Alias - Namjoon X Reader - Smut/Fluff - Mature 18+
Summary: Your dating life is a mess and after one bad experience too many, you decide to take your friend’s advice: try casual. You can do casual, right? It just so happens that when you stop worrying about embarrassing yourself, you have the most mind-blowing encounter of your life. Non-idol AU.
Alias (One shot/Part One)
Jealous - A Secondary Drabble ft Yoongi
The Devil in the Details - Yoongi x Reader - Smut/Angst/Crack - Mature 18+
Summary: Your roommate is a disembodied voice, full of sarcasm and utter contempt for mankind. And when it comes to you? He might be willing to jump through a few hoops, or bodies, just to make you scream.
Pound Town - Yoongi x Reader - Fluff/Smutt - Mature 18+
Summary: Some say black cats are cursed, yet when your favorite resident of the Have Hope Animal Rescue leads you straight into the arms of renown cellist Min Yoongi, your luck is nothing but fortuitous. But as the benefit gala draws near, will you be able to keep your paws off each other long enough to save the beloved shelter?
Summary: College life is not what you expected and befriending your peers is a challenge, at least until your coworkers invite you to join their weekly trivia night. Sexual tension skyrockets as you befriend this curious group of handsome young men.
No Refunds - Yoongi x Fem. Reader, Seokjin x Fem. Reader - Smut/Fluff - Mature 18+
Summary: Your last relationship left a sour taste in your mouth. Swearing off love, you reason that you can just date yourself! Unfortunately, there’s still that pesky couples cooking series you signed up for before the breakup. So, you do what any reasonable young woman would do: persuade your newfound fuck-buddy to be your date. Crossing the lines of domesticity proves to be the least of your worries, however, when you meet your instructor, a hopeless romantic determined to convince you that there’s nothing sweeter than love.
Drabbles
Chaos & Crushes - Namjoon X Reader - 800 words - Where you find Namjoon naked in your bed.
Jealous - Namjoon X Reader, Yoongi X Reader - 800 words - Where you ask Yoongi to help make Namjoon jealous.
Parrying Blows - Jungkook X Reader - 1.9K words F2L Smut - Where your trip to the renaissance festival with your best friends turns into a wild romp.
Taking Chances - Yoongi X Reader - 3K words - Angst, Smut - Distressed, you reach out to Yoongi for support, and he helps you in more ways than one.
JSE
Fingertips - Jacksepticeye x Reader - Angst/Smut/Fluff - Mature 18+
Summary: Budding feelings for a visiting friend call you to examine a crumbling relationship as you teeter on the precipice of wanting so much more
summary: You didn’t voluntarily choose to have feelings for your best friend of over a decade. But you did voluntarily choose to fall in bed with him, knowing he didn’t feel the same. And now, every encounter with him is just another push at the knife he has permanently lodged in your heart.
submission for the July Games hosted by House Taeros.
❂ “To The Lighthouse”
⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere
⤐ AU Type: Ships in the Night - Unrequited Love
⤐ Themes: Secret Relationship | Slice of Life
⤐ Kinks: Clit Biting, Spanking, Face Fucking, Pain Kink, Size Kink, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Degradation.
note: my first submission for the network!!! this was supposed to be a drabble and then the word count ran away from me, smh, but what’s new? this is an ANGSTY baby, y’all! 😩
— firstly, a HUGE THANKS to @getmemyfries noor bby for being my constant hype girl, listening to me rant about the angst and yell about joon’s sexiness and helping me with every darn thing she could possibly help me with. 🥺💕
— another big AF thank to @hisunshiine vanessa for giving me such amazing clues and pointers for the name of the fic! 😭❤
— and finally, the biggest one yet - @bangtanhome MOON, MY LOVE!!! thank you so so SO much for reading this through and boosting my limping confidence! you’re really so freakin’ precious for looking it over so quickly and so expertly and helping me brush it up! 🥺😭💕
also, the title’s a play on lyrics from frank ocean’s “bad religion” that nessa recommended me to look into!
spotify playlist here ❤
— masterlist
— feedback is always appreciated!
You are pushed against the wall the second you step into the house.
Hoooooly shit. This was a wild ride, and my heart hurts. I think I held my breath through that entire departure. Like, I knew the prompt was unrequited love, but it still hit me like a brick to the chest.
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
Hi! I’m a writer who started during the pandemic on Wattpad, and I’ve recently begun posting my fics here on Tumblr too. All of my stories are BTS-focused, with a little extra love for Seokjin since he’s my bias.💗
I get really excited whenever someone leaves a comment or engages with my stories—it means a lot to me!
If you’d like to support me, you can buy me a Ko-fi! Totally optional, but always appreciated ☕✨
OK, I don't know if things have changed around here while I disappeared, but I am appalled at the lack of notes this has. I stayed up until 2AM binge reading Almost Yours, and I would have stayed up all night if I could just to watch this story and the characters' growth and healing develop. The writing style is immersive, airy, and poetic without being flowery or pretentious. The emotion packed into this is beyond what I can put into words at the moment. And I have BARELY cracked the surface.
I can't wait to dive in and read more. Absolutely engrossed.
Summary: College life is not what you expected and befriending your peers is a challenge, at least until your coworkers invite you to join their weekly trivia night. Sexual tension skyrockets as you befriend this curious group of handsome young men.
An OT7, non-idol AU.
Genre: Smut, a little angst, with some slice-of-life fluff
Content Warnings: Semi-public sex, oral sex (f. receiving), mutual masturbation, edging, laundry kink
Word Count: 7.3K
Normally, Monday nights were quiet. The café was closed, so you had the day off work. With winter break still in full swing, there were no classes to rush between, and no coursework to keep you busy. But this Monday wasn’t your normal Monday. This particular Monday featured you pacing nervously outside of an unfamiliar building on the other side of the city. The sky was already dark, and a deep chill seeped into your coat from how long you lingered on the sidewalk. That was ultimately what pushed you inside.
The dance studio was smaller than you had imagined. You had expected to find it more like a club, or at least like the clubs you had seen in movies: dim lights, sultry atmosphere, blaring music. Instead, there was a brightly lit room with polished wood floors, and walls lined with mirrors. A sound system was perched on a table in the corner of the room, and a small area was set aside with folding chairs and a table with basic refreshments. Otherwise, the space was spartan.
A small group had already formed in the studio, all unfamiliar faces. You ducked your head, slipping towards an empty row of chairs to change into the shoes Jimin had recommended. Nervously, your eyes drifted towards the door. Where were your friends? What if, somehow, this was the completely wrong place, and nobody you knew showed up? Anxiety crept through your veins, tense and on edge. Your phone remained an ever-present crutch in your palm, under constant surveillance for a text from Jimin, or any of your elder friends. Maybe one in particular…
Namjoon had checked in on you after hearing about your follies following the snowball fight. It was a simple text, but it had your heart racing to know that he thought about you. Half dazed, you wondered if you had imagined the tension building between you both. There was no mention of what had or had not happened that night. Had his eyes ever truly dropped to your lips, tilting ever closer? Did his hot breath ghost across your cheek, or had you merely dreamt it? Everything blurred in your mind, the more you dared to remember.
In an uncommon surge of confidence, you began to type in the group chat: "Are you guys still coming?" Mockingly, it seemed, the door opened the moment you hit send, revealing Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon. You could hear the vibration of their phones from across the room and watched with eager interest as Namjoon pulled his phone from his pocket to check the message. You cursed your fluttering heart as he spun his head around in search of you, dimples creeping into his cheeks with his warm smile.
"I didn't know you were coming," Namjoon said, and you tried not to read into his bright tone or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"Yeah," Hoseok chimed in. "Pretty sure that winners didn't need to come."
Crossing your arms around your middle, you shrugged. "I promised Jimin a few weeks ago that I would come. He seemed really excited about the class."
"That makes one of us," Yoongi mumbled, turning to Hoseok. "She can take my place, right? That counts."
"Not how this works," Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. He dropped to the chair beside you with an air of relaxed familiarity, pulling a change of shoes from his duffel bag.
"That's sweet of you," Namjoon said. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're a good friend, I mean. Jimin’s been asking us to come for a while, and it took losing a bet for us to actually show up…” A pang of guilt flashed across his face.
“Pretty sure you did him a favor by not coming,” Yoongi interjected, sinking into a chair and tugging his hoodie lower over his forehead.
Hoseok clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, full of optimism. “You don’t get better without trying. You could be Jimin’s greatest success story!”
“Or his greatest liability,” Yoongi added, and you feigned a cough to hide the snort of laughter which you failed to suppress.
“Oh come on, he can’t be that bad,” you laughed. Rather than reassurance, you were met with silence. “Right?” Your eyes darted nervously between the trio, but no one dared to counter.
“Oh good, you came!” A voice exclaimed, and you peered around your seated friends to spot Jimin, with Jin trailing behind.
“Hey Chim,” Hoseok waved. “Late to your own class?”
“I’m not late. It just took a while to coax Jin into coming,” Jimin explained, an edge of impatience sneaking into his tone. The tension between the two men was palpable. Jin stood a few steps back, his expression lost somewhere between glum and disinterested, but most certainly lacking in presence.
Quickly, Jimin changed his shoes and began what was left of setting up the room and collecting class fees. He was stopped by a few people, making small talk. Somehow it felt bizarre. Your every interaction with your friends had been within the group. Watching conversations bloom on the periphery felt as though a bubble had burst. It was a reminder that they all had lives and friendships that extended beyond you, but you…you had built a reliance upon them.
It hit a bit like tunnel vision, the way your anxiety shut you off from the rest of the room. Suddenly, you were on the outskirts looking in at a whole room that was bustling with life: a casual observer. Then came the thoughts, creeping in like an eerie mist. Why is it that everyone around you seemed to make easy friendships, but you could never seem to break through? Was your friendship with the group a burden, borne of pity? You closed your eyes and counted your breaths – one, two in – three, four out – repeat.
You pushed yourself through your brief history, shutting out the doubts as best as possible to focus on the highs. You remembered the excitement of your teammates and their insistence that you join in as a trivia night regular. You remembered Team Cuddle Sluts and the pile of comfort you had built with your newfound friends. You remembered running into Namjoon at the library and bonding over books. You remembered Jungkook’s utter glee at seeing the inside of a dorm for the first time. And as you thought through these moments, however brief, you recognized that you are not just a social leech, taking and taking. For as many moments as these men had welcomed you into their lives, you had been able to offer them the tiniest of experiences and moments of joy in return. Though it will take some time – ages, really – for you to fully grasp and accept, you reached an epiphany, and it urged you onward with a respectable surge of confidence.
A series of sharp claps drew you from your thoughts as Jimin called the class to attention. Your eyes shot to the center of the room where he stood, and you joined in the circle of students surrounding him.
"Ok everyone. Thank you for coming out tonight," Jimin started, his tone both gentle and deliberate as he began his lesson. "For those who are new: welcome! This will be the first lesson of our four-week rotation for beginner's rumba. Now," he cleared his throat, "Rumba is a Latin dance with origins in Cuba. Danced with a four-four signature, we'll follow a pattern of slow-quick-quick. Two beats on slow, one beat each for quick. We are going to start off with a basic sidestep. We'll make a broader sidestep on our slow beat, followed by two quick side steps. But let's not think of these quick steps as steps, so much as shifting weight. What we are really getting here is motion in the lower body driven through our ankles and footwork, creating some nice movement in our hips. Like this," Jimin said demonstrating the movements.
It was hard not to gawk at the fluidity in his motion, the way his hips seemed to sway effortlessly, duplicated by the wall of mirrors. Your own reflection stared back at you awkwardly before you redirected your attention. He counted aloud as he repeated the steps: slow, quick, quick - slow, quick, quick - slow...
"Alright, let's spread out a little and give this a shot."
Cautiously, you shuffled into place, following Jimin's cue as he led the count for the group. The whole room seemed to move in unison, dancers of varying skill all doing their best to mimic Jimin's steps. He wove throughout the studio, observing and offering advice as he went along. Reaching you, he patted your shoulder encouragingly.
“You’re doing great on your timing. Try this with me, OK?” You nodded, eager for his advice. “I want you to carry your weight towards your toes, not your heels.” He placed a hand on your back, and you straightened your posture with his guidance. “You’re focused on your feet, but you don’t want to look down or you’ll break frame. Try watching in the mirror instead.” He winked, and your cheeks burned at the implication. Steeling yourself, you let your eyes drift to the mirror and tried to incorporate his suggestions while he moved on to his next pupil.
As your confidence grew, your eyes drifted to observe others in the mirrors. It was interesting to see the array of skills, bizarre how you could easily decipher the more experienced dancers from the way they carried themselves, though you could not possibly list what they were doing correctly that set them apart from the rest.
Jimin’s clapping again drew you from your thoughts as he directed the room to split into leads and follows. You were uncertain of the distinction but inferred that “following” may better suit your confidence level. Staring across the room, you realized you were alone amongst strangers, with all of your friends sorted into leads.
You listened intently as Jimin explained the movements for a box step, pulling a volunteer from your side of the room to demonstrate. They moved together in unison, hips swaying like figure eights as they rotated. It was so captivating that you forgot to focus on what exactly they were showcasing, beyond perfection.
“Ok, let’s partner up!” Jimin eyeballed the two groups quickly. “It looks like we have a pretty even mix today, but we’ll rotate partners to make sure everyone gets a chance to dance.”
Your head turned, surveying the way people gravitated towards one another, and worrying over who to join. You nearly jumped when you noticed a figure slip beside you.
“You look nervous,” Hoseok said, nudging your side. His bright smile was hypnotically reassuring, and you released tension you had not realized you were holding in your shoulders.
“I’m shy,” you explained with a shrug. “This seems like an extrovert’s playground.”
Hoseok shook his head at you. “Dancing has room for everyone. Sometimes you just have to take the first step.”
“Alright, very punny,” you said, tone drier than usual, despite trying to sound upbeat. “So, do you have a partner already?”
“Yeah, you,” he said, beaming. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “I’ll count that as your first step.”
Your cheeks heated. You barely knew Hoseok. You’ve enjoyed his occasional quips during trivia nights and knew him just enough to recognize that your mutual friends call him Hobi, but not well enough to use the endearment on your own.
“Thank you,” you said softly, relief turning the corners of your mouth upwards.
Hoseok pulled you into frame as Jimin queued the music, counting the beat aloud for the class. His body radiated heat as he held you close. You worried over your hand, the clamminess from nerves, and fumbling over how to meet his grip. Before you could truly embarrass yourself, he took control. His arm curled around your back confidently, guiding your movements so naturally that you barely had to think. The tips of his open fingers hooked over yours, forming a silent tether of communication. His confidence transferred to you, allowing you to feel confident in your own movements. Dancing with Hoseok, even in this basic step, felt like second nature. You relished it.
You were lost in your own world, hardly noticing the way Jimin swerved through the room and offered guidance to those in need. If it were not for the loud gasp and apology that stole even Hoseok’s attention, you would have remained oblivious to the sudden commotion. Stalling mid-step, you followed his gaze across the room to Namjoon and his partner.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Namjoon kept repeating frantically, unsure of what to do. His partner had sunk to the floor, clutching her foot in pain. You could see red through her open shoes from a distance, and your heart dropped to your stomach in concern.
Jimin quickly approached, crouching beside her. You couldn’t hear their conversation over the music, but could deduce two things: she was hurt, and Namjoon was as dangerous on the dance floor as all your friends had implied. Jin approached quickly, joining Jimin in helping her upright. Words were exchanged, and Jin led her away from the dance floor and out of sight, brow furrowed with concern. You wondered, then, if this is what he looked like every time he came to your aid too.
Namjoon moved awkwardly to the side of the room, taking a seat away from the dancers. It may have been the first time you had seen him in this state. You were so accustomed to his confidence and intellect that it had never occurred to you that he even had flaws. You realized that was a foolish impression – nobody is perfect – and yet it still disarmed you. All at once you were endeared by his shame, this very human element you had just witnessed for the first time, and terrified to ever fall victim to his clumsiness.
From across the room, Namjoon met your gaze. He offered an apologetic smile, as though he had trampled your feet and not those of a stranger. You returned what you hoped was a reassuring smile of your own, but he glanced down at his shoes shortly after, too abrupt for you to gauge how the gesture was received.
Jimin called the room back to attention, trying his best to refocus on dancing rather than imminent doom. Hoseok’s hand landed in the center of your back, pulling you back into frame, and your attention back to him.
As you rotated around the room of strangers, changing partners at Jimin’s whim amidst new steps in the lesson, you realized just how much Hoseok’s guidance carried you along. The skill level and inherent communication varied with each partner. In some cases, you felt the need to reinforce your own steps, ignoring their guidance, and in others it felt more balanced, but none felt quite like dancing with Hoseok. With him you could let go, knowing that his touch would cast your body into place.
When you reached Yoongi in the rotation, a new awkwardness arose. Perhaps it was his blatant discontent, or maybe it was the fact that despite spending so much time in his presence you barely knew him. It was, in a sense, worse than dancing with a stranger, knowing that you would see him again on Friday even if this turned out to be an uncomfortable mess. Funny how you could lay yourself bare and dripping with Jimin and Taehyung, and yet the fear of embarrassing yourself with poor footwork with Yoongi seemed far more daunting.
“Um…how’ve your dances been so far?” You asked, unsure of what else to say but too uncomfortable with silence to say nothing at all. There was barely enough time between changing partners to make conversation, but you felt the need to try.
Yoongi shrugged. “Not my thing,” he said, “But at least I haven’t hurt anyone.” You felt the secondhand embarrassment as he spoke but offered no response. Namjoon was still on the sidelines, head cradled shamefully in his hands as he waited for the class to end. When you started to move together, you felt sluggishness in his stride. His movements were minute, subtle but dragging. It was clear that he did not want to be here, but you picked up more than that, an exhaustion that permeated his being.
You wanted to ask him. You wanted to ask him why you see him so often on campus. The question was on the tip of your tongue, but you faltered. With Yoongi, you felt uneasiness. You doubted yourself, felt a fool before words even left your mouth. Yoongi didn’t hold his punches, and maybe you just weren’t ready for raw honesty in the way he delivered it. So, you stayed quiet for the rest of your dance, and maybe you were better off for doing so.
When the lesson was over, Namjoon had already left. Jimin and Hoseok were deep in conversation with strangers, and Yoongi had disappeared so suddenly that you would have doubted that he had ever been present. You changed your shoes, and with a final glance around the studio, ventured out into the cold winter night.
Not dissimilar to your unusual Monday, your Friday routine was equally disrupted. The group opted to meet for Trivia night at Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok’s apartment so that Jungkook could get an early night of rest before his boxing tournament the next morning. He was off work for the night for a final practice, leaving you and Jin to run the café on yet another quiet evening.
You stood outside the door of the café as Jin locked up for the night, clutching your coat tight against the cold. Your hands were still wet from washing up dishes, and they burned where they met the winter air.
“So,” you started as Jin turned away from the door. “Is the apartment far?” It was awkward small talk. You could just as easily look it up on your phone, but you were scrambling to make any conversation with Jin lately.
“It’s not too far,” he said. “I can walk with you, if you want.”
You raised a brow. “Are you not going?”
Jin shook his head. “No, I have other plans.”
“Oh…Ok.” He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push for details. “Um, I have the address from the group chat. I should be ok getting there.” You waited for Jin’s standard rebuttal, his insistence that you needed a chaperone to navigate the city at night alone, but he didn’t protest. Typing the address into your phone for directions, you weren’t sure if you felt more relief or concern. With a quick wave goodbye, you parted ways.
Jin was right, the apartment wasn’t far off the beaten path, but you could feel unease in your gut as you stood outside the unfamiliar building. Wringing your hands, you fought hard against the anxious paralysis that halted you on the sidewalk, and reminded yourself that you were invited here. You were wanted.
You held your breath as you rang the doorbell, not releasing until you could hear familiar voices approaching from within. Hoseok greeted you with a broad grin, draping his arm around your shoulders to pull you inside with a hug more familiar than you had anticipated.
“Hey!” You could hear your name cheered from within the apartment, growing louder as Hoseok led you through. As you entered the living room, it was clear that you were the last to arrive, and half empty drinks were already scattered around the room.
Channeling confidence that was still unfamiliar to you, you bowed dramatically. “I’m so glad I could grace you all with my presence. I apologize for the wait.”
“You gotta catch up!” Jimin bellowed from his seat on the floor, filling several shot glasses on the table before him with soju. He handed one to you swiftly, and hands from around the room reclaimed their own glasses in tandem. Clinking in cheers, you took a gentle sip and relaxed. It was easy to drink, sweet. Grape, maybe? You tilted your head back and finished your drink. Jimin was quick to pour you another.
“Fill me in! What did I miss?” You sank onto the carpet on the opposite side of the table, lifting your glass to your lips once more. Second by second, the tight cord of anxiety that had been pulled taught through your chest began to slacken.
“To be honest, I lost track,” Taehyung said, shuffling behind you and resting his head on your shoulder. He held his glass out to Jimin for another refill.
“We were debating whether Jimin would still be allowed to teach after Namjoon maimed that girl’s foot,” Yoongi called across the room.
“See, this is why I drink,” Jimin rolled his eyes dramatically, swallowing another shot.
Your eyes turned to Namjoon, sitting quietly in the corner. His cheeks flushed, and you could see the embarrassment creeping into his features. You crawled across the floor to join him while the others continued to joke.
“Hey,” you said softly, poking Namjoon’s knee. “Are you okay?”
He smiled halfheartedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
You surveyed his features, skeptical. “Yeah, but how do you actually feel?”
Namjoon sighed, replying softly so only you could hear. “I don’t think I’ll ever live this down, and I feel terrible for thinking more about my own embarrassment than the pain I caused someone else.”
“You know, it’s ok to focus on your own emotions. You’re always trying to do the right thing and help other people, and I admire that about you. That doesn’t mean you have to be selfless all the time, though.”
Your eyes flitted up to meet his, only to find his gaze fixed elsewhere. You followed it to where your hand rested on his knee, thumb absentmindedly tracing soothing lines over the soft fabric of his trousers.
“Sorry,” you said, pulling away.
Namjoon’s eyes lingered on his knee. His lips parted with a moment’s hesitation. “The things I want…I’m more selfish than you realize.”
“Oh cheer up!” Hoseok called across the room, pulling you both back into their conversation with a jolt. “It wasn’t all bad. Jin at least got a date out of it.”
Your eyes shifted around the room, trying to determine if you were the last to know, and why. “Oh, is that where he’s at tonight?”
“Mhm,” Taehyung nodded.
“About damn time,” Jimin said. “He’s needed to blow off steam for a while. I think this will be good for him.” But you heard what went unspoken: good for Jimin, too. It would explain the tension between the two the other night. You wondered why Jin hadn’t mention it earlier.
“You’re telling me,” Yoongi grumbled, followed with a chorus of agreement.
“See? Sounds you like set up the ultimate meet cute,” you insisted, determined to lift Namjoon’s mood. “Who knows? One day Jin could be settled down and telling his kids ‘I owe this all to Namjoon!’”
Namjoon’s dimples creased as you finally drew a smile from him.
“Yes!” You cheered, punching the air victoriously. “Yes, more smiles!”
“More drinks!” Jimin cheered, mocking you playfully.
“More drinks!” You mirrored, raising your empty glass in a toast. Jimin opened a fresh bottle and filled glasses around the room.
“Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out,” Hoseok insisted as he addressed the group, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled from his broad smile. “Since Jin’s not here, we don’t have even teams tonight. So, I vote we play something else instead of trivia.”
“What, are you afraid of losing?” Taehyung raised a brow in challenge. “It never seemed to be an issue before, when your team had an extra player.” Jimin and Jungkook whooped dramatically in the background, and you could have sworn you heard one of them cawk like a chicken.
“What if we just flipped a coin or something, and the winning team gets the extra player?” Yoongi suggested, uninterested in the drama.
“Nah, rock-paper-scissors. I at least want to feel like it was earned,” Namjoon said. Nods of agreement and mumblings of “fine” and “I guess” resounded through the room. “So, who is up for trades?”
“How about me, since I’m newest?” You volunteered with a shrug.
“Deal,” Hoseok and Yoongi said in unison.
“But you’re our secret weapon. We need you…” Jungkook frowned. You had never seen a person look so much like a sad puppy in your life, and a pang of guilt twisted your gut.
“I mean, it’s no guarantee they’ll win…I might not even be on their team,” you reassured him. Or were you reassuring yourself? But as Hoseok and Taehyun faced off, hands ready to throw on the count of three, your eyes drifted to Namjoon and you knew which outcome you wanted. Your heart thundered in anticipation and leapt into your throat as Hoseok’s rock crushed Taehyung’s scissors. Maybe you were a traitor after all.
“No, there’s no way that’s right,” Yoongi said.
“I swear on it. A group of flamingos is called a flamboyance,” you insisted.
“Well, I know it’s not a murder,” Hoseok said. “But this feels a little on the nose, even for me.”
“What do you think?” You asked, turning to Namjoon.
“I’m not sure, but I trust your intuition.”
Yoongi and Hoseok exchanged a silent look and shrugged before submitting your team’s answer.
“Huh,” Yoongi remarked with surprise a moment later when the results flashed across the screen. “Guess you were right.”
“Yes! Game point!” Hoseok cheered, clapping you on the back.
“Traitor!” Taehyung shouted across the room, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.
“Yeah, traitor!” Jimin joined in, while Jungkook booed.
You startled as Namjoon’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you close. “If you guys keep this up, we’ll steal her for good and make you take Jin.” Heat rose to your cheeks at the proximity. You hadn’t been this close since you had huddled together for warmth during the snowball fight…the night you had nearly kissed. It replayed in your mind constantly, the moment so fleeting you worried that you had imagined it.
Surely, he must feel it: the heat of your body and hummingbird pulse. His large hand gently squeezed your shoulder while his thumb rubbed soothing circles. Was this deliberate? Retribution for your absent-minded touches earlier that evening? A shiver rolled down your spine as he brushed over the hem of your collar, tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. And just like that he withdrew, recoiling as though your body shook him off.
You should be desensitized to this. Over the course of winter break you had been taking full advantage of the empty dorm to act out your fantasies with Jimin and Taehyung. And yet you still felt timid around Namjoon, wound just a little too tight. You needed to release that pressure, and soon.
Jungkook left shortly after trivia ended so he could get an early night’s rest, but not without sheepishly asking for you to come to his tournament in the morning.
“Of course I’ll be there!” You scoffed. “Like I could see you working this hard and NOT cheer you on.” With a chaste hug goodbye, you mumbled into his chest. “You’re going to crush it tomorrow. I can already tell.”
“Fingers crossed,” he said, and disappeared into the night.
Light from the TV flashed from scene to scene, illuminating the dark living room and casting silhouettes across the walls. You couldn’t focus on the movie, though. Your imagination was running more than wild enough to keep you entertained.
It’s not a big deal. You opted to sit on the floor, which was nothing new. But with all the space available to sprawl, Namjoon was planted firmly at your side. The solid muscle of his thigh pressed flush against your own, so close you could feel the warmth of his body through your clothes.
It had to be deliberate, right?
You couldn’t think of anything else beyond this simple touch. Every subtle shift of his body felt amplified by his proximity. If you were on edge before, now you were on the brink of madness, mainly because that was the full extent of your contact. It was at once incredibly subtle and impossible to ignore. You needed the tension to break, needed him to do something – anything – to help you understand what he wanted.
The golden light posts that lined the pathways around campus shone through the tilted blinds of your dorm window, casting pale stripes across the ceiling. You lost track of how long your eyes lingered there, mind adrift. All evening, you were on edge trying to decipher Namjoon’s half-there signals. Was he trying to be close because he was interested in you? Was that romantic or sexual, or was it all a mere coincidence? But more importantly, what did you want it to be?
For months, you had been hellbent on keeping purely casual relationships. You had an understanding with Jimin and Taehyung, and that was working out well. Emotions weren’t muddled into the mix, and jealousy was left at the door. It was easy. The temptation for “more” didn’t really exist in your mind. Differences were great enough that you could focus on sexual chemistry without craving something deeper.
But with Namjoon… You couldn’t envision a casual relationship. The sexual attraction was there, without a doubt, but there was more to it than that. You’d be a fool to deny it. You wanted to learn more about him, share your thoughts and hear his too. You wanted to absorb all of his wisdom and support him even in his clumsiness. That’s friendship, you reasoned, and yet it somehow felt like more.
What would “more” even look like? Every relationship you’d had in the past had been smothering and self-sacrificing in a way that made you resentful. Would that be the same with Namjoon? How much of your time could you devote to another person on top of work and studies without neglecting your own needs?
What if Namjoon got bored of you? You were at different places in your life. Sure, you had similar interests, but you lacked life experience in comparison – you were sure of it. And if it ended, would you be alienated from all of your other friends since he had known them first?
And what about Jin? His only request when he learned you had slept with Jimin was that you not flaunt your sex life and relationships in front of him. Despite his mercurial mood, he was still your friend and you didn’t want to hurt him.
All signs pointed to a relationship with Namjoon being a bad idea, if he even wanted that in the first place.
Your head began to ache from your racing thoughts. You turned onto your side, hugging your blankets tight to your chest until you drifted off to sleep.
With a sigh, you stood from the nearly empty bleachers. You weren’t sure who all was coming to Jungkook’s tournament, but you expected at least a few friends would be here by now in support. When you went to check the group chat, though, you realized you had no signal.
Phone in hand, you wandered out of the gymnasium and down a brightly lit hall. Still nothing. Your eyes lingered on the top of the screen, monitoring for any change when you heard a frustrated groan from around the bend. Curious, you poked your head around the corner.
Jungkook paced the hallway, one hand waving his phone while the other made anxious passes through his hair.
“No service here, either?” You asked, and Jungkook spun in surprise.
“Fuck. No.” He groaned, falling back against the wall with a soft thud. “I’m losing my mind.”
“Nervous about your match?” You assumed, hoping you could find a way to cheer him up.
“Yes. No. It’s…” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair once more. “I have a…ritual…before every match. I just need to get online.”
“What’s your ritual? Do you have a song that gets you pumped, or something?” Jungkook’s stress was tangible, and you just wished there was something you could do to help.
“It’s nothing…” Jungkook muttered, avoiding your gaze and piquing your curiosity even more.
“Hey,” you prodded. “Kookie, you can tell me,” you said, squatting low to the ground and gazing up in an attempt to meet his eye. Staring up through your lashes, you insisted, “I won’t judge.”
“Please stand up,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Not until you tell me,” you teased, poking his thigh.
Jungkook sucked in a breath, and you swore you saw a subtle movement before you. “Please…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Kookie, I doubt you could make me uncomfortable. You’re like the world’s buffest bunny.” He cracked a brief smile, and you stored it away to celebrate later.
“It’s just…it’s sexual.” He rubbed the back of his flushing neck awkwardly, glancing away once more. The pieces of the puzzle started to align, and you noticed a twitch before your eyes again, barely disguised by Jungkook’s blue gym shorts.
A beat of silence passed between you. After a moment’s consideration, you broached an offer. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”
“It’s ok if you change your mind,” Jungkook said, sitting on the wooden bench of the deserted women’s locker room.
“It’s ok, Kookie. I want to help. I just need you to tell me how.”
“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” he said, massaging his temples. “So, before every match, just to um…well, it’s just…hormones, and…”
“Hey,” you said, squatting down and rubbing a soothing hand over his thigh. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to judge you. We all have our thing.” Your mind drifted, momentarily, to all of the times you had almost gotten caught: touching yourself on the sofa, Taehyung’s fingers slipping into your pants during the movie, burying your moans while you rode Jimin in the dead of night in the shared apartment… The thrill of the risk was part of the turn on.
“Edging.” Jungkook sighed. “Before every match, I… watch some porn, just enough to get turned on. But I can’t let myself finish. It helps me feel more…I dunno…aggressive, when I go into a match. Like I have this adrenaline rush that I need to fight out. I always do better. But my imagination is shit right now, and I can’t get online to find any material…”
“Ok,” you said with a shrug. “That’s not that weird, Kookie.”
“No?” he said with a shy smile, relief passing over his boyish features. “That’s not too weird for you?”
“No.” You shook your head. “Just, um, tell me what you’re comfortable with and what’s off limits.”
“Same goes for you,” he agreed, and shared everything you needed to know.
“I should be nervous,” you thought as you straddled Jungkook’s lap on the bench, but instead his shyness drew out an almost protective calm in you. His fingers hovered over your thighs, as if he needed explicit permission to touch you. You rolled your hips suggestively, aiming to encourage him.
Tentative hands gripped your waist, pressing you down harder. The thin fabric of his gym shorts did little to disguise the growing bulge grinding against your core. Your palms steadied against his chest. You couldn’t ignore the solid wall of muscle that slowly engulfed your body, below your thighs, beneath your fingers, encircling your waist...
Knowing your time was limited, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head. As if a switch was flipped, Jungkook’s large hands travelled with abandon across your bare skin. All shreds of nervousness were gone, replaced with nothing short of hunger. His lips roamed your neck, grazing sensitive spots that caused your breath to quicken.
Impatiently, Jungkook tugged down the cups of your bra, freeing your breasts to spill over the useless fabric. His lips moved to your chest, quickly latching around one nipple while his thumb swiped over the other. Your fingers found purchase in his tousled black hair, holding him close while you squirmed in his lap.
His cock grew harder still, sprung enough to poke through the gap in your bodies. You rolled your hips forward, grinding against what must have been the head, though you couldn’t see it. Jungkook’s soft moans peppered your chest, and you repeated the motion.
“Fuck,” he said, gripping your hips to hold you back. “I can’t…if you keep that up, I’m…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to understand. You shimmied off of his lap, stepping away until your back pressed against the cold wall of lockers.
“Do you want to stop?” You asked, cautiously. This was harder than you imagined. Teasing Jungkook meant teasing yourself too, and you could already feel how wet you were during those few steps back.
Jungkook shook his head, closing his eyes and taking a centering breath. “No, I just need a minute.”
After a moment, his hand creeped towards his crotch, fingers rubbing over the strained fabric. His eyes flicked upwards, glazed gaze dragging over your body. “You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, gripping himself through his shorts. “Your tits are even better than I imagined.”
“You imagined my tits?” You taunted with a smirk, reaching up to cup your breast. You had little right to tease, knowing your imagination had run wild more than once as well.
Jungkook’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts. “Don’t act so surprised,” he said. His eyes squeezed shut as he gripped himself. “You know we’ve all thought about it…thought about fucking you. Can’t…help it…” His breaths grew shorter, staccato rhythm. He paused again to steady himself.
“I want to see you, too,” you said, pinching your nipple and sending a shiver down your spine. “Show me how you touch yourself.”
“I will if you will,” he said, searching your eyes for agreement. You nodded, dying to feel relief from the tension wrecking your body.
As Jungkook pushed down his gym shorts, you fumbled with the button of your jeans and shimmied them down your hips. Tendrils of your arousal strung between your soaked panties and aching sex, dissipating as you shoved them mid-thigh. His cock sprung free, already glistening at the tip.
You watched each other, aroused and curious, as you explored your own bodies. Your fingers drifted down to circle your clit while Jungkook’s fist wrapped around his cock, thumb swiping over the flushed tip with every upward stoke. His hooded eyes fixed on the motion of your fingers as he sped and slowed his movements, constantly holding himself back as he narrowed in on the climax he denied himself again and again.
Stretching your fingers, you slipped inside, craving a deeper sensation. But that spot you needed was just out of reach, no matter how hard you tried. Your brow furrowed in frustration, resigning to your former tactics.
“Do you want a hand?” Jungkook asked between panting breaths, slowing his motions once more.
“This is supposed to be about you,” you said, dismissing his offer with a shake of your head.
“This is already better than what I usually do,” he insisted. “Can I?”
You hesitated a moment before nodding. It would be a lie to say you didn’t want it.
Jungkook stood from the bench, towering as he caged you against the locker. You were so accustomed to his shyness that his sudden assertion made you dizzy. His warm palm rested on your bare hip, and he searched your eyes for permission once more before drifting lower.
Strong digits slid through your folds, tentative as they explored. Cautiously, he slipped one finger inside, then added another. It didn’t take Jungkook long to find a rhythm, pulsing and curling inside of you. You buried your face in his shirt, gripping the loose fabric as you rapidly came undone. He found your weak spot so easily, pressing into it with firm vibrations that made your legs shake. It felt too fucking good. You gasped, crying into his chest as you came.
Jungkook slowed his movements, running soothing passes over your back with his free hand. As your breathing slowed, you became consciously aware of his erection pressed against your hip. “Can you hold out just a little bit longer?” He asked, and you nodded into his chest.
He pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before sinking down to his knees. You watched in awe as his tongue swiped over your clit, observed every subtle motion of his jaw as he devoured you. Already half-gone, it didn’t take much for you to return to your former high.
“Kook,” you panted, fingers snaking through his hair. “You’re really fucking good at this.” He groaned in response, refusing to pull away. Through tear-dusted lashes you spotted his hand wrapping around his cock once more, pumping slowly as his lips suctioned around your clit. You let out a cry as the flat of his tongue swiped across. Your legs shook with pleasure and hips bucked as you came a second time, but he kept going, thrusting his fingers back into your core.
It was overwhelming, the pleasure that consumed you. Pressure bloomed deep in your abdomen as his fingers hammered against your weak spot, and a cord seemed to tighten up your spine, ready to snap as he sucked on your clit. Your breath came in gasps, cries of ecstasy bouncing around the room. One orgasm crashed into another, and another, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, you heard Jungkook swear under his breath and stop abruptly.
Your heart was pounding so hard you could see the flutter in your chest. Jungkook sat back on his heels, gripping the base of his cock firmly. “Too close,” he mumbled, wincing as he tried to stifle any last dregs of pleasure from his body. “Way too close.”
Jungkook swiped the back of his hand over his chin, wiping away your juices as he stood. He tucked himself back into his shorts and sat back on the bench.
Your legs were jelly. It took a moment for you to collect yourself before you could pull your clothing back into place. Your mouth felt too dry and the air too warm. “How long do you have until your fight?” You asked, trying to buy yourself some time while you recovered.
Jungkook checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Perfect.”
“Ok, good. Glad we didn’t overshoot it.” Fixing your bra, you glanced around for a restroom to clean up. In silence, you both wandered to the sinks, washing up and righting your appearance in the mirror.
“Hey…um, I just wanted to say…This doesn’t have to be a whole thing.” You said awkwardly. “Just friends helping friends?” You met his eye in the mirror as he splashed water on his face.
“Friends helping friends.” He nodded in agreement, shoulders relaxing. Drying his hands, he shot you a sly smile “Well, friend, I have to will away a boner or this match is going to get real awkward real fast. Do you mind leaving ahead of me?”
“Sure thing,” you chirped, walking towards the door. “Think about grandmas.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted.
“Avocados?”
Jungkook grunted again.
“Fabric softener?” You added, hand on the door.
“Uh…go back to grandmas.”
“Really, Kook?” You snorted in disbelief. “Wait a minute…did you want to lose at trivia so you would have to do everyone’s laundry?”
“Hey, you said you wouldn’t judge!”
A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! I think it's been about 3 years since the last update, so I'm guessing I'm just posting smut into the void at this point. Reblogging and comments are always appreciated. :)
summary: you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol
warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)
word count: ~5.5k
a/n: idk what to say! i needed to write a fic for yoongi's birthday, but i can't for some reason, so i'm writing this. i hope you enjoy 💜 i'll update chapters probably weekly, maybe bi-weekly, isn't it fun when some things in life are mysteries? the title is from "static" by steve lacy - i love him. thank you as always to the cabal: @ugh-yoongi, @hot-soop, and @the-boy-meets-evil for putting your eyes on this for me. love you all. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.
Unpopular opinion: airports are magical places.
You didn’t always think that, but you’ve changed. Opinion swayed. All it took was one delay on a layover in London for you to start singing a different tune.
Seoul to anywhere feels like a long flight lately. You love it there, but getting out, back to where you’re from, takes literal days. The short break at Heathrow is welcome, a chance to move around a little before you get on another almost ten hour flight. It seems like a nothing thing, to wander through the concourses and shops after you’ve made it through the customs check. Each time you’re here is the same as the last. Until it’s not. You’ve done it a hundred times: sniff different scents at Jo Malone, look for a bag you shouldn’t spend the money on at Louis Vuitton, talk yourself out of buying duty-free scotch because you know you’d never drink it in front of your mother anyway… Maybe on the way home, you think (but you never do).
“Excuse me.” You’re staring at the Balvenie you can’t really afford, thoughts drifting, when someone startles you.
“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side.
There’s a man there, right there. He’s stepped up close so that your arms are practically touching. He’s tall, with dark hair under a beanie, an expensive jacket that’s made to look like it isn’t, and his face hidden under a mask that isn’t required here. There’s something about him, even though you can only see a stripe of his face, that looks familiar. For some reason, neither of you move; he keeps staring at the thousand-pound bottle of scotch, and you keep staring at him.
“You can’t drink it on the plane, you know?” You say it more than you ask it, and of course he knows. Everyone knows. But you see the corners of his eyes crinkle a little and you think he’s smiling under the mask. He finally turns to look at you.
“Was thinking I’d get it as a gift,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders.
“Nice gift,” you remark.
“Yeah…” he replies, turning his attention back to the bottle. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it?”
And at that, you smile. “Maybe a little. Depends on who it’s for.”
“No one special.”
“It’s none of my business,” you say, “but I wouldn’t buy ‘no one special’ a hundred-pound bottle of scotch, let alone a thousand-pound bottle.”
The man laughs, and you notice another guy walk up, right next to him. He’s bigger, older, and way too serious looking for your taste. They seem to have a silent conversation and then the would-be whisky buyer turns back to you. “Time for my flight,” he says. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime,” you nod, still smiling even though you can’t tell anymore if he’s smiling back. Can’t hurt to be polite.
After he goes, you realize you aren’t going to buy the scotch, either, and it’s probably about time for your flight, too, so you start the scramble to your gate.
One of the bad things about flying all the time is that you feel like you see more than your fair share of delays. And this trip is no different. When you make it to the gate, you can sense the panic before you even see the notification. There’s a particular brand of hysteria that sets in with people when their flights are delayed, and it’s amplified with inter-continental flights in your experience. All of the things that make airports romantic and interesting are the same things that make people think they can behave any way they want and it won’t matter. It's like upon entering, people think they get carte blanche to be raging assholes to the poor airline counter guy who’s just trying to make sure everyone gets where they’re going and probably only makes enough to barely pay his rent.
So, you know before you’re told that there’s a delay, and you can tell by the level ten panic around you that it’s probably a long one. It’s confirmed when you see the headlines across one of the large televisions at the gate. Big storm off the coast of the Eastern US. All flights are delayed from what you can tell. Yours looks to have a delay of about six hours, but you know from experience it could be more. You’ll just have to wait and see. You’re lucky, you want to get home, but there’s really not a huge rush on your end, so you can wait it out if you need to.
There’s a quiet spot at a gate with no pending flight, near yours and a few of the other gates with international flights scheduled to leave. You hate sitting, knowing you’ve done it for a half a day already and have another long flight (eventually) in front of you, but you don’t know what else to do and at least you have a couple books in your carry on.
Maybe thirty minutes passes of you reading when you look up, just to see how things are settling around you as people start to either (like you) become resigned to the fact that they’re not going anywhere for a while, or let their anger hit a fever pitch with the gate agent.
You see a familiar fancy jacket waiting near the ticket counter, his friend from earlier having an animated chat with a woman who doesn’t seem like she speaks enough Korean to be keeping up. Fancy Coat is watching, looking amused and not chiming in, even though you know firsthand he can speak English perfectly well, and could probably be a help to his travel companion.
Because you’re one of those people who can never do things as subtly as you think you do, you’re caught out—Nice Jacket turns his head and his eyes lock with yours before you can look away; he knows you’re watching. He tilts his head, eyes widening with what you hope is amusement and not terror that you were looking. Slowly, he brings his hand up and waves at you, then gives you a gesture like he wants you to wait for something before he leans in and says something to his friend.
You turn back to your book, embarrassed.
A considerable chunk of whatever willpower you have is used in Not Looking when you hear (and feel) someone plop into the chair next to you.
“Good book?” Nice Jacket asks.
“Mmhmm,” you murmur, trying not to make things any weirder than you’ve already made them by staring. It is, in fact, not a good book. But your colleague wrote it, and he’s the special kind of narcissist that will ask you what you thought of it every day you see him until you provide some sort of satisfactory feedback kissing his ass.
“That guy’s a jackass,” he comments.
And that gets your attention. You turn to him, a little surprised. “You know him?”
Nice Jacket nods, eyebrows raised. “Do you not remember me?” he asks.
“From the duty-free shop?”
He laughs, louder than he means to judging by how he stops himself and looks around self-consciously. “No… I think you’ve interviewed me before…”
Things begin to snap into place rapidly. Because now that he says it, he goes from looking vaguely familiar to being instantly recognizable. You don’t really keep up with him or his music, but you have interviewed him, when your asshole colleague had passed one of his assignments to your desk, assuming you’d “like that kind of thing.”
At the time, you’d tried not to let yourself assume the worst about what he meant, and you did the interview over Zoom with no protest to your coworker or your boss. It wasn’t the kind of thing your magazine usually wrote about, but the article was focused on his art collection, and it gave you a good opportunity to learn something you wouldn’t have in a gossip magazine, and a chance to look good for your boss. The whole thing hadn’t lasted more than eight minutes, professional and easier than most of your interviews. Since then, you’ve been in the same room as him a few times at events you’d covered, exchanged greetings and appreciations on both sides for the article, and obviously, you know who he is.
He’s famous, but not like… idol famous. Stage name RM, he’s a rapper and producer who works with a small collective. You see him in magazines and on TV, his popularity growing over the last few years less for his music and more for his work in art preservation.
“Oh my god…” you say, closing your book and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Kim Namjoon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Good,” he says with a wink. “That’s the point.” He gestures vaguely to his beanie and his mask and the sunglasses he took off when he sat down next to you.
“How are you?” you ask, because it’s polite, and that’s what you should do, even though you’re not even sure why he’s sitting here speaking to you.
“Alright,” he says, but you notice he seems a little amused.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He raises his hands defensively.
“No, what? Why’s it funny to ask how you’re doing?”
Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you with his head cocked. “I guess no one ever really asks me that,” he says.
You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”
What’s more ridiculous is that you’re sitting in Heathrow having a conversation with this sort of famous person who you kind of know, but not in a “run into you in the airport and have a casual chat” kind of way. Or maybe it is like that, because that’s exactly what happens.
You talk about how he’s doing (pretty well but tired from traveling and ready to be settled in his hotel). Then you talk about your asshole coworker and his not-very-good book. You laugh at a story he tells you about said coworker, and you feel your face heat up when he says how relieved he was that you interviewed them instead of anyone else from your magazine, and how much he’d liked talking to you that day. He’s bluntly honest with you about his preference for doing interviews with Korean-language publications, which you completely understand. He tells you that he didn’t mind doing an interview for your small English-language one because you at least greeted him in Korean and tried out a couple questions in the language.
“It’s my job to make people feel comfortable,” you say flippantly. It’s true, it is your job, and you talk to a lot of sort-of-famous people and their people, so you know that at the end of the day, they’re just people. You get better results and better interviews when you treat them as such. When you tell Namjoon that, you can see him grinning under his mask, you can tell for sure this time by the way the corners of his eyes pinch.
“That’s a nice way to think of it,” he finally says. “It’s good to be treated like Namjoon and not RM sometimes.”
“Happy to be of service,” you say.
Before you can say more, you’re interrupted by his friend, who you now understand isn’t exactly a friend but a manager or a bodyguard or some combination of both. He explains that it’ll be a few hours, that there aren’t any other flight options, and that he and Namjoon can go make themselves a little more comfortable in the airport lounge. It’s spoken like a suggestion, but the way he side-eyes you as he speaks makes you certain it’s more of a directive. Namjoon nods along until his manager tells him, in hushed Korean, that he can’t just sit out in the open talking to strangers.
“She’s not a stranger,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.
After a brief explanation that you’re an acquaintance (which is how Namjoon puts it and is a little more generous than you would have been), his manager lightens up, and even keeps his mouth shut when Namjoon invites you to come with them to the lounge. He does, however, insist on walking alongside you when you agree to go with them, making Namjoon walk a little ways in front of you both. Better safe than sorry, you suppose, even though no one seems to be paying any attention to the three of you.
At the lounge, his manager has a brief conversation with the airline employee at the desk, and then the three of you are whisked through the entrance, past the service desk and the bar, and into a small, private room at the back of the lounge. Namjoon puts his bag down and moves to the coffee machine, pausing to ask if you want anything as he fumbles with the stack of cups there. Cute. The professional in you hates that you even had that thought pass through your mind, but the rest of you doesn’t mind. He is cute, he gets paid to be cute (at least partially), he knows he’s cute. You have eyes, so obviously you see it, too.
His manager unceremoniously pulls an eye mask and headphones out of his bag, seats himself in the corner, and announces he’s going to try and sleep and to wake him up if anything interesting happens, leaving the two of you essentially on your own.
When you have your drinks, you pull your masks off, settle into loungers in the opposite corner of the room, and start talking again. It comes easily between the two of you—you’re used to asking questions and he’s used to answering them. He’s going to New York for a “personal schedule,” and you don’t ask for more details because you know he wouldn’t give them to you anyway. His whole face lights up when he tells you about an exhibit at the Whitney he’s hoping to catch, about how he’s willing to suffer through the jet lag for a glimpse at a certain Hockney that he probably won’t ever see in Korea.
Eventually, the tables turn a little, and he starts asking you about your own life. It’s less interesting (in your opinion) than his, but he’s a good listener, and asks good questions. He seems really excited (and remembers, to your surprise) that you’re an arts reporter, asks what you’re writing about lately, asks if you’ve seen anything new that caught your eye, even asks you for gallery recommendations around Seoul. You have a few, and he actually jots down notes in his literal notebook while you speak, claiming he’ll forget which you recommended if he doesn’t write it down. Cute again.
Hours pass, and you’d swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s been a long time since you talked with someone like this—leisurely, candidly (or as candid as he can be, anyway). You get food brought to you by an airline employee, and you know it’s an upgrade from what’s being served in the rest of the lounge, but Namjoon isn’t phased at all. You suppose this is his normal, so there’s nothing out of the ordinary for him.
“I can’t believe you get special food,” you say when you’ve finished.
“Special food?”
“Well yeah, they’re not serving anything other than soup and crackers out there. Maybe carrot sticks.”
“Oh…” he says quietly, brow furrowed, like he’s really thinking about it. “Do you think I should ask them to bring barbeque to everyone else?” You actually think he means it. So fucking cute, you think.
After you talk him out of wielding his influence, mostly using the argument that it would be an immense amount of work for the airline staff, you settle in again. He produces a blanket from a cabinet against one of the walls of the room, and it’s an obvious sign this whole experience is totally typical for him. When he hands you the blanket, you can’t help it, you smile at him and probably look a little smitten. You might just be.
You offer him part of the blanket, and he accepts, pulling it over his lap and asking you if he took too much. (He didn’t). You talk more, and you feel relaxed with him—it’s so easy to forget he’s who he is and you’re who you are. It’s just like getting to know any other casual acquaintance better except he’s stupid good-looking and you start to notice that your faces are a lot closer together than they started out as you talk about Marci Kwon and the interesting work that the Asian American Art Initiative is doing. It was the last article you’d written, and you’re surprised to hear he’s read it.
You’re saying something about non-hierarchical modes of presenting research in art when you realize he’s not listening anymore, just staring at you intently. You’ve been talking a lot. For a while… Maybe talking too much; maybe he’s bothered.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
His eyes widen like he’s the one who’s been caught-out this time. “I’m really good,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself.
It makes you beam. “Good,” you say. “I’ve liked talking to you.”
He nods. “I’ve liked talking to you, too. You have a lot to say.”
The fact that you can feel his breath on your face when he speaks makes you certain that you’re sitting too close, that something is happening that probably shouldn’t be. It makes you forget that “you have a lot to say” isn’t always a good thing. You think that everything might sound good when it comes from his mouth, that even the worst insult would trickle out like honey. Your heart rate has picked up, you now notice, and you both keep just staring at each other—you don’t know why you don’t move or look away, it’s like you can’t even though you know you should.
Namjoon’s eyes flick up behind you to where his manager is, and you can hear the man snoring, so you know he’s not aware at all of what’s happening right in front of him.
“They don’t have cameras in here,” Namjoon says. “It’s why we come here.”
You nod, nothing to say to that—you’re not even sure why he said it unless…
“Can I kiss you?”
That is the exact moment when every coherent and rational thought you have ever had rushes out of your brain like a waterfall. You’re not even sure how you manage to respond, but this very cute, very smart, very interesting person has just expressed interest in you of all people, and you’d be an idiot not to say yes.
“Oh my god, please,” you say all in one hurried breath.
And before you’re even finished, his lips are on yours. It’s soft, more chaste than you’d expected, but it doesn’t stay that way when he nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth. One of his hands comes to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at your hair and pulling you closer as you practically melt into him. It’s a good kiss, a fantastic kiss, and all you can think is more, more, more as the two of you try and do your best to be as close as you can over the armrests of the stupid lounge chairs.
When you part, his eyes are a little wild, and you think yours must be, too.
“I have to wake him up soon,” he says, looking past you. “It’s almost time for our flight.”
You glance over your shoulder at his manager who’s still totally unaware of what’s happening around him, and then stand, offering a hand to Namjoon, too.
It’s a rare moment of boldness, but something’s come over you, and you’re acting with very little thought as to what you’re doing and how stupid it probably is. “Come on,” you say, tugging him up. When he’s standing right in front of you, you put your hands on his chest and raise up on your tiptoes to whisper, “Let’s get out of here for a minute.”
He wipes across his bottom lip with his thumb, pausing probably to think about what you’re implying, and then he bends to kiss you quickly before he agrees. “Okay, yeah, let’s go.”
It’s not your fault that you know where the ‘family restroom’ is—you passed by it on the way to the back of the lounge and you notice things, you remember things.
You hope he doesn’t think you do this kind of thing all the time, or ever, although you don’t know why you care what he thinks since you’re also willfully oblivious to any looks you might be getting from any passersby who see you tug him into the room behind you.
It’s sheer luck that your go-to travel outfit is a fairly basic knit dress. It takes him no time to have you pinned up against the door, lips on your neck, hand rucking up the front of your dress so that he can get a hand under your tights. God, it feels good. He feels good, large and solid and his fingers… fuck. They’re long and nimble and he’s clearly not new to this, but neither are you, so you roll your hips forward and moan at the contact when he slips his hand under your tights.
“You’re already wet,” he says, surprised, pulling his head back so he can look at you properly, his fingertips skimming between your legs.
You nod and pull him back in to kiss you again—you only know a few things about Kim Namjoon, but you already know you like talking to him, and now you know you like his lips on yours even more than that.
“Come here,” you say, and slide away from the door, pulling him with you so that you can bend over the small vanity where you can see yourselves in the mirror above it. He’s been polite, almost too nice for what you’re in the mood for, and you don’t know if he’ll take the initiative, so you lock eyes with him in the mirror and slide your tights down from under your dress, stepping out of them one leg at a time.
In the mirror, you watch as he tentatively sticks a hand out to feel you again, groaning when his fingertips slide against you so easily. One, then quickly two fingers enter you, slowly moving in and out, and he studies your reflection, like he’s trying to learn what you like. It’s a lot of effort for a one-night stand in a Heathrow airline lounge. He pulls his joggers down; he’s already hard, feels big against your ass and the back of your thigh.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. It’s apparently not lost on him how you watch him in the mirror, pupils blown, because then he asks, “You want to watch me fuck you?” He winds the fingers of his free hand around a handful of your hair and tentatively pulls your head up so he can look you in the eye through the mirror.
You watch him focus on you nodding and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth; he drops your hair as he stares. He has to know already how much you want it, but he makes you say it anyway.
“Tell me you want to see me make you come,” he whispers into the back of your neck, breath hot against the shell of your ear. Behind you, he’s rolling on a condom that seems to have appeared out of nowhere—you wonder if he had one in his pocket ‘just in case.’
You smirk, widen your eyes, and nod again. “Please? Will you fuck me? I want—” You pause to turn your head over your shoulder and kiss him again. “I want to watch you make me come.”
Holding onto your hip, he pushes his cock, thick and flushed, into you quickly; you don’t have much more time before his flight.
He groans as he starts thrusting, pulling almost all the way out slowly before snapping back into you.
“Oh shit…” you whisper each of the first few times he pushes into you.
Your head falls as he fucks you—It’s so good, he’s deep deep deep, and you feel so full, and you might cry it’s been so long since someone’s fucked you like this… But he wants your attention, so he brings a hand up and slaps you lightly along the back of your thigh to get you to look up.
It wasn’t hard, but you’re barely acquaintances, so he seems to hesitate, looking to your reflection for reassurance. In return, you look him straight in the eye and let out a moan.
“You wanted to watch, so watch,” he whispers.
“Do it again... please,” you plead softly as you raise your head and push your hips back against him.
He lifts the other hand and strikes the swell of your ass this time, harder than the first slap, making you suck in a breath. White knuckles grip the sides of the sink as your skin turns pink, but you’re still smirking and soaking wet, asking for more as he grips your hips to fuck you harder.
“Harder… I need you… feels so good,” you pant.
You move to lean on an elbow and bring your other hand down to your clit. His hand follows yours and moves it out of the way as he leans forward to whisper, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.”
“Then do it.”
Namjoon slows the movements of his hips to focus on you, rubbing circles over your clit with his fingertips and sucking on your neck, right against your pulse point, sending shivers along the length of your spine.
He rolls his hips into her as you grind against him, whimpering quietly, “Fuck, Joon… yes… oh, fuck…” You trail off, not able to focus on anything except his hands and his cock. You don’t even care that you’re already using nicknames with him.
“Finally got you to stop talking so much,” he teases as he works you nearer to orgasm.
You’d laugh, okay with being teased, except you’re practically shaking now, close to release, so he puts more pressure on your clit and moves his cock in you a little less deep, hitting you exactly where you need him each time.
God, you look good together. There’s a sweat sheen on your foreheads, his cheeks are painted with a rose blush, and your eyes are wide, watching yourself with curiosity in the mirror as you start to come.
You’re close, so close, tightening on his cock as he lets go of your hip and puts a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the loud cry you make when your orgasm hits.
Your cunt pulses around him and he drags his hands slowly away from it and your mouth, back to your hips.
“You ready?” he whispers.
“Good girl,” he affirms as you nod, and that absolutely shouldn’t have you ready to come on his cock again, but maybe you have a praise kink you didn’t know about. You whimper when he starts fucking into you again, resuming his previous faster pace.
It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to come after that, with you babbling nonsense about how good his cock is and begging for him to come inside you. He thrusts into you one last time and releases into the condom, watching in the mirror as you give him a satisfied grin and roll your hips with his.
When he pulls out of you, he drops to his knees and kisses you where he’d left a handprint on your ass. It makes your breath hitch, feels too intimate for people barely know one another and who’ve just fucked in an airport bathroom. But then he pulls you up to standing, smoothing your dress around your legs. He grabs a bundle of toilet paper and hands it to you to wipe up.
“Look at you,” you tease, “what a gentleman.”
He pulls his joggers up and watches you flush the tissue while he discards the condom. You fiddle around for your tights and slide them on under your dress.
When you’re finished, you lean against the sink and watch him—he’s cute like this: face still flushed, hair mussed, and most of all, he looks as nervous as you’re starting to feel.
“I don’t do this kind of thing,” you say. Your voice is a little wobbly, and you wonder where any of the self-assurance you’d had earlier when you dragged him into the room has gone to.
Namjoon laughs, bright and dimpled, before he replies. “Fuck, me either. I mean… people sometimes… know who I am and I have to be careful.” The last words come out in a rush.
“Careful how?”
He looks fully embarrassed now. “LIke my manager is going to kick my ass when we walk out of here and… well, people back home would have a field day with this if someone saw.”
You’re not even sure what to say to that. Because of course you know who he is, you get that he’s famous, but the thought of talking about this with anyone just seems… It’s not like it makes you look very good either, so you’d never. It would be professional suicide; you’d never be taken seriously again. You spit out the next words mindlessly, just trying to make it less awkward. “You think this was the ‘something interesting’ we were supposed to wake him up for?” Namjoon just looks at you like you’re nuts before you both burst into laughter.
When you catch your breath again, you get a little more serious, your voice softer. “I’ll sign something. Whatever we should have done before, we can do it now, you can email me or whatever. God, this is crazy…” You trail off, consequences of what you’ve done starting to sink in.
“Okay… Thank you,” he says. “I hate how awkward this is. I’m sorry.”
You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable than you can ever remember feeling. Is he sorry that you did this together or is he sorry that it’s awkward? You don’t really know. Maybe it’s both.
“This was a mistake,” you say without thinking, and his face falls.
“You think that?” he asks quietly, stepping into your space and reaching out to stroke your arms gently. “Because I really don’t. I know things are complicated with me? But… I liked you when I met you for the interview, I liked you today, and I’d like to see you again. I really wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“Aren’t all guys that kind of guy?” you ask, wondering if he’s even for real.
“No,” he says. And you think he’s sincere. “Really. I’ve never done something like this before.”
You nod, uncrossing your arms and letting your hands slide into his. “So, we should go though… You have a flight to catch, and I guess I have an NDA to sign.” You’re trying to tease, but you think you probably just sound fucking terrified.
“Can I have your number?” he asks.
“For the NDA,” you affirm, taking the phone he’s sticking out to you and typing in your contact info.
“And for a date, maybe?” he says. And when you look up at him, he looks bashful, nervous even, as if you could ever say no to this man with a big brain and a dick to match who has just made you feel at least twelve new things in the last few hours.
“I’ll be back in Seoul in two weeks,” you say, handing him his phone back.
He smiles wide at that, and leans in to kiss your cheek. Cute again.
“I’ll call you,” he says eagerly. “And someone will be in touch about the paperwork… Sorry again.”
“Not your fault.” You shrug. “But you should head out first so it looks less weird, probably. I’ll freshen up for a minute and then be out in a bit.”
“Right,” he agrees. “Okay. So… I’ll see you in Seoul?”
You can’t help but be endeared to him; the fact that he seems to think you might actually not want to see him again makes you go all squishy inside. “It’s a date,” you confirm.
“Great! Okay… I’m gonna just… go now.” He points at the door, fumbling behind himself for the latch, like he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you.
“Okay, Namjoon… It was good to run into you and…” You hate that you can’t say anything coherent, your sentence just ending in, “stuff.”
He laughs and pulls his mask back on. “It was good to run into you and stuff, too.”
Finally, he’s got the door unlocked, and before he slips back into the lounge he says, “I’m really going to call you, okay?”
You aren’t sure why, but you believe him when he says it even though you know better, and all the weird feelings you’ve been having about him come together in a bright firework feeling in your chest. Something like hope, maybe.
“Talk to you soon,” you say quietly.
And then he’s gone, and you’re left breathless, wondering what you’ve just done.
Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst (only in the beginning), Fluff, a touch of Smut
Summary: A fun night with your best friend to escape the post-breakup blues turns into so much more than you expected.
Warnings: Drinking, swearing, a bit of phone sex & dirty talk, mentions of masturbation, fluffy fluff
Drabble: 7 of 15
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: I am so excited about this chapter! I wrote it in a fervor over the last two days, and it felt really good to have inspiration like that again. Thank you forever to my beta and banner maker @hannahbee12719 for being an amazing pillar of support! 💛 And as always, thank you all so, SO much for sticking with me and this story. It means the world, and I hope you enjoy! 🥰
Ch. 6 / Series Masterlist
Yunho’s new apartment looks amazing. Scrolling through the pictures on Instagram, you see big windows, lots of natural light, and cozy decor that looks just like him. As you tap the animated heart on the screen to like the post, the heart beating in your chest cracks a little further. It’s been four months since your breakup, and this brings the dulling pain back into sharp focus.
Summary: College life is not what you expected and befriending your peers is a challenge, at least until your coworkers invite you to join their weekly trivia night. Sexual tension skyrockets as you befriend this curious group of handsome young men.
Wow, thank you so much for this amazing feedback! I feel like you caught everything I was aiming for, and I can't say enough how much that means to me! And I had so much fun getting to write the art history/philosophy conversation in that last chapter, so I'm especially glad it was well received.
I am definitely slow, but still actively working on an update. I don't have a firm timeline for when it will post, but I'm aiming to have it out before the end of this year. 🙂
hi!!! i loved loved loved trivial pursuits. the interactions between the characters, the tension? *chef's kiss*, do you have a taglist for the series?
Aw thank you! This made my day! I do not currently have a tag list, but may start one up soon since it has come up a lot and my posts are infrequent. Until then, I typically recommend subscribing through AO3 (my psueds there are corgibuttz and foreignfingers.)
