while you swayed to the music. Namjoon struggled to keep his eyes on you, but he stopped short of running in after you.
You weren’t his girlfriend. According to you, you were still only fuck-acquaintances. So he would do what any friendly acquaintance would. He would stand back and watch as you did what you pleased. He would simply keep an eye out for you while you did it. He was the one that had driven you both anyway, so he could at least promise himself that he could get you home safe.
It worked for about fifteen minutes. He watched you down your drink, dance around with strangers, watched as some guy came up behind you and definitely gave a press against your ass that was more than friendly. He watched what was likely flirting, watched you walk back to the bar and take a seat with the man, close enough to Namjoon that he was able to hear that the flirting was pretty blatant and you weren’t backing down from it one bit. Heard him offer to get you out of here, to take you to a better party.
But the deal-breaker was the look the man exchanged with another at the other end of the bar. Namjoon didn’t care what his relationship was with you at that point. You weren’t going anywhere with anyone but him.
“No need,” he said, placing an arm on either side of you and spreading his hands against the bar. He was at least a head taller than the guy and he hoped he cut an intimidating figure as he stared him down with narrowed eyes. “I’m her ride.” He didn’t bother to peel back the menacing edge in his words either. It seemed to get the message across, the man taking his drink and wandering off elsewhere into the crowd.
You tipped your head back to look up at him and responded with a wide grin, then knocked back the rest of your glass. He put an arm around your shoulder and guided you out of the seat, planning to lead you toward the door. But you pulled away and began dancing your way backward and beckoning him to follow. Reluctantly, he did for a few steps, finding it hard to resist the happiness on your face, before he remembered the day ahead and stopped, gripping your wrist a little tighter. He leaned forward, lips just next to your ear.
“You’re drunk.”
You slid your hands up the lapels of his suit jacket and linked them around his neck.
“And you’re the hottest man in this room. So stop worrying about anyone else taking me home and just have fun with me.”
“Here? What if someone tells Jin about us? I thought you didn’t want him to know.” It was a bluff, considering Jin had already figured it out. But he needed to bring you back to your senses somehow.
“He knows,” you said simply.
“You told him?”
“He figured it out. I told him we are having a casual thing. Besides, it’s almost over anyway.”
It was. Just one more day. He had been trying to forget.
“Then we should go enjoy what’s left, princess.”
You stared at him for a few moments and chewed at your lip before shrugging.
“Fine. Let’s go, party pooper.”
Finally out of the nightclub, he felt like he could breathe. But just beneath he felt irrational. Why did it bother him so much? Sure, you had the wedding in the morning. But that wasn’t what drove him to want to get you out of that nightclub. It had been jealousy, pure and simple. Irrational, mishandled jealousy.
“I’m a grown woman, you know,” you said as you walked up to where he’d parked. He glanced over and caught the look you gave him, seeing in your eyes that you’d had perhaps one too many shots. But it didn’t stop that piercing stare of yours he’d come to love.
“I know.”
“I can take care of myself after a few drinks.”
He looked away as he spoke.
“Is it so awful for someone else to want to take care of you too?”
You were silent after he spoke and he didn’t have the strength to look at you. He was doing this all wrong. You weren’t supposed to know that he was slowly falling for you. That he didn’t want you going places with other guys or grinding your ass against anyone but him.
I like you. He wanted to shout the words. If only he knew they wouldn’t send you running away from him instead of toward him. To silence his mouth and yours he leaned forward and kissed you instead, leaning your body back against the side of his truck and swallowing anything that might be said with the taste of you.
What was he going to do? He liked you. Shit, he liked you a lot. This was supposed to be sex with no feelings, and yet here he was, tripping over his emotions with you at every turn. Did he have some kind of knack for this, for falling for women who wouldn't seriously consider being with him?
He drove back to the apartment while a war raged inside his head. He needed to find a way out of this, to shake off these feelings and just enjoy the end of this arrangement as best he could.
When he pulled into his parking space, he realized you had fallen asleep in your seat. He tried not to wake you as he carried you upstairs and plugged in the numbers for your door’s lock.
He expected to see Momo in the doorframe of her office or in the kitchen, but aside from a lazy meow from Peeko, the apartment seemed to be empty. He took you to your bedroom, laid you down into your sheets, and slid off your shoes, then went to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. When he returned you had half-attempted to free yourself from your dress, giving up after unzipping, but not being able to undo the hook at the top.
You opened a lazy eye in his direction then closed it, defeated. "Hot," you mumbled.
“Cutie,” Namjoon chuckled. "Let me help you."
Finally free of your dress, you rolled over onto your back and, with great effort, stood up.
"Where are you going?” he asked, amused.” You're having a college moment. You're supposed to collapse into bed and wake up a crusty mess like everyone else."
"Gross,” you responded with disgust. “No amount of alcohol is going to keep me from basic hygiene and I intend to look fabulous for the wedding tomorrow. I'm taking off my makeup and brushing my teeth."
You returned minutes later, still in your bra and panties, only now with the addition of a pretty, patterned satin scarf wrapped protectively around your hair.
"Thanks for getting me home safe.” You took your lip between your teeth and gave him a look hot enough to burn through him straight to the center. You were frustrating. You were a firestorm. And Namjoon wanted to bathe in the flames. "Still want to stay over?"
He did. God, he wanted to strip off his clothes and climb into that bed with you, taste your lips, your skin, feel your wetness around him, your legs around his hips, the sensual way you moaned his name that made him want to cum on the spot every time.
And he wanted what came after, the way you glued yourself to his chest, buried your face in his neck, and fell asleep there in his arms, your legs slotted comfortably between his.
He wanted to wake up with you still curled against him in the morning, hear you cracking jokes, swooning over his slightly deeper morning voice. Wanted you to show him viral videos or memes from Jin you knew would make him laugh so hard he'd snort. Wanted you scrolling through house listings and photos while he got a few chapters down on whatever book he'd been reading, you curled into his side the entire time, silently connected.
He liked you. And since he didn’t think you felt the same, or that he had the right to say anything considering the arrangement between you was specifically meant to be sexual, he knew he should've left. It would’ve been the right thing to just leave.
But Namjoon could acknowledge he was also weak. To his feelings. To his hormones. To the sight of you in your lacy underthings and your pretty satin headscarf. To all of you. How was he supposed to get through the wedding tomorrow? The wedding that was supposed to signal the end of this entire set up between the two of you. How was he supposed to get used to waking up without your skin against his? How was he supposed to get used to every day without you, your scent, your smile, the halo of warmth and light that was you that had become so important in his life?
He took one more long look at you, your beautiful face, your pretty, glowing skin, at the confidence in your stance that was probably influenced by alcohol, but also by something so naturally a part of who you were.
"Ok."
October — Y/N
“Hey, hey! Don’t start crying already, short stuff.”
It was too late. You were already crying. Your best friend looked like a fairytale prince, his dark hair parted in the swooping way away from his forehead that screamed heartbreaker, his perfectly tailored suit highlighting his broad shoulders and perfect physique. And the glow in his skin, the gentle sparkle in his eyes that reflected every bit of happiness. He was getting married, seeing him in his suit made it so real, and you were so happy for him that there was no chance you could keep the tears at bay.
Seokjin pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his cream-colored suit jacket and dabbed at your cheeks.
“Save those for after the videographer stops rolling.”
You sniffled. “Ahh, I can’t help it. It’s really here.”
He breathed out his own shaky breath, the smile he aimed down at you a little strained. “Yeah. It is.”
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Not for me. Hani had a touch of cold feet last night after dinner. I’m hoping...well, I guess I’m just hoping she’ll actually meet me at the end of the aisle.”
Oh no. No no no. Not after you’d worked this hard for this day. The weather had been kind, offering an unusually warm October day, bright sunshine only joined by a few wisps of clouds. Flowers of soft pink, vibrant turquoise, luscious cream, and fresh white lined arches and chairs, strings of beautiful fairy lights strung in lines above. All set up in front of that tranquil lake, the misty mountain you’d hiked up with Namjoon making the backdrop like a classical painting in real life.
Hani was getting married today. You would see to that.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go check on her.”
You found Hani alone in her bridal suite, her back to the door as you knocked and entered.
“Hani, it’s Y/N.”
She was staring out over the view of the water, but finally looked back at you after you’d spoken. You were happy at least to see that she was ready, the intricate lace patterns of her gown swirling down in flowing waves at her feet. Her makeup and hair were all done and she looked just as royal as Seokjin, ready to meet her prince and finally get her happy ending.
But she wasn’t exactly smiling as she looked at you. If anything, she looked a little sad.
“Hey, is everything alright?”
She bit her lip for a moment, as though uncertain if she should answer.
“No.”
You joined her in front of the floor-length window.
“Well, talk to me. If you’re having second thoughts or doubts, it’s better to work those out before you take a really important step like this.”
She took a deep breath, then another before she was ready to speak again.
“Y/N, you and Namjoon have organized the most beautiful wedding for Seokjin and me. The most magnificent man I’ve ever met wants to announce before a room of all our friends and family that he is ready to spend the rest of his life with me.” You heard the waver in her voice and, though she wouldn’t look at you, you could see there were tears collecting in her eyes. “And I don’t know if I can do this.”
You reached out for her hands and cupped them in yours, forcing her to turn slowly and face you, holding her eyes with yours.
“Do you love him?”
Something about that question broke her, let the tears spill free in twin streaks down her pretty face.
“More than I ever knew it was possible to love someone. And yet I can’t help but think, how can it possibly be me that he wants to spend the rest of his life with?”
“Because he feels the same way about you. Seokjin is my best friend. He’s been surrounded by people who love and adore him all his life. But it’s because he’s always followed his heart and been true to himself. He knows exactly what he wants. And it’s you he chose, Hani. You’re the one that lights up his soul, that makes his heart sing. You both do that for each other. And you both deserve to be happy. So I want you to go out there and honor that. Go get your man.”
You were definitely going to have to call the makeup artist back in for touch-ups, but with the smile that spread across her face, your words seemed to have helped her overcome the worries she’d been fighting through. You ran to get a tissue from the vanity and helped to dab at her face.
“I know I haven’t made planning this wedding easy for you, Y/N,” she said through remnant sniffles. “I’ve never had an interest in things like this. I just wanted to get married. I appreciate you being so patient with me through all of this. I definitely understand why you mean so much to Seokjin.”
“He means the world to me, Hani. Please promise me you’ll cherish him.”
“I know I’m not the easiest person to read. But I swear to you I love him so completely.”
“I know you do,” you said with a squeeze at her arm. “I know.”
After helping her to get ready and heading back to Seokjin to confirm that he would indeed be getting married today, you and Namjoon met outside of the groom room to go over your last-minute checklists and get the wedding party lined up for the ceremony.
With the guests seated, you all began your walk onto the green. Though they had chosen not to have titles for the wedding party, Namjoon took up the space beside where Seokjin would stand as his best man while you stood in place to support Hani. As Seokjin came down the aisle with his parents on either side and took his place, you had to hold yourself back from tearing up again.
But soon your attention was taken by Namjoon. Just like the first time you’d met, he had the power to steal your attention away from anyway else in the vicinity. His suit was a dark, heathered gray, the rich brown of his hair against the sunlit golden peach of his skin giving him a dream-like aura that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. But you desperately wanted to look away when you realized that his eyes seemed to be glued to you as well.
With effort, you forced yourself to glance away guiltily a few times, wondering if he was judging you for your drunken escapades the night before, or sizing up whether he even wanted to spend one more night with you. But each time you looked back, that wasn’t what you saw in those sharp, dragon-like eyes. There was something unreadable in the look he was giving you, something so intense that you felt it bind around your chest, making your breath come in short, slow bursts. You smiled at him trying to ease whatever tension had collected between the two of you. But Namjoon only hurriedly looked away, a curious blush settling over his cheeks. So maybe he was only thinking about sex after all.
Hani’s music began then and all attention turned toward her as she made her way down the aisle. The pull between her and Seokjin was palpable and as she took her place at his side, you were happy if only just to witness the kind of love they shared.
When offered, Seokjin shared a short and sweet set of vows with just enough terrible humor to pull a few giggles from the guests. Hani hadn’t told you she intended to say anything for her turn. But when asked, she confirmed that she did and gripped Seokjin’s hands a little tighter as she began to speak.
“My love. When I met you, I didn’t understand exactly how grand the delicate intricacies of life really were. When you talked about the network that forms a heart, all I could see was a tool, a part of a machine intended to do its job in all of us the same way a processor keeps a computer running. What I know now is that there is so much more between the pieces that make up those parts. That love spreads from that energy center and throughout every atom that works together to make us up. Love binds us closer to ourselves than we ever knew was possible. I am a better me every day because I met you. Because you paid for my coffee and had the barista write the worst joke I’ve ever read onto my cup. Because when you first made dinner for me, you magically pulled a tiny chocolate heart from behind my ear and made me laugh so hard I choked on my wine. Because you gave me the courage to live my life for happiness and to find exactly what happiness meant for me. Because where most people see a cold, calculating brain and nothing more, you were willing to unfold each of my layers, to discover me, you and us, and everything that meant. And everything it will come to mean as we grow and change together. I love you eternally, Kim Seokjin. You’ve given me your hand and in exchange, I will give you forever.”
You quickly wiped away the tears that managed to slip out. He was going to be alright. You had no doubt now that Seokjin, your best friend who deserved to be loved for every bit of who he was, was going to receive all that and more from his wife.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur. There were photos, toasts, dinner, drinks, and dancing late into the evening. There were games on the lawn and inside the reception hall, a photo booth, a VR arcade set up, and street food vans with flavors from all over the world for the guests to eat from all night. There was a fireworks display once the sky turned dark, shimmering lights across the lake as the guests looked on with excitement. It was truly a wedding to end all weddings and you finally felt like all the months of planning had reached their payoff.
You danced all night with people you'd never met, Seokjin and Hani's families and friends. You danced with Seokjin and even Hani herself. You ran from the bouquet toss.
And you found Namjoon at your side more moments than not, refreshing your drink while he slipped his hand around your waist, helping the one time the caterer ran into a small issue, and of course, dancing with you. He held you from behind, kissing your neck, his arms wrapped around you. He whispered in your ear, sweet nonsense, teasing that made you giddy with laughter, and flirting that bordered a little inappropriate for any public space. He made a deal with one of the flower girls to save her an extra slice of cake in exchange for her crown of flowers, placing it atop your head. He kissed your cheek and told you again and again that you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
You kissed him on that dance floor like no one else mattered. And at that moment, they didn't. It might have been the atmosphere of the evening, the aura of romance surrounding not only Seokjin and Hani, but the entire joyous venue. It might have been the gorgeous view of the lake as the sun went down and all the fairy lights came on and cast the most beautiful glow across the water.
Or it might have been that you liked Namjoon more than should have been sensibly possible. That tomorrow, the next day, and for a long time after, you wanted to be in his arms, stay in his life. And right now you didn't want the fact that it couldn't be, that this was your last night to play pretend, to dampen your enjoyment of him.
As the night drew to a close, most guests heading home or to their rooms at the lodges by the lakeside, Namjoon spirited you outside, walking with you on his arm toward the edge of the lake. The grass of the green went all the way up to the water and you both stopped in front of it, staring up at twinkling stars that reflected in the water. It was a magical location for a magical night.
"You did a great job, princess."
"We did a great job, you mean. I couldn't have done this without you, Joon."
You stared around at the remaining guests, getting their fill of food and drinks, walking near the lake just like you and Namjoon, and capping this beautiful day with the gorgeous view before you.
“We make a pretty good team then. And thank you for making sure we had a good time while doing it.” He took a deep breath of the cool night air and walked a little closer to the water. "Once my business can run more smoothly without me, I'd love to take a page from your book. Get a little more spontaneous, travel, see the sights. See the world's amazing architecture and the people too."
"Me too. What's the point of all the work we put in if we're not taking time to enjoy the rest of what life has to offer?” You nodded to yourself. “I want to see everything. As long as I can always come home. If I ever find it.”
He rubbed your arm in a comforting gesture. "You'll find wherever that is for you. I know you will."
“What about you? Seokjin mentioned that you were planning to get married once. I imagine you had a home all picked out, ready to start your life just like Hani and Seokjin."
He glanced down, as though the weight of those memories had suddenly found him. “I was. And I did."
“Is it alright if I ask what happened?”
“I wanted something she didn’t. It wasn’t a nasty breakup or anything. Just two people realizing they’re on different paths. When I look at Jin and Hani I think, how can two people so different end up together? But when I see the way they look at each other, their paths are entirely merged. So I’ll just have to wait for that. For someone who is walking the same way I am.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and handed you a small brown square. You realized it was a piece of chocolate from the wedding cake, the kind with caramel inside that you loved. You popped it into your mouth and enjoyed the slow melt while Namjoon stared down at you with a faint smile.
He leaned over and placed a light kiss on your lips. You weren’t sure why he was kissing you now. But you’d never complain. You would take everything he wanted to offer tonight since it had to be your last.
He slid off his suit jacket and let it drop to the ground nearby, kicking off his shoes while a mischievous smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” you asked in confusion.
"Trying to make myself remember that fear of what's coming shouldn't keep me from taking the next step."
Then he ran into the lip of the lake and out until the water met his shoulders, soaking his suit entirely. You hesitated for a moment before kicking off your shoes and joining him. The lake water was a little chilly but refreshing. Namjoon came back a little to meet you until the water was only up to his waist. By the time you reached him, it was up to your chest, but you hardly noticed. The way he was staring at you, droplets of splashed water in his hair reflecting fairy lights and the moon’s glow, you felt all your breath stolen from you in a single swoop.
“I know you’re a goddess, Y/N, but it’s not fair for you to look like one too.”
You blinked, finding it too difficult to respond. If anyone looked ethereal at that moment, it was him. He reached out and pulled you closer, bringing you chest to chest. As he kissed you, you closed your eyes and fell into him, your very own star come down to earth, filling you with warmth and light and something cosmic with only a kiss. It was wonderful. And at the edge, a little heartbreaking.
You didn’t know how long you stood in the water kissing him, but eventually you both made your way back to land after hearing several splashes around you as other guests followed your lead and ran gleefully into the water. You ended up on your back in the grass, soaked in your gown with an equally drenched Namjoon by your side. You stared up at the star-dotted sky as Namjoon pointed out a few constellations he could remember, relating them to paintings and sculptures and artists whose work he wanted to go see.
“We’d better get out of here before one of us gets sick,” he said after a while. You both stood and a slight shiver ran through you, the night air a little chilly now that you were soaked through to the bone. It only lasted for a second though, Namjoon draping his still dry suit jacket over your shoulders immediately. He grabbed your discarded shoes and you both made your way around the venue, toward the villa that housed your private guest suites.
“Why am I wet, Namjoon?”
His only response was a suggestive eyebrow wiggle which earned him a healthy shove.
“I mean, why did you run into the lake?”
“I don’t know. Why did you run in after me?”
Because you wanted to go where he went. Because the moments he allowed himself to surrender to his innocent joy were some of the most beautiful and you wanted to be right there with him for each one. Because your heart had gotten tangled up where it had no business being.
You shrugged. “I’m the fun one.”
Namjoon looked like he wanted to say something else, but you reached the path that led up to your suite’s door just then. It was all crushed, white gravel that was likely not kind to bare feet, reflecting silver in the glow of the moon. Your shoes hung from Namjoon's fingers, but even as you looked over at him to take them, he was already moving.
You yelped a little as he scooped an arm behind your legs and pulled you up against his chest. He held you all the way up the path, pausing while you unlocked the door, and then continued his princess carry through the threshold. He sat you down on the plush carpet inside and kicked off his shoes before joining you.
You were sure you looked like a disaster in your waterlogged dress, even in your waterproof makeup. But Namjoon stared at you like he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
"You're breathtaking, you know that?"
He placed gentle fingers at the side of your face and leaned down. You closed your eyes as his lips connected.
"So beautiful."
"And if I tell you you're beautiful too? Because you are, Namjoon. So beautiful." His smile turned bashful at your words.
You turned around and he followed your hint, unzipping your gown and helping you step out of the soaked fabric. He stared at you for a moment, at the delicate lace lines of your lingerie that hardly left anything to the imagination, more so now that they were wet and sticking to your skin. He had seen you naked so many times already, had peeled off, ripped off your underthings more than you could count on one hand.
But he had never looked at you like this. Like the sight of you hurt, made him ache in a place he didn’t know was possible. Made him regret that this moment was fleeting, that he couldn’t live here all his life.
His hands fell from his shirt, plans to undo his own buttons forgotten. He stepped forward and then you were in his arms, being devoured, consumed wholly by his lips. He’d never kissed you like this. It was the kind of kiss that changes you, that launched wars and shifted the gravity of worlds. There was power in it and a need so fierce it made you dizzy.
You were in the bedroom when you broke apart, your hands having taken up his job, undoing his shirt, his pants half unzipped. He kicked out of his clothes and pounced on you, not sparing a moment before getting his lips back on yours, his hands back onto your body.
The air was different tonight, full-bodied and rich like earthy incense and overripe fruit. Namjoon handled you with new delicacy, fingers trailing the damp skin of your back, your legs, your breasts with gentle deference.
His hands never stopped their work, peeling away your lingerie like gift wrapping he wanted to save. His mouth eventually followed, trailing down your body with wet kisses and soft bites, tugging on your nipples long enough to coax his name from your lips for the first time since you’d lain down.
When his lips finally landed on the seam between your legs, you slipped away into some unknown realm with only you and him and no other shred of reality to keep you apart. His hands were on your hips, holding you in place while his tongue worked fervently to make you come apart. He held you firm, held onto you in a way that made you belong, that said, ‘Mine, mine, mine. You are mine.’ And for tonight, you would be his. You would lose yourself in this fantasy for one more evening before returning to the truth.
“Namjoon,” you cried out when your body felt like it might fall apart. Your fingers tugged where they gripped in his hair as he lifted his face.
"Yes, baby. Tell me."
“I want you.” He leaned up a little further, hovering over you, the soft brown of his eyes now a deep oak. He licked his lips, licked the sticky slick of you from near his mouth, from the fingers he pulled from between your thighs. Your head dropped back into the sheets. “I want you,” you repeated, desperate, barely able to handle anything more. The depth of his voice as he responded, the way it vibrated through you, all the way down to your core almost broke you on the spot.
"Anything you want."
He peeled away, seeking out a condom, and returned to you, kissing you deeply as he slid home without hesitation. You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it, married your tongues together as he plunged inside you deep as he could, drew out only for a moment before sliding back inside. You swallowed his deep, satisfied growl, swallowed his moans, his breath, took him into you like you were starved for air, and air was Namjoon, all you needed to survive, all you wanted to fill yourself with for every remaining moment. His touch was light in the right places, rough in others. His teeth dragged along your neck, leaving sore the places where he bit you, made you tear a little when he tugged at your hair, left impressions of his hands as they roughly grabbed your breasts, your thighs. He left you with marking reminders that he had been with you tonight, that he had taken his time to claim you as his own.
Your body arched into his, his hand around your lower back, his lips at your breasts, your neck, your lips. The fingers of his other hand twined with yours, skin against skin with every long, indulgent stroke of his hips. He spoke with his body, with each sharp breath, each thrust claiming you, unraveling each bit of you beneath him, only for him to reach, to taste, to feel.
“You have me,” he panted into your mouth and you swallowed that pretty lie as well. For tonight, you would believe anything. Tonight, this was more than just sex. This was goodbye.
All space for words had shrunk to a needlepoint, replaced instead by your moans of satisfaction, his ragged panting and sighs so deep you felt them in the lowest part of your belly. Your release crept up on you, your focus only on him, on the connection between you that was usually all sparks and roaring flames, that had centered itself into a gentle warming heat coursing between you both. You might have called his name as it crashed over you. Or maybe your own. They were the same, you were the same in that moment, melded with him, your pleasure blended together in a beautiful symphony, all harmony and light.
His thrusts continued through your orgasm, leading you into a second, wave after wave rippling through your body, your quiet pleas for him only the weakest whisper between you. He came with you on the third, but really, he had been with you on them all.
Your activity had taken you all over the bed, bodies moving without reason or understanding, performing this dance together and leaving the sheets in a tangled mess, pillows thrown to the floor. Namjoon didn’t stop kissing you, lips continuing to claim their home on yours, at your neck, your collarbone. Your name rumbled across your skin in his deep tones that sent a quiver rolling through you.
Even in the wake of all that, satiation refused to find either of you. You spent at least another hour only kissing, riding his lap once he hardened again. You fell asleep somewhere in the vibration of him, soothed of whatever worries you had by only the feel of his voice, of his breath against your skin, the energy he shared in this sacred space with you and you alone.
You woke to him begging entrance again. And just as the sun peeked over the horizon and the waters of the lake reflected lines of sunlight in between the curtains, you said your farewells with your bodies one last time, crying out his name again and again as the rosy ripples beyond your window faded to blue.
Namjoon was asleep again after that, but with the sun up and your mind fully awake, reality finally caught up with you.
You stared down at him as he slept, just enough light highlighting his cheekbones and strong jaw, thick brown locks of his hair splayed out against the pillow. And you knew it was finally time to go.
Your feelings were too strong to ignore. Even if he wanted to sleep with you again, you couldn't. It wouldn't be right. And after last night, after the way your heart had begun to call out for him, you knew you would never be able to go back. So you did the only thing you could think of, the only response you were used to making.
You ran.
Your phone clattered against your dresser a few days later, vibrating as you were getting ready for work. You reached down, ready to ignore yet another call from your father. But this time it was your mother’s number on the screen.
“Mom?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mom. About to head to work.”
“You know why I’m calling. Your father said you haven’t been answering his calls.”
“Why should I, Momma? Every time he opens his mouth it’s only been to hurt me.”
“He’s been beside himself with anger. You let that boy speak for you, say those things to him.”
You sighed. “First, he’s not a boy-”
“Oh, everyone your age is a boy to me.”
“He’s a grown man. And everything he said was true. Anyway, I don’t care. Dad’s never listened to my voice, or yours. I wouldn’t expect him to listen to anyone else’s either.”
“Your father loves you, sweetheart.”
“Maybe, in whatever twisted definition he’s given that word. But I get to decide what kind of love is good enough for me, Mom. And his isn’t. I’m only sorry it took me this long to understand that. I don’t want to talk to him.”
Your mother was silent for a few moments and you checked once just to make sure she hadn’t hung up on you.
“I’m proud of you, you know that?”
“Mom-”
“No, I mean it, Y/N. I know I haven’t been the strong mother I should’ve been all these years. I’ve even had to rely on you to save my ass. So you have to know that you turned out to be incredible not because of me and your father, but in spite of us.”
You stared at your phone, swallowing down the lump that had formed in your throat. “Thanks, Momma.”
“So are things serious with you and that boy?”
You glanced at your phone, this time considering whether you should be the one to end the call. “No, we...he’s just a friend.”
“I sure wish I had friends like that. Very nice to look at.”
“Ok, I have to get to work. Please don’t fantasize about my friends.”
She giggled. “I’ll do as I please unless you intend on making him more than just a friend. My god, the muscles on him and so handsome! If I wasn’t married I’d love to-”
“Goodbye, Mom!”
“I’d rather not. Can’t you just leave it outside his door?”
Momo’s pout was still one of the most powerful forces on the planet, but you were trying your hardest not to succumb to her charms tonight. There was no way in hell you were taking food to Namjoon. It could only serve as a reminder of your stupid feelings, and you weren’t in the mood to feel stupid any longer than necessary.
She shoved the warm container into your hands. “No. I’m sure he’s been working all day and would love something hot to eat. You haven’t let me cook for him in over a week. And I know he’d be happy to see your face-”
“No. Things are done between us, Mo. We were fuckbuddies for a little while and now we’re just strangers who live across the hall from each other. That’s it.”
You’d hardly seen Namjoon since the wedding. Apart from an awkward wave in the parking garage, you’d been very successful at avoiding each other. It probably had a lot to do with you hardly being home while you spent your time constantly rotating between the hospital and the library. Anything to keep your mind off...everything.
You had developed feelings for him, for that smug smile, his mud-caked boots, and calloused hands. His gentle heart and kind words. But who caught feelings for the person explicitly having casual sex with them? No, you needed to get over him. And that meant staying far away. You needed long enough to accept the truth. That the thing between you had only been sex. That, whatever your feelings had evolved into couldn’t solve your incompatibility. That you lived in different worlds, were vastly different people.
“Maybe,” Momo said, intruding on your thoughts. “Maybe not. Anyway, it’s not like you’re going over there to profess your undying love for the man. Just to take him some spaghetti aglio e olio, that’s all. It’s just food, right?”
You sighed deep in resignation. “Right. Just food.”
She gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before grabbing her own plate and retreating into her room, back in front of her drawing tablet where she’d been all day. You tried to shake the frown off your face and get back into your neutral zone. It wasn’t like you had been thinking about him every day for the past two weeks. It wasn’t like you missed the warmth of his body as you curled up next to him on the couch and read over his shoulder. It wasn’t like you missed the soft smell of his soap, the way his forehead wrinkled above his glasses when he was concentrating, or the way he said your name in his soothing, deep voice that felt comforting and warm like a dollop of honey in your tea.
Before that annoying voice could pop up in the back of your mind saying, “It’s exactly like that,” you shut off your thoughts and trudged to the front door. It was just food. Just stupid spaghetti.
You spotted him as soon as you stepped out of your apartment. In his signature jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, he was heading down the hall in your direction. Only he wasn’t by himself. A woman in heels and a skirt far too short for the cool weather outside walked quickly just behind him.
It was hard to imagine what all he planned to do with her. He seemed so focused on getting to his apartment that he almost looked angry. It was only when he got close enough and glanced up to see you that surprise replaced the intensity on his face.
“Y/N…” he said, a whisper, a hollow point bullet fired straight through your chest. He was back to his old habits without hesitation, back to his dating apps and his one-night-stands as easily as breathing. Right. You needed to be that way too. This stupid crush wasn’t going to cause you any more grief.
You managed to hold yourself upright, managed not to let your disappointment trip up your feet. You closed the short gap between you and shoved Momo’s container of food into his hands. Namjoon said nothing, only stared at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted.
You turned, more awkwardly than you intended and headed straight back toward your apartment.
"Y/N. Y/N, wait."
"Have a good night, you two," you mumbled before heading inside.
Momo looked up as you closed the door behind you. But it was all you saw before your field of vision changed. As you sank to the floor and the room blurred around you. As Peeko climbed into your lap and licked at the salty streaks your tears made as they dripped down your cheeks and under your chin.
Namjoon taking Momo’s business card paid off for her in a bigger way than any of you could have planned. Hoseok had offered her a permanent position at his architectural firm as an in-house graphic designer. On the upside, it was an incredible salary for a position that offered plenty of free time to work on her own business and side artistic passions as she pleased. On the downside, the home office was located three hours away. Which meant Momo would have to move.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay home with you?”
It had been over three weeks since the wedding, not that you were counting your life in distance from that night. And for once, instead of picking up a shift at the hospital or staying until the library staff finally kicked you out, you were planning to spend the night at home.
“It’s your last night at the college. Go have a good time with your students, celebrate the new, fancy life you’re about to start.”
“It’s been almost a month, Y/N. You’ve barely been sleeping. You find any excuse to be at work or doing research somewhere.”
“I’ve been like that forever, Mo.”
“Not like this. You used to want to spend time with your friends. Or by yourself doing things you like. Now you avoid everything. If you miss him this much, please, just go and talk to him.”
You sighed and pulled the blanket you had draped across you where you were curled up on the couch a little higher. “For the last time, I’m not even thinking about him. Go, please. You’re going to be late.”
She shook her head, but did as you ask, leaving you with the flashing lights and low hum of the television as you caught up on one of your favorite shows that had been neglected since you were never home.
An hour or so had passed when you heard the doorbell ring and you hurried up to check the camera, wondering if Momo had left something behind. And then you froze, catching Namjoon’s face staring back at you through the pixels. Your heart skipped a little but you clamped it down as fast as you could. He was just the guy who lived across the hall. The guy you were actively getting over and doing very well at that.
At least that’s what you told yourself until you opened the door. Your vision blurred a little at the sight of him in person. Dressed in a slim-fitting black t-shirt and jeans, he looked as down-to-earth and effortlessly handsome as ever. You swallowed down the pang in the back of your throat.
"Hey. Momo text me saying the window at your balcony wouldn't open.”
What the hell? It had been a fight to get it open since you'd moved in. But what did it matter? It was late October already. You weren’t planning to open the window any time soon. You cursed your soon-to-be ex-roommate. At least she could’ve warned you he was coming, instead of having him find you dressed down like this in shorts and a sweatshirt. You tried to shake it off. It didn’t matter what you looked like. He was back to seeing other people and eventually you would get over your sickening crush and date someone else. It didn’t matter.
“It’s been like that forever,” you said finally. “It opens, just with a lot of effort.”
“That’s no good if a fire happens. I'll take a look.”
He brushed past you, small toolbox in hand, and headed straight for the balcony.
“Our building has a maintenance team, Joon,” you said, closing the door and turning after him. “You don’t have to run over here immediately to fix everything just because Momo waves food in your face. Especially since she’s moving out soon and leaving us all to go hungry.”
He grunted in response and set down his things next to the window. Determined not to be affected by him any further, you walked back to the couch and retook your seat, crawling back under your blanket and continuing your show. And that worked for a few minutes. Until you saw him with a flashlight between his teeth as he made his inspection, holding onto the frame of the window with a screwdriver in his other hand. You sighed and hoisted yourself up from the couch, moving to him and offering a hand to hold it for him instead. He nodded and mumbled a thanks. You were fine. Even though you could smell his cologne from here, that deep, submersive spice that used to drive you wild. Was currently driving you wild.
But then he glanced at you for a moment and you knew you weren’t going to escape this unscathed. "Listen, about the other day-" he began.
"You don't have to explain yourself,” you hurried to say. “Our thing is over. Sleep with whoever you want." The lie burned on the way out, but you had to say it. You had to move on.
"Yeah, but that’s the thing. I wasn't sleeping with her. She's a client that's been hounding me about her build. She crossed a line by coming to where I live."
"Oh.” That explained the angry look on his face that day. But it didn’t change the fact that your arrangement had only been sex. At least for him. It wasn’t his fault your stupid heart got involved. “Well, I still meant what I said anyway."
There was another long pause as he knelt lower, exchanging his screwdriver for a set of pliers. "I haven't been seeing anyone else," he said quietly.
"Alright," you said, trying to keep the question out of your tone. It wasn’t your business whether he wanted to see other people or not. After all, hadn’t your agreement started because neither of you had much time for traditional dating anyway? And when he did decide to start seeing people again...you just didn’t want to know.
He sat down his tools and slid the window back into place.
"I don't want to see anyone else, Y/N."
You gave him the same noncommittal grunt he’d given you before, offering him back his flashlight.
Namjoon sighed and took it from you. "Right. I know you can't imagine it unless I show you, so..."
A warm hand slid behind your neck, calloused fingertips grazing your skin as he tilted your head back. Then he was kissing you, gentle at first, testing your reaction. Bolder when you closed your eyes and leaned into him, his teeth catching your lower lip. It hit you then, the loss you had faced without his lips on you like this. Momo was right. You had missed him so much, his taste, his touch, the comforting smell of him, like sun-warmed oak and rich autumn. All Namjoon. No one could kiss you the way he did, take everything you had and fill you to the brim in the same instant.
It was over too soon, his lips pulling away from yours an instant reminder that things weren’t like this between you. That it was over. That your arrangement was done and whatever confused feelings you had built up during weren’t his responsibility. That you were only trying to get over him.
You tried to lean away, to put distance between you, but Namjoon’s hand at the small of your back held you in place.
"I like you, princess,” he said quietly. “A lot."
And no amount of intelligence, degrees, or expertise could moderate the ingenious words that came out of your mouth in response.
“Me too,” you said with a slow blink. His eyes widened a little in surprise before he was kissing you again.
“Really?” he said breathlessly, lips still hovering against yours.
You had no more words, so you answered again with your lips against his, relishing the taste of him, pressing your body against the warmth of his chest. Your fingers tightened in the soft fabric of his shirt as his words circled through your head. I like you .
“Please tell me you’re not already seeing someone else,” he breathed.
How could you be? When he was all you dreamt about, all you spent your days and nights craving. He frowned a little at your silence.
“Should I be jealous?”
It was your turn to offer him one of his teasing smirks. “Only if it makes you want me more.”
The front door burst open then, both of you whipping your heads to see Momo fly through the apartment and emerge from her room with a couple of easels and supplies in hand.
"Sorry, forgot my brushes! Please continue your make-up coitus. I’m leaving!"
She was gone as quick as she had come and you and Namjoon melted into laughter before his hand was at your cheek, his lips pressing against your forehead this time.
“I’ve missed you. Not just the sex, but you. I miss your smile. Your laugh. The bossy way you tell me to clean my apartment. The fire in your eyes when you get excited. I miss waking up with you and taking forty-five minutes to decide what to order for breakfast. I miss the weird way you’re so meticulous about everything, but will spontaneously drag me away to an impromptu concert in the park. I miss….everything about you.”
The pressure was already welling up behind your eyes, but you kept them closed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I woke up alone in that villa after the wedding. You didn’t call or text me, and I knew our deal was technically done so I wanted to give you your space. I didn't want to suddenly unload that I'd been into you for months-"
That had your eyes open, meeting his with no small amount of shock. "Months?"
"I didn’t realize it until we were at your charity dinner,” he continued. “But it had been building for a while before that. You’re very charming, you know, once you get past all the anal-retentiveness.”
A disjointed laugh escaped you, one you couldn’t control.
"What is it?"
"I realized it at the hospital,” you said, the memory of those sprouting feelings thick in your throat. “When you held your nephew I thought, 'I could see myself with this man, having him hold our baby just like that.' It scared me that I could feel like that about someone I've only known for a few months. And scared me more that you wouldn't feel the same, so..."
"I do. I do feel the same. God, I've stood outside your door so many times telling myself to just ring the bell and talk to you, but I...I didn’t want to bring you something you didn’t want in your life. I didn’t want you to run away from me, screaming into the night. But when Momo reached out I decided I'd tell you. No matter what happened after, I wouldn’t be afraid."
You kissed him then, so soft and tender.
“I won’t run. I want you. I want you in my life, Kim Namjoon.”
“You have me, then.”
The kiss that followed expanded in the room, clearing the space and releasing an air so fresh it felt like you hadn’t breathed since you left him in that bed. He lifted you into his arms, still kissing you, and carried you into your bedroom, collapsing you both onto your bed. You spent years kissing, decades, millennia just reacquainting yourselves with the taste of each other, with the heat and feel of being in one another’s arms again. His lips trailed away finally, grazing down your cheek, your jaw, against your neck.
"I think this is the part where I ask you to be my girlfriend," he murmured against your skin.
"Your…" Your brain froze for the hundredth time that night.
"I'm crazy about you, Y/N. You drive me up the wall. So I’m happy to live on the ceiling with you."
“Are you sure? I’m a little...intense. I work crazy hours. I’m not a poster child for even tempers.”
His hand was at your cheek, tilting your head forward so he could press a soft kiss against your forehead. “I know you, princess. And I want every single bit of you.”
“Joon…”
His kiss was his response, filling you to the brim with everything you had been missing, craving, wanting with every breath, this kiss, only his kiss, only him.
He sat up and pulled off his t-shirt, exposing the thick, taut planes of muscle along his torso and arms, an exhilarating sight you had missed dearly. His hands went for his jeans, but you leaned up quickly and reached out to stop him.
“Sorry,” he said in quick apology, pink blossoming on his cheeks. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”
You cut him off with a rough kiss, your own fingers undoing the button and dragging down his zipper while you caressed his tongue.
“These are mine to take off now, Mr. Kim,” you purred.
You felt his smile before you saw it.
“As long as I get to return the favor, princess.”
Once you had both made quick work of each other’s clothes, you were drawn back together by your lips, magnetized, unable to resist the other’s draw.
“I’ve missed you so much,” you panted, echoing his earlier sentiment. Life without this, being able to melt into his arms, feeling the heat of his body against your own, the wide stretch of his hands caressing your skin. There was no comparison for which life you preferred.
“Show me,” he whispered with a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”
You slid yourself from his arms and scooted away from him on the bed. When he reached for you again you gently pressed his hands back and shook your head. You leaned back against your pillows and slowly drew your knees closer, letting your legs fall open and bared yourself to him.
Namjoon released an almost feral groan, the sound swollen with want.
You dragged your fingers down your slick sex, circling your clit before dipping your fingers inside. “I’ve missed you here,” you said, giving in to the satisfying feel of your fingers while aching for the feel of him at the same time. “Your tongue, your hands. Your big cock filling me up. You’re all I think about when I touch myself like this.”
His erection, the prettiest, deep pink color, twitched at his lap, bobbing slow against his stomach. He clenched his fists, clearly fighting the urge to reach out and take you.
“Let me fill you, baby.” His voice ground deep, scratching you at the edges with his desire. Your eyelids fluttered at the sound.
You’d wanted to tease him a little, to feel his cock in your mouth again, to take your time re-immersing yourself in all of him. But watching him kneel in front of you on your bed, seeing how badly he wanted you, staring at the expanded dark of his eyes as they followed your every move, watching his tongue dart out and wet his plush lips in hunger and anticipation. You lost all patience.
All it took was one slow nod and Namjoon was on you, hands, teeth, tongue, everywhere, all of him. He pulled away long enough to reach into your bedside table and pull out a condom. You watched as he rolled the latex down his thick shaft, then the slow drag of his eyes back up to you. You didn’t move for a moment, didn’t breathe, exchanging something mystifying with him in that stare, something so intricately woven into the energy between the two of you that there were no words to do it justice.
“Y/N,” Namjoon said quietly, that pretty blush still dusting his soft cheeks. You crooked a finger, beckoning him to come to you. And your Namjoon, who was so often rough with you, took you tenderly by the hips and laid you back into the bed, his lips a gentle seal as he slid inside you.
The feeling of Namjoon sinking into you, the force of him stretching your walls was a rebirth. Your cells came alive, began to sing with life.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed between deep presses of his hips between your legs.
You lifted up to meet him in response, following your instincts, pressing into him with more force than either of you had been expecting. You wanted him, all of him, right now and forever.
“Patience, baby girl,” he cooed against your mouth. “Let me savor you.”
You tilted your head back, leaning away from his lips and rolling your hips against him again. “Later. Right now, I want you to devour me.”
With a soft chuckle, he leaned up and one-by-one pulled your legs up over his shoulders. In a slow rhythm that sped to a speeding pound, he thrust himself into you, eyes on you, on his cock sliding in and out of your heat.
“Ffffffuck.” The word was a slow rip out of his mouth, undressing the last layers of passion between you. You clenched around him and his thighs shook against you.
“Princess, if you do that I’m not going to last at all.”
You tightened around him again, hoping he could see the wicked intent in your smile.
He groaned. “We can play later. Be my good girl right now. I want to cum with you. It’s been too long.”
You melted at his gentle demand, any desire for games and toying dissipating. You joined him in his longing, sank into the searing desire of him. Your hands reached up and pulled him down against you, legs slipping from his shoulders, and met his mouth with yours. He slipped into you a little deeper and the feeling arched your body against his chest, pressing you close, skin to skin, fiery heat to heat. You dragged your nails across the skin of his back and he sank into you again and again.
His lips found your breasts, teasing the flesh, the nipple with the wet of his tongue, with soft bites that had your body lifting to meet him, clenching around him without your control.
Namjoon’s movements became erratic. “I’m close,” he panted between your breasts. You didn’t have to say anything for him to know that you were too. Your body spoke well enough, meeting each of his thrusts with your quickly cresting need.
He moaned aloud, the sound heady and lush as you came, as you squeezed him so tight and he came undone along with you, bodies in sync unraveling the layers of pleasure between you and leaving you bare and sweating and deeply satisfied.
“What, no bite marks?” you joked between huffing breaths once you collapsed into the bed. “No stinging skin on my ass? This is new territory, Joon.”
He leaned down and kissed your lips so softly you thought you might cry.
“Having you back in my life put me in a more gentle mood tonight,” he murmured, then pressed a teasing bite into your earlobe. “I’ll make sure next time it hurts.”
You lay curled together in your bed for a long time after, his hand at your hip, stroking the skin there in nonsensical shapes, his lips giving you a thousand little kisses. Being back in his arms, seeing his beautiful face, his gentle smile as he lay there with you, had brought a light back to your heart that you hadn’t felt in weeks.
“I know better than to leave here without a clear answer from you,” he spoke softly into your hair. “Will you be with me?”
For the first time in your life, you truly didn’t want to run. You didn’t feel so afraid, so worried about what might come next. Instead, you felt anchored, as though you had always been floating and were finally learning what it felt like to be on solid ground. So you said the only word that mattered to the only person that mattered to you like this.
“Yes.”
August — Namjoon
Epilogue
“Baby, I know it’s after dark, but why am I staring at your glorious tits right now?”
Namjoon continued to wipe his chest down with a towel.
“He...he pissed on me. I had to take off my shirt.”
Your peels of laughter almost made getting hit by his nephew’s deadshot stream bearable. His nephew’s diaper successfully changed and finally asleep for the night, Namjoon headed into the kitchen and grabbed you both a beer, joining you on his couch. You had spent the day together babysitting, and as enjoyable as that was, he was happy now to be able to focus on just the two of you.
You had been together almost a year, and in that time you essentially paid for an apartment you didn't use. Most nights you spent at his place, and even days where you worked the night shift and slept wrapped up in his sheets. He enjoyed coming home on those days and waking you up with a kiss.
“Now that he’s asleep, I have something to show you, actually.” He got up and winked at your curious face, hurrying into his office and returning with the little box he’d been hiding for a while. “I’ve been keeping a little secret.”
Sitting it on the table in front of you he carefully pulled out the little miniature home model, his best interpretation of the dream home you’d shared with him all those months ago.
“Joon…” you said, hand over your mouth as soon as you saw it.
"I started working on it after you described it to me. Of course, I had to get a little creative, but maybe it’ll help you get closer to that idea of home? If you'll let me, I'd love to build it for you. Maybe...for us?"
It was cliché, but it choked him up any time he saw your happiness bubble over into tears, which your eyes were threatening to do right now.
“It can’t just be for me. What about you?” you asked, practical as always. “What about your dream?”
He scooted a little closer to you, cupping your hand in his. "I hand people the keys to their dream houses all the time. And I still don't know what kind I’d build for myself. But I do know that you're my home, Y/N. And I pinch myself every day trying to remember that you're not a dream. I’ll do anything to help you find yours."
“Joon, I...I…”
You hadn’t said it yet. Neither had he. You text each other hearts, you made love in bed because sometimes the sex between you could only be described in that way. But for you, saying those words to him, to anyone was still uncomfortable territory. He didn’t blame you. You still hadn’t mended things with your father, still had scars you were working through over the concept of those eight letters. But the words were never what mattered to him.
“You don’t have to say it. I don’t need to hear it. You show me your heart every day. And I feel the same, baby. I feel the same.”
You still looked worried, like there was something you couldn’t choose how to express. You blinked and your tears finally broke free. He reached up a thumb and brushed them away, returning the gentle smile that lit up your beautiful face.
“I want to walk down the same path with you.”
As usual, you could cut to the heart and say something so powerful it threatened to knock him off his feet. There were matching tears in Namjoon’s eyes a moment later. He hugged you against him, enveloping you in his embrace.
“Then I’m ready to walk together.”
#networkbangtan#btsghostie#namjoon fluff#namjoon smut#namjoon fanfic#bts fluff#bts smut#bts fanfic#writing#the wedding arrangement#writing: commission
626 notes
·
View notes
Text
friday love & the shadow puppets → newspaper.
[ ! ] breaking news of june, 7, 1990.
Jungkook was inside his car, parked in front of the studio, reading the article writen about him and his returning band—something the whole world was probably aware of by now—and he couldn’t dismiss the insistent smile pulling on the corners of his mouth.
His tattooed hand holding his signature red pen, the one he was fond of to sign fan stuff while scribbling on the piece of paper. The radio was on, and he hummed along with the woman singing absentmindedly. A beautiful cover of Body and Soul.
The only thing missing is a male voice to pair up, he thought, but other than that, even if jazz wasn’t his style when singing, everything about her voice, how she hit the notes oh so casually yet gracefully, tug at his heart. It felt strangely intimate and perfect for this moment. Him alone, in his car, big letters that read “the boys are back!” and the world at his hands yet again.
Jungkook felt genuinely content and oddly excited for what was to come.
He was finally back after so much grieving and drinking… The departure from both Jin and Hoseok was such a loss to him that he had to put the band over hiatus. At the time he didn’t know how to move on from that, or how to.
Sure, lots of bands had to recruit new musicians over time, but he never thought of having to do that when he first started the Shadow Puppets with his friends back at school. How would he even invite strangers to play with him and his best friends? The synergy… it would feel off, wouldn’t it?
He was a perfectionist after all.
And when it came to music, he was harsh and demanding. It needed to be perfect, to feel perfect. Otherwise, how would he move the audience?
The hiatus, however, showed him how to be humble. He went from ‘never will I continue the band if not with Jin and Hoseok’ to ‘maybe we could do some tryouts… just to see, you know?’, and right at the first session he found what he was looking for.
A ticket to his happiness once again. Raegan was her name.
She played beautifully, almost as Jin, but still not quite. She had this uniqueness and stubbornness to her, she was harsher when playing… But also freer. Oh, she could freestyle alright!
He didn’t think twice. The band was back.
Hoseok’s spot was easier to fill, Raegan herself knew how to play guitar, sure not on the level Hoseok played it, but still. It was manageable. And he was still hoping to get the man back somehow. Contrary to Jin, he didn’t leave because of a wife and kids, but simply because he wasn’t digging the lifestyle anymore. How was that possible, Jungkook couldn’t possibly understand.
Someone knocked on his window but he didn’t notice at first, still absorbed in the new upcoming album and the songs he was working on. It was only when the car door of his side was open abruptly that he stopped his thinking.
“Fuck!” his arm came defensively in the air as if to block any sort of attack, “The hell, Namjoon! You scared the shit outta me! Jeez”
“Sorry man,” the taller guy had to curve himself a bit to see the face of Jungkook properly, “but to be fair, I did knock not twice but trice.”
“Fucking hell,” both of them laughed it out while Jungkook discarded the newspaper and pen on his hands on the passenger seat, “What do you want me for?”
“We were going to record those riffles now. Oh-” Namjoon was saying right when the woman on the radio started singing another cover song, making the man get inside the car shortly to turn up the volume.
“What?”
“That’s her! That’s Friday.”
“Friday…?” Jungkook furrowed his brows. The name wasn’t odd to his ears—it was odd in the sense of a person being named after a day of the week, a good day but still, a name he would only dream of giving his dog or something—and truth be told, he wasn’t very good with names, just faces. But he couldn’t place hers.
“Yeah! The new gal’ on our label… The one Yoongi wanted to introduce you to?”
“Oh shit, that’s her?”
“Amazing isn’t she?” Namjoon said with a smile, turning the volume a bit up once again as if he wasn’t hearing enough of her.
“Well… Yeah.” Jungkook finally started paying more attention. “It’s visible she’s a novice and doesn’t know how to use her voice yet, but yeah…”
“She’s a sight for sore eyes too...”
“Huh.”
“I’m just a manager, I don’t get much of voices and all, just what sounds good. And to me, she sounds heavenly! But then again, she could sound like a cat dying and maybe I wouldn’t be able to spot the difference.” the man said drawing a burst of loud and sonorous laughter from the singer. “C’mon, Yoongi is waiting for us!”
Both of them got out of the car in a good mood, but not before Jungkook heard a last low note Friday was able to reach and turn off the radio.
“Yeah, she’s good enough.”
♪ ♫ ♩· [ masterlist ෴ next part ]
🧷 — singguks | all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or claim as your own.
#bts band au#jungkook smut#jungkook rockstar#bts smut#taehyung smut#jimin smut#namjoon smut#jin smut#yoongi smut#hoseok smut#jungkook smau#jungkook angst#taehyung smau#jungkook social media au#jungkook scenarios#bts au#jimin smau#jungkook x reader#jungkook x y/n#flatsp.newspaper
143 notes
·
View notes
Text
210101 Namjoon’s Weverse Post
2020년이 가네요.
이름처럼 무언가 특별할 것 같던 모두의 기대를 무참히 비웃었던 해였습니다. 관객 없는 무대, 함성 없는 스테이지.. 이게 정말 말이 되나. 말이 되나. 어제도 그제도 매번 똑같이 생긴 스튜디오 대기실 의자에 앉아 무��히 되뇌고 곱씹고. 정말이지 넌센스가 센스가 되는 세상이 와버렸구나, 하고.
바위 틈으로 떨어지는 물처럼 무심히 학습되는 무기력.
좌절을 표상하는 모든 것들에 저항해보려 뭔가 자리를 박차고 일어나야할 것 같은 기분이지만, 같은 곳에 그저 있으라고, 머물라고 말하는 저 손가락들. 책을 읽고 또 읽고, 언택트ㅡ 로 시작하는 낯선 무엇무엇을 해보고. 홈트도. 배달음식도 먹어보고. 좁은 방 할 수 있는 모든 것을 다 해본 우리의 부단한 1년이 아니었을까요.
지금도 이렇게 진행 중이지만요..
이러나 저러나 시간은 가고 세상은 돌고.
영영 안 가줄 것만 같던 이 해를 보내고 살아남아 다시 봄을 기다리는 사람들. 이번엔 봄이 정말 올까, 봄 같아줄 정말 그 봄이 오나. 실망하기 싫어 기대도 않으려지만 그래도 실낱같은 희망 부스러기 같은 거라도 꼭 붙잡고 있어야 또 잠에서 깰 수 있는 것이 결국 사람 아닌가 싶어요. 와중에 이 추운 겨울에도 많은 분들의 사랑과 애정어린 시선을 받고 있다는 사실을 다시 또 한 번 가슴에 새겨보면서, 쉽게 꺾이지 않겠다 결연히 혼잣말 해봅니다.
아무도 없어도 내가 듣고 있습니다.
이번 해를 보내면서는 좀 짧고 담담히 적어내려가보자 했지만 또 잔뜩 꼬리에 꼬리를 무는 말들을 보니, 저는 아름드리 나무가 되려면 한참 멀었나봐요. 매일 가지치기를 해도 머리 뒷쪽을 타고 자라나는 명료하고 흐릿한 말과 상상들. 손 내밀어 허공에다라도 한 번 저어보지 않고는 살아갈 수가 없다는 생각이 드는 건 그냥 원래 제 모양 같은 거겠죠 뭐. 주변 어른들은 '너는 원래 좀 썽이 풀려야되는 사람이다' 하시더라고요. 성도 아니고 썽이라고. ㅋㅋㅋ
요즘엔 미세먼지라도 없는 날이면 참 기분이 좋았습니다. 예전보다 더 그렇네요. 뭔가 기분좋음의 하한선이 한없이 밑으로 내려간 느낌? 쉽게 만족하니 좋은 걸까요. 그러면 갑자기, 혹시 지금 실제로 여러분 앞에서 무대를 할 수 있다면? 전엔 당연했던 것들이 왜이리 꿈결 같은지.. 허허. 올해를 소중한 걸 소중히 하지 않았던 데 대한 레슨으로 삼아보려 합니다. 아직 우리는 모르지만 분명 많은 것들을 우리에게 가르쳐주지 않았을까요. 깨닫게 될 때까지 오랜 시간이 걸리지 않길 바랄 뿐입니다.
노을이 처마 끝에 매달려 있습니다.
이 푸른 점 속 어떤 형태로든 남아보려 애쓰며 부유하는 나와 같은 많은 먼지들에게. 또 우릴 위협하고 집어삼키려는 바깥의 저 익숙한 냉소와 질시들에게. 편지를 씁니다. 이 한 해는 헛되지 않았다고. 끝내 사랑이라는 말 밖에는 떠오르지 않지만 무언가 더 좋은, 닳고 닳지 않은 말들을 찾아 헤매어 이렇게 또 쓰네요. 지칠 법도 한 이 나날들 속 이 피로한 여정에 기꺼이 함께해주셔서 감사합니다.
그저 건강하시고, 많이 같이 웃었으면 좋겠어요.
더 봄 같은 봄날을 향해 같이 걸어가요. 사랑합니다. 올해도 고생 많으셨습니다. 저희가 힘이 되었으면 좋겠습니다.
Do remember they can't cancel the spring.
새해 복 많이 받으세요 !
(- -) (_ _) (- -)
- 남준
I see the year 2020 [yet another year] is leaving.
Though we expected 2020 to be special like the name would suggest [2020, marking the start of a new decade], it was a year that ruthlessly laughed in our faces. Performances without audiences, stages without cheers/applause.. Does this really make sense. Does this make sense/is this real. Yesterday and the day before yesterday too, I sat in the same old studio waiting room chair and brooded over it over and over again. Thinking, “Really, a world has come in which ‘nonsense’ has become ‘sense’.”
Lethargy, that carelessly/indifferently gets learned like [the slow repetitive rhythm of] water falling through the gap between rocks. Though it feels like, in order to resist everything that represents frustration [or defeat in despair], I need to burst out of my seat in order to accomplish it, I am told by those fingers pointing at me to just stay in the same place--to just stay. I read books and then read some more, start strange new things through "Untact" (Korea's newly-coined term for "no contact"). Home-teu (at-home training/working out) and delivery food too. Doing everything conceivable that can be done in our small rooms, was this not our constant perpetual life rhythm this year?
Though it is still ongoing/we are still continuing to live in this way..
One way or another, time passes. And the people who survived this past year feeling like this year would never pass/leave/go away, are now waiting for spring again. Will spring really come? Will a spring that really feels like spring come? Though I try not to have expectations because I don't want to be disappointed, I think it is what humans are inclined to do/what it is to be a person--to want to hold tight to a crumb-like thread of hope to be able to wake up from sleep again. In the midst of all that, I engrave into my chest once again the fact that, even in this cold winter, I am/we are receiving the love and affectionate gazes of many people, and I say to myself with determination that I will not be easily broken/swayed. Even if no one is there, I am listening.
While sending off this past year, I tried to keep my writing short and to write calmly but seeing as how each word has latched onto the tail end of the previous sentence a whole lot, it seems I am still a long way from becoming a beautiful tree*. Though I try to prune [my thought branches] every day, clear and blurry words and imaginations creep up following the path in the back of my head, and grow. Well, I guess me thinking "I can't live without needing to stick my hand out into the abyss and stir my hand about [out of curiosity/out of the need to find out/get a feel for what's out there]" is just my original shape [is just who I am as a person]. The grown-ups/older people around me say 'you're the type of person who needs to let go of/release his ssung.' Not even sung (anger), but ssung ('anger' said with emphasis). Kekeke
These days, I felt good/was in a good mood just by having a day without fine dust/toxic haze/air pollution. I seem to be like that even more than before. It feels like my bar for what warrants a good mood has gotten endlessly lower? Is it a good thing that I am now satisfied easily? Then suddenly I ask 'what if I could actually perform in front of you all now in person?' Why do the things that were obvious/for certain/a given before, feel like a dream.. huhu/hoho (pensive, somewhat old-man-scholar-like laugh). I'm trying to store this past year away as a lesson about not cherishing/treating as precious what is precious. Though we may not know it yet, [this past year] must have taught us so many things. I just hope it doesn't take us long to realize what it is we have learned.
The sunset is currently hanging on at the end of the eaves. To the many particles of dust** who, like me, are working hard to stay afloat in this blue dot (T/N: probably referring to the earth**) in whatever form they can manage. And to the familiar cynicism, envy and jealousies over there outside that threaten to devour us. I write this letter. To say this past year was not in vain. In the end, the words "I love you" are the only ones that come to mind but I write to you like this again while searching and wandering/struggling to find a better word that hasn't been worn and worn again. During these days that are probably exhausting, thank you for staunchly/gladly accompanying us on this weary journey.
My only wish is that you all are healthy and that we all laugh a lot together. Let us walk onward towards a more spring-like spring day. You all went through a lot this year/well done. I hope we can be a source of strength to you.
Do remember they can't cancel the spring.
Happy New Year (wishing you lots of luck/fortune in the new year) !
(- -) (_ _) (- -)
-Namjoon
(T/N: *아름드리 나무 (beautiful tree) is the wording Namjoon’s counselor/therapist used several years ago to reassure Namjoon when Namjoon was worried he thinks and talks too much. The tree analogy is mentioned and explained in his BTS Live : RM 🍊 Vlive + **copy editor @welilyandblue theorizes that Joon using “blue dot” and “particles of dust” to describe the earth and the humans that inhabit it respectively is most likely taken from Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot, 1994)
Trans cr: Amy @ bts-weverse-trans
© Please credit when taking out
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mewmeggie
MewMeggie
koiruptic
Koiruptic
albinaanonimrus-blog
Shipper
paranoidrobonoid
ParanoidRobonoid
coisasdobrian
Coisas do Brian