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moonleeai · 11 months

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Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by @ 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚒𝚗𝚎 of @bangtanwhq

My Big 3 are: ☼ Aquarius - Members - JiKook ☾ Pieces - Where they meet- Walking on Campus ↑ Leo - Cliche Trope - Strangers to Lovers

🟠 Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook

🟠 AU/Genre: Pistilverse AU / Strangers to Lovers / Almost Romeo and Juliet

🟠 Rating: MA

🟠 WC: 2,404

🟠 Warnings: Oral - Sexual activity

🟠 Tags/Inclusions: tattoo tracing~the smell of books~praise~pistilverse ~oral~late night karaoke~body worship~longtime pining~soulmate

Fic Notes:

°°°"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."-- Emily Brontë

°°°Jimin- Bonded Pistil; If he sleeps with another Stamen, the poison spreads through their blood and they die of poisoning within three days.

°°°Jungkook- Stamen; Stamens who have sex with a bonded Pistil will also die of poisoning, but Jungkook doesn't know he's an anti-stamen with healing power

ABOUT PISTILVERSE

🖤Thank you @rec-me-bts for another beautiful banner! I truly appreciate you always making time to help me out!

🖤Thank you, Sara and Jasz @downbad4yoongi for betaing!! I love how you both always hype me up!

Jimin has seen him before around campus, a beautiful man hidden under dark baggy clothes and a bucket hat. Jimin imagined he was built like a Greek God under those layers but never approached him, just admired from afar. Years ago, Jimin was tricked into sleeping with a venom stamen. When he asked about the flower, the venom stamen said it wasn’t poisonous, a lie. Jimin didn’t know a pretty flower could be deadly at the time, drawn in by the beautiful sleeve of color and fragrant perfume. When the flowers bloomed along his spine on the barren branch, he felt the sting for days; thankfully, it wasn’t excruciating. But he was left with the pain of one-sided love, and the memory was forever branded on his back as a bonded pistil. The memory was enough to scare Jimin away from connecting with anyone else, knowing that sleeping with anyone else would activate the poison in his blood and end his life.

For months, he kept his distance from Jungkook, walking mindlessly together with their friend group to and from classes. The campus landscape easily kept Jimin from staring, sidewalks lined with flourishing flowers. No one knew Jimin was dreaming of Jungkook’s touch, imagining running his fingers along his pale skin, pressing their lips together, looking into those doe eyes while Jungkook's body hovered over him. He wants to worship Jungkook and be his one and only lover. Deep down, Jimin can feel a gravitational pull toward Jungkook, but he fights it, knowing nothing can come of it. Jimin missed being touched and always dreamed of having a life-long partner, but his past endeavors tore that away from him.

Jimin grabs a coffee and makes his way to his normal spot at the campus library to work on his final dissertation. He takes a deep breath through his nose, breathing in the familiar earthy scents mixed with musk and hints of vanilla. Today, there's another scent that he has only smelled outside. It's delicately sweet and floral with a muted citrus-orange. And, as it danced its way through his nostrils, a sexy depth evoked erotic thoughts. Jimin was dizzy from the scent and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling that was taking over his senses. His body reacted with a tingling flutter surrounding his heart and a deep desire in his belly. His cock twitched with arousal, bringing him back to reality. He looks around to find the source of the scent but only hears a door closing in the distance.

A month later, the semester is over, and Jimin is unwinding at a local bar with friends when he smells the floral orange again. His eyes wander, looking for the source again. In a crowd of men, he spots a forearm with a flame-orange tiger lily with black spots on the petals, the mark of a stamen. The lively color is hypnotizing. Jimin's eyes roam the rest of the individual, starting from the bottom, clad in chunky high-top black boots and relaxed-fit black pants bloused into them. The man's shirt is also black, with a thick silver chain necklace draping over the shirt collar. A shiny lip piercing sits on plush lips that he thinks he may have seen before. Jimin's gaze meets the man's, and they both shyly smile before Jungkook looks away. Jimin's heart flutters, and he battles the arousal growing between his legs. He admires Jungkook like a pretty painting for a few more seconds before turning away. Jimin feels the gravitational pull toward Jungkook again, but he fights it, knowing nothing can come of it.

A few moments pass, and the orange floral scent gets stronger, almost knocking Jimin off his feet. He takes a deep breath before there's a tap on his shoulder. Like a deer in headlights, he's slightly looking up into those doe eyes he's been daydreaming about. Jungkook's lips are moving, but Jimin hears nothing. He watches as Jungkook's lips draw up on just one side then his tongue probes at his lip piercing. Jimin briefly widens his eyes, frantically realizing he's just staring.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I'm Jungkook. What's your name?"

"Ah. Jimin. Nice to meet you, Jungkook." Jimin silently says the pretty man’s name a few more times as if engraving it into his brain.

"Nice to meet you too, Jimin. Wanna get outta here?" Jimin's heart stops, and the air from his lungs is expelled.

"I--I can't. It's not a good idea." Not only is Jimin afraid of connecting with another, he’s also not the only one who would be affected. Stamens who have sex with a bonded pistil will also die of the poisoning. Jimin could never take Jungkook's pretty being from the earth.

"I was just thinking some karaoke would be fun...and I could use some company."

"I really wish I cou--"

"What if I beg?" Jungkook reaches for Jimin's hand, circling his thumb along his paper-thin skin and sending chills over Jimin's body.

"Only if you promise karaoke only."

"As you wish." Jungkook pulls Jimin behind him as he darts for the door. Jimin brushes his hair back, smiling from ear to ear. They reach a motorcycle parked on the corner, and Jungkook hands him a full-face helmet. He doesn't think twice before putting it on and jumping on the bike behind Jungkook. Jungkook grabs Jimin's arms and wraps them around his waist. Jimin inhales the scent as if it's the last time he may ever smell it again. Jungkook leans forward and takes off carefully, blurring the city lights surrounding them.

When they arrive at an apartment complex and remove their helmets, Jungkook notices Jimin's confused expression.

"I guess I should've said karaoke at my place?"

"Probably, yeah. Look, I want to get to know you– I do– I just can't."

"Relax, Jimin; it’s just singing," Jungkook smirks and grabs Jimin's hand again, leading the way into his apartment. It's clean, almost empty, but cozy at the same time. Jungkook flicks a small lamp on, casting a faux galaxy throughout the room on the walls and ceiling. He grabs two beers from his fridge and guides Jimin to sit on his couch. Jimin can't take his eyes off Jungkook as he watches his every movement, only tearing his eyes away to look at the TV and song choices. He doesn't need the beer; Jungkook’s scent makes him tipsy enough.

"It's almost 1 AM, you sure this is okay with your neighbors?"

"Yeah, I do it all the time. We can sing our hearts out, and no one will care." Jimin nods and they pick a song.

One song leads to many. An hour later, they are close enough that Jimin can feel the warmth radiating from Jungkook's body. He stopped singing just a song ago, wanting to bask in the angelic vocals coming from Jungkook. He leans into him with a shiver, hoping to steal some of his heat and glances down at the glowing tiger lily. His hand gravitates to it and traces the outline of the flower. Each swoop of his finger sends butterflies through Jungkook’s veins. Jungkook stutters, bringing Jimin out of his trance.

"Ss–sorry. It's just...beautiful." Jimin says while looking admirably into Jungkook's eyes.

Jungkook puts the mic down and lets the soft R&B play in the background. He angles his body toward Jimin, takes his chin in his hand, and leans into a kiss. But, before their lips meet, Jimin turns his head, and Jungkook’s lips fall onto his cheek.

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers.

“Mmm,” Jungkook moans, “I want to hear you call my name endlessly.”

“I’m bonded.” Jimin blurts breathlessly, nervous from the anticipation of a torturous fate and the overwhelming intoxication of arousal.

Jungkook lightly pulls Jimin’s face back to focus on him. “We can kiss, can’t we?”

Jimin leans in, pressing his lips ragingly into Jungkook’s. His body melts into Jungkook when his hands wrap around his torso, strongly gripping his sides. Jungkook sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth and swallows the mewl that escapes from Jimin’s mouth. The kiss is passionate and too hot; the room feels as though it’s a hundred degrees warmer. Jimin tugs at the hem of Jungkook’s shirt as their tongues swipe across each other. They pause only long enough to remove their shirts and for Jimin to confirm that Jungkook is built like a Greek God. Jimin traces the lines of Jungkook’s chiseled chest and prominent abs. Jungkook kisses down Jimin’s neck, slurping loudly as he sucks feverishly. Jimin alternates between hisses and pants at the sensitivity. The flowers on his back are inflamed, but he doesn’t care; Jungkook is still making him feel euphoric.

“Jimin,” Jungkook rasps between kisses, his chest heaving. Jimin whines, sending Jungkook into a frenzy. He lifts Jimin onto his lap and attacks his nipples, nipping and sucking, licking and soothing. Jungkook pulls his face away and watches as Jimin’s face twists in discomfort. He shifts, reaching up to kiss Jimin’s lips again. “Your lips.” mwah “They’re like marshmallows.” mwah “Soft.” mwah “So sweet.”

Jungkook’s hands slowly start to undo Jimin’s pants, exposing the top of his briefs. He dips a finger into the band, testing Jimin’s willingness. Then continues with his honey-laced words. “Your voice,” mwah, “Enchanting.” Mwah, “Your skin, supple and silky.” Jimin rises on his knees, allowing Jungkook to pull his pants down over his peachy bottom, then sits to the side to pull them all the way off.

“You next,” Jimin pleads, and Jungkook happily obliges, standing to remove his pants swiftly.

“Stand,” Jungkook demands, pulling Jimin into him. Jimin gasps as Jungkook pushes his tongue into Jimin’s mouth, grabbing fistfuls of ass. Jungkook’s hardened cock is outlined in his magenta briefs, resting against Jimin’s stomach.

“I c–can’t,” Jimin shakily lets out.

“I can,” Jungkook palms Jimin’s length, eliciting a whimper. “Your body,” mwah. “It’s so beautiful.” Mwah, “I need to feel you, all of you.” Mwah.

“Jungkook—”

“When you say my name, it flows through my body like moonshine, electrifying every inch of my body,” Jungkook breathes as he lowers to his knees, leaving a trail of kisses along Jimin’s v-line. He pulls the briefs down Jimin’s ripped legs and frees his leaking cock. Jungkook’s tongue darts out against his lip piercing, the cool touch of metal chilling the tip of his hot tongue.

Jungkook reaches out and squeezes Jimin’s throbbing shaft, his own arousal pooling in his lower stomach. Jimin is powerless against Jungkook’s touch, paralyzed in anticipation. Jungkook brings his lips to Jimin’s cockhead and licks slowly, twirling his tongue around the top.

“More. Please, Jungkook.”

Jungkook smiles and licks a long stripe from Jimin’s balls to the foreskin, then places gentle kisses along the shaft. Jimin giggles, squirms under the tickle, and places his hands in Jungkook’s hair, pulling him off. Jungkook looks into Jimin’s eyes and opens his mouth wide, ready for his mouth to be stuffed. Jimin grips Jungkook’s hair tighter and pulls his eager mouth toward his leaking length. Jungkook slowly lowers his mouth, swallowing Jimin whole. Jimin gasps as the tip of his cock hits the back of Jungkook’s throat. His throat is tight and so warm.

“You take me so well,” Jimin says while petting Jungkook’s head. Jungkook’s nose is almost touching Jimin’s pubis, and his eyes are focused on Jimin’s. “So. Pretty,” Jimin praises while pushing his cock further down. Jungkook’s eyes well with tears before spilling down his cheeks, and Jimin wipes over his cheekbone before pulling out. A string of spit connecting Jungkook’s lips to Jimin’s cock.

“Jungkook, your mouth is…it’s sinful.”

Jungkook eagerly shoves Jimin’s cock back down his throat, bobbing his head up and down. He focuses on the tip while stroking his shaft, basking in the coos coming from Jimin. He sinks his mouth as far as he can, swallowing on the descent, and stares up at Jimin, who has his head tilted back. Jungkook moans at the visual as Jimin’s body shakes.

“I’m cum– Jungkook, I’m cumming.” Jungkook swallows every drop proudly. Jimin runs his thumb over Jungkook’s lips and then pulls at his chin for him to stand, crashing their lips and tongues together. Jungkook leads Jimin to his bedroom to seal their fate.

Laying next to each other, hands caressing each other’s skin, Jungkook confesses, “I must admit, I’ve seen you a few times. But there was a feeling I’ve never had, and I was scared to approach you.”

“A feeling?”

“Like we were fated…kind of? The closer you were, the more attraction I felt. I feel so deeply connected with you right now; it’s hard to breathe. If this is our first and last time together, I’m happy.”

As Jungkook finishes speaking, Jimin writhes in pain, stronger than he’s felt before. They both assume it’s the poison igniting through his veins. He curls into a fetal position, exposing his back to Jungkook. Jungkook quickly sits up and places his hand on him, trying to soothe Jimin’s pain as tears stream down his cheeks, wishing he could do more for him. Jimin stops and gasps for air, inhaling deeply and then coughing.

“Jungkook—”

“Jimin! Your flowers!”

“Yeah, they—”

“No! They-- they’re disappearing!”

“What?!” Jimin rolls onto his stomach so that Jungkook can get a better view.

“They’re fading, but—” Jungkook watches as the watermelon-pink centers fade into the salmon-colored edges until they are completely gone, something else appearing and occupying the place.

“But what?!” Jimin doesn’t understand. The poison should be killing him, but instead, he’s floaty, a type of high that has him on cloud nine.

“Tiger lilies…”

“Jungkook! Please--”

“My flower…it—it’s replacing the azaleas.” Jungkook’s hands trace over the tiger lilies appearing on Jimin’s back, like magic before his eyes. As each pink flower vanishes, a bright orange one blossoms.

“Replacing? Like…like…”

“Like I—I’m an anti-stamen?” Jungkook whispers, not completely sure if he understands it all fully.

“Anti-stamen. So, you cured me?” Jimin sits up abruptly and feels a tingle along his hip. He looks and watches as a bouquet of snow-white flowers with sunny yellow centers blooms along his hip bone. When an anti-stamen cures a poisoned calyx, the healed becomes a stamen. “You cured me!”

Jimin tightly hugs Jungkook as they cry in each other’s arms and succumb to their fate. Jimin feels their hearts beating together, adding to the joyous event of two calyx souls being joined as one.

🖤thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! 🖤

#bangtan writers hq #bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin x jungkook #jikook #pistilverse #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #bts #moonleeai writes sometimes

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ffion451 · 2 years

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Between Our Two Lives | A KNJ one shot (m)

Summary: “He doesn’t watch you go, instead, he looks into the trees until they form into a Monet of pink, white and glowing golden light as his tears blur the world into only an impression.” >>> For the last 8 years every spring has been the same for Kim Namjoon; the season always brings change, disruption, something new, and you: as the cherry blossom unfurls and on the branch, so you appear, and it’s always the same, always as ephemeral as the blossoms themselves, blooming and then falling as each year you slip through his fingers like so many diaphanous petals.

Genre(s): Angst, fluff and smut, non idol au

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected penetrative sex, f>m and m>f oral, voyeurism (sort of)), swearing, further warnings for kinks in notes below. ⚠️🔞mature content, adults only, 18+🔞⚠️

Chapter characters/pairings: Namjoon x reader, a little bit of Taehyung x reader (is it even my fic if Tae doesn’t feature? I have a real problem)

Note: The most angst I have ever written, ngl, this hurts

Written for the Spring Day event for Bangtan Writers HQ (check out the network and its writers out here and on Twitter - they’re all far more talented than me!)

Word count: 13.6K

SPRING 2021: A Cabin Retreat

There it is again.

As with every day this last week, his eyes are drawn to the spaces through the tree line where the deep blue of night lifts above the horizon, where a rosy glow creeps between the trees, and where a dark figure moves and casts a long shadow before being hidden behind a mass of thicket.

Nobody else is awake as early as he is; nobody else is there to witness this scene. He feels a mad impulse to lie in wait for this figure, to set an ambush and discover who this interloper on his peaceful moments is.

Tomorrow is his last day on this holiday. There will be no more early mornings sat drinking coffee on the porch, no more reading in the morning light that reflects off the crystalline snow, no more listening to the gentle fall of snow dropping from heavily-laden boughs of blossom onto the soft blanket below and he will sorely miss the beauty he’s found here.

He’s taken more photos than he can count this spring, it’s different to any he’d experienced before: snow in spring when the cherry trees are in full bloom; each small flower seemingly hand painted with a tiny edging of frost, like white gilding.

He’s distracted by the sound of movement in the cabin behind him, and, with ideas percolating away in his brain of finally catching the mysterious figure, he returns to the cabin and his wakening friends to get another cup of coffee.

No new snow falls today and he manages to lure two of the party, Hoseok and Jimin, out into the wilderness in the late afternoon to eke out the last moments of enjoyment from the serene landscape.

“What are you doing?,” asks an amused, if confused, Hoseok as Namjoon veers between the trees.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “He still has his theory about his early morning prowler - he’s looking for tracks.”

“Seriously?,” laughs Hoseok, “the key holder told us nobody is around for miles except the reclusive old man who lives in the cabin down the road, you know the one who ‘never leaves his cabin’ and would shoot us on sight if we trespassed,” he repeats for what feels like the dozenth time, using air quotes to emphasise that the grumpy old man was not likely to be creeping about and if he were, they wouldn’t want to find him and his probable shotgun either.

They tease Namjoon good-naturedly for about another half a mile before Hoseok throws his arm out to stop them, raising a hand to gesture for silence and cocking his head to the side as he listens intently, mouthing “PSY?” silently.

“Is that Gentleman playing?,” whispers Jimin and they tiptoe off the path they’re on to follow the sound.

A few steps later and it’s Jimin stopping them this time pointing at the ground; there are tracks now, one set of snow boots and a those of a fox or small dog. They follow them until they reach a steep incline and the music carries up from somewhere at the bottom. Namjoon’s smug smile of vindication is wiped off his face when Hoseok indicates broken branches near them, disturbed snow, and further down the bank, a long spray of scarlet, startlingly red against the whiteness.

“Whoever it is must be hurt,” Jimin says, sounding concerned.

They agree that Namjoon will rush back to the cabin and call the ranger, while Jimin and Hoseok will venture down the bank to do what they can.

—————————————————

Namjoon has no sooner met the ranger than Jimin and Hoseok emerge from the trees, both bearing loads. Jimin is holding a small, fluffy dog and Hoseok, a shapeless mass wrapped in a long dark coat like a blanket.

The ranger drives to them as Namjoon jogs behind, arriving mid way through Hoseok’s explanation as the ranger leans into the backseat of her truck, examining the bundle Hoseok had been carrying.

“She’s in shock,” the ranger states.

“She said the dog fell down the bank,” Hoseok explains, “she was barely conscious when we reached her, she was playing music from her phone to try to attract attention as her voice had given out. We patched her head up with my scarf, she knocked it on the fall, and carried her out of there, there’s something wrong with her ankle too,”

The ranger examines further, “It’s not broken,” she confirms, before asking, with no small amount of suspicion, “Why is her coat not on her?”

Jimin jumps in, “The dog is injured from it’s fall, she said she took her coat off to wrap him up,”

The ranger rolls her eyes, “Typical of her, silly girl loves that dog. I need to take her to hospital, there’s a veterinarian across the road from it, does one of you want to come and bring the dog there?”

Hoseok shoots Namjoon a pointed look, “We’re all coming, we’ll follow in our car,” he says.

Namjoon is puzzled, until the ranger does up some straps and moves away from the door, tucking in the unconscious body, “She’s just crazy, this one,” she sighs, reaching out to pet the dog, “she’s a lovely person, not been here long. Been writing her novel holed up alone here with just little Tantan here for company, feeding out the lie that some mad old recluse lives in her cabin so the people who come to stay here leave her alone - but we love her,” she concludes as she moves away from the door.

Before she can close it, Namjoon sees the ashen face within, even unconscious the features are pinched in pain and tiredness but they’re still breathtakingly beautiful to him.

His heart leaps just as his stomach sinks and now Hoseok’s expression makes perfect sense because it’s you.

What the fuck are you doing here? he thinks as the door slams shut.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2014: Where it All Began

Namjoon looks around for his friends, who should be back by now but they’re nowhere to be found. In the noise of the busy funfair, he stands beside the driving simulator, it’s designed for two people to sit in side-by-side as they compete against each other but he has nobody to compete against now, having been abandoned. Behind him, a group of girls shuffle impatiently and he senses they’re seconds away from asking him to move along and he groans in embarrassment, setting his jaw.

He casts one final look around the crowds, hoping to see a familiar face but finds no joy. Giving up, his shoulder slump and he turns to the girls and opens his mouth to apologise when one of them steps forward, smiling at him.

God, she is so pretty, he thinks.

“Your friends are taking a while, huh?,” you say kindly.

“You guys should just go,” he says, “it’s not fair to wait.”

“There are five of us,” you smile, and he blushes under the kindness of your attention, “so someone wouldn’t have had a turn. So, would you be a gentleman and race me?”

He pauses for a moment before finding his voice, “I’m not very good at it,” he mutters.

“That’s ok,” you say generously, gesturing for him to climb in the simulator as you take the other side.

Within, under the glow of the neon lights in the small space, you’re so radiant he can barely breathe, “I really am bad,” he explains.

You laugh then, and it’s a glorious sound to him, “I’m not,” you smirk, “and I love to win, so just try your best to give me a bit of a challenge, eh?,” you wiggle your eyebrows playfully and he is lost for words, turning his flustered attention to the game.

A few minutes later, he’s been soundly beaten and when you climb out you shake his hand as though you just competed at tennis, making his friends, who’ve since shown up, gawp open-mouthed before they lead him away, him offering you a sad wave as you smile and turn back to your friends.

As he sits at the bus stop later that night, watching the pink blossoms fall in the soft orange glow of the street lights, he doesn’t think of any other moment that evening but the feel of your hand in his and the warmth that spread through him at your smile, wishing he had spoken to you more, wishing he’d even asked your name.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2015: Books in the Park

Namjoon loves this park, he loves the wide avenues and at this time of year the cherry blossom trees that line it, all aglow with delicate blooms of whites and pink, in a glorious candyfloss display of luminescence in the midday sun.

All along the avenue, couples sit on benches beneath the trees, posing for photos as the delicate petals, smaller than the nail on a little finger, fall about them like confetti. He smiles at the romance of it all as he walks along, book tucked under his arm, looking for a place to sit and read as he pushes his bike alongside him.

He spies a bench with a girl sat reading at one end, leaving room for him to sit at the other. It’s you, your hair is different, but it’s undoubtedly you.

For a moment he’s flustered, but reasons that you won’t remember him, still, his heart pounds as he interrupts your reading to ask if he might sit at the other end. You look up from your book, your frown of irritation at being interrupted quickly concealed behind a polite smile until your eyes meet his and then his heart threatens to explode.

Your polite smile widens dazzlingly into a genuine, beaming grin, “Racer boy!,” you exclaim, “I’m glad to see you’re on a bike, I don’t think cars are a wise choice for you!,” you tease.

He can’t speak; you remember him. He can only blush and open his mouth dumbly.

You suddenly flush then, embarrassed, “I’m sorry,” you say, dropping eye contact as you cringe, “we’ve actually met, at the funfair last spring? We raced, sorry -,”

Your discomfort makes him feel terrible and he’s able to find his tongue, “No, I remember! You thrashed me! Sorry, I was just struck dumb by the memory of my humiliation,” he jokes.

You laugh and gesture for him to sit as he rests his bike against the bench, “I’m sorry to have interrupted you while you were reading,” he says, lifting his own book as he takes a seat, “you looked lost in your own world,”

You turn slightly so you’re angled towards him and he takes in every detail of how your body gracefully twists, how a finger comes to rest between the pages of your book so you don’t lose your place. You nod gently, “I live in my dreams - that’s what you sense,”

He looks at you puzzled for a moment as he recollects the words and then smiles, lifting his book towards you as he recognises it as a line he recently read, “You’re a fan?,” he questions.

“I’m not sure,” you say thoughtfully, “but I enjoyed it,” and you talk for a long time about the novel and the ideas within before discussing the author.**

“What are you reading, may I ask?,” he says with interest.

“Ah, strangely enough we’re geographically close,” you smile, “I take your Swiss-German and raise you an Austrian,” you say, waving your Zweig novel, which launches another debate about the different titles in translation: he’d read a translation of it entitled ‘Beware of Pity’, whereas yours has been translated as ‘Impatience of the Heart’. As you talk you move closer together, caught up in the pace of the conversation and the exhilaration of a meeting of minds before, as is its entirely predictable way, the universe intervenes.

“Namjoon-ah, baby?,” says a soft voice, and Namjoon feels an unexpected sudden thrill of resentment for the first time ever at the sound, which pulls him out of the little world he’d been building with you.

He looks up into the wide, pretty eyes of his date, Jinjoo, but he’s more aware of you beside him, seemingly suddenly a little flustered. Before he can even reply to Jinjoo, you’re on your feet, nodding sweetly at Jinjoo and moving away.

“Nice to see you again, enjoy the book,” you say politely, but when your eyes meet his he senses that the sadness and disappointment in his are mirrored in your own, yet it’s less than a moment before you’re gone in a swirl of blossom, moving in swift graceful strides down the avenue, quickly lost amongst the crowd.

As Jinjoo takes a seat on the bench and kisses Namjoon on the cheek, he realises that yet again, he has failed to learn your name.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2016: A Party

Jinjoo takes his hand and leads a very unwilling Namjoon into his friends’ housewarming party. He looks around for Jimin and Hoseok, but can’t see them anywhere and it feels strangely like that night two years ago at the funfair when they’d abandoned him.

Suddenly, from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok’s laughter carries back to him and he follows the sound to the kitchen.

There he finds Hoseok, in mid-conversation with a group of people.

“You realise both our mothers are heartbroken that all of their plans to see us married have gone up in flames” Hoseok grins, smiling at the possibly the handsomest man Namjoon has ever seen.

“I’m so sorry,” says Mister Handsome, with a smirk and no sense of sincerity at all, turning to the person that his arm is wrapped around, “am I that much of a disappointment, babe?”

Thanks to the movement of people and the angles of the bodies Namjoon can’t quite see the person in question, but then you speak and he knows it’s you instantly.

“A massive disappointment,” you say in mock seriousness, “my mother and Hoseok’s are still sifting through the ashes, desperate to find a way to force us down the aisle,” and the man laughs deeply, kissing the top of your head.

“Taehyung, you’re our saviour, man,” laughs Hoseok, “it’s not even that they thought we were well suited, it’s literally just because our mothers have become best friends and want to push our family’s together it’s ridic -,” he suddenly pauses as he spots Namjoon and Jinjoo and calls them over beckoning them with a wide wave of his arms. Again, Jinjoo needs to guide the reluctant Namjoon across the room.

Hoseok makes enthusiastic introductions and Namjoon finds himself smiling genuinely as he finally learns your name, the sound of it filling his senses, and you smile back at him. Neither of you mention having met before and he appreciates that it’s a silent secret the two of you share; he’s relieved that Jinjoo doesn’t seem to remember you from that brief meeting: he wants this thing with you, something that only belongs to you and him.

He finds, as the group of you talk, Taehyung explaining something about photography, that his eyes keep being drawn to you, his gaze wandering across the structure of your face, lingering at the soft turn of your lips, the flutter of your lashes and the gentle raises of your brows as you laugh. It’s after one such lingering look that he feels he’s being watched and turns to meet the dark, brooding stare of Taehyung. It’s not a threatening look, rather it seems to be a reminder, his eyes flicking towards Jinjoo as if to say ‘hey, remember who you’re here with’; it should make him feel ashamed but it doesn’t.

He barely has any time with you across the evening, you’re completed absorbed in Taehyung, and the more he has to drink the more unsatisfied he feels. Eventually, out of the corner of his eye, he spies Taehyung leading you by the hand upstairs, and impulsively he takes Jinjoo’s hand and follows, slinking into the narrow hallway closet beside the room Taehyung has led you in.

“There’s not much room in here, Joonie,” giggles Jinjoo, who’s as tipsy as he is.

He kisses her deeply, “I’m so horny, babe,” he moans and he hears her breath catch.

“Let me help my man out, then,” she winks, sinking to her knees as he eagerly undoes his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles as she takes his hardening cock out of his boxers and licks at the tip, running her practised hand up and down his length in all the ways he’s taught her that he likes.

Namjoon may not have felt ashamed of the way he focused his attention on you downstairs but now, panting as he fucks his girlfriend’s eager mouth, he’s suddenly filled with it. He doesn’t know how it’s happened, but his thrusts into her tight mouth are matching the pace of the rhythmic pounding he can hear through the paper thin wall, his own quiet moans synchronising with Taehyung’s much louder, deep moans and grunts.

It should sicken him that Taehyung seems to need to run a commentary as he fucks you, but he’s getting off on the details of how tight you are, of how much Taehyung enjoys your every touch and action, but all of that is secondary to how much he enjoys the sound of your moans and gasps of desire as he closes his eyes and pumps his cock into Jinjoo, imagining something he would have found inconceivable and despicable when sober.

Nonetheless, despite his shame, he holds off his orgasm until he hears you meet yours, finally coming explosively down Jinjoo’s throat before hoisting her against the door and fingering her dripping pussy to orgasm to the soundtrack of Taehyung forcing another one from your overstimulated body: Jinjoo comes before you do, clinging to Namjoon’s shoulders as they press their sweaty foreheads together, breathing deeply as the sounds coming from you and Taehyung finally reach their own obscene end, with a deep growling yell from him and a wracking moan from you as the sound of slapping, sweaty flesh stills and Taehyung gives a low seductive chuckle, talking about filling you up and your tired laughter in response.

Coming down from her high, Jinjoo giggles, “Sounds like we’re not the only ones having fun,” she says, meeting his lips for a kiss.

He reciprocates, but not for long, instead burying his head into the crook of her neck and kissing the soft flesh there instead; his face burns with shame and embarrassment. Jinjoo is a sweet girl, she’s certainly been a good girlfriend to him in the few months they’ve been official, patient with him and his hesitancy about dating or taking their relationship further than just good friends who’d occasionally kiss and make out, but nothing more. She deserves better than a boyfriend who fucks her mouth while fantasising about a woman he doesn’t actually really know.

Namjoon comforts himself with that thought. That’s all you are, a fantasy; you probably don’t live up to the magical version he’s built up in his head and you probably don’t give him more than a passing thought, tonight it’s seemed that you barely register his existence. He should be able to forget about you, he reasons. He will forget about you.

Yet, later on, when your run into him in the kitchen and ask him about his current reading, your eyes bright and your mind interested he realises that you are all the things he dreams about you being. Even worse, when you gulp water, still flushed from your exertions with Taehyung, revealing a long throat glistening with a light sheen of sweat and decorated with shades of blue and purple, he recalls Taehyung’s deep moans and stuttered praise, and to his chagrin, he realises you probably live up to, or likely exceed, the other fantasies he’s had about you too.

That night, lying in bed with Jinjoo’s small body pressed into his side, he closes his eyes and the first thing he sees is your face: you’d left the party with Taehyung, heading the opposite way down the tree lined street as you’d all filed out of Hoseok and Jimin’s place. He’d turned to look at you just as you reached out to wrap an arm about the slim trunk of a cherry tree, swinging around it, slightly drunkenly, earning a chuckle from Taehyung who simply watched you with a fond smile on his face, not that Namjoon noticed. No, his attention was focused entirely on you; your swing shook masses of blossom loose which engulfed you in a snowstorm of petals, yet through the soft blossoms your eyes met Namjoon’s and the look imprinted itself on his memory because though you were clearly happy, there was a strange sort of wistfulness in the look you gave him, like you were desperately trying to capture the moment, as though you already missed the memory of his face. As ever, it did not linger, but ephemerally melted away; you were back in Taehyung’s arms, being twirled around before his lips met yours. Jinjoo’s arm tightened around his, and he turned away from you.

Sighing and wriggling on the bed, earning a slight huff from Jinjoo’s sleeping mouth he forces his eyes open and stares at the ceiling. He strokes Jinjoo’s arm comfortingly and she snuggles closer to him as he fights the heaviness weighing on his eyelids: he won’t let himself dream of you tonight. Jinjoo deserves better.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2017: A Gallery

Over the last year, Namjoon has been good at avoiding you. He’d resolved on it that night of staring at his ceiling, and it had been much easier than he’d anticipated; yours and Hoseok’s refusal to date had annoyed your families, who had then swiftly given up, and your friendship with Hoseok had tailed off too after a couple of months. Within that space of time, your two lives, your two worlds, existed separately again.

So when spring comes around again, he barely ever thinks of you.

He arranges to meet Jimin outside of the gallery; he’s been waiting months for the new exhibit to open; he loves sculpture and Anicka Yi’s work soothes him. He reclines in the warmth of the midday sun on the gallery steps and smiles to himself as he dusts blossom from his shoes and its then that he thinks of you again, twirling under the falling petals, but the thought is fleeting and he pushes it swiftly from his mind as Jimin approaches.

Within the gallery, Jimin draws Namjoon’s attention to some interesting landscapes, “Remember Taehyung?,” Jimin asks, “you met him at our housewarming, I think?”

“Yeah, I think so,” replies Namjoon with disinterest.

‘I think so’, who am I kidding?, he thinks. He knows exactly who Taehyung is, and though he can’t remember every detail of the man’s insanely beautiful face he can recall, with humiliating clarity, exactly what the guy sounds like when he orgasms.

“He took these,” Jimin continues excitedly, “he’s supposed to be here today, I hope you don’t mind, he won’t tour the exhibit with us, I just want to say hi. We’ve become friends.”

Later, to Namjoon’s displeasure, he’s reintroduced to Taehyung and is irritated to find he’s an affable, nice guy.

“We’re going for dinner this evening,” Taehyung says after they’ve been talking a little while, “would you like to join us? You can bring your girlfriend, Jinsoo was it?”

Jimin glances quickly over at Namjoon.

“Jinjoo,” Namjoon corrects, “that’s nice of you, sorry though, we have plans tonight, but I hope you have fun.”

Jimin quickly intervenes to reassure him that they always do, before they part ways and continue with the exhibit.

When they step outside, Jimin presses Namjoon for answers, “Why did you lie about still being with Jinjoo? You guys broke up months ago.”

“I guess I didn’t want to be the only single one,” Namjoon lies again.

“But Tae is single too? As am I!,” laughs Jimin.

“No, he’s not,” Namjoon interjects quickly, “he was seeing that girl at your party, that Hoseok’s parents wanted to match him with,”

Jimin smiles, “Yeah, I know,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he starts to figure out that all those long stares at the party clearly meant something, “they didn’t last long though.To be honest, she broke his heart a bit.They just were’t compatible in the end, they never saw each other because of work and she had to move to Busan for a while, life just kind of fucked them,” he explains.

“She’s still in Busan?,” Namjoon asks, and, as soon as he’s said it, he realises he’s given himself away.

Jimin grins devilishly, “No, she’s back, but don’t worry, Taehyung isn’t going to try again. He doesn’t want to risk having his heart broken twice and she’s dead set on chasing a promotion at her work, meaning she’d need to move to the US. He’d never leave his family so he’s not going to pick it back up no matter how much he likes her.”

Namjoon nods sagely and doesn’t say anything further in the hope that will put Jimin off.

It doesn’t.

“Explain everything,” says Jimin, staring at him intently, “what is it with this girl?”

Namjoon tells him everything, “I’m sure I’ll see her again,” he concludes, “I’ve seen her every spring for the last few years.”

Jimin smiles sadly, looking at the verdant trees, now more green than white and pink, only a few last blooms clinging to the branches, “But you haven’t seen her this year and the blossoms are nearly gone,” he says as gently as he can.

Namjoon smiles, but it’s forced and a little tight, “Never say never,” he sighs.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2018: A Decision Made

Namjoon never did see you that spring, nor did he see Taehyung again. This spring, he haunts the park he saw you in back in 2015, hoping desperately that you weren’t in the US yet and that one day he’d find you here, under a tree, oblivious to the world around you. Still, the trees are in full bloom now, and the weeks he’s been here have yielded no joy.

A chill comes over him as the late afternoon begins to turn to evening, and he turns his coat collar up against the cold as he dog-ears the page of his book, placing it on the bench beside him. He takes out his phone and texts Jinjoo, asking if she’s free tonight.

He knows what he’s doing with Jinjoo is wrong. They broke up over a year ago, she was frustrated that their relationship was seemingly unlikely to progress and she was tiring of his erratic behaviour, citing the times they’d be on the brink of sex and he’d suddenly lose interest. It hurt her, made her feel unwanted, and she couldn’t bear the pain any longer.

How could he tell her that he’d pull away because sometimes his mind was so flooded with the thought of you that he couldn’t touch her? He could never do what he’d done at that party again. So, decidedly mute, he’d accepted the break up. Somehow though, no longer even dating, they remained friends and moved from that to fuckbuddies. He knew Jinjoo dated, sometimes even slept with other men and though he hated the thought of it, he accepted it; Jinjoo’s dream was to marry and have kids and she was looking for the perfect man to do it with, Namjoon couldn’t hold her back from that, he couldn’t be that cruel.

Jinjoo’s reply comes quickly, “Free after 8, come over anytime,” and he smiles to himself as he slides the phone back in his pocket.

“Namjoon?,”

Well, fuck, he thinks, there you are. You’re stood before him, bundled up in an oversized coat and large scarf and it looks like Taehyung has dressed you. Your hair is different, again, but you’re still you, the same sparkling eyes, easy smile and warm voice.

“It’s been some time,” he smiles, and you nod, burying your cold hands in your pockets as he picks up his book and stand before you.

You smile and raise your eyebrows at the book, “As much as I’d like to sit and freeze on a bench, do you think you’d maybe like to talk books with me over a coffee this year?,” you invite.

He doesn’t hesitate, “Yes, I’d love that,”

You smile and lead him to a coffee house, launching into conversation immediately.

Over coffee he learns many things, you got your promotion and next spring you’ll be moving to New York to work out of a publishing house there, coming back to Seoul irregularly and you’re overjoyed with the job, though not the thought of leaving. He also learns that you’re single because you’d really been quite deeply in love with Taehyung when you let him go and had struggled to move on. More significantly to him than any of those details though is that you missed running into him last year, and with time against you, you wonder if you and he might be able to be friends beyond a snatched moment in spring, but into the summer and the seasons that follow.

Namjoon looks at your hopeful expression, your endearing uncertainty and sudden shyness and he realises, despite all his fantasies, that you can’t be his. He cannot spend a year with you and let you go, he can’t love you and lose you.

It’s not only his hear that won’t be risked: looking at you now, he can see your heart is closed. Post-Taehyung you’ve wrapped it up and stored it away, waiting for your new life in America before you dust it off again. He should be able to accept that friends is all you can be, he reasons. He will make himself accept it.

“We’re already friends,” he smiles broadly and that makes you laugh with him.

He loves the way your laugh flows through your body undoing the uncertainty and tension that had tightened your muscles. He extends his phone to you, “Maybe though, instead of waiting for fate, we should just text?”

You smile again, chuckling still as you take his phone and enter your number. When you hand the phone back your fingers brush his and the electricity runs trough you both and you share a fleeting look, heavy with hunger, before you both blink and push the thought aside.

When you finally part, hours later, Namjoon boards the bus back to his house and texts Jinjoo to say he’s not going to be able to make it. He’s stuck to his vow of only fucking her when it’s her he’s thinking of, and tonight that would be impossible.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2019: A Goodbye

He knew this day would come, had planned for it, had prepared himself for it, steeled himself, made barriers in his heart and mind and told himself he was ready for it but now, as he gets ready to walk into the bar where your lifelong friends have prepared your leaving party he realises he could never be ready for this.

He pauses before he moves to the door. Closing his eyes, tilting his head back and breathing deeply. A year ago Jimin and Hoseok had warned him that he’d fall in love with you, it was ‘inevitable’, Hoseok had said.

He was right. A year on now from his decision not to fall for you, he’s now fully at peace with the fact that he is terrifyingly in love with you: every other thought in his brain is of you; every experience he has somehow links in his mind to something about you; every single bone, fibre and sinew of his body aches for you; every beat of his heart is for you.

He opens his eyes, tilted skyward, and loses himself for a moment in a world of white petals. How he longs for that: a pure white world, a tabula rasa of opportunity on which he can write a new fate for the both of you, where your two worlds would flow like rivers into one still ocean instead of the turbulent churning rapids that smash you against each other fleetingly, never coming to rest.

Dizzy now, he shakes his head and steps forward; as soon as he enters, he sees you. You’re at a table with Taehyung, and you’ve both obviously shed a few tears. He smiles at a few of your friends he’s come to know and approaches them, eavesdropping on the end of your conversation with Taehyung.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Taehyung is saying softly, his voice full of feeling, “you know how much I care about Jiyoung, so I didn’t expect to feel like this,”

“It’s ok, I feel it too,” you reply soothingly, “we ended in such a strange way that I think that our feelings have lingered longer than they would, or maybe should, have. I will really miss you though, Taehyung,” you sigh.

He watches as Taehyung says goodbye to you, kissing you on the cheek, his all enveloping hug lasting longer than Namjoon thinks it should. When he’s gone, you finally approach.

“Hey, you,” you smile, and Namjoon is pleased to see you visibly relax in his presence.

“That didn’t look like fun,” he says kindly, whilst simultaneously prying for information.

“You know how it is,” you say, distractedly, “it’s all for the best in the end. He’s well suited to Jiyoung, they’re a nice couple. When I’m the other side of the world I’m sure I’ll find it in me to be happy for him,” you chuckle.

Without thinking, Namjoon states firmly, “He wasn’t the one for you,”

“No?,” you query with an amused smile, before you see the seriousness in his expression, the tightness in his jaw.

He watches your gaze flicker quickly around his face before your eyes come to rest on his, “You’re probably right, you usually are,” you finally say, your tone lighthearted, but beneath the easy riposte there’s something else lurking he that he can’t quite put his finger on, it reminds him of that oddly wistful look as you twirled under the cherry blossom tree that night, years ago now.

The night stretches on, he has work the following morning and you are spending the night at your best friend’s house before she drives you to the airport the following afternoon. You say your goodbyes with him - it’s all very dignified, promises are made of keeping in touch, of postcards, letters and book recommendations and before he knows it, you’re slipping away from him and he feels like he’s in a dream; he doesn’t feel in control of his body, his legs move automatically, carrying him out of the bar and away from you.

The surreal feeling continues as he walks the street, past his bus stop, turning into the park, following the avenue of cherry blossom trees that all shimmer with tiny lights under the dark sky. Silently, tears flow down his face and the lights around him are no more than floating, shimmering orbs as though a bokeh filter has been hung over the world.

He is numb to all sensation until a hand, much smaller than his own, closes around his and pulls him to a stop. He stands still, unmoving as the hand releases him and comes to gently thumb the tears from his eyes, capturing his face in the gentlest of embraces.

His vision resolves on your face and his ears open to the sound of your voice, “Joonie-ah, you in there buddy?,” concern resonates through each syllable.

“You’re here,” is all he can say as he gazes at you, confused.

“You weren’t yourself when you left,” you say, and he notices the catch in your breath, the glitter of perspiration on your cupid’s bow, and realises that you must have run after him.

“I was worried and so I came,” you say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world and the tears fall from his eyes again as you pull him to a vacant bench and hold him to you: the attempt is sweet, but the execution is ridiculous as he’s far larger than you and it’s not really possible for you to cradle him. It draws him from his reverie and you both end up laughing as he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Are you ok?,” you ask as you both recover yourselves.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says, it’s the least painful explanation he can offer.

You sigh softly,”I’m going to miss you too,” and you tilt your head to the side, considering him closely.

He opens his mouth to speak, now is the moment: if ever he was going to tell you that he loved you now is the time, but the words die in his throat.

The look on your face tells him that he doesn’t need to say it, that nothing further needs to be said. He hears your name being called from some distance away, your friends calling that’s the cab has arrived and the two of you make swift goodbyes and through a suffocating hug he tries to press all of the love in him into you, and suddenly he can relate to Taehyung.

As he pulls away, he gives you one final helpless look, and your eyes melt into a soft emotion he can’t read: love, sympathy, pity? Whatever it is, your soft lips make featherlight contact with his, before pressing gently at the corner of his mouth, before you whisper goodbye, and are gone from him.

He doesn’t watch you go, instead, he looks into the trees until they form into a Monet of pink, white and glowing golden light as his tears blur the world into only an impression.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2020: An Epiphany

“Do you want to go the park and see the blossoms before we meet Jimin and Hoseok for dinner?,” Jinjoo asks, as she threads an earring through her earlobe, watching a reflected Namjoon through the mirror before her.

“Joonie,” she calls again.

“Namjoonie-ah!,” she calls loudly moments later, pulling him to his senses and he jerks at the sound and she sees the envelope in his hand.

“Oh yeah,” she says, “that came for you in the post this morning. I think its from your friend in America, by the look of it. Nice of her to get in touch,” she says offhandedly, not even thinking of her words.

Namjoon smiles, “Yeah, it’s been a long time,” he says, pocketing the letter, “I’ll read it later, we need to move if we’re walking.”

Jinjoo says something about being almost ready, but he simply nods, his mind already elsewhere. His first thought is that it’s either Jimin or Hoseok who gave you this address and he’ll find out which one tonight.

You wrote once before, months ago when he still lived at his old place. He returned the letter unopened to the sender’s address on the envelope (your publishing house), with the briefest note scrawled on it: “Kim Namjoon is no longer resident at this address.”

The night you left him at the park, he returned home and deleted all your contact details and blocked your number and profile on every platform: unable to bear your life colliding with his, he chose to erase you from his world entirely. Within a month, he was back with Jinjoo, promising her he’d commit to her and would try to provide the stability she was after and she welcomed him back with open arms; within six months they were living together at her place and had settled back into the comfort of their earlier relationship, pleasing all the friends and family around them.

He had no idea if you’d tried to reach out to him any other time before or after than letter, yet he still wonders: Why now? Does spring mean the same to you as it does to him?

—————————————————

At the restaurant, when Jinjoo excuses herself, he rounds on his friends, drawing the envelope from his pocket and waving it in front of them, “Which of you wants to explain this?,” he asks, a taut string of tension running through each word and his own, tightly coiled body.

Both men shift guilty in their seats, before Hoseok says, “She contacted me, you know she’s close with my sister -”

Before Jimin quickly intercedes, “Yes, but we both agreed that it was the right thing to do.”

Namjoon clenches his teeth, his mouth pursued, his bottom jaw slightly protruding. The both know the look of displeasure, yet neither are prepared to let him have the moment.

“Before you start,” says Hoseok gently, “let me just say this - what you did was wrong and Jimin and I have both said it so many times. She was a really good friend to you and deserved far better than being ghosted.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to retort, to attempt to defend what he knows is the indefensible, but Jinjoo’s return silences him. Jimin, quick as a cat, snatches the letter from its place before she spies it and he passes it back to Namjoon beneath the table.

For the rest of the meal, Namjoon nods and says the right things in the right places but the letter seems to burn in his pocket, heating the flesh around it and burning through to the bone: thanks to his friends’ words, now taking root in his mind, he knows he’ll have to read the letter this time. When the plates are cleared, they all order dessert, except Namjoon, who’s appetite has deserted him.

“Are you ok?,” asks Jinjoo softly, concern etched across her face.

Namjoon seizes the opportunity to say he feels unwell, Jimin and Hoseok fall in, keen to make amends and reassure him they’ll bring Jinjoo home. He’s swift to leave the restaurant, cutting through the park and sitting himself on a vacant bench, his stomach clenching horribly at the déjà vu sensation of being sat here nearly a year ago. He can almost feel your lips at the corner of his mouth as he opens the letter with trembling fingers.

Kim Namjoon, I hope this letter reaches you, and assuming it does, I hope you choose to read it, unlike my first. I suppose you never considered that I would recognise the handwriting of the ‘return to sender’ message that you sent, but I did and I took the hint. Well, it wasn’t really a hint was it? More of a neon ‘fuck off’ sign. Still, I’m certain you had your reasons, though I wish you’d shared with me what those were.

So, why am I writing now. It’s obvious, no? It’s spring, and spring means a million things to a million people, but to me, for the last god-knows-how-many years, it’s meant YOU. For so long I’ve wondered what that means, what YOU mean, and in our year of friendship I worked out an answer. I don’t know what, if anything, I ever meant to you Namjoon, but you… Well, to me, you simply meant everything.

At the end of that paragraph I put my pen down and closed my eyes for a moment. Even now, after all this time, I can still see you stood looking lost by that driving game, your nervous eyes, the screwed shape of your mouth and that gravity-defying white blonde hair you had at the time. I never talked to boys then, I still don’t make the first move, but for you I’ve done it time and time again. I couldn’t stand to see you suffer that night, every bone in my body cried out for me to help you. It was the same impulse that made me seek you out in Hoseok and Jimin’s kitchen, and to ask you to coffee in the park and finally, the one that saw me chase you through it last spring.

I don’t know how you see or imagine our friendship. I know from the way you’ve looked at me that there were feelings there at times, of what depth or seriousness I suppose I’ll never know. While we’re supposing, I suppose it’s only fair I acknowledge that I was never truly honest about my feelings either, though you’re a smart man, Joonie; I think you realise there has been a reason I’ve put myself out there time and time again for you over the years.

You’ll notice that there’s no sender address on this letter, or the envelope. Partly, it’s because though I hope you read this letter, I have no idea whether or not you will and I don’t want your complete disinterest confirmed to me, my ego is a little too fragile for that! Mainly though, it’s because I want the closure that you received when you so ruthlessly, without warning or explanation, cut me out of your life. I needed to express finally how I felt and to be done with it.

So, here it is, a year on from the last time I saw you and I am happy again, and thriving, and I hope, with every fibre of my being, that you are too. I feel calm and at peace and I know I am no longer in love with you, because I was, Namjoon: I was so in love with you that I was screaming inside under the weight of it.

I started falling in love with you that spring when I kicked your ass at driving and it waxed and waned in the years that followed, like when I gave my heart to Taehyung. Nonetheless though, that too passed, and there you were again, filling my heart under the cherry blossom, and in the space of a 14 hour flight, you destroyed it. I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me, or to make you feel guilty or badly.

I must admit, I do say it selfishly, because I need to say it, with no regard for how it might make you feel: I’m only concerned with my own need to unburden myself. Though, I am truly sorry if any of this brings you pain, it really isn’t my wish or intention.

So, Namjoon, my book-loving one-time friend, secret love and cherry blossom season companion, I will always think fondly of you, even if you broke my heart. I hope you’re happy and healthy always and I truly, without any malice at all, hope I never set eyes on you again.

He appreciates the irony that yet again, he’s blinded by tears in this park, unable now to make out your name at the end of letter, sniffing and wiping the falling tears with the back of his hand. Again, he feels the ghost of your touch as you thumbed them away and a strangled sob breaks from his throat as he crushes the letter in his fist, overcome with pain, regret and desperate, hopeless longing brought on by the nightmarish epiphany of your letter: while he was silently, secretly loving you, you were loving him in return.

Immediately he realises what he’s done, and flattens the letter out against the wood of the bench, smoothing the pages with his palm reverently before folding them carefully and placing them back in the envelope, tucking it safely away in the inner pocket of his coat where it rests against his devastated heart.

It’s pain now that blinds him to the beauty of the blossoms as he turns his collar up against the cold, as he has done so many times before, and makes his way back home.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2021: Continued…

Namjoon paces the cabin, all the other guests have left while he and Jimin remain. They’ve negotiated a further day’s stay with the owners so they can see the situation with you through.

Jimin, seated on the couch, strokes the small fluffy dog that after a check up at the vet, proved to be a little shaken, but otherwise completely fine. Jimin’s phone rings and Namjoon calls out immediately.

“If it’s Hobi, please put it on speakerphone,” he asks, more than a hint of desperation in his voice.

Jimin does, and Hoseok’s cheery voice chimes out, though it’s tireder than usual. He tells them that you’ve been discharged from the hospital, fine other than a small limp and a sore head. They agree that they’ll all meet at your cabin where the ranger is dropping them off so Jimin can return the dog.

When Namjoon arrives at your cabin with Jimin, he takes the dog from Jimin and greets Hoseok, the ranger having already left. After a protracted and hissed conversation on the porch, Namjoon finally wins out, insisting he will stay the night and they’ll pick him upon the morning before they all head home. When the other two finally and reluctantly leave, Namjoon enters without knocking, until he reaches the door that’s pushed almost closed, beyond which he senses your presence.

He taps the door softly, “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” you say, not altogether warmly, as he expected.

The cold expression in your eyes melts though when you see the small dog in his arms, which starts wriggling furiously, desperate to reach you, “Yeontan!,” you cry out and he lets the dog go gently at the foot of the bed, careful to avoid your propped up ankle and smiles as the dog bounds to you, covering your face in tiny licks.

“Kim Namjoon,” you say stiffly, “thank you for your help out there and for dog sitting,”

He wants to say, ‘It was nothing,’ or ‘you don’t need to apologise,’ but instead all he says is “I loved you too,”

You stare at him, mouth agape, “What?”

He sighs but decides to commit, “I read your letter last spring. I loved you too, from the funfair onwards. Always, I loved you.”

Your stare becomes a glare, “Get the fuck out.”

He nods in understanding, but immediately counteracts the gesture with his words, “No, I can’t do that,” he says with a sensibility that clearly infuriates you as your nostrils flare, “you can’t be left alone because you whacked your head so I’m staying. I’l go read a book and you can ignore me until you need me, or not,”

You say nothing, but continue to glare until he leaves the room.

He spends most of the evening there, only seeing you when you shuffle out of your room to get a shower, before shuffling back, curtly, but politely, refusing all offers of help.

Finally, at about 9 o’clock, you call to him, “Namjoon?”

He’s back in the room with you, almost falling over his feet in his eagerness to reach you.

You gesture to the sleeping fluffball beside you, “Could you put him in his sleep pen by the stove please? He needs to stay warm and he can’t sleep here. I wriggle too much for him.”

He does as you ask and returns, “Do you want to sleep now? Can I get you anything?,” he asks kindly, watching you shiver.

“We were friends once,” you say, your voice tense, “I’m really cold and I ache, could you just share some heat with me please? It’s not like you can sleep in one of those armchairs, so if you insist on staying, you might as well share with me.”

He smiles awkwardly at you.

You frown in response, “Don’t worry, I won’t try anything, I’m over all that shit,” you say coldly and he feels the words like an ice-pick in his heart.

He locks up the cabin, adjusts the heating and finally, after shrugging off his jeans, leaving him in his tee and boxers, climbs into bed with you, to find you in sleep shorts and a tee.

He stretches an arm out and, careful to keep your sore ankle behind you, you cuddle into the crook of his arm, laying an arm over his broad chest as he wraps his around you to draw you closer.

He realises he’d forgotten the smell of your hair until now, he’d never pinned down the scent exactly, but it was intoxicating and so heartrendingly familiar to him.

As you doze you pay no attention to your mindless actions, the movement of your leg over his thigh or the way your fingers draw lazy circles over the soft material of his tee, but he feels it all. Instinctively, without thinking he turns his head towards you, and kisses your forehead. When he pulls back, both his and your eyes are wide in shock at his gesture.

“Joonie,” you breathe out, and he knows that whatever else might lie behind that sigh, the fact that you call him Joonie and not Namjoon is first and foremost an invitation, and it’s one he won’t fail to accept this time as he uses his other arm to cup your chin and crashes his mouth onto yours in a mess of teeth and tongue. Within moments he’s on top of you, you’re ripping off his tee as you kiss passionately, your legs spread wide to accommodate him as grinds into you, hands everywhere, in a mad passionate thirst for each other.

It’s not long before you’re both totally naked and you’re guiding his thick and heavy cock to your hole.

“Let me prep you more first,” he groans helplessly as you raise your hips, pushing against his tip.

“Fuck that,” you moan, “I’m wet enough, just fucking fuck me, Joonie,”

He won’t disappoint. He sinks into you slowly, feeling you stretch deliciously to accommodate him, your tight walls pulsing around him as you moan sinfully beneath him, pushing your hips eagerly towards him, wanting him deeper, as your pussy sucks him in. The sensation is overwhelming and he almost comes right there and then.

Now he understands why Taehyung was so vocal because he’s never felt like this before, you’re squeezing him so firmly, so hot, wet and tight: the glorious moans and delicate mewls you make as you writhe so desperately under him is the best thing he’s every experienced.

“Stop that,” he moans, “or I’ll come right now,”

You simply sigh, your fingers dropping to your clit as you seek your own pleasure, “We have all night don’t we?,” you say teasingly, “just fucking rail me senseless now.”

That’s all he needs to hear and he begins to pound into you senselessly, the noises quickly become wet and loud as skin slaps against skin and it’s as though he’s back in that closet again except here you are, underneath him, no wall separating you. It’s his cock that’s ruining you right now, not Taehyung’s, it’s him that all those pretty mewls are for. He looks down at your face as you hiss in pleasure, running your tongue along your teeth as your breast bounce under the force of his thrusts, and he grabs at them, kneading the soft flesh roughly as you moan in pleasure at his touch.

“Harder,” you challenge and, desperate to please you, he grabs your headboard with one hand, braces you with the other hand on your hip and sets a punishing, brutal pace as you lift your hips, securing your legs around him with a hiss of pain as you move your sprained ankle, digging your nails into his flexing bicep as he fucks you as though his life depends on it.

You’re shuddering then as you reach your climax, “Oh, fuck, Joon, I’m coming,” you hiss as you jerk beneath him, the walls of your pussy clenching desperately and it pushes him over the edge, his mind going blank and his balls tightening as he comes deep inside you, with a yell of your name.

Moments later, his glowing face hovers inches above your own, and your raise your head to capture his lips in a deep kiss, which he returns eagerly, taking his time to explore your mouth and tongue with his own, pouring his affection into each tiny movement.

When you finally break apart, he rocks back on his heels as he slips out of you, and spends a moment admiring his cum flowing from your swollen hole, gathering it in his fingers and pushing it back inside you until you squirm away from his fingers, sore and sensitive.

“I need to clean up,” you say quietly, clearly embarrassed.

He won’t allow that though and he swoops you up off the bed, bridal style, and carries you to the bathroom so you can attend to yourself before giving you your privacy. When you’re ready to return to bed, he’s wiped the sheets with a hand towel, knowing he fully intends to spill more of your, and his, cum on them tonight, and he returns to carry you back to the bed.

Just as he’s about to put you down, he realises how easy it would be to lower his head and suck your nipple into his mouth and so he does, enjoying the way your body tenses and squirms in response. He nibbles a little harder as his cock throbs at the sound of your moans, drawing a gasp from you.

Then, in a remarkable show of agility and strength, he swings you around him and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you in front of him, his hands on your ass, lifting you and dropping you slightly until you use you thighs to help him, rubbing your damp folds up and down is hardening length.

“Like this, but against the wall?,” he grunts, catching your lips in a messy kiss.

You barely have time to any yes before he drives you into the wall, using his one hand and the weight of his body to pin you there as he guides himself into you and starts a steady, rough pace that has you sliding up and down the wall, clinging to his muscled back, surprised by his power and strength.

Namjoon sweats furiously as he fucks you against the wall, every muscle in his body screaming as he nears his high; he knows he’s not getting you there, but this fuck isn’t really about your pleasure or even his, it’s about his need to show you what he can do to you, what he assumes nobody ever has before. Fuck, he’s never fucked anyone like this before either.

He needs you hear it from you though, you moans and whimpers aren’t enough, “Have you ever been fucked like this before?,” he moans into you, trying to angle himself to put some pressure somewhere near your clit.

“No,” you moan out, “never like this,”

“You like it baby?,” he moans, “am I fucking you well enough?,”

You hum in approval and clearly register what he wants from you, “You’re fucking me so good, Joon. You’re so fucking big,”

He groans in pleasure as he fucks into you harder and faster than before, making you scream, “Fuck, yeah, what’s big? Me or my dick?,” he demands.

You throw your head back against the wall as you feel his pace falter and you know he’ll come soon, and you laugh. Not a laugh of amusement, but a deep, dry chuckle of lust and desire, “Both, baby, both,” you moan as he pumps into you furiously as he comes inside you, panting.

You’re amazed when seconds later he lifts you off his cock, slipping out of you and you feel his cum and your wetness slide down your thighs as he carries you to the bed, dropping you on it before falling to his knees, exhausted, pulling you by your sore thighs to the edge of the bed before sloppily cleaning the fluids from your thighs and then your pussy with his hungry mouth. His tongue is skilled and it’s lucky, because you’re far too sore to take his fingers. He gently licks at your hole, working his tongue in to your hot, abused walls causing you to writhe, but his strong hands gripping your thighs hold you in place.

“Fuck, Joon, you’re fucking amazing with that tongue,” you stutter out, knowing what to say to drive him wild.

He repays you by shifting his attention to your aching, needy clit, delivering gentle flicks with his tongue that draws a delicious symphony of noises from you. He eats you out until your entire cunt is hot and desperate and you rut your hips into his face shamelessly, desperate to come.

He sucks on your clit then, and, just as you’re about to come he pulls back, grinning at you as you scream in betrayal.

“Why?,” you wail, “I was so close,”

He smiles, “Wait and see, baby,” he grins, “I think you need to cool down,”

Then, more assertively, “Don’t fucking touch yourself while I’m gone,” and you hiss in irritation, fisting the sheets.

He leaves you to your sulking and steps outside the cabin to break a small bough of frozen cherry blossom from the tree outside.

When he comes back, you’re still lying where he left you, panting slightly in frustration, and your eyes widen when you spy the frozen bough.

He stands above you, enjoying the sight of you finally laid bare before him, beneath him, and all his for the taking. With a delicacy that is unusual for his clumsy self, he gently strokes your nipples with the frozen blooms causing you to shiver and moan, and he maintains the torture for long moments before sinking back between your thighs, using the cold petals to soothe your inflamed and throbbing clit, drawing desperate moans from you as he slides two fingers into your gaping hole, thrusting and curling his digits until you’re bucking against his hand, desperate for your high.

“Talk to me,” he demands, as he flicks your clit with the chilly blossom, “tell me what you want, tell me how it feels.”

And you give into him, telling him how much you want him, how desperately you want him to make you come, how skilled his fingers are. Eventually, ears dripping with your praise and fingers dripping with your wetness, he finishes his edging game, dropping the still-cold bough across your stomach and the valley between your breasts before attaching his lips to your clit and giving you the orgasm he’s denied you for so long: he feels you clench around his throbbing fingers and you come with body-wracking spasms, screaming his name he grins into your pussy.

Mindlessly, you lay sprawled on the bed, body weak and brain empty and so you’re surprised when his strong arms latch under yours to hoist you further up the bed.

“No, no, no more,” you plead weakly as he climbs on top of you, his cock hard, red, veiny and angry looking.

“Really?,” he asks teasingly, “is that all you can take? I’ve got seven years worth of cum I wanna fuck into you,” he groans.

You can only nod weakly as he pushes into you again, bottoming out in one mouth stroke as he fucks you relentlessly, the bough of cherry blossoms caught between your bodies as he fucks you with violent desire and need.

Each stroke is powerful, the force of years of desire and unslaked lust behind them, and he batters into you relentlessly. When the majority of petals and leaves have been shaken loose from the bough, and the branch starts to dig into you both, he pulls it from between your aching bodies and throws it to one side, before snaking that hand down between your legs to brush against your clit again.

“No, Joonie,” you plead, pushing his hand away, “I can’t come again, it’s too sensitive,”

“You can baby,” he hisses between his teeth, each word punctuated by his heaving breathing, “be a good girl for me,”

Tears leak from your eyes as his calloused fingers circle your clit and he watches your face, scrunched half in joy, half in agony as you become a moaning wreck beneath him, unable to speak; you can only babble and eventually shriek as he pulls another orgasm from your reluctant body, crying at the overstimulation before he finally reaches his own high, pulling out in time to deliver warm spurts of cum across your stomach and breasts, the milky streaks mixing among the tiny petals and leaves that are scattered across your skin.

He rocks back onto his heels and grins at the sight of you, panting and sweaty, your skin bathed in sweat, blossoms and cum and it’s the sexiest thing he thinks he’s every seen and he says so, drawing a weak chuckle from you.

“I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says lustfully, in a low voice.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” you growl, but there’s amusement mixed in there too and he’s relieved.

For long moments he remains where he is, watching the gentle movement of your breasts as your breath settles, transfixed by the sight before him; finally certain that nobody, not even Taehyung, has done this to you before.

Finally, you prop yourself up on your elbows and smile lazily at him, looking down at your body, covered in his fluids and cherry blossom.

You smile despite yourself, “What a state,” you chuckle.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says with a strange sort of urgency, as though the words were waiting to explode out of him.

You make a modest scoffing sound before you sit up further and flick a petal off his toned abs; he is decorated with far fewer than you, but he has his share adorning his golden skin, “You’re not so bad yourself,” you grin, to which he only blushes.

“Do you want me to clean you up?,” he asks politely.

You smile in response, “No, you go get a shower and then maybe you could draw a bath for me?,” you ask sweetly.

“Sure,” he nods, “anything for you.”

There it is again, that keening earnestness and you reach for him and kiss him deeply and passionately. You run your tongue over his lower lip, before sucking it in between your teeth and nibbling against it playfully, then your tongue glides over his teeth. Soon he’s chasing your tongue with his own, his tongue teasing against your own. When you finally break apart you share a look loaded with unspoken words and smile against each other’s lips, giggling like the teenagers you were when you first met.

Eventually you speak, “There are fresh towels in the bottom drawer of the dresser,”

He bends down to retrieve one and feels a stinging whip across his ass; hard enough to smart but not enough to really hurt.

He turns around to face you in shock, to see you grinning, twirling the thin bare bough between your fingers, “Sorry,” you laugh, with no hint of remorse, “but I had to get you back for that last round, you have broken my vagina, after all.”

He smirks, “Should I kiss it better?”

You throw your head back and laugh deeply and it makes him grin with pleasure, “Not on your life, baby, all future rounds have to wait until the morning.”

He just grins at you in response as you tuck the bough into a tall vase of pussy willow on the bedside table.

“I’ll just stash that there ready, then,” you purr, sending mother delicious thrill through him as he flees to the shower before his desire gets the better of him again.

Soaping himself in the shower, watching a confetti of pink and white petals littering the tiles, he smiles to himself as he relives the events of the last few hours, no moment more precious than you calling him baby: hope for what could lay ahead of you blooms, like those petals, in his heart.

—————————————————

Namjoon’s ears seem to open before his eyes do; a shrieking, caterwauling cacophony of noise coming from the living room as the bright spring morning invades the room.

Great, he thinks sarcastically, you’ve become a jazz fan since you moved away.

Groaning and stretching, he pulls himself from the bed. Not even the misery of the jazz can wipe the giddy smile from his face at the memory of the night before. As he pulls his sweats back on, all he can think of is wrapping his arms around you and getting you back into bed with him.

He’s rubbing his jaw as he steps out into the living space and he’s glad he does otherwise it may well have collapsed to the ground.

He doesn’t even notice the little fluffball yapping at his feet until the deep voice commands, “Yeontan, come to Daddy,” and the little thing scuffles cutely away to jump onto the lap of the man reclined on one of the armchairs.

“Hello again, Kim Namjoon,” says Taehyung, his voice deep and even but his expression is one of barely concealed distaste.

“Uh, hi,” he says confused, “Sorry, I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says, looking about for you.

“She’s not here,” Taehyung says bluntly, following Namjoon’s darting eyes.

“Oh,” is all he can reply, confused. He watches as Taehyung lifts the dog in the air and plays with him.

“Hey man,” he says carefully, “the little guy was injured a couple of days ago, be careful with him,” as soon as the words are out of his mouth Namjoon realises he’s said something wrong as Taehyung frowns deeply.

“Yeah, I know, he’s my fucking dog,” he hisses, his distaste for Namjoon no longer concealed.

Namjoon turns pale, “Fuck,” he mutters, embarrassed, “you and her are -,” he can’t bring himself to say the words.

He look sincerely at Taehyung, “I didn’t know,” he offers weakly.

Taehyung laughs and it’s long and loud, though there’s little humour in it, “the fucking irony,” he says, his laugh dying but a ruthless smirk remaining across his face.

He holds his hand up to show the couple’s ring on his finger, “I’m still with Jiyoung,” he says plainly, “though considering who I’m talking to I suppose I should elaborate - I am still with my girlfriend who I respect and care for so no, I’m not fucking my ex, she was dogsitting for me while we were overseas.”

Namjoon is confused, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” says Taehyung, “that your friend and mine, Jimin, thought you ought to remember who you owe your respect to and so he sent you a lot of messages last night and this morning. Messages our other mutual friend saw when she woke up this morning,” he says, indicating Namjoon’s phone on the coffee table, which he’d abandoned the second you’d called him the night before.

“I was already on my way when she called me, she was a little frantic, as you’d expect,” Taehyung finishes.

Namjoon’s knees almost give out beneath him and he clutches the door frame, his knuckles as pale as his now-ashen face, “Where is she?,” he pleads.

Taehyung laughs the same cold laugh again, “For fuck’s sake, do you really think I’d tell you that? The point is, she’s not here and she’s left me with the very clear instruction of getting you out of here with a simple message. I’ll do my best to get it right, word for word,” he says, before clearing his throat portentously.

“‘Taehyung,’ she said, ‘please tell him to get the fucking fuck out of my cabin and out of my life. Please tell him I never want to see his face or hear his voice or have anything to do with him ever, ever again.’ I said, ‘is there anything else you want me to say?,’ and her only reply was, ‘Yes, please tell him he’s not the man I thought he was, and that he disgusts me.’”

Taehyung nods as though he’d recalled items on a shopping list, not run a knife through Namjoon’s aching heart, “Yeah, that was it.”

Namjoon can’t speak, his legs carry him robotically into the bedroom, where he finishes putting his clothes back on before he moves past Taehyung, who is now standing next to the front door, arms folded and revulsion written over his face.

As Namjoon slides his shoes on, Taehyung offers some final words, “She won’t say anything you know. But if you contact her, fuck, if you even breathe anywhere in her vicinity, I will make sure that Jinsoo -”

“Jinjoo,” he automatically corrects, drawing another mirthless chuckle from Taehyung.

“Apologies, Jinjoo,” Taehyung stresses, before repeating himself, “I will make sure that Jinjoo, your fucking fiancée, knows everything.”

Namjoon says nothing. He maintains his silence as he shrugs his coat on and heads to the door, where he’s surprised to see Hoseok’s car. Hobi doesn’t look at him from his place in the driving seat, but in the passenger seat, Jimin’s face is an open book, telling of his disappointment and embarrassment at what his friend has done.

“I always knew, you know,” Taehyung says as Namjoon passes him, and surprise makes him turn as his foot finds the final step; he looks up at Taehyung who stands impressively over him, certain of his absolute superiority over him.

“At that party she told me about running into you over the years, and about her crush on you,” he says, causing Namjoon to gape in shock, “that’s the thing about her that I guess you don’t understand - it’s the reason she and I can still hang out and that Jiyoung doesn’t care at all,” he says, while Namjoon looks at him confused.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I guess its something you wouldn’t understand,” he says, allowing himself the liberty of expressing exactly what he thinks, “she’s just really fucking honest, she doesn’t lie and she doesn’t sneak. That’s how I know that she’ll never speak to you again - because she hates people who do what you’ve done,” he states conclusively.

He shakes his head in disbelief, “She’s right,” he says firmly, “what kind of person fucks someone on their own bachelor’s holiday? Fucking hell, you’re getting married next week, you absolute fucking piece of shit,” he states, his voice laced with venom, stepping back from the threshold and shutting the door with enough force that snow shakes loose from the doorframe and the porch, covering Namjoon in a coating of snow.

As he makes his way to the waiting car, he keeps his gaze on the ground, unable to face his friends’ looks of reprobation. He shakes the flakes from his shoulders and hair, watching them float to the ground like spring blossoms as shame and agony threaten to rip his heart apart.

___________________________________________________

SPRING 2022: Epilogue

He closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of the warm spring breeze on his face; unlike last year’s unseasonably cold spring, this one is unseasonably warm. His lips curve into a smile as the light warms patches of his face, the other parts dappled in shadow from the spring blossom laden branches above him.

He reaches into his bag to get his book, and a receipt, light as a feather, escapes the confines and floats away, he chases after it and it’s then that he sees you on the other side of the avenue, sat alone on a bench, oblivious to the world beyond you, deeply engrossed in your book. He returns to his bench, but cannot give his attention to his book, his eyes constantly drawn to you.

You must be on holiday here, he thinks, he knows from Jimin that you’ve settled permanently in the US, now only returning to Seoul for irregular work events, that’s all his friend will share with him about you and you know it comes from Taehyung, who you’re still in touch with. He tries to read your face, to see if you’re happy, peaceful or sad, or tired, but so focused on your book are you that the task is impossible.

It’s that he notices that you’re sat on your light spring coat, so the leather jacket sprawled over the back of the bench must be someone else’s. Maybe left my by the last sitter, he reasons, but soon the reality becomes apparent as a man in loose black clothes and biker boots stalks across the path towards you. He has a bucket hat pulled over his eyes, but as he approaches you he takes it off and runs his hands through his thick, dark hair, revealing a handsome, chiselled face. The man regards you reading, a soft frown now knotting your features and grins broadly, his bunny grin widening and excessively cute dimples appearing in his cheeks, belying the impression his dark clothing and multiple piercings gives.

Namjoon watches as the man slides on to the bench beside you, throwing his heels up on the iron armrest at the far end, scooting up the bench to rest his head on your lap. He watches as you automatically, without removing focus on your book, release it with one hand, lifting your arm so he can place his head across your thighs, your practised thumb turning the page one-handedly in a way he had watched and admired so many times and he feels a pang in his chest at the memory.

It’s then that you move your free arm down so that it rests across the chest of the man who’s staring up at you, wide round eyes sparkling with obvious adoration. Namjoon keeps watching as the man brings his heavily tattooed arm and hand up to yours, intertwining his fingers in with yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips, where he places a soft reverential kiss, before bringing your hand back to rest on his chest.

Namjoon watches for far longer than he should, his book open before him in pretence only: he watches as you turn each page, transfixed; he watches as the man slowly drifts into slumber; he watches as you finish your reading and stroke the dark strands from the man’s face; he watches as the man’s eyes open and he wiggles his eyebrows, puckering his lips; he watches as you lean over and kiss him, the man catching your hair and holding it from your face; he watches as the kiss, deep and meaningful, like one you two one shared, breaks apart and the look of warmth the two of you share; finally, he watches as the man bounds from the bench in some kind of freakishly athletic flip before he’s helping you to your feet, pulling you to his strong body with one arm, clearly eager to taste your mouth again. Then he’s draping your coat over your shoulders, before wrapping an arm about your waist and throwing his jacket over his shoulder, his fingers hooked into the collar, leading you out of the park.

You come so close to Namjoon, but your eyes are lost above him, admiring the blossom on the trees with a soft smile on your face. Strangely, it draws a smile from him too and it’s then that he makes eye contact with your boyfriend. For a moment he expects a scowl, but instead he receives that same, bright bunny grin he saw earlier, it seems to say, “I know right, my girlfriend is beautiful,’ and it’s true, to him you are, you always were, he suspects you always will be.

Then, as it always does, the moment passes too swiftly and you’re lost to him again, melted away into the warm air and the throng of people walking the avenue. With a soft sigh, he leans back on the bench and absentmindedly twirls his wedding band up and down his finger.

It’s then that a soft voice calls to him, “Namjoon-ah, baby, careful you don’t lose that!,” automatically he rises to his feet and embraces his wife, kissing the top of her head as she wraps her arms about him. When they break apart, sharing a sweet kiss, he offers her his arm and they turn, walking the opposite way down the avenue, the spring zephyr swirling soft pink petals around them.

Author’s Note: Yikes, sorry guys, all the angst here! Let me be absolutely clear, this is a fictional representation based very loosely on the members, it is in no way a reflection of what I think Namjoon is like, if anything, my impression of him is that he’d never do something like this - the guy just oozes integrity! This is just fiction, and the character here made a terrible mistake, please don’t judge the poor guy too harshly.

Also, yes, that’s Jungkook she’s with at the end - just in case my attempt to describe him wasn’t good enough!

As ever, thanks for reading - please do share any thoughts or opinions you had with me, or, if you’re so inclined, ask one of the characters a question. Poor OC doesn’t get much of a voice here as the fic is so Namjoon focused, and let’s not forget about Jinjoo (Jinsoo, ffs Tae) who definitely deserved better.

** Demian by Herman Hesse (the novel quoted in the Blood, Sweat and Tears MV)

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I’m not great at graphics, I know, but this is quite a visual fic so I wanted to try and give a flavour of what I was imagining, in a sort of mood board (?) idk, isn’t very good but I tried!

#bts smut #taehyung smut #namjoon smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #rm x reader #namjoon x reader #bts #bangtanwhq

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