despite being strangers who solely exchanged wedding vows to trick his filthy rich family into giving him his inheritance, being part of this scheme is surprisingly easy. he’s out of the country most of the time, you’re being compensated for being a model wife, and there are only a few things you two have to to do in order to keep up with the whole guise of being a happy married couple.
with less than three months to go until you get divorced, namjoon comes back from a business trip and stays with you at your shared house, waiting until d-day with the aim of sending off your odd friendship with a proper farewell. but it’s weird, because just when things are supposed to be easiest—that’s when everything is suddenly becoming complicated, and the two of you realized once again that there really is no such thing as easy money (or easy love).
pairing: namjoon x reader
word count: 3.3k
rating: NC-17
content: fluff, angst, marriage of convenience au, strangers to friends to lovers au, dash of fake dating au, and they were housemates au???? | ft. chaebol!namjoon + travel photographer!namjoon; office worker!reader
warning/s: swearing, mentions of a sickness, mommy issues, unsupportive family, depictions of loneliness / sadness, character death (no major characters though!), mentions of falling of a cliff bc of clumsiness lmao (nobody dies dw)
[ chaptex index. ]
EPISODE 01. the one with the emergency !
you shouldn’t have been too confident. if only you’ve been more humble and less greedy during your hike earlier with your workmates for the bi-annual team building event, you wouldn’t have literally fallen off the side of the cliff and ended up spraining your ankle pretty bad.
what were you thinking, honestly? you’ve never been an active person ever in your life. you hated cardio, you hated sweating, you hated waking up early in the morning to do exercise—yet for some reason, you were pumped for the activity that was scheduled for today. it’s the reason why as you were trudging along the trail with your co-workers, yapping and laughing loudly with a close colleague, you didn’t notice that a particularly huge rock on your way set you off balance and caused you to sway to your right, plummeting over the ridge with a loud yelp.
it’s a good thing that there were paramedics stationed at the base of the mountain where all of you were trekking on, perhaps anticipating for an incident like yours to come along that’ll have them doing their duty. as soon as your team leader used the walkie-talkie given to your group to call them for their help, there were four people with bright orange uniforms aiding you, checking your condition and placing you on a stretcher before carrying you to the monorail where you’ll be transported back down.
haein, your said close colleague, accompanied you as they brought you to the infirmary.
“were you possessed by an athletic ghost?” she asks once the doctor finished treating your sprained ankle, now advising you to get a bit of rest. “what made you think it was smart to walk too fast? you must have been crazy.”
“i must have,” you say, laughing because you rather laugh than complain about the pain that you’re feeling. it’s subsiding at the moment, thankfully, but you can only imagine what the next few days are going to be for you due to the injury. “god, i’m happy though that i didn’t get to roll all the way. if that happened, i would have suffered a greater fall and then i’d be on the news.”
“yeah. you’d be a legend to the company too. we’d make an altar in your cubicle for a good few months.”
“i’d be the story that hiking guides would share to the hikers to scare them into being careful.”
“we’d pay tribute to you at every christmas party. we’d make a slideshow and present that during the whole event.”
“really?”
“of course. i’d be in charge of making the powerpoint even.”
you stare at her, haein staring back, and then the both of you burst out laughing. you’re grateful that she volunteered to be with you when the paramedics declared that they needed to bring you down—although in the back of your head, you do think she’s just being a good friend as an excuse to not walk her way back to the ground with the rest later on after they reach the top and enjoy the magnificent view.
“by the way,” she takes a seat on the chair beside the bed you’re situated in, “someone named kim namjoon is going to pick you up and drive you home.”
the second his name tumbles out of her lips, you’re snapping your head towards her, shocked. “what?”
“when you passed out a bit after the fall, i got your phone and did the thing to make it call your emergency contact. he’s the one who answered.”
“namjoon answered?”
“yup.”
“but i… i don’t remember making him my emergency contact.”
“well, like i said, he’s the one who answered.” she shrugs. “why? is he an ex or something?”
you press your lips together, suddenly panicking at the thought of namjoon arriving here.
there’s nothing wrong with namjoon, really. he’s a pleasing person to have around: genuine, kind, and full of profound thoughts that you can’t help but hang onto every word he says. however, as haein made evident, no one knows about your relationship with him and true nature of it—and you’ve done everything you can in the past year and a half since joining the company to keep it that way, deeming it unnecessary to disclose the fact that kim namjoon is your husband when the both of you aren’t bound to stay married forever.
to you, he’s just a ridiculously rich man who needed to get married for at least five years in order to get the full amount of his inheritance from his grandmother.
to him, you’re just a middle class woman who needed money to pay for her sister’s leukemia treatments, introduced together by a mutual friend who knew that both of you can benefit from each other’s situations.
in other words, your marriage with him isn’t technically real. and it’s why you rather not let anyone in your workplace know that he’s your husband, especially since you’ve managed to keep a low profile about it all these months. you don’t want to give your officemates a reason to gossip about you in the present time or when you divorce namjoon—the latter frankly scheduled to happen in less than three months from now.
****
namjoon arrives an hour later.
you take notice of him immediately while haein’s babbling about the book she recently read, recognizing him as the tall man who enters the small clinic, going to the desk to talk to the staff waiting there. you watch as the latter points to where your bed is, namjoon promptly turning to your direction, your gazes meeting before his eyes focus on your sprained ankle, expression contorting in a mix of confusion and disappointment.
beside you, haein taps your arm, noticing namjoon’s arrival as well. “is that…?”
you swallow hard. “yeah, that’s him.”
“holy shit. he’s hot.”
“don’t—” you grit your teeth. “don’t say that. it’s weird.”
“why? i have eyes—i’m just saying what i see.”
“yeah, but—”
“are you weirded out because he’s a relative? like your brother?” haein cuts you. “wait, you mentioned before that you have a sibling. is that him?”
“he’s not a sibling.”
“then who—”
namjoon stops on the foot of your bed, causing haein to shut up now that he’s within earshot. he’s still staring at your ankle, like it inflated to twice its original size, and you actually don’t know what to say. although you’ve developed a close friendship over the years of this sham marriage, you always seem to restart whenever he returns from a business trip of his—and it’s only been a couple of days since his return to south korea, having just come back from spain for his latest project.
it’s worth mentioning too that you feel strange having an audience like haein around that renders you clueless on how to act.
he lets out a slow whistle, crossing his arms. “and you say i’m clumsy.”
you huff out a chuckle, namjoon grinning that releases the charm of his dimples.
“uh, i’m haein,” your friend stands up from her seat and extends a hand out, obviously enthralled by how handsome he is. “i’m the one who called you using ___’s phone. namjoon, isn’t it?”
namjoon shakes her hand. “oh, yes. it’s nice to meet you.”
“wow. you have a very tight grip.”
“haein,” you scold, slapping her wrist that causes their handshake to cease. if it isn’t apparent enough, haein doesn’t have a filter nor cares enough to stop saying the first thing that comes to her mind. “stop being weird.”
she turns to you. “i’m not being weird. i’m complimenting him.”
“how is commenting how tight his grip is a compliment?” you demand.
“it’s a compliment because i’m making it clear that i find him strong,” she explains, focusing on namjoon again. “sorry. do you feel offended by what i said?”
he appears amused. “not really.”
“see?” haein tells you.
you’re about to quip back a reply when she beats you to it.
“anyways,” she says and namjoon stifles a laugh, “if you don’t mind me asking, how are you and ____ related?”
at the question, you send him a signal with your eyes, asking him not to tell the truth, regardless if that’s wrong of you to do so. one of the things you had to keep in mind upon agreeing with this arrangement is that neither of you should ever deny the marriage whatsoever, a precautionary measure because you two were that paranoid that the news might reach namjoon’s parents.
from the looks of it, despite namjoon understanding where you’re getting at as you give him the most bizarre expressions, he does the opposite (perhaps mainly due to what was explained above), resulting into you hanging your head low, waiting how haein will react at the revelation that will be served on her plate.
“i’m her husband actually,” namjoon says casually.
haein cackles out loud. “husband?” she repeats. “that’s really funny—you’re a funny guy. but seriously, how do you two know each other?”
he raises an eyebrow. “i’m not joking.”
“sure you are, but this girl right here isn’t married.” she does a show of holding you in an affectionate headlock. “she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”
“did she tell you that?” he’s teasing, glancing at you for some sort of confirmation.
haein averts her attention to you.
you look at them, switching from namjoon to haein to namjoon and back to haein.
“i mean…you never asked, and i never said i was single,” you tell haein, shrugging and acting as nonchalant as ever.
it’s half the truth, ‘cause as far as you’re concerned, you’ve been diligent in always wearing your wedding and engagement ring. you even make it a point not to appear interested in any offers of blind dates or group dates to ever imply that you’re single as well.
she gawks at you, like she’s waiting for you to take back what you said. “are you being for real right now?”
“i am.”
“if this is some elaborate prank—”
“it’s not a prank,” you say.
there’s silence, and then she practically screams.
“YOU’RE MARRIED?” haein bellows, attracting everybody’s attention inside the infirmary. “we’ve known each other for more than a year and only now do i discover that you’re married?”
before she can berate you and force you to tell her your entire relationship history, namjoon’s asking for your bag and helping you sit up, aiming to lead you to the car waiting outside. haein almost stops him, declaring with conviction that she literally can’t wait until the next office day to get the full scoop, but he kindly reiterates what the ER doctor he spoke with earlier said, insisting that he ought to bring you home as soon as possible so you can get the rest that you need after over exerting your body for today’s hike.
“everything. you need to tell me everything on monday,” she says when namjoon goes out for a minute to deliver your bag first to the vehicle. she’s giddy and jumpy and very hyper about what you can guess is because of her latest discovery. “also, i’m sorry about calling your husband hot earlier. i wouldn’t have done so if i knew.”
you grin, appreciating the fact that she felt the need to apologize for that. “it’s no biggie. you didn’t know.”
“yeah, which you really should apologize about.”
“i’m sorry.” your grin only stretches wider. “i’ll buy you a matcha latte on monday to make up for it.”
her face lights up.
you share your farewells as namjoon returns, namjoon saying goodbye to haein too. she leaves first, remembering that she needs to inform the rest of your co-workers that you’re fine and headed home, and once you and your husband are alone, he takes a good look at you again.
“should i carry you?” he asks.
you blink at him. he may be reliable, but he is also extremely clumsy. “you’re not asking the right questions, joon.”
“wow. you can really be cruel sometimes, you know?” he laughs. “then should i get a wheelchair?”
“no wheelchair please. i think i can walk to the car just fine.” you begin standing up.
“you sure?” he doesn’t even let you answer that, his hand just naturally goes to support your elbow. “you might fall.”
you pause, calculating how many steps it’s going to take until you reach your destination. you’re fine, really; your good foot is perfectly walkable and you’re convinced it can take the burden of not having its pair in ample condition. however, you might need to hold onto namjoon for you not to fall halfway like he already stated, and you’re not really keen on being that close to him no matter how amazing his cologne smells even a few inches away.
“a wheelchair would be ideal,” you say.
namjoon chuckles, nodding and getting it with the assistance of a staff member.
in minutes, you’re on the passenger seat and he’s climbing on the other side. you don’t expect it but you’re relieved at the thought of coming home earlier than planned. though you’ve conditioned yourself to enjoy this team building and take this time to get into camping, you were horrified when you learned that there wouldn’t be any shower rooms or portable toilets at least at the area that you’re heading at after the hike, this retreat meant to give each one of you the raw camping experience.
come to think of it, perhaps it was your subconscious that prompted you to inflict this accident on yourself in order to avoid shitting on the ground in case your stomach hurts.
“comfortable?” namjoon glances at you. “you can recline the chair if you want to sleep.”
“oh, okay. thanks.” you smile.
he smiles back, starting the engine. you subtly watch him while he does that, admiring how he seems so adept in driving now compared to when you first met him. you remember his reluctance in the past to drive due to his fear of messing up, yet he managed to drive for approximately two hours in most likely gravelly roads to get where you are.
“thanks too for coming here, joon. i hope i didn’t bother you. honestly, i don’t even remember putting you as my emergency contact,” you sheepishly add.
“no problem, and i think hoseok did,” he says. “i remember him mentioning that i should put you as mine before.”
hoseok is the mutual friend that introduced you both together when namjoon was still trying to find a fake wife to obtain the full amount of his inheritance in five years time. he was aware of namjoon’s ploy and knew that you were in need of money during that year as well—and so putting two and two together, he set up a ‘date slash chemistry test’ between you and namjoon and reckoned that you could be great help to one another regarding your respective needs.
“that makes sense. i just don’t know how he did that without my knowledge.”
“well, nothing’s been impossible for hobi, so…”
you agree with a snort.
“by the way, i should mention this before you doze off,” he abruptly halts as he’s beginning to drive off, “mom’s inviting us to dinner this weekend. she heard that i was back in the country and wanted to see how i am.”
you gradually digest that information. “okay. is everyone going to be there?”
“yes, based on our last conversation.”
“should i be prepared for anything at all?”
he seems to find the inquiry funny. “no. just the usual.”
“meaning i should block off every passive aggressive comment your mom makes about either my choice of clothes and social status, right?”
“pretty much, yeah.”
you let out a groan.
“i’m sorry. i would have declined her request but she wouldn’t stop pestering me about it.”
“god, i just really don’t like your mom, joon.” you say. “or your dad. or your older brother. i don’t like everyone, basically—except your pet dog, hiro. no offense.”
“that’s fine. i don’t like them either.” he shrugs, carrying on driving. “plus, you know i’m on your team. i’d defend your honor to death.”
“of course. it’s what makes attending these things tolerable.”
“well, if it makes you feel better, this might be the last family function you’d have to attend.”
you raise your eyebrows, recalling the reason why. “woah, shit, you’re right.”
in less than three months, you’re getting divorced and namjoon’s getting even more money than he already has.
in less than three months, he’s going to share some of the portion of what’s left of his inheritance and it’ll be the last time you’ll receive financial help from him.
it also might be the last time you’ll be with him in general, and though there’s a side of you that’s glad not to be tied down anymore, you can’t say that you’re glad of possibly losing contact with namjoon, having grown fond of his presence in a way.
facing him, you blurt out the first thing that occurs in your mind. “when we get divorced, can i keep my engagement ring?”
namjoon chuckles. “that’s up to you. there’s no reason for me to take it back.”
“but what if you fall in love with a woman someday and think about proposing to her?”
“then i’d buy a new ring.”
“but wouldn’t that be impractical? given that you already have an engagement ring? i mean, this costs so much i could probably buy a lot and a house with it.”
“yeah, but that’s yours. it’d be horrible of me to give her a ring already worn by my first wife.”
“first wife,” you repeat with a dramatic scoff, lips curving upwards regardless. it’s cheesy and tickles your insides. “that trip to spain changed you, joon. you’ve been too flirty since you returned.”
that coaxes out a full laugh from him. “my apologies. it’s a habit at this point.”
“what is?”
“pertaining to you as my wife.” he shrugs. “isn’t it the same for you?”
“pertaining to you as my wife?” you joke.
the dimples make a reappearance. “you know what i mean.”
you think about it. had it been the same for you? there’s not a lot of occasions wherein you have to call namjoon as your husband. your dad isn’t present in your life, your relationship isn’t good with your mother to constantly chat with her, and as for your little sister who was the root cause of why you got married to namjoon…
well, she’s in a better place right now. far better than this crazy and scary world you’re living in.
“i guess,” you say, but your tone isn’t convincing.
“hm, it does seem that way according to what just happened with haein.”
you wince. “sorry about that.”
“don’t be, i understand. i’ve been gone most of the time since you got hired in your new company—and we are separating in a few weeks.”
“time flies really fast, doesn’t it?”
“yep. we used to think that it’ll take forever before the five years are up.”
“true. we kept on suggesting a backup plan if ever we fight and get sick of each other.”
“yet here we are, still happily married.”
“ugh, there you are again!” you accuse and he laughs out loud once more. “are you enjoying cringing me to death?”
namjoon doesn’t answer, a big grin plastered on his face as he continues laughing, groaning eventually when you start slapping his arm because of how it’s obvious that he truly is enjoying this.
“____,” he complains, laughing still, “stop, i’m driving!”
you follow as he says. “you’re the worst.”
“i forgot how easy you are to tease.”
“shut up.”
he snickers, doing a zipping motion against his mouth.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
-> genre/au's smut, enemies to lovers, dinner party au!
-> summary after namjoon has got you worked up for nothing, you find a way to reclaim your power, and what better way than to do it at the annual dinner party?
-> word count 2.6k
-> warnings sexual tension | reader teases joon with cake lol | taehyung and jungkook are mentioned | namjoon's thighs (trust me it's a warning) | namjoon is wearing the outfit | oral (m. receiving)
-> author's note i cannot believe that a request from my milestone celebration AND joon feeding us so much content today had me writing pt2 so quickly... but here we aaaare :)))) i highly suggest reading the first part, which you can find here ! to my lovely readers and moots who have been waiting for a second part, i hope this meets your expectations <3 also big thanks for the banner made by my lovely mari ( @archivedkookie ) i love you babe, it's absolutely beautiful omg.
i should note that play the game was a request by my darling jess @btsgotjams27 for my milestone last year and therefore there will not be a taglist to this! thank you :)
Three months. Three painful months of doing absolutely nothing after your little mishap with Namjoon. It was torture, to be quite honest. Somehow you weren’t certain about him, about his intentions with you and certainly not how to revenge yourself in the perfect way.
Namjoon proved towards you that his little scheme in the copy room was part of some fucked up game. A game to prove you don’t hate him. Currently, it’s one to zero, but you’re going to prove to not only him but yourself as well, that he isn’t here for the game, but you.
Another reason for you to have yet to revenge yourself was because Namjoon was barely in the same capacity as you. The universe loves to suddenly turn your world upside down and make sure that you and Namjoon now have separate auditoriums for your classes. Therefore, you haven’t exactly been annoyed with him as you were before when he overtook your classes time.
It wasn’t until the annual teacher’s dinner party that Namjoon was at your expense.
The dinner party was a tradition, paid by the university to give thanks for the teacher’s hard work throughout the year. The venue that was picked out was spacious, various tables decorating it and big chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
As soon as you stepped in, Namjoon was the first to catch your eye. He was wearing an all black outfit, his hair dark in a nice cut. It’s the first time you’re seeing him without his glasses and the sight is refreshing. There’s something about how his eyes are more captive from a mile away for you, and how exposed his defined face is.
Namjoon’s eyes move towards you, gliding down to your feet in a slow movement. He smirks, his dimple prominent by the action and you’re trying to hold your breath. He’s not going to win tonight. You’ll make sure of it.
A few presentations are presented by various teachers and counselors. All of them honoring the hard work. You’re sitting next to Kim Taehyung, an art history professor who’s been nothing but kind to you. His boxy smile and lame jokes keep you in a good mood and keeps you away from thinking about a certain someone.
You don’t know what it is about Namjoon. Ever since he went down on you in the copy room, giving you a mindblowing orgasm he has managed to engrave himself in your head and infiltrate your love life. Yes, you had clearly tried to find a solution, a partner who actually wants you but whenever you managed to get a date, Namjoon’s dimple filled smile and his tongue skills would cloud your mind and leave you in irritation.
Every part of you wants to look and glance at Namjoon. He’s sitting two tables away from you, his laugh flowing through the venue directly to you and you grab tightly onto your bag to restrain yourself.
Just stick to the plan.
‘’Wow, can’t believe we’re already halfway through the year.’’ Taehyung comments, earning your attention.
‘’Yeah, time really does fly.’’ He nods along, swirling his thumb against his wine glass as if he’s contemplating taking another sip. He mutters under his breath, grabbing onto the glass and taking a light sip. The cringing expression on his face connects to his pondering face from before. Taehyung isn’t a wine person, but in most cases alcohol is still in the end, alcohol.
The first course gets served and everyone on the table is pleased. Minor conversations are exchanged, mostly university related and you join in once in a while. Somehow your mind continues to play Namjoon’s words before he took the courage and kissed you.
‘’You hate me, yet you stare at me as if you want me.’’
Brain, kindly shut the fuck up. You don’t notice yourself poking more aggressively at the food in front of you but it’s the only way for you to scold yourself.
Namjoon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s—
You almost drop your fork, glancing upwards to find Namjoon watching you with delicate eyes. His fingers trail beneath his chin, nodding along to the person babbling away next to him. But his gaze, his gaze remains on you. You squirm in your seat, clearing your throat as you avert your attention elsewhere.
Fuck, that’s another point for him.
You’d love to blame yourself for this, but in reality it’s his fault. His fault for showing up with an outfit showcasing every part of his body that is to drool for. You’re thankful that you aren’t sitting with him, or else you’d constantly throw glances downwards to his prominent thick thighs. You may or may have not once dreamt about riding them. But that’s for him to wonder and for you to know.
The desert rolls around, a creamy cake and Taehyung’s eyes light up at the delicacy being placed in front of him. Maybe you’ve had enough, or maybe you’d love to finally revenge yourself seeing Namjoon is already giving you the perfect attention for it.
Slowly, you take a bite, locking eyes with Namjoon from across the room. The cream manages to fill out the corners of your lips. Instead of taking a napkin, you drag your thumb over the corners before licking the excess. To your success, it works. Namjoon’s lips slightly part by your action, his adam’s apple bobbing proving he’s lost his breath due to it.
Taehyung accidentally drops a piece of cake on his pants, groaning loudly which snaps you back from your lustful trance with Namjoon. You help Taehyung, handing him your unused napkin and he thanks you with a sincere smile.
With hope, you return your gaze to Namjoon, but he’s gone. You look around, noticing how multiple have left the table and are now mingling amongst each other in playful chatter. This is your chance.
‘’Hey, I’ll be right back. I just need to use the restroom.’’ You excuse yourself to Taehyung and he thankfully doesn’t seem to mind, leaving the table himself to talk with Jeon Jungkook, a biology professor.
You set yourself on a mission to find Namjoon, walking away from the crowd, stumbling past some empty rooms that seem to be reserved for future meetings. When you reach the exit, someone pulls at your arm, pushing you inside a cramped closet.
The minute you’re about to scream, you notice it’s Namjoon and your brows frown. Even though you were looking for him, you’re annoyed with every part of him and how he manages to affect you without having to lay a single finger on you.
‘’Missed me?’’ He raises a brow in tact with the question.
You roll your eyes at his comment, yet your body shivers.
‘’I still hate you. Nothing has changed.’’ You step closer, the material of his jacket brushing against your exposed skin.
Slowly, a smile grows on Namjoon’s face and a laugh manages to slip out.
‘’Nothing has changed. Right, and you definitely haven’t been thinking about my tongue.’’ The words roll off perfectly, going straight to your core.
‘’Not exactly.’’
With confidence, you bring your hands on him, trailing on his white shirt beneath the black jacket. Namjoon hisses by the sudden action, mouth agape as he watches you carefully explore his upper body.
‘’Oh yeah? Then tell me.’’ You look up, moving your face closer to his until his nose brushes against yours.
‘’Been thinking about sucking you off.’’
Namjoon closes his eyes before muttering, ‘’Fuck.’’
He moves closer, his lips hovering above yours but instead of completing his action you drop down to your knees. You give yourself support by holding firmly onto Namjoon’s thighs. They tense once in a while under your palm and it makes it hard for you not to imagine what it’d be like riding them. How the prominent lines of his muscles would flex under you, encouraging to continue as you hold tightly onto him.
Maybe, if you still badly want him after this, you’ll take that fantasy into consideration.
For now, you want nothing more than to return the gesture you would’ve given Namjoon since he left you half naked in the printer room.
The material of his pants cling nicely to his thighs, showcasing a bit of what’s underneath and excitement bubbles at the pit of your stomach. Namjoon has completely lost his use of words, only breathing heavily as he observes your every move.
Your palms start to move slowly over the material, feeling the soft sensation it carries. You squeeze down once or twice, dragging closer to his bulge that has started to strain beneath the slacks. You’re tempted to open the single button that keeps his pants up, but this is Namjoon. The Kim Namjoon who’s been on your nerves for the longest time. The Kim Namjoon who you thought you hated, but now? You aren’t exactly certain what you feel towards him.
‘’I know what you’re doing.’’ Namjoon says.
‘’And what am I doing?’’ You ask but don’t stop the motions of your hands.
‘’You’re being slow on purpose, to torture me for all those months.’’ Wow. Kim Namjoon may carry a brain after all.
It was your plan, to show him how painful slow can be and to poke him for being a slow professor in general. He’s taken you by surprise by cracking the code so quickly.
You hum in approval. ‘’You got me.’’ Before you continue, Namjoon’s hooded eyes catch your attention.
‘’I’m gonna show you how slow I can be.’’ It’s the last thing Namjoon hears from you, before you’ll tease him till he’ll plead for you to give in.
Your mouth hovers above his bulge, lips trailing on the closed off zipper. The movements of your hands never stop admiring his firm thighs, how big they are under your burning skin.
‘’You’re a fucking menace.’’ Namjoon manages to choke out, mind blurred from your breath so close yet so far from where he wants you.
Ignoring his comment to your pace, you take a step further, removing his pants and dragging them down to his feet. His naked golden skin catches you off guard. The light partakes in making it look extraordinary, showing you the minor details of his definite muscles.
‘’Shit.’’ You mutter under your breath and even though you aren’t looking at Namjoon, you can paint out the cocky smile he’s carrying.
Straightening your back, you move closer, toying with the waistband that clings nicely on his hips. You haven’t even removed his boxers yet, but the outline of his cock tells you exactly what you’ve been wondering. Kim Namjoon is big.
It’s a challenge you’re willing to take — in your mouth to be exact.
Lifting the white shirt, you trail a few wet kisses on his abdomen and v-line. Namjoon grunts in response, grabbing onto your cheek out of instinct. The touch of his hand feels warm, careful and delicate and you urge yourself to not lean into his touch.
Curiosity gets the worse out of you and with no warning, you pull down the briefs abruptly. Namjoon’s breath gets caught in his throat, a clogged moan slipping past his lips. You’re trying not to drool once his cock is fully exposed in front of you. Anger manages to seep through as well, remembering him keeping it a secret from you when you both got a taste of one another for the first time.
He’s painfully hard, pre-cum leaking off his tip and you mentally praise yourself. You’ve managed to work him up a lot quicker than you had imagined. He’s never truly shown how much he wants you, even though his tongue has been on you. Namjoon never once admitted how much he wants you.
Your lips trail on his thighs, inching closer to his cock that’s begging for attention but you aren’t so easy. The bridge of your nose brushes against the base of his cock and Namjoon’s grip on your cheek tightens.
‘’You’re fucking killing me.’’ He’s laughing softly, although it’s painted with irritation.
A small peck is received by your end. ‘’Tell me how badly you want me, and maybe I’ll give in.’’
Namjoon knows you’re playing the game, the game he started back then when he wanted you to admit how badly you wanted him before he dropped down to his knees, trailing his tongue on every part of you. You bat your eyes, waiting for him to give in and Namjoon clenches his jaw — contemplation overtaking his expression.
With a deep breath, Namjoon closes his eyes. ‘’Please. Need your mouth so fucking badly.’’
One to one, to you. Let’s make that two.
You comply, letting your tongue trail freely from the base to the tip, coating him in your saliva. The sounds from Namjoon are unexplainable, his moans sending you through the roof.
The tip settles heavy on the end of your tongue, and you look up, catching a sight of Namjoon straining his neck, veins decorating it.
Swirling your tongue on his tip, you manage to taste him. You open wider, inviting more of him inside your warm mouth, lips closing around his cock. With the help of your hand, you stroke what your mouth can’t cover and you start off at a slow pace.
‘’Fuck—’’ Namjoon curses under his breath. His hand never leaves your cheek, secretly loving how he’s able to feel his cock inside your mouth.
The slow pace is still a threat to him, but your soft lips on the outline of cock eases down the hatred he has for your plan.
Internally you hope no one catches the both of you. Inside a closet, at an annual dinner party doing anything but friendly chatter which the other professors are too busy maintaining. It’s kind of thrilling somehow, your secret sneaking around with Namjoon — a professor you were bound to hate — yet here you are stuffing your mouth with his cock.
The thrill starts building up when muttered chatter can be heard from where you are, and with that you completely blow off your plan, quickening the pace out of the blue.
Namjoon knows you’re both at risk and he’d wish he would be able to enjoy this without having an uncomfortable thought of being caught. He bites his bottom lip, refraining himself from being too loud and giving you both away.
Quickening your pace makes it easier for Namjoon to reach his limit. His thighs tense, along with his hand on your cheek and you’re prepared for him to come in your mouth. The last thing you want is for people to find cum stains in the closet while picking out their jacket to go home.
‘’Shit baby— Yes. Fuck!’’ One choked out moan and Namjoon’s orgasm seeps through, the cum spilling itself in the base of your throat. The nickname catches you off guard, but you’re too busy making sure you don’t leave a mess behind. Thankfully, you succeed and quickly pull yourself up to your feet.
‘’Holy shit.’’ Namjoon blurts out, panting with a smile.
‘’We need to leave, before anyone catches us.’’ You inform, grabbing his wrist towards the exit while he fumbles with getting his pants back on.
The air is a bit cooler once you’ve stepped out, Namjoon behind your trail. The dinner party is still going on, music starting to play over speakers and the teachers forming an awkward dance circle.
‘’Hey, do you wanna get out of here?’’ The question throws you off guard.
‘’What?’’
‘’Yeah, I mean my place isn’t far from here and I’d love to finally fuck you.’’
You chuckle, crossing your arms. ‘’You’re gonna have to earn that.’’
Before Namjoon responds, you turn your back, returning to Kim Taehyung and the rest of the crowd.
✏️ Namjoon (idol) x Reader
✏️ Friends to Lovers
⚠️ Warnings: Adult theme, Heavy make out session🔞
📖WC:1,132
My masterlist
Over the years, it became a tradition for the boys to spend the night before their world tours with their families. So you spent the day hanging out with the guys eating, swimming, and lounging around. As evening neared, you sent them off with goodbyes so they could spend the evening with their families. You had said goodbye to all except Namjoon. His parents had to leave town early, so he spent the night before with them. He offered to help you clean up, which you greatly appreciated. However, he was now refusing to let you do anything.
"Come on, Namjoon," you said, trying again to convince him to let you help as you stood at the kitchen island.
"I said I'd get it." He entered the kitchen with a bunch of dirty dishes bringing them to the sink.
"I know, but you should be resting and not cleaning up my house. You're the one with a tour starting, not me." You told him as you leaned on the island and faced his back.
"Yes, it is your house. But you spent the whole day cleaning and getting ready for us to come over. Plus, I can rest on the plane." He said to you as he started washing the dishes.
"If I would’ve known that this is what you meant by helping me clean up, I would have kicked you out of the house and locked the door." You mumbled. Namjoon's shoulders shook with laughter.
"As entertaining as that would have been, that's the reason I didn't tell you." He shook his head, still laughing.
"At least let me dry the dishes." You reached for the towel, only for Namjoon to snatch it away before you could touch it. "Oh, come on! Let me do something! Please!" you whined.
"You really can't stand it, can you?" Namjoon asked as he finished the dishes and turned around to face you, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Stand what?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You can't stand that someone wanted to do something nice for you." He stood there looking at you, giving you that Namjoon look. The look he gets when he's thinking, the clenched jaw lips firmly set look.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you stated defensively, your own arms crossing. "I don't have a problem with people doing things for me."
"Is that so?" Namjoon asked as he raised an eyebrow. "Then would you like to explain why you waited until all of us were busy to start the cleaning and the cooking? We told you we would help." You just stared at him. You didn't want them to worry about helping; they had more important things to do.
"I told you I could do it myself, and I did." At that, Namjoon let out a small chuckle and licked his lips. Which, of course, drew your attention to them. Your eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, taking in the man standing in front of you. They moved from his lips, down his neck to his exposed collarbone, to his chest that was covered in the tank top, to his arms that were still crossed, causing his muscles to pop out, to his hands.
"Hey!" Namjoon said, causing you to jump a little. "You okay? You spaced out for a bit." He asked as you tried to make eye contact with him again and pull yourself together. "How long has it been?" Your attention was back on him.
"How long has what been?" You asked, confused by his sudden question.
"How long has it been since you let someone do something for you? How long has it been since you let someone take care of you?" He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the counter on either side of him as he waited for your answer.
"You just....." Namjoon held his hand up, stopping you.
"That's not what I meant." He pushed himself off of the counter to stand. "How long has it been since you allowed someone to take care of your needs?" He moved towards you, stopping in front of you.
"About a year." You admit once you processed his question. "Besides, I don't..." this time, he interrupted you with a finger to your lips.
"Taking care of yourself is all fine and well. But sometimes it's better to have someone that will take care of you." He said removing his finger from your lips to cup your cheek. "Let me take care of you." He slowly leaned towards you and placed his lips on yours.
You reached up, placing one of your hands on the back of his neck. Namjoon smiled into the kiss as his own hand moved to your waist, bringing you closer. Your hand moved higher, your fingers running through his hair pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Namjoon's hand moved from your cheek, making its way down your neck, slightly grazing your boob before it stopped just below your ass on your upper thigh. The other hand migrated from your waist to your ass, giving it a slight squeeze before coming to rest your upper thigh. Your free hand held onto his arm as Namjoon lifted you onto the island countertop.
You wrapped your legs around his waist as Namjoon placed one hand at the small of your back, bringing you two even closer together. His other hand was on your waist, making its way under the hem of your shirt. The touch of his hand on your bare skin made you gasp. Namjoon took that as his opportunity to start trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth, over your cheek and jaw, and down your neck, not stopping until he found the right spot on your neck. He started kissing and sucking on your neck and making you grip his hair tighter as a moan escaped your lips.
Both of his hands were now working their way up to your shirt so that he could remove it. Once removed, he took off his own and returned his lips to your body.
"Namjoon?" You asked as he made his way back to your lips. "You didn't stay just to help me clean up, did you?"
Namjoon's face stopped in front of you as he looked you in the eyes. "Not really. I did want to help you clean up. I also really wanted to show you how much you mean to me. But this?" He said as he looked at your bodies close together, "I didn't plan this."
You didn't let him say anymore as you kissed him. You were ready. Ready for Namjoon to show you just how much you mean to him and to let him take care of you.
a/n: this ones for the people who struggling with exams. i hope this comforts you in some way, shape or form. ily, keep going you are doing so so well.
also thank you for your support with my last imagine, i appreciate. didn't think over 200 people would like it tbh lmao
you felt very dizzy. you hated studying but you had upcoming exams so it was important you studied. you were struggling to keep your eyes open as you try your best to stay focus. fidgeting with your pen, it irritatingly made you uncomfortable.
the paper was blank and so was your brain. you had stayed up the last 2 nights studying. you were on your 6th page of notes and everything felt heavy.
"baby" your boyfriend call out to you. you didn't really hear him as you were too focus on your studies. it wasnt long until you felt arms wrap firmly around your shoulders.
you felt your boyfriends warm breath against your earlobe, snapping you out of your daze. you sink into your chair shyly at the sudden gesture. you turn your head and gave your boyfriend a weak smile.
"babe, i understand that you have exams...but you still need to look after yourself." he spoke softly. you looked at namjoon, feeling the tears bulid up in your eyes.
you felt tears start to flow down your puffed cheeks. you felt so stressed and tired. you tried your best the last couple of years to bring your grades up but you constantly kept failing.
namjoon knew of this. he knew you tried and he was proud of you regardless. he worried about you and was very protective. besides being protective he was very understanding.
"its okay, baby" namjoon cooed at you as he let you spill all of your tears on his newly clean t-shirt. he hugged you tightly.
he looked at you with concern written on his face.
"you will do great, i believe in you !" he said placing a small kiss on your temple.
silence felt upon between you two, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, it was more like comforting one. it wasn't rare that you two would sit in silence, more like you both enjoyed eachothers company that really, you two didn't have to try and spark up a conversation because the comforting silence was all you both needed.
"namjoon" you called, but your voice was very small.
namjoon pulled from the hug to look at you. your face was stained with tears and you eyes a little bit puffy from crying.
"you can stay here while i run you a bath" he said, softly kissing your nose. you nodded. he stood up from the bed and walked to your shared bathroom.
hearing the bath running, you walked back to your desk. you closed your textbooks, shoving the notes inside it. you placed them neatly in the draw.
you went back to the bed and laid on it. thinking about how lucky you are to have namjoon as your s/o.
he was there for you no matter the consequences. you loved him for his cute and crazy personality. he was mature but also very childish when he wanted to be, you didn't mind though. you were happy to have a boyfriend who cared and understood you.
your boyfriend suddenly called you in for your bath. you moved yourself towards the bathroom lazily.
"thank you, babe" you said kissing his cheek. he nodded at you and left you be.
—
after your bath, you walked out in one of namjoons hoodies and some joggers. you walked out to find namjoon sitting on the bed legs crossed like a little kid. in front of him was yours and his favourite snacks and your favourite drink.
"surprise !!" he said with a big cheesy smile. you chuckled at the sight of it.
"bub, you didn't have to." you said climbing onto the bed. namjoon wrapped his arms around pulling you closer to him.
"i wanted to. you deserve the world and you dont deserve to overwork yourself just for a bunch of exams" he said with a frown. you squeezed his cheeks.
"i love you so much, namjoon" you said pressing your lips against his.
"i love you more and everything is gonna be okay" he said with a small smile.
after that, you both decide to pick a movie while eating the snacks.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, public sex, dirty talk, rough/intense sex, creampie, nipple play/fondling/teasing, kissing (french and regular), orgasms (his and hers).
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Slice of life, PwP
AUs: Roommate Namjoon
Summary: Namjoon tags along for your latest experience: aerial yoga. You quickly lose the hang ups in favor of seeing him ‘attempt’ to get through it without injury. When it’s over is when the fun really starts.
Author’s Note: Based on the aerial yoga adventure the boys had. Shamelessly for fun, as usual. I have the photos of Namjoon and I studied them extensively (for ‘science’) to prepare for writing this piece. Enjoy with me–don’t worry about practicality.
“I’m not sure why I did it… Wanna…remind me?” Namjoon replied, lined up behind you at the studio door.
Your eyes rolled.
Namjoon was the definition of supportive–even excited–on the ride over here. This semi-hesitation now was threatening the pre-class calmness you needed to mentally prepare. He wasn’t the only one questioning…just the only one voicing it.
“Because..” Your fingers gripped the door knob. “I distinctly remember the words ‘What’s this whole…aerial yoga thing? Can I try?’ coming from your mouth last week. That big brain was awfully curious.”
“That was last week.”
Namjoon’s chest bumped your shoulder–as gently as a man his size and graceful history could manage. ..Which wasn’t much, but you adapted and leaned into the motion letting momentum help you open the door. He followed you through, big and warm. And almost radiating a kind of tension you hadn’t seen since the rock climbing adventure.
You couldn’t imagine bringing Jungkook to this place and watching him gracefully take to aerial yoga like a duck to water. It was a nice, sexy contrast to what you imagined was going to happen for your roommate.
“A lifetime ago, really.” He added, getting closer as you both negotiated the huddle of bodies in the lobby. It was like Namjoon was almost trying to climb up your backside as you passed the check in desk, heading for the main studio door.
“You sound like me. Since when is this a big deal? What changed? This isn’t a rock climbing wall.” You sighed.
“Just saying. I’m nervous, not gonna lie. I’m not that flexible or graceful.”
Namjoon shrugged the gym bag strap off his shoulder and dropped the whole thing among a handful of others once inside the main studio space.
Here the ceilings and windows seemed higher, even with the blinds pulled down to take the edge off afternoon’s direct sunlight. The voices gathering here, as more people filtered in, only rose higher to the lofty white points overhead. It was all echoes.
Namjoon squatted, working to untie his shoes as you watched, redoing a loose ponytail. It was almost routine: workout hair style was your bane and you couldn’t leave it alone. Based on the way he watched you with a patient smirk, Namjoon seemed to remember that too.
You stuck your tongue out in taunting,,brushed strands behind both ears, then nudged the outside of his thigh. “Sounds like you’re trying to back out. You aren’t obligated, Joonie. You can go. They aren’t too keen on an audience if you’re not staying to participate, though, so I’d get going ASAP..”
Namjoon looked around the room. It was impressive how thick both thighs and shoulders looked with him hunching into a squat at your feet. Finally he scoffed, dropping both shoes on top of the gym back, then stood to full height.
For a moment it was a stare down: you and your roommate. Least he could do is not smirk like that–with those dimples showing. They were kryptonite to any effort you made needling him. Namjoon had developed a pretty good backbone. He didn’t back down much these days.
“If I left you’d never shut up. And I don’t have the patience for a week of you crowing over this. I asked about it. I’m here.. So let’s do it.” He extended a hand–offering a big palm and long fingers splayed. You took it, quiet at the way his grip held you so easily and held so much back too. Namjoon’s growing bulk wasn’t just visual. “I’ll save my bitching and moaning for later. You do the same. If we both make it through we’ll do something fun after.”
The sparkling in those honeyed pools, watching you from above, meant something so tantalizing when he uttered ‘fun’. The ripple in his lips–the smile shielding the full truth. It was going to be some different kind of fun. Much more wet. Much closer. Much less clothing.
That was more than enough.
You pumped his hand, returning your own measured smile. You couldn’t stop staring at his dimples, then his lips–succulent, coral in the sunlight and setting off the fiery red contrast of his tongue tip, just behind parted lips.
“Seems fair. But I’ll be watching you.” Namjoon’s brow rose and he snuck the quickest glance down your form before meeting your stare again.
“I know you’re impressed. You don’t have to say it.”
Namjoon’s back was to you as you stood upright and brushed sticky strands of hair from your forehead. It was just you and your roommate, all alone in the empty studio. Everyone else had gone–even the instructor.
You hadn’t missed the main door closing, even through the studio door across the way. Now it was just fiery rays of light across the wood floor, catching droplets of sweat and footprints in the chalky dust.
And the big body of Namjoon, standing with forearms still wrapped in the aerial straps. The way the shirt clung in massive, dark spots to his back was savory. An especially big line followed his spine, another at the small of his back and perfectly over his ass.
You blinked, head cocked with a scoffing grin. “Pardon? I didn’t say…anything.”
Namjoon barely looked back at you, grunting as he pulled himself up, feet off the floor for a moment. He liked the pull up type stuff, you’d noticed. It made his shoulders impossibly broad. And the shirt strained so nicely too. More sweat dampened the shirt material, this time over both shoulder blades.
“Exactly.” He puffed, then growled as his ass tightened into two delicious bubbles. You stared, mouth creeping open. Until common sense got you, freeing enough focus to peel your own sticky shirt away from your chest and belly. “You didn’t say the words. But I saw the way you watched me.”
“I was waiting for you to screw up.” You mumbled a protest and moved around your straps, heading Namjoon’s way. By the time you were within reach, Namjoon was back on his feet and twirled on the ball of one foot, meeting you almost face to face.
It was the most grace you’d seen in a while. Jimin would have been impressed. But not Hobi.. He’d have sniffed at it. You offered a smug grin.
“I didn’t. Might be more stamina in these muscles..” He mused, glancing at either bicep as he reached up the length of the straps and gripped higher up. His fingers went pale as he squeezed the material, admiring himself for a moment.
The way his eyes came back down, finding your face again, you felt funny. Like when you rode that roller coaster last summer and almost passed out coming down the first big dip on the tracks. Now a warmth bloomed where one hadn’t riding that rickety cart.
Namjoon swallowed faintly. “Don’t hold back.”
“Huh?” You barely responded, lids heavier than you remembered. Blood came back to your brain. Namjoon’s smile was lazy.
“Be honest with me. You’re proud. Didn’t think I could do it, huh?”
You nodded, knowing any other response would be sussed out as an immediate lie. ..Which would be accurate enough. You weren’t sure what exactly was happening right now but Namjoon’s scent was all around you: soap. A whisper of cinnamon. Your own floral sweetness–rose and a little spice of panic.
You hadn’t broken a bone. Neither of you came away with sprained…anything. It was a win across the board. And Namjoon proved he had more than enough upper body strength, making it clear what he’d been focusing on at the gym these days.
“Shut up..” You tried to lean away when Namjoon leaned near. He was quick, reaching and grasping for the back of your neck. His wrist barely flexed as he pulled you close, letting your foreheads touch—sweaty skin against even-more sweaty skin.
It wasn’t the first time you’d been this way… But it WAS the first time upright like this. When he growled your cheeks darkened a shade. A chorus of rattling over your head signaled the chains holding the straps were taking on a bit more than planned.
Your lips twitched. “Joon..” You sputtered. He grazed over their fluttering, then sunk into a slow kiss. One you didn’t break, moan spilling deep into his mouth.
He finally pulled back when your chest jerked forward. Seeking the familiar pressure of his palms sliding into place over them–like he usually did after a kiss or two this passionate. No touch came but he released his hold on your neck and brought his grip around to your chin.
Namjoon held your chin, tipping it up so he could look right into your eyes–confident. Curious. Proud. You knew that swirling need.
“Let’s have a little fun, hmm?” He suggested quietly. Your head whipped out of his grip as you looked to the door, now behind you. His forearm looped your waist as Namjoon pulled you close against him, trapping the strap between your bellies, lifting you off your feet.
It worked, bringing your attention back onto his face–all wide eyes and mouth open with a shriek of fearful surprise. You drummed a palm into his pec but Namjoon didn’t seem bothered, reaching his other hand down and finding your hand. He brought it up to a strap.
“Hold onto this.”
“What…Namjoon. We’re in a public space.”
Casually Namjoon looked to the window, then to the mirrors. Then at a few of the straps hanging nearby, swaying just a touch. Whatever decision he made to calculate the odds of repercussions, it wasn’t enough to stop him. His shoulders bobbed.
“We’re alone. I told you–”
“We’re in the studio. This isn’t our apartment.” Like he needed to be reminded, but the twisting in your guts was enough to reveal at some subconscious level, you were absolutely onboard for whatever his hyper intelligent mind had come up with.
Your common sense protest would hopefully not be enough to dampen his sudden need–if you were honest to admit. Secretly you let that thought gain power, a rush of heat flushing through your skin when Namjoon stepped back and observed your grasp on the strap.
He nodded. “Other hand.” Once again he held out a hand and you laid your free hand into it. You watched like it was a dream: he guided that hand to the other strap and wrapped a bit around your wrist, giving you a bit more backup against your fingers failing. It was understood: whatever he might be planning would overwhelm your senses. Namjoon was too smart not to know that.
There was no question: he was going to do something. And you were rapidly powerless, at the mercy of his drive and yours, to stop it.
“Hold on.” Namjoon instructed, calm and quiet. His voice wasn’t loud enough to bounce around the space but it was clear. His bare feet moved, padding step by step around behind you to stand still. At your back but not quite touching.
He stood there so long you started to wonder, and worry a little. “Namjoon–” You started, but gasped as the inquiry stopped when his fingers gripped your waist.
He jerked you up again–higher this time, puffing “Legs over the strap. Sit..”
You scrambled, managing in a few seconds to seat your ass firmly into the strap. The material cut tight over your cheeks. Not exactly the most comfortable but you adjusted your grip, raising up and wiggling a little to try and find the right spot so the material held you without discomfort.
You doubted these things were made to sit like swings in, for any appreciable amount of time. Not with what you figured your roommate was about to do to you.
Namjoon’s fingers walked the waist of your workout pants. Then dipped under, near the small of your back, slowly creeping down. His nails barely tickled the skin there as goosebumps sprung across the surface.
You whined. Namjoon’s chest pressed your back for a moment. As he guided the bottoms down your hips he spoke, low and deep from his chest. “Up a bit. There’s a good girl..”
Your fingers trembled and you twisted the strap in your grip, praying. Suddenly awash in sweat again, especially down your spine. You couldn’t believe he’d want to expose all the hidden, damp spaces on you. But then again.. What he was doing showed he didn’t have a problem with bringing his intentions to light.
“You’re a mess..” He chided, smiling through his words. Groaning, Namjoon guided a thumb over your tailbone, collecting the sweat, then pushed it through his lips. It popped free a moment later and he pressed a kiss to your nape. “..But you taste SO good..sweaty like this. I ever tell you that?”
You didn’t respond. He palmed your ass cheeks as he shoved both hands down the back of the pants to fill his palms with both cheeks and bring more of you into the fresh air of the room. It felt nice when the cool air flowed over your sex. He only stopped then the material sat bunched under mid thigh.
“There..” Another grin–more pleased then when he’d managed that upside down pose that the instructor introduced. And he’d done it without falling on his head. Unlike then, you didn’t smile, eyes slitted as you stared hard at the nearby window, to a cherry blossom branch bobbing in the breeze silently.
Material shifted. Shuffled behind you and your peripherals caught Namjoon’s form in the mirror. He gripped a portion of his shirt and hauled it to mid-chest level. One dark nipple peeked into view. His belly fully exposed, glistened in the light as it tightened when his hand scooped into the depths.
The way his wrist worked as his fingers formed a gripped shape, you knew exactly what he was doing–anyone would. You barely held back a moan when Namjoon let his head fall, throat fully rippling with a husky sigh.
His grip came up a moment later, holding his cock. He thumbed the slit, massaging precum that bubbled the tip, then traced over your tailbone. You inched up, grip strangling the strap, ass leaving the fabric seat a little. Hinting. Might as well have screamed it, the way your shoulders trembled.
You’d given all the effort you had during the class, surprised you had anything left to give now. But this said more about your lust for Namjoon and what his body did to you. What he knew about your capabilities.
“What’s wrong baby?” He cooed, then chuckled. The tip pushed down your crack and followed under only nudging firmer once he reached the muscled opening at the base of your folds. You whimpered and bounced a little.
“..J…joon..” You crooned. Who cares if this wasn’t your place. If this was how Namjoon wanted to celebrate this mutual achievement, so be it. You couldn’t deal with the wait anymore. Your guts ached, ready for the familiar pinch of his cockhead bumping your cervix.
“Tell me you want my cock.” He hummed. Firm as the length sliding through his fingers. You heard the pounding of his heart in each breath. Your own head throbbed to your heart, galloping in your chest.
Namjoon moaned when you said it, pushing his head against your lips, then through. Spread you nicely wide. Immediately your tightness dissolved, slick coating him as he rolled himself deep to pressed his belly against your ass.
“Fuck..I want it. Want you inside me.. Fuck me..”
You both moaned in perfect unison. Namjoon’s fingers slid up your arms, to your wrists and wrapped there. He held tight enough the strap dug into your skin, his bruising grip leaving you no respite.
Teeth clenched on your jugular as Namjoon pulled back, then snapped his hips, bouncing you away from him. Met you with more force as he pumped again, the broke into a galloping thrust. It was steady and it wasn’t gentle. Your body danced, floating there as he held you trapped.
The chains sang, creaking and groaning. He sucked in a breath, smacking into your skin. Cursed at you, lapping along your neck and sucking a kiss. Leaving a hickey. You’d figure it out later.
A few strokes in, pleasure surged as you clamped. He hissed “Yesss…nice and fucking tight. Squeeze me. You love this cock, don’t you? Watching your thighs and ass like that so close. Thinking about you like this.. Helpless and hanging here, giving me this pretty little pussy..”
The words poured from Namjoon. He finally paused, ramming you viciously for a few seconds, sending you screaming as you jerked away from him and he met you on the return with thrusts so hard it had you seeing stars.
One hand, then the other, came down. Namjoon’s hands crawl up your torso, finding your breasts under the wet confines of your sports bra. It was no match as he cupped you. Pawed at the wet globes. Fingers found your nipples, pinching. Twisting as his hips corkscrewed deeper. That spark of pain snapped across your closed lids: he was hitting your cervix.
Hitting that spot right at your front wall with a snarl behind set teeth. Another bite on your shoulder, then Namjoon buried his nose and mouth there. He swore at you louder, praising you between pummeling strokes.
It was a blur for a few moments as heat and pressure grew in your belly. When Namjoon’s thumbs and fingers squeezed, then pulled your sore nipples, you gasped. The clench was massive, followed by a rush of ecstasy. Namjoon rammed through the tightening space.
He knew–like you knew. Your head went light–like clouds. The air thinned, leaving your lungs. Your belly got heavy. Hot. Boiled. Bubbled as Namjoon pulled back and gave a particularly rough stab.
That brought you high as you arched right up, seizing off his cock. Namjoon’s arm snaked around your waist, bringing you back down into his thrusts. He stilled as you squeezed and dribbled down his shaft, melting with a single cry.
He followed with his own high, staying deep and punching himself into the gooey heat of your walls. The chains rattled so hard you worried you’d hit the ground but it didn’t. Namjoon simply stiffened, laying against you. Sweating through his shirt. Skin sliding over your own when his belly rose and fell.
A few moments later he shook his head, face turning towards the mirror. His fingers near your nipples twitched, helplessly. That fucked-out grin looked so good on him. From what you could see, he was barely able to get his eyes open but looked so satisfied.
“God…damn Y/n. That felt…”
“Good.” You sighed, half smiling too. Yes it must look scandalous. You’d certainly never feel comfortable again coming here but this wasn’t the only aerial yoga place in town. You just hoped there wasn’t any camera in the room you’d missed.
If there were, you reasoned, it was too late anyway. Namjoon, for all his forethought and mega-smarts, hadn’t considered that. Or if he had the fallout didn’t match the reward.
“Mmhmm.” Namjoon’s palms slid down your body to your hips. He was tender, lifting you up so you could get both feet on the floor.
Apparently you’d sweated through your soles, surprised at the wetness there. You looked down, face going scarlet at the considerable drops and familiar semi-milky puddle under a few toes and the arch of your right foot.
“Oh god…” You bellowed. “Namjoon!!”
The panic in your voice didn’t make an impact as Namjoon turned away from you, adjusting himself back into his bottoms. He barely tugged the now-sweat soaked shirt in place over his broad chest and ran fingers through his hair.
He was headed for his gym bag. You hauled your own clothing back in place–mostly–and knelt, pulling your shirt away from yourself enough to dab the ‘mess’ up. Namjoon had always boasted about leaving a mark in society, but there was no way this was what he’d meant. Even if he didn’t seem to care at the moment.
You did the best you could, leaving a damp spot as the only indicator anything was amiss, and glanced up at the chuckle coming from overhead. Namjoon, laden with his bag and your own, held out your shoes.
He’d put his on but hadn’t tied them. Not a bad look for him–to cap off the flush and shine on his skin. He’d barely zipped up the hoodie at least.
“Let’s go. This isn’t our place, you know.”
“Namjoon..I swear..” You wondered if you could hit anything important with a good swing of your shoes right at his waist level. The semi-hard shape of his cock through the material, shifted as he laughed louder.
“Come on. We need something to eat. I’m starving. You know post workout fuel is important..”
“Right.” You sighed and slipped on both shoes, tied with the most hasty bows you’d ever done. When you stood, Namjoon’s arm slipped over your shoulders. His lips found your cheek. You softened a bit, turning your lips closer and earned a kiss there, with the hint of tongue.
That helped ease your mind a little, but stirred something between your hips: round 2 coming down the pike if you kept going. You pushed a palm into the center of his chest. Namjoon was unmoved, only his brows and corners of his mouth rising.
“You..made a mess.” You countered quietly. Namjoon looked around you, to the spot on the floor, then narrowed his eyes on you.
“MY mess was inside you. That stuff down there? All you, Y/n. Don’t pin this on me.”
“I’ll make you walk home. Promise. Push me and find out.”
Namjoon hugged you closer, shrugging the bag strap higher on his other shoulder. “I’m not the kind of guy who goes looking for trouble.” He pulled you along into a slow stroll towards the studio door.
“Your reputation is spotless, I forgot.” You chuckled. “My bad.”
“It’s okay. I’ll let it slide, this time. Don’t get me twisted with Jungkook.”
“Ugh. Don’t go there.” Your heart quickened for a moment. You didn’t need that reminder. It’d been too long. And Namjoon’s obsession with fitness was skirting him dangerously close to Jungkook. His social venn diagram was changing for sure as his interests shifted.
“Why not?” He played dumb, lids fluttering as he held the door for you.
“Cute, but not stupid. Or it’s not an act. You know why.”
Namjoon took one last look at the studio you were leaving behind before he followed you through the door and let it shut at his back, pacing you to the main exit. His heavy footsteps were unmistakable. You felt like running but weren’t sure if it was away or to him, here in this space.
And in life.
“Come to think of it..I could see what Jungkook thinks of this aerial yoga stuff. I think I’ll invite him next time.”
“Next time..” You chittered. “Right. Count me out.”
“On the contrary..” He chortled, grip sliding into place on your shoulder. Squeezing as he moved with you. “...I’m counting on you. He’ll need a run down of how it all works. You introduced me to it. You can do the same for him. Bet you make it just as appealing, hmm? You know how he is, when it comes to you.”
You knew exactly how Jungkook was. But that’s what made it so tempting. Namjoon’s grip squeezed, working your knotting muscle there with a controlled strength. Everything about Namjoon was becoming controlled. Powerful.
Maybe it always had been.
“Let’s talk about it.” He added. “..Over lunch. We’ll see.”
genre ⇝ college!au; brother’s best friend!au; strangers to lovers; smut; one-shot
summary ⇝ when your brother bails on you, you have to find another way to entertain yourself for the night and Kim Namjoon just so happens to be a great company.
rating ⇝ +18
warnings ⇝ alcohol consumption, flirting; sexual tension; the reader and Namjoon are shameless; explicit smut: consent king!Namjoon, a bit of thigh riding, nipple play, fingering, oral (f. and brief m. receiving), spit kink, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, marking, light choking, begging, protected sex, multiple orgasms, cumshot, cum eating
release date ⇝ november 18ᵗʰ, 2022
READ HERE
note ⇝ when i came up with this idea, it was supposed to be a quick work, taking no longer than a week or two to finish… but yeah, almost two months later here we are 💀 i’ll be dropping this on friday, just so i can proofread it one last time and make sure it's decent lol
if you wanna be added to the taglist just leave a comment 🥰
Summary: You meet Kim Namjoon at the library during a yearlong fellowship in Seoul. You’ve never heard of BTS, but you like him. Is there a place in his life for you?
SUMMARY There’s so much to get done, and yet Namjoon can come up with at least three reasons why you should stay in bed just a little bit longer.
WARNINGS oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, morning sex, creampie, pride and prejudice in inappropriate situations
AN: None of this is edited but I wanted to show my thanks for my most recent milestone in more than just saying thanks. 1 million bazillion thanks to @propinqxity who inspired this. I didn’t think it would spiral out like this and yet Kharli always manages to add a little magic to everything she touches.
SUNDAY MORNING
On the other side of your bedroom door waits the world. The essential elixir: Coffee. Your favorite meal: breakfast. The best place in the world: the huge bay window that looks over the city. And, of course, the stack of five books you’re supposed to finish by the end of the week. You’re barely awake but you wince as the weight of the rest of the day settles on your shoulders. So much to do, so much to—
“Stop it,” a gruff voice grunts from the other side of the bed. You hadn’t realized he was awake.
“What?”
“I can hear you thinking.”
“Huh?”
“About everything you have to do today.” What the hell. Your back is facing him, and somehow still he can read you like the back of his hand, probably even with his eyes closed.
You roll over on your side hoping to catch him unawares, but he’s already looking at you. Those deep dark eyes, crinkled into a sleepy smile.
Namjoon seems like a hard man to pin down. Not in the sense of he’s got a bunch of numbers lined up, but rather he enjoys his independence and not having to focus on a relationship and everything that comes with. What’s his future spouse/partner have that catches his attention later on? What makes him think “wait” this might be the one?
They will be someone who is self-assured, unabashedly themselves. They are someone who is very interested in a lot of things like spirituality, life, arts, philosophy, music etc. they are also someone who knows who they are, what they want and what they deserve. They are someone who doesn’t settle for less. Yes, this is someone as smart as him or on the same intellectual wavelength as him. Lord I feel dumb even channeling this because these two people are so intelligent lol.
They are someone who will be very steadfast and loyal to him. Through hardships they will remain with him. They will be someone who will comfort him in the face of difficult changes and someone who tells him the truth even if it’s difficult. They will tell him the truth even if it’s a bit harsh (in a gentle manner of course). He is attracted by their physical appearance and finds them so attractive. He will also find them someone who understands the dark sides of life as well as the mysteries of the universe.
They are someone in tune with the divine, lots of wisdom from the universe. I feel like his fs will be an old soul?
In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night.
Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone.
Pairing: Ex!Kim Namjoon x Fem!Reader
Type: One-Shot (Angst, Smut - 18+ or else.)
Word Count: Like, 7K (?!)
Content: ex-boyfriend au; exes to something?; literally so much angst; yearning; pov switches; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected sex; p in v penetration; cursing; texts from Yoongi.
A/N: For reasons unknown, I decided to break my own heart today! The lyrics you'll see below are from "Sooner" by The Low Blow. There's also a reference to one of my favorite tv shows at the end - did you catch it?
(1/9/23) The sequel, Redamancy, is finally here!
Sitting cross-legged on the rug, your weary, unfocused eyes stared somewhere in the vicinity of Min Yoongi. Shrouded all in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon, hunched over his keyboard with his eyes narrowed in thought – but you hadn’t slept much at all lately. Not with your deadline looming overhead like the sword of Damocles.
He relayed what was already looping through your brain. “It’s missing something.”
You scrubbed your hands over your face, too burnt out to care if your foundation stayed where it was supposed to. “I know,” was all you said, though it wasn’t all you were thinking. Listening to this demo – this crushing song about love lost – you knew what was missing.
Or rather, who.
Once again reading your mind, Yoongi spoke with a wary sigh. This time, he said the quiet part out loud. “Listen, I know that on a personal level, this is a terrible idea. But if you really want this track to ache –”
“I’ll call him.”
Yoongi turned to look at you over his shoulder. He, like you, hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; but his surprise still managed to crack through an otherwise impassive expression.
“You sure you want to be the one?” His frown was microscopic, but it was there and it bruised. “I have to hit him up, anyway, so I can handle this for you.”
You’d never told him – or any of your friends, come to think of it – the details of your whatever it was with Namjoon. You couldn’t call it a breakup; that would necessitate a relationship. You couldn’t comfortably assign that word to this indescribable something.
But maybe that’s precisely why it hurt to breathe when you thought too hard about it. Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all.
The universally known narrative was that you met Kim Namjoon at a release party two years prior. After years of putting out extended plays, he was dropping his highly anticipated, full-length masterpiece.
That’s what your label called it; that’s what the press called it; but you couldn’t agree. That word wasn’t heavy enough – it didn’t give due credit to the pieces of himself he broke down and buried within those twelve tracks. You felt seen when you heard it. When you saw him, it was game over.
As the story goes, you went home with him that night. While true, it was the tiniest fragment sitting sharp at the tip of an iceberg. The rest was an ill-equipped ship, sailing in slow-motion through the dark.
He'd spent the entirety of his celebration focused on you. What you thought; what you wanted for yourself; what made that tipsy, uninhibited giggle come flying out of your chest. And then, holding his hand like it’d been tailor-made for yours, you followed his lead out of there while confused partygoers murmured in your wake.
He fucked you like he knew you – on a cellular level – and he looked at you like you were all there was. You’d spent the entirety of the following day there, draped over him or nestled underneath him. You were never not touching in some way – in the little interludes of sleep; while cooking a breakfast too big for the two of you alone; on every surface of his apartment.
He changed your life in those twenty-four hours, but not enough for it to stick.
You’d spent as much time with him as you could in the year afterward, until your twin ambitions sent you both rocketing in other directions. Your various obligations never allowed you to be in the same place for long; and when they did, it was over too soon. No amount of time would ever feel like enough, but half a day, here and there, felt like a cosmic joke.
Like the universe was punishing you for wanting everything, all at once.
Eventually, you came to a fork in the road. His career, though international, was rooted in Korea – home. Yours took you to Los Angeles, to a vastly different time zone, and a schedule that refused to make space. And you tried, but when it came down to choosing – idling together or racing forward alone – your respective dreams were so heavy that they tipped the scales.
Neither of you could blame the other. After all, you’d both made the same decision. There was some small comfort in knowing that he understood you. That consolation couldn’t keep you warm at night when you’d instinctively reach out and find half of your bed still empty.
It would’ve been so much easier to live without him if there was some horrible betrayal to pin it all on, but he was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.
Shaky legs pushed you off the ground. Without meaning to, you groaned as your body returned to its regularly scheduled programming. Yoongi simply muttered, “Same,” as he made additional adjustments in his editing software.
You affectionally touched your knuckles to his shoulder as you passed by, though you quickly realized this gesture wasn’t made to comfort him.
You shut the door softly behind you and headed up the hallway. Having kicked off and subsequently lost your shoes several hours ago, you padded in socked feet across the hardwood. The pattern – the various evolutions of Eevee – clashed so blatantly with the extravagance around you. Glancing down, you chuckled. At least some parts of you were still recognizable.
The door to the stairwell creaked as you pushed it open and ducked inside. No longer camped out in the soundproof studio, you could hear the smattering of raindrops as they pummeled the exterior walls of the building. Somewhere between a drum roll and machine gun fire, you couldn’t figure out if the noise emphasized or relieved your anxiety.
Gently, you lowered yourself down on a step halfway up the flight. As you stared down at your phone, your knee bounced of its own volition.
For once, you were thankful for the seventeen-hour time difference. This was the kind of call you needed to make at midnight, but one you didn’t want him receiving at midnight. It felt so much safer in daylight.
At least one of you had eyes on the sun.
You’d deleted his number from your phone months ago because you thought it might help you let go. It didn’t. And to make matters worse, you still knew it by heart. As you typed it out easily, you wished this realization surprised you. You also wished that you’d catch him at a bad time, so you could simply leave a message.
You’d never been lucky, though, had you?
Namjoon was half-asleep at a café table when the vibration of his phone against the wrought metal snapped him out of it. In his under-caffeinated daze, he couldn’t determine what that unbearable grinding noise was.
He could, however, see the way the elderly woman nearby was scowling at him. He furrowed his brows and blinked back at her; silently asking what the fuck her problem was. Just as silently, she pointed an angry, wrinkled finger to his tabletop.
By the time his brain kicked into gear, he was too late. He picked up his now-quiet phone and nearly dropped it in an instant when he saw your name tied to a missed call.
He didn’t think twice before returning it – he should have – having figured there was only one way to know if he was truly hallucinating. You picked up immediately in a voice so you that he couldn’t have imagined it. He knew because he'd already tried.
“Hey.”
People who didn’t know you often mistook the natural rasp of your voice for tiredness, but he did know you. You were beyond exhausted, more so than the last time he’d heard from you. Five months and twenty-one days ago.
This sounded like another all-nighter; like you got so consumed in creating that you couldn’t sleep until you finished. Remembering you like this opened a black hole in his chest – all this fondness with nowhere to go, collapsing in on itself, pulling.
What kind of masochist was he, voluntarily subjecting himself to this conversation?
“Hey,” He croaked. Even his voice didn't know what to do.
He heard shuffling on your end. You always pinned your phone between your right ear and shoulder to start — he immediately recognized the sound of your hair against the receiver when you switched it to your left side. Vanilla and honey flooded his nose despite the thousands of miles that separated him from the scent of your shampoo.
There were a thousand questions spinning dizzy in his mind, but he couldn’t untangle them to spit one out. The longer you both remained quiet, the worse it got – and the worse he felt for his silence. Even without seeing you, he knew that your brows were knitting together. He knew that quiet made you feel too exposed.
Namjoon cleared his throat to speak at the same moment you asked, “How are you?” His words echoed, a half-second from being uttered in unison.
He prayed to any god that he’d stop feeling so nervous. There was no reason to be, not with you. You were his comfort zone, his safe space and – oh. Past tense.
Presently, you were – what, exactly? Could he call you an “ex” if you’d never had a title? It all felt too juvenile, hearing people whisper about his girlfriend. You were –fuck – You were home, and now his house was haunted.
A ghost.
“I’ve been good,” he said quickly, planting a hollow smile on his face that wouldn’t have convinced you if you were there. Liar, liar, liar. “Busy. You sound –”
“Awful?”
“– like you’ve been working all night.”
He heard a sheepish chuckle and his clumsy, thudding heart went flying off into the void.
“That’s actually why I’m calling,” you admitted in a voice so tiny he nearly missed it, “And I wouldn’t be – I promise – if I could’ve bothered anyone else with this. This one, though… when I hear it in my head, I can’t imagine anyone –”
“Say less.”
It slipped out of him automatically. He couldn’t stop it. Now it was dangling there in dead air where he couldn’t reach it and shove it back down his throat. He must have said that to you a thousand times, giving you whatever you needed before you could even finish asking.
This was the first time he’d ever said it without punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead, though. And now, his equilibrium was off, like the staircase had one less step than he was expecting.
When you finally broke the silence, he could’ve sworn he heard you sniffle, but he quickly kicked that thought back into the cage it escaped from. Your voice didn’t sound sad at all, so you couldn’t have been crying. Why would you be?
“I can have Yoongi send you what we have so far, lyrics too. If you’re interested, just let me know – verse, bridge, whatever you want.”
“You’re with Yoongi?”
It came out exactly as he hadn't intended – accusatory. It was no business of his who you spent time with, professionally or otherwise. And it didn’t even surprise him that Yoongi would stick around after the – whatever it was. All your shared friends stayed shared. His confusion was solely that Yoongi never mentioned working with you, let alone flying stateside to do so.
Why hadn’t Yoongi said something? Did he assume Namjoon wouldn’t be interested in hearing about your project? Because he would - he kept up with all of your releases, even if it hurt. Was he scared that the mere mention of you would exacerbate the tailspin Namjoon was barely surviving?
Or was it something else?
“Yeah, he got here a few days ago. I offered to send the vocals to him, but he said he wanted In-N-Out,” Your laugh, even under the weight of your sleepiness, still packed a punch. “Might be the longest trip anyone’s ever made for animal-style fries.”
Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, but for your sake, he tried to echo your laugh. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities in order, as usual.”
That uncomfortable silence crawled back in and settled in the space between you. It never used to be like this. His mouth remained open as if his broken brain could think of a single thing to say. There were hours in every second that passed, but he didn’t hang up – and neither did you.
“So, if I figure something out, I can shoot it back over –”
You interrupted this time.
“No need,” You chirped. You must’ve sensed that his train of thought now consisted only of question marks because you dove right back in, “I’ll be in Seoul at the end of the month, so we can put all the pieces together then.”
Please be speaking metaphorically. Please say –
“I’ve gotta hop off now, but it was –” Your voice petered out at the end of your statement, and he didn’t know what to do within the pause.
What pleasantry would you settle on to end this conversation? Was it nice to hear from him, or did you also feel like you’d walked through the emotional equivalent of a car wash?
It was heavy when you exhaled the amendment, hitting the ground with a thud that could’ve knocked him over.
It was torture, and it drop-kicked him into the abyss at full-speed. No light above, no hope below. A black hole that he kept selfishly refusing to close – all because he answered your call.
“Thank you, Joonie.”
Fuck. He was doomed.
You spent a shocking percentage of your life on international flights. It was a privilege – you knew it – to travel to the extent that you did, but it was so lonely.
If you were flying, there were two justifications. The first was the most common – touring. You’d touch down in cities all over the world, stay for a few hours, and then you’d leave again as soon as you could blink.
Your interactions were limited, either one-sided conversations from a stage; or facilitated entirely by a local translator. Never truly connecting, missed phone calls and texts sent too late to get a response. The same stale conversations with the crew that had been stuck with you for months.
The second was less common, and somehow even lonelier – visiting a home that was no longer yours.
It always went the same way. You’d touch down at the Incheon International Airport in your home country and feel just as foreign as the tourists bustling around you. You’d gather a suitcase’s worth of belongings and try not to think about the fact that they – and everything else you owned – once lived there, too. You’d hit customs and then, as a reward, snag yourself some boba from the café on your way out the door.
In all those trips, you’d never once hailed a cab because Namjoon was always waiting. You’d hear him before you saw him with how loud he kept his car’s stereo, but when you did finally lay eyes on him, you’d light up like a sparkler. He’d shower you with affection – publicly, despite his usually private nature – and swap out the luggage in your hands for some thoughtful surprise. Flowers, usually, after painstaking deliberation over the meaning he wanted to convey.
Now, you stood on the sidewalk with your empty hand in the air.
Shortly after settling into your cab, you fell asleep. The person who would have gently scolded you for taking this risk wasn’t there to do so. Instead, you woke up stiff and disoriented to the sound of your driver honking his horn. You quickly learned that he wasn’t honking at traffic; he was honking at you with a scowl on his face.
“Time to go! Wake up – your stop!”
He was speaking in English, so it took you a few moments to determine whether you were dreaming. Impatient, he honked again.
Did he think you were a tourist? Was he right?
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you threw the door open and hurled yourself out. You ran to the trunk, snatched your suitcase, and tried not to remember that you didn't used to have to do this part yourself.
Yoongi had the foresight to give you a spare keycard before leaving California, so you were able to get into his building quickly – before you were honked at again. Spoken to in English again, like this place had never been home.
You, belonging nowhere and to no one, kept yourself together until the elevator doors gave you some semblance of shelter.
Alone, alone, alone, you cried so hard that your shoulders shook. The mirrored walls around you showed infinite versions of you, all pitiful like you were still that little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents at an amusement park. It was incredible how you felt smaller in that elevator than you did as a child.
And fuck, did that embarrassment make you cry even harder.
Eventually, those doors would have to re-open, and you’d have to let yourself into Yoongi’s unoccupied penthouse just to wait for his return. You were so sick of walking into empty apartments and hearing nothing but your own footsteps. No warmth, no laughter, just a black hole of your own creation.
You chose this, you reminded yourself. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so busy chasing broader horizons, you didn't notice that the sun had disappeared. If you’d known – really, truly known – what the fall would be like, would you have taken that leap of faith? No, you think, but you did and there’s no jumping back into the airplane once you’ve dived out of it.
Ding.
There was a post-it note waiting for you on the inside of Yoongi’s door that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t taken so much time to shut it behind you. His handwriting was shockingly neat for someone who was always in a rush. His note told you that he’d be home in two hours, that there was food for you in the refrigerator, and that you should help yourself to whatever you needed.
The sinkhole in your stomach wasn’t created by hunger, so you pushed that down to the bottom of your to-do list and dragged your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall.
Every inch of his place was undeniably Yoongi – monochromatic and edgy, but still so confusingly inviting. His guest room was similar in style, but with more personalized touches than most visitors tended to expect. Framed photos of friends, and the collaborators he was most proud to work with.
Your eyes eventually found one of you, beaming brightly.
It hurt to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. It was taken in a photobooth at Kim Seokjin’s wedding last spring. You were sandwiched on a small bench seat between Yoongi and Namjoon.
The former, like you, was captured in the middle of a laugh - smiling at the camera with all teeth, eyes crinkled at the edges but still sparkling. The latter wasn’t looking at the camera at all – just you, like you were all there was.
Forcing yourself to look away, you returned the frame to its place on the vanity and kept moving. Your primary instinct was to hurl yourself into the plush bed and never leave it. But you felt stale after spending so much time traveling, and you didn’t want to collapse into those beautiful sheets until you’d scrubbed the day off you.
Shuffling off to the bathroom, you finally remembered to take your phone off ‘airplane mode.’ All at once, the floodgates opened. The onslaught of texts, emails, and voicemails was so overwhelming that your phone froze.
When the flurry stopped, you scanned through your various inboxes for anything that might require an immediate response. Finding nothing urgent, you were about to set your phone down when you saw an email from Namjoon, addressing both you and Yoongi.
His verse, you realized as you opened it.
I think I lost you sooner than I wanted to
And I know you can't say the same
But I can't hate you for doing what you've gotta do
Cause I'm just in bed sleeping through the pain
Do you see wasted potential when you look at me?
Of what we could be if it wasn't like this
I know you asked me not to try and change myself
But when I was with you, I felt fixed
It took everything you had not to drop to your knees.
Namjoon was an incredible liar.
He didn’t utilize the skill often – in fact, he was usually too honest – but when he did, he could get himself out of any unwanted scenario.
In the distant past, he’d slip out of obligations made by his label to stay home in bed with you. It worked every single time. Instead of putting on some over-priced suit, wasting his breath swapping empty pleasantries with industry tools; he’d be hooking his arms around your quivering thighs, pinning you to his face as he fucked you with his tongue.
In the present, he lied again.
Yoongi asked, “How did it feel to hear from her again?”
“To be honest,” Namjoon started, knowing full well that nothing he said next would be, “That shit’s behind me, man. I was surprised her number was still in my contacts, you know? She’s been a non-factor for a minute.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, “With the number of girls you’ve gone through in the meantime, I imagine it gets hard to keep track.”
Hook, line, sinker.
Namjoon offered a smirk and a shrug in response, which Yoongi accepted without further comment. The relief of being believed did nothing to cure the nausea swirling in Namjoon’s stomach, though - not just for the cruelty of his lie, but for the way he’d acted since you left and stayed gone.
He learned early on that it would take more than fucking someone he didn't know to keep warm, but knowing better didn’t mean he did better. None of them – and there were many – could pull him from the limbo he found himself in without you. There was an emptiness gnawing at his insides that he couldn’t fill, and the more he tried, the more it tore at him.
The only thing he succeeded at was becoming someone he didn’t recognize –someone he didn’t even like.
Yoongi pulled into his parking garage and turned to Namjoon, staking him through the heart with words alone. “Well, the non-factor is upstairs, so try to remember her name when you see her.”
Namjoon chuckled, but it didn’t sound anywhere close to convincing. There was a flicker of doubt in Yoongi’s quickly flexed eyebrow, though he kept any questions he may have had to himself. Without a word, they clambered out of the car, and they stayed quiet until they stepped into the elevator.
“How has she been?” Namjoon asked more quietly than he meant to. Like someone who’s scared of the answer - or worse, being asked why he’s asking. Quickly diverting further inquiry, he provided clarification Yoongi hadn’t sought. “Sounded tired as fuck on the phone.”
Yoongi glanced at Namjoon before selecting the button marked with his floor number. “You know how she is,” He hummed.
That one hurt. He knew how you were – past tense.
Except for that one phone call, he hadn’t heard your voice in months. He hadn’t seen you for even longer than that. Your number hadn’t changed, but for all he knew, everything else could have. All he had now was his memory’s pale imitation of you, always in sight but never within reach.
A ghost that disappeared into the walls before he could get too close.
When the elevator door opened, Namjoon was fighting between running forward and running away. Incapable of doing either, it was Yoongi’s light punch on his bicep that prompted his feet to move. Namjoon trudged along after him until Yoongi stopped short with a groan.
“The fuck?” Namjoon coughed as he collided with Yoongi’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re already winded, dude. I’m not giving your old ass a piggy-back ride.”
The scowl he received could’ve scorched the Earth.
“I forgot my fucking phone in the car.” Yoongi tossed his apartment key at Namjoon. It thudded against his unsuspecting chest only to be caught on the rebound.
Then, Yoongi pointed at the door. “Go play nice and figure out where we’re getting take-out from. I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.”
Namjoon’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be trying my best to keep it out, so thanks for that.”
Yoongi had already turned around, waving a dismissive hand as he stalked off.
As soon as Namjoon heard the elevator doors close, his phone chirped in his pocket and caught him off guard. He glanced down to find a text from Yoongi – who was, apparently, also a liar.
Yoongi [18:19 PM]: fyi you always say “to be honest” when you’re about to say some bullshit
Yoongi [18:19 PM]: "non-factor" my asssssss
Namjoon grimaced and shoved his phone back into his pocket before walking to Yoongi’s door with his heart in his throat.
Clearly, Yoongi wanted Najmoon to fix things with you. He’d crafted some false narrative to get himself out of there, to give Namjoon the time and space to do it. But there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could say to rebuild the bridge you’d both demolished together.
That is, if you even wanted him to try.
After unlocking the door, he froze. A full minute passed before his hand received his brain’s signal to turn the knob, and even then, his feet felt as if they were encased in concrete. If hearing your voice made him spiral, he was terrified of what the sight of you might do.
More than anything, he was scared to see how you looked at him – and he didn’t know what reaction he wanted. If you lit up the way you used to, it might kill him. If you had no reaction at all, it would definitely kill him.
He would’ve stalled at that threshold all night if you didn’t appear in the hallway, straight ahead. You froze like a deer in headlights, one hand still on the door you’d exited from. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise.
He didn’t notice the red rims around your eyes right away, but once he did, every cell in his body screamed at him to run to you, to hold you.
But he didn’t.
Touching you now only to lose you again tomorrow - well, that was a scab he couldn’t rip off again. There was only scar tissue where his heart used to be.
“Hey,” You smiled so sweetly when you saw him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Those fucking eyes! He’d give up everything he had to erase the sadness swimming behind them, threatening to spill out.
Why were you still so far away?
You glanced around him, noting Yoongi’s absence, but didn’t ask where he was. “I was thinking we could get something from that –”
The longer he stared at you, the more impossible it became to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand on that doorstep with you over there, trying so hard to look like you hadn’t been crying – like you weren’t about to start again.
Fuck it.
If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.
“Joonie, is everything oka–”
No, nothing was. Nothing had been, not for – fuck, are his eyes getting misty? - a long time. Not since you walked out of his apartment for the last time, and he let you. He couldn’t make any of it okay, but with you there now, he didn’t give a fuck about where you were before.
Your eyes were as big as the moon when he finally reached you, blinking your surprise up at him.
Did you really think he had any other option than to hold you? Did you have any idea how you looking at him like this - bare-faced, freshly-showered, vulnerable - demanded his immediate affection?
It felt like coming home, sliding his fingers through your still-damp hair. He could’ve fallen to pieces when the familiar scent of your shampoo – vanilla and honey – crashed over him, but he didn’t. His lips collided with yours, and for the first time in a fucking year, he felt whole.
You clung to him so desperately, you could’ve ripped a hole in his shirt. You couldn't care about that, though, because he kissed you and it was pure starlight. He kissed you hard, nicking your lip between his teeth until you opened your mouth against his.
You whimpered into him, drunk on the wet heat of his mouth, melting and falling and spinning and flying. You felt it all fall to the wayside, every second wasted without him, every text you didn’t send, every wrong turn that led you so far away.
You didn't realize until you finally broke apart that the tears on your cheek weren’t exclusively yours. His gaze locked with yours, and all either of you could do was gasp for air - chests heaving, lips kissed swollen. If not for the arm around your back, pinning you against his chest, you would’ve floated away. But he had you, completely.
Finally, you felt tethered.
Your trembling hand settled on the side of his face. Fuck! That face. The warmth of his skin, the heights of his cheek bones, the gentle slope of his nose.
How many mornings did you wake up and miss it? How did you ever fall asleep without it nuzzled into the crook of your neck, without the whisper of warm breath on your skin?
You wanted to scream until the hurt left your chest, but you didn’t dare – not with that face so perfectly close to yours.
He spoke first, “I’m so –”
Your eyes followed your thumb as it swiped over his bottom lip, unearthing a quiver that burned you up inside. He was paralyzed by your touch. Enraptured. Leaving that clause hanging open in the air.
His eyes were wide with anticipation as he watched you, pupils dilating when you whispered. “Say less.”
Faster than you could process, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. Automatically, your legs locked behind his back; your lips re-captured his and his kiss never faltered as he carried you back into the guest room. Quickly and with a shocking display of control, he kicked the door closed without slamming it – or breaking it.
Like so many times before, he laid you gently onto the mattress as if you were crafted from porcelain. And when he finally pulled away from you, you gazed up at him in awe.
This was one of the million reasons you couldn’t seem to let him go – the way his eyes softened when you were breathless underneath him, like you were the only thing in the universe worth looking at.
There were too many things to be said that neither of you could verbalize. You felt them all falling down around you like confetti, loose ends to be tied up later. He didn’t need to say a thing, so long as he kept looking at you like that.
When his fingers landed at the hem of your shirt, you knew what came next. A dance you’d done a thousand times, you lifted your arms for him to pull it up and off. Still damp from your shower, the ends of your hair raised goosebumps as they chilled the bare skin of your back.
He moved slowly and without breaking eye contact as he unbuttoned your jeans. Your zipper followed, then your jeans and underwear in tandem. The denim dragged so deliciously against your thighs as he slipped them down, down, down. As he tugged them off your ankles, you discarded your bra and tossed it aside. You were entirely bare and shivering with anticipation when his gaze found you again.
His shirt soon joined yours on the floor. Kneeling between your legs, his bare chest burned against your own as he kissed you for the third time. So many more were needed to make up for lost time, but you could feel how much of himself he poured into the kisses he’d credited you with so far. The taste of his mouth on yours was indescribably intoxicating after so much time apart.
With you sufficiently distracted, the hands that cupped your face began to migrate. You felt so small under his touch, reduced to putty in the warm expanse of his palms. His face lowered too, freeing your mouth to moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck.
Involuntarily, you gasped when his fingers pinched at one of your nipples. The curve of his smile impressed upon your throat as he suckled at the sensitive skin he found there, leaving clouds of indigo behind.
As he marked you, he rolled and tweaked your nipples in turn. Your eyes fluttered shut and you keened while your head crashed back against the pillows, “That mouth – feels s-so fucking good.” Your fingers carded through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp; his silence broke with a shuddered moan.
“S’all I want, baby,” He hummed as his lips trailed down from your neck and beyond your collarbone. “To make you feel good.”
You were trembling when he claimed one of your nipples with his mouth. Then he had the audacity to look up at you from under his lashes when he released it with a lewd pop, causing your back to arch against his chest with a gasp. There was a rumble from deep within him when your grip on his hair tightened, and the sound alone made you gush.
“To taste you,” His tongue left a wet stripe above your navel as he continued his descent, large hands dipping beneath you to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass. Shit - you would simply never recover from this. “To devour you until you melt in my mouth.”
Another sharp tug at his hair, another guttural moan breaking free from your chest.
How often had you dreamed of this in your time apart? How many times did you try to remember how it felt when that timbre whispered sins against your naked body? Fuck. With those words alone, he had you on the brink.
You whined when he pulled away from you; but it quickly turned into a gasp when he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged you with him towards the end of the bed. Now kneeling on the floor, he ducked below your knees until they rested over the tops of his shoulders.
Face so near to your aching core, he growled, and you felt it. “I missed this pussy –” He placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, prompting you to clench them reflexively. “I missed the way your thighs squeeze around me while you fuck yourself against my tongue.”
Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid, you grabbed fistfuls of the comforter below you. He was so painfully close to your cunt and still so fucking far from you. You knew he could see how badly you craved him - you’d beg for his mouth if you had to.
Of course, you didn’t have to - you never did.
Seconds before your impatience could drive you fully insane, he was on you, tongue flat against your cunt, dragging up against your slit. When the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, you cried out with a buck of your hips. His grip on you tightened, pinning you flush against him as he teased you.
“That it’s, baby. Good girl.”
It’s a miracle either one of you could form words with how relentlessly he licked, nipped, and suckled on your throbbing cunt. All you could do was babble in response to his praise – until the tip of his tongue penetrated your weeping hole, and you screamed.
A flurry of curse words spilled from your lips; his name sprinkled in between the obscenities. Fuck, you needed more. More, more, more. You extended your arm and reclaimed your grasp on his locks. Once you did, you began to grind yourself against his tongue until your abdominal muscles burned - you hadn’t utilized them to this extent since the last time.
His hand squeezed your thigh, goading you, encouraging you to use him the way you needed to. The pressure of his tongue increased with your pace. You had no control over the sounds you made; the breathless moans escaped you before you could think of trapping them. The coil was tightening, burning red-hot in the pit of your belly.
So good, so good, so g –
“Fuck!”
One by one, your muscles tensed in quick succession until your body shook violently in his grip. Toes curling, back arching, head crashing backwards into the pillows, mewling.
When you finally gathered the strength to re-open your bleary eyes, there were spots dotting the edges of your vision – and then there was Namjoon, fuck-drunk between your weakened knees, with a mixture of his saliva and your orgasm shining on his chin.
Lustful eyes locked squarely on your flushed face; his tongue slid from between his swollen lips to attend to the mess you’d made of him. His panting rivaled yours, but unlike you, he was still capable of speech.
“I will never – ever – get tired of watching you come,” he sighed before wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
As he climbed back on top of you, he placed a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead. “So vulnerable –” Then the tip of your nose. “So vocal –” Then, too briefly, your lips. “Perfect.”
“Joon,” You murmured against his lips. His mouth curved into a smile at the nickname, which you used almost exclusively to win arguments, or to persuade him to do something. It worked every time.
He nudged your nose with the tip of his as he tried to conceal his laugh. “Baby?”
The fond look in his eyes was quickly covered by fluttering eyelids as your fingertips whispered down over his chest. They snapped open and bored into you as your fingers slid over the waistband of his joggers, tracing a feather-light trail over the bulge below. You felt his cock twitch autonomously against the warmth of your palm.
“Shit,” He hissed through gritted teeth as you squeezed him. Eyes drifting shut once again; he rolled his hips to exacerbate the friction. His neck tensed, head thrown back, when you finally dipped under the elastic and took him into your hand. Skin to skin, burning up.
The next moan from his fawning mouth was something you hadn’t heard in his voice for months – your name. “I need you. Now.”
In the few moments he pulled away to remove his pants, a chill crept in and settled where the weight of his body had just been.
There it is again, you thought, the feeling of having him and losing him.
When this night was over and he was gone from you, would he stay that way? Should you have gone this far, knowing nothing would be different in the daylight?
You were blinking fast when he reclaimed the space above you. Something flickered in his eye as he assessed the look on your face, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you so gently that you could’ve imagined it – but so completely that your brain could never have fabricated it. Not successfully, anyway.
You’d already tried.
Breaking apart once more, he reached down and stroked himself slowly. His eyes never left yours. You both held your breath as he slid into you, millimeter by millimeter, reminding your body – after all this time – how to take him. All of him, to the hilt, until you could finally exhale.
Stretched to accommodate his width, so fucking full, you saw a way out of the nothing that had you trapped like quicksand. It was him, always. Your safe haven.
Neither of you could speak once he began rolling his hips against you. The quiet was electrified by heavy breaths and whimpers. The wet heat of your cunt squelched as your walls enveloped him, just as unwilling to let him go as the rest of you.
Over and over, he grinded into you, dragging his length across your most sensitive places; hips swiveling slightly to the side as he pushed and pulled himself through you, the way he knew you liked it.
Open mouth beside his ear, you keened and sighed, wordlessly informing him that you wouldn’t last much longer. He was perfectly attuned to your subconscious movements, and he responded to each of them without hesitation.
He’d never need to be reminded that the fingernails digging into his biceps meant faster, and the upward tilt of your jaw meant deeper. That when your eyebrows rose above your closed lids, you were seconds away from your release.
He remembered exactly how to fuck you through your orgasm when it came – shallow, staccato thrusts that unraveled you further as you writhed against the sheets. The spot on your neck to nip at like some secret switch, praise dripping hot in your ear like honey.
“Such a good girl, squeezing me like this,” He panted, “Taking me so well – so fucking perfect for me, angel.”
As soon as you crashed down through the atmosphere, his movements threatened to ricochet you right back into space. You keened helplessly with your half-numbed fingers gripping any part of him where they could find purchase.
“I c-can't stop -” You mewled, “How am I s-still c-coming?”
His response didn’t come in the form of words. His lips collided with yours hard enough to clink teeth as he drove himself deeper and deeper and deeper. Sloppy, kiss-bitten lips laying claim; relentless in their mutual need for closeness. Your walls were still fluttering around him – was this your second orgasm or your third? - when he moaned into your mouth.
Every part of him tensed above, around, and inside you as the flood of his release filled every crevice of your cunt.
Breathing ragged, his head fell into the crook of your shoulder. Considerate as ever, he tried so hard to keep his full weight off you, but his exhaustion undermined his efforts. You didn’t mind at all – you’d re-build your home there, staying forever between his body and that borrowed bed if you could.
But you couldn’t, could you? If you felt empty before, how could you feel whole again after this? His name etched itself into your ribcage, and now your body would never re-acclimate to his absence.
Why did you do this to yourself?
You squeezed your eyes shut tight when you felt tears prickling in their corners.
Everything you felt for him – over the course of two years – came crashing down over you. You buried your face into his shoulder and tried your best to keep your crying to yourself.
You’d never get his scent off your body now.
He could sense your shaking; it forced his heavy lids open.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” you sniffled, silently begging yourself to stop. You felt yourself shrinking under his eye. It would only be a matter of time before you disappeared entirely.
His tone dripped with concern, serving only to deepen that infernal ache in the pit of your stomach. “With what?”
“All the love I have for you. I don’t –” You sobbed, “I don’t know where to put it now.”
His breath caught in his throat as if you’d punched him straight in the chest. If you listened hard enough, you might’ve heard his heart break. You could certainly feel it in the way he tensed in your arms.
When he moved off you, you feared the worst – that your incessant crying overflowed the bathtub, and your admission was the toaster thrown recklessly inside. But unlike the last time, he didn’t leave - and neither did you.
The mattress shifted as he claimed the space at your side - where he should have been all this time. Strong arms enveloped you as he turned to face you, and even though he held you, he couldn’t stop you from shattering.
For a while, he let you. Squeezed you hard, stroked your hair the way he used to, let you cry out all the poison that filled the spaces in the cavern of your chest.
And when you could finally breathe again, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll trade you for it.”
❆ genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic
❆ pairing: namjoon x reader
❆ summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your DILF coffee shop boss to the list.
❆ teaser word count: 1.4k
❆ teaser contains: the good ol' "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, the bittersweet nostalgia of the holidays when you're not a kid anymore, moni being a little shit, sweaty namjoon (YES that's a warning 😩), namjoon in a protect trans kids shirt (oop i told you it was coming!!!!), all wrapped up in a nice lil meet-cute bow 🎁
❆ part of a hyung holiday collab - dropping december 2022!
❆ A/N: ahhhhh i am SO EXCITED about this collab y'all 🫠 hope you're ready for some hot dad namjooooooon~ and i'm beyond stoked for the hyung goodness @nabiolive @gimmethatagustd and @haliiimede are gonna bless us with like we're not WORTHY 😭 be sure to go check out their teasers and show them some love!!! 🤍
With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.
The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.
A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.
Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.
But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.
Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.
It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.
Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.
A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.
You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.
“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.
“Moni!”
When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.
He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.
Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.
“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.
“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.
“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”
“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”
You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.
Moni blinks and stays right where he is.
“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.
He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.
“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.
When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space.
You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.
There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.
“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.
He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.
“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”
Your best friend Namjoon proposes a surprising, prolonged backup plan for the decades to come……
“Would….Would it be so bad?”
“You and me. You and me stuck with each other.”
tags/description: ~6k words / namjoon x (f) reader / angst / fluff / friends to lovers(?) / pining / no smut but alludes to sex possibly happening at one point / no triggers or warnings, except swearing / happy ending / slow burn within their timelines since this takes years…. / jane austen references, title is a reference to p&p but fair warning i might just change it to 'unlucky' in the future / three ‘chapters’ / age of namjoon in each chapter: 1: ~27, 2:~32, 3: ~36 / chapters are separated by little ✣ ’s / feedback always welcome!
author’s note: every time i say I’ll upload my jin fics another fic pops into and out of my head - this namjoon fic came out of nowhere and i just thought to upload it to celebrate the release of indigo. the jin ones are coming very soon though. </3 proud of this though, besides the jin wip series, this is my first longer work!
Namjoon was a catch. An ideal man. The perfect man, really. It wasn’t hard for you, one of his best friends, to see why practically every woman on the planet fell for him. It wasn’t just the people who knew him, either. You could see it in the barista’s eyes when you grabbed coffee together. You heard your friends’ countless gushes over him, even the ones that were taken. And you couldn’t blame them…. He was smart, a little goofy, respectful, manly, sometimes endearing, and he was pretty easy on the eyes too. Every woman’s dream. Practically a Jane Austen character come to life.
You could see it, understand it….you just never…. felt it. Namjoon was a close friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You always had to dismiss people who thought otherwise or thought that that’s how you knew each other. Work had made your paths cross a few years ago when you were both in your early twenties and taking your first steps into the world of art. When he walked into your job at the film institute one morning, he had wanted to find out more about the artistry of film, the one realm of art he didn’t explore as thoroughly as paintings, sculptures, and literature, which you had always thought of studying as well. A quick conversation about film turned into an hour-long discussion on art and passion; the rest was history. Whenever Namjoon came back to learn about film, you took the opportunity to ask him about literature and art, whenever he brought it up, and before you knew it a friendship formed. He was the only one that got you, on your passions, art, and, as you’d later find out, in life.
Movie nights at his place and your place were common, as were trips to libraries and bookstores to pick out different reads, which you’d begin at coffee shops over cronuts and pies, but you enjoyed your regular late-night therapy sessions just as much, talking about life and its complexities, sharing ideas and personal philosophies… He was the only one that ever cared about that sort of thing…. And even when it got to discussions on love, everything remained respectful - especially when the other was in a relationship. Boyfriends came and went, with only one ever getting “worried” about Namjoon, whose girlfriends came and went over the years as well.
You understood art, you understood each other, you just never understood love.
It was the main topic of conversation on your cold, December walk, trying to figure it out as you always did.
“Why are we just so unlucky?” you complained. “Do you think there’s something wrong with us? Are we attracting these weirdos?”
He giggles. “I wouldn’t say that. We’re just ourselves, aren’t we? And don’t be mean. People just play a role and live fake lives because they don’t know any better. What did that guy tell you once? Didn’t he say that he was an author but it turns out he paid someone to write some fake short story about a cloud or some shit? Didn’t they even write the good morning texts he sent you?”
“Oh god, don’t remind me of that lazy ass, Joon,” you shake your head. “As if you didn’t date that girl who said she was an art curator but couldn’t pronounce Monet.”
“Ay,” he sighs. “I just wish people were honest to themselves, you know. So what, if you can’t pronounce Monet and didn’t like art? That girl was fine, she was just a compulsive liar. I can’t have that.”
“Sincerity is dying, Kim Namjoon. It lives in you and me only. And in, let’s hope, a lovely man out there who proves me wrong. And in someone for you, too.”
“Let’s hope. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck with each other.”
“Oof, can’t have that,” you laugh, but a couple of steps later you notice that Namjoon had stopped walking, the bite of the hotteok he had taken from the dessert in your hands lingering in his mouth for a moment too long before he swallowed it.
Eyes squinted in a far off-gaze, with his head tiled, you knew Namjoon was in thought. As always, you stopped and stared at him until he came back to Earth, not to interrupt his train of thought.
“Would….Would it be so bad?” he finally speaks.
“Would what be so bad?”
“You and me. You and me stuck with each other.”
W- all of a sudden?!
“Namjoon?!”
“Listen, I know we’re friends. Just friends, right? For all these years? And even right now… like sorry, Y/N, but I don’t know if I feel so attracted to you… I think I know too much and we’re too alike but that’s not the point. Just… Would it be so bad?” he asks, but he goes on. “I guess you’re right, we’ve both just been so…. unlucky. I like to think there’s someone out there for me and for you but… I can’t deny that I’m losing hope, at least for myself. You are, too, you just admitted it. The new year is starting soon and I've been thinking about what I want in life... And… I want a wife. I want kids. And..”
“Namjoon, what the fuck are you saying?!,” you yell in the middle of the snowy park. “Kids?!”
“Not now!” he explains. “Of course not now. But… look they always say ‘marry your best friend’, right? Well, you’re my only ‘best friend’ that’s a girl. It’s not like I can ask Yoongi to marry me.”
You feel your head spin at the words spewing out of Namjoon’s mouth.
“Kim Namjoon! A wife, marriage, kids, what the fuck are you saying?”
He takes a deep breath and grabs your elbow, leading you to sit on a nearby park bench.
“Breathe, Y/N. I thought this through and we can scrap the idea and pretend like I never said anything, but just hear me out for a moment, with a calm mind.”
Looking at Namjoon, still confused, you take a couple of deep breaths before you nod at him to continue talking.
“I’m not saying this for right now. What I’m saying is… in years, if we’re still friends, if we’re still single, if we’re still unlucky in love, if we still get each other…. If, and if, and if…. Why don’t we… why don’t we give this a shot? Just as a backup? We can either try a relationship - but that might be too weird because you know,” he tilts his head, “As I said, I think you’re not… and I am not… at least right now, anyway… Anyway! We can do that or we can just… get married regardless. Maybe have kids some way or the other. I know you want that in life but not right now, and I feel the same. And who knows? Our ‘wants’ can easily change…. But if…. It’ll be nice to share my life with my best friend.”
You stare at Namjoon, taking in his… proposal. “When?”
“When should we do this?” he assumes is your question, staring up at the sky while he figures out an answer. “When I’m around 35, 36, 37? That seems good for both of us. That gives us plenty of time to find someone else, if that happens and…”
“No, I mean… when did you come up with this idea?”, you ask.
“Oh, just right now when we were walking over there,” he says, pointing to the place he froze.
“And you’re so ready to make this offer?!”
“You’re my best friend!” he exclaims. “Wasn’t this always a safe space for us to just say what’s on our minds?”
His tone couldn’t be more serious, even with the gentle expression on his face.
“Look, it’s just an idea. It’s just a backup. And hey if in the future you or I feel like this conversation was a bad idea we can forget it ever happened. Wouldn’t it be nice to spend our nights watching films everyone thinks is too pretentious, talking about life, then in the mornings visiting libraries and galleries, with hotteoks and coffee? And not have to worry about lovers who never gave a shit about all of that? It’s about more than that but…,” he pauses. “We can still do it as friends, but…. just in case we don’t find that with someone else….”
You stare at Namjoon. He was your best friend. He understood you more than any lover, or any friend, ever had. Would it be so bad? To marry your best friend?
“And what about the issue of attraction, Joon? We both think that’s important. I hate to break it to you, bestie, but I’m not attracted to you, either.”
“That’ll resolve itself,” he laughs. “We’ll probably be too old to care. Or.. we’ll see…. There are so many ‘if’s’ for this to happen and I don’t know what future Namjoon will think. It’s just an offer.”
You had plenty of time. Sure, you’d find someone…. Sure, he would too - if given the chance, hundreds of girls would line up just for the chance to date him. OF course, you’ll both find other people…. But for now…. Would it hurt to not completely disregard your best friend?
“I’m living every girl’s dream… getting proposed to under conditions, with the guy telling her she’s unattractive and saying he’ll be stuck with me.”
“Sorry, just think of yourself as a modern-day Elizabeth Bennett,” he smiles.
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself by insinuating that you’re a Darcy,” you say, making him laugh.
“So… when you’re 35?” you ask after a moment of silence, looking at Namjoon through your eyelashes, picking at the paper packaging of your shared dessert in your hands, his twiddling with the strings on his hoodie.
“Around?”, he answers.
You nod, smiling at your best friend.
“Okay. That gives me plenty of time to find an actual Mr. Darcy.”
“I’m sure he’ll bewitch you, you idiot….”
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“Finally, it’s been too long.”
Those are the words you’d greeted Namjoon with the moment you spotted him waiting for you outside the cafe. It had been too long. Over the years, you kept in touch as best as you could, but with hectic work schedules and different careers, it was hard to see each other as often as you used to in your twenties.
“It has,” he smiles, wrapping an arm around you in a hug. “What has it been like 5, 6 months? How’ve you been?”
You catch up for the next hour over coffee and pastries, talking about life, the world, and art, as you always had, as if you’d just seen each other the other day. But, as the sun began to set and the cafe got too busy to relax in, you were reminded that your long-anticipated hangout day was slowly coming to an end.
“I don’t know if it’s our age or if that croissant ruined it, but how is this iced latte so sweet?” he wonders, taking a sip of the extra coffee he ordered to go as you watched the summer sky change colors in the park.
“Let’s switch,” you offer, handing Namjoon your iced americano. “You never liked coconut milk, anyway, why would you order it with your coffee? Dairy is still bad for you, huh?”
“Yep. I can’t power through the intolerance anymore,” he laughs. “Could it be possible that my girlfriend’s dairy intolerance made me even more intolerant?”
“The model, right?” you ask.
“Yep. She’s…alright. And hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you…. how’s that guy you’ve been seeing? How long has it been now? A year?”
“A year and a half,” you nod. “That’s actually the reason I’ve been rushing to see you…
I…uh.. I’m engaged.”
Namjoon’s pace slows. “Oh.”
Oh?
“Uhm, congratulations,” he says sternly.
“Thanks….” you murmur, side-eyeing Namjoon who just stares at his feet as you both continue to walk.
“Do you like him?”
“….Of course, I like him, Namjoon. Why else would I accept? Why else would I date him for a year and a half of my life?”, you snap.
But Namjoon remains quiet, merely nodding in the silence.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” you say.
“I would be…. If you were happy.”
“I am happy,” you say, stopping him and standing your ground.
“Then where the fuck is your ring?”
You quickly hide your hands in your pockets in a feeble attempt at concealing the truth he just spat out. He had given you a ring. A diamond ring with a gold band. One he said reminded him of you. Even though you told him you hated diamonds, and only wore silver. It was the thought that counts, right? The gift…. The proposal. It didn’t matter that he didn’t bother getting one that fit either, it was too big and too…. not you. As he said, you should be grateful that he finally popped the question…..
“It was too big,” you say meekly, and Namjoon scoffs.
“Even so, why didn’t he get it resized? Why isn’t it on a chain around your neck? Is it fucking gold?!”
“I…”
“To this day… even if we don’t see each other as often, I’d still consider you my best friend,” he interrupts you softly. “I know you more than anyone, Y/N. If this is the same guy you talked to me about a year ago….,” he sighs. “I know the movies you find romantic, the books and characters you fawn over, the tropes you like, the art that affected you… and I know he isn’t.. he wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do all the things you wanted, all the things you deserved, Y/N. What happened to that hope you always had, even whenever we called ourselves unlucky? Where is my best friend? The Y/N I knew, who looked for a Darcy or a Knightley or whatever the fuck? That Y/N? She wouldn’t settle for someone like that.”
“I woke up. I was delusional. I realized that I don’t live in a fucking Jane Austen novel, Namjoon. There’s no one else, okay?”
He shakes his head. It stings more than anything, seeing the disappointment and…. hurt…. in his eyes. “Your reason for marrying a guy is ‘there’s no one else’? Y/N….”
“Don’t bring up that stupid ass deal now, Namjoon.”
“Did I?!”, he asks, and it’s the first time you sense anger in his voice. You rarely could… even over the years.
“Fuck the deal. Look at the guy you’re marrying,” he spits the words out, the last word escaping like venom, before rubbing the space between his brows. “How many times did you come to me because he never got you, huh? Because he never made any effort to do so?
I just want to see you happy, Y/N.”
“Well, open your eyes, Namjoon because that’s what you’ll see.”
But you walk away the moment he looks at you, knowing you’d be unable to hide another lie, nor the tears forming in your eyes.
He knew you too well.
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“Did you hear who’s here?”
Looking up from your notebook, you see the excitement in your co-partner’s eyes… under all that blue mascara and funky makeup.
“Put that thing away! It’s a party. Guess who’s here?”
“Who?” you resign, putting your tiny notepad and pen in your purse.
“Only your FAVORITE film director, AND he’s looking to fund the film institute, AND he’s newly single.”
You contain your excitement, but she’d never realize it was there. “You talk like a teenager when we need to get down to business, ‘partner’. Is he really here and looking to fund it?”
“And he’s single,” she reiterates. “Oh, and the Kim Namjoon is here.”
…..Oh.
“He's so handsome, isn't he? And on top of all that talent? I think he’s looking to put together some pieces for an upcoming exhibition in his gallery… And word on the street is he's looking to get into film, too. Actually….," she pauses, "you two seem like a good fit. I’m sure you’ll work together one day.”
The thought of seeing Namjoon made your heart race, but really there was no reason for you to be surprised. The both of you had become prominent people in the art industry… It was more surprising that you hadn’t bumped into each other in all these years, dancing within the same circles. And you always promised yourself…
Still, you were there for work, you reminded yourself quickly. Sure, it was a party, but everyone networked at these things. And you had a film institute that needed funding….
-
The night went well, you mixed and mingled with so many people that were interested in film and the institute, and you can’t help but feel a rush when receiving your favorite director’s business card, complete with his personal phone number…. Where that’d go, you couldn’t tell, but his brief mention of funding and a collaboration idea was more than enough. Lost in the adrenaline, you forgot about Namjoon entirely….
“Y/N, there you are!,” you hear from behind you,. It was a partygoer you had just met….a familiar, looming figure was talking to someone else behind her. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere! Have you met Mr. Kim Namjoon?”
Of course. This was it.
The all-too-familiar figure turns towards you, his glaring eyes fixated on yours for a moment so long you missed the partygoer’s unnecessary introductions.
“….Miss Y/N here is a leading figure in the world of film,” you hear, “which I know you expressed interest in delving into, Mr. Kim.”
“You don’t need to introduce Miss. Y/N L/N to me. It’s good to see you,” he says with a smile, eyes still locked onto yours, but you don’t miss his fingers twitching around the glass in his hand before he outstretches his other arm.
“It’s good to see you too,” you reply, shaking his hand. Just as soft and big as you remember it to be.
“Oh! Have you… met?” the elderly lady asks from somewhere in your peripheral vision.
“We have,” you simply respond with a nod, but Namjoon elaborates.
“We… now.. we now know of each other.”
“Oh…. Well… why haven’t you collaborated yet?! I’ll leave you to it, figure it out and make it happen,” you hear the woman insist and briefly see her figure disappear into the crowd.
“It really is good to see you, Y/N,” he says, finally breaking the silence between you in the otherwise noise-filled room.
“Same to you, Namjoon….”
“I’m proud of you and all that you’ve done. I never got the chance to say that.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of you, too… ‘Mr. Kim’,” you laugh.
“Oh,” he winces with a chuckle, “It sounds even weirder coming from you. At this age and I still haven’t gotten used to it, to all of…. this,” he says, waving around to the party behind him and taking a sip of his drink.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t like a good party, Kim Namjoon, I know you too well.”
“You do, you do…..,” he says, nodding. “And I do, like a good party. But you know just as well as I do that this isn’t a party. This is just… networking and business.”
“Yeah… and you’re interested in film, all of a sudden….”
“Not all of a sudden, Y/N, you know that, but it is time for my foundation to step into film. We've neglected it for far too long, but… fuck I don’t want to talk about that…” he waves off. “You’re the only one here I can have a normal conversation with…”
You had both begun to hear distant calls of ‘Mr. Kim Namjoon!’
“….Can we step out for a while?”
-
Just around the corner from the gallery the event was held at, was a quaint yet artsy bookstore and bakery hybrid that was surprisingly still open at this hour. But at the employees’ silent acknowledgment of Namjoon, you suspected he was a regular… or the more obvious answer, they recognized him as famed writer and art philanthropist, Kim Namjoon.
“Sit, I’ll get us some stuff,” he says, before returning to you with two coffees and two pastries. “A lemon flavor and a dark chocolate one… Because we’ve gotten so old.”
You chuckle, taking a bite of the bittersweet dark chocolate pastry, the perfect cup of coffee in your hands, the beautiful bookstore you were in and wondering how you never found it, but most of all you were taking in the moment… Taking in the fact that you were sitting opposite Namjoon again. Taking him in. With his eyes wandering around in thought, and a smile on his face. Already, it was as if no time had passed at all. Except, age looked good a bit too good on him.
“Coffee, desserts, bookstores, and probably late-night conversations with Kim Namjoon… Takes me back.”
“Yeah…..” he thinks aloud, eyes still scanning above and below as he does…. “Yeah, I missed this.”
“…So have I…. I’m sorry I never reached out, Namjoon.”
“Don’t be,” he says, looking at you through his brows and taking a slow sip from his coffee. “I never reached out either.”
And…,” he starts, rubbing his hands together before continuing, “ I don’t know if I can take another year,” he says, breaking the silence. “Friends again?”
You don’t even have to think about it. “Friends again.”
“Good,” he sighs with a wide smile, his eyes still forming little crescent moons when he did so. “Phew. Finally, I’ll have someone that gets me. Maybe we both changed over the years, but even so, I’m just glad I’ll have someone to talk to about books and art again. Someone that doesn’t want something out of me or isn’t bored out of their mind when I do so like Yoongi. I made the funniest joke the other day and he just ignored me like I hadn’t said anything.”
“What was the joke?”
“What do you get if you cross a painter with a heavyweight boxer? ….Muhammad Dali.”
You scoff. “Seems like Seokjin rubbed off on you. Kim Namjoon, you haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you,” he says. “I saw you with your little notebook. Who brings a notebook to a party?”
“I was writing down information I knew I’d forget! Do you know how many people introduced themselves? I need to differentiate the flirting guy from the ‘kid faking that he’s in the industry’ from ‘serious collaboration potential’! They’re all in that sacred notebook, with a description of each person!”
“The flirting guy, huh? In addition to that too-good director? I saw him give you his number...” Namjoon chuckles, before going silent. “Whatever happened with… to the engagement?”
Despite having no contact with Namjoon over the past couple of years, there’s no way word wouldn’t have gotten to him. Despite everything, if you had made that mistake, he still would’ve been invited to the wedding.
“You know, Namjoon.”
He nods. He knows. He probably knows that he’s the one who woke you up from that nightmare too. But nothing needs to be said.
“Yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Whatever happened to that model by the way?”
“…Which one?” he smirks.
“Fuck off, Kim Namjoon,” you throw a flimsy napkin in his way, laughing while he explodes into his hearty, hyena laugh - the one he rarely lets out.
“Oh, it’s been ages since I heard that,” you say, pretending to wince at the noise.
“It’s been ages since it came out of me.....”
“Why? Seokjin’s not around? Too busy with his wife and kids?”, you ask.
“He’s around, still as funny, but… I don’t know, you make me laugh…differently…”
“It was your joke! You basically made yourself laugh, Joon,” you giggle.
“Oh, fuck,” he says. “…'Joon’…”
You search his face, trying to sense what he was feeling but you couldn’t tell what it was…
“No one called you that? Over the years? It seems like a… common, easy nickname for you….” you say calmly, wondering why no girlfriend or lover ever used the soft as summer nickname for the man who was the same.
“People tried to,” he shakes his head. “I never let them.”
“Why?” you ask, eyes narrowing. “Why, Namjoon?”
“Y/N…. I know I don’t have to explain sentimentality to you.” His gaze shifts from the paper cup he toyed with to your eyes, and again, you just sit in silence.
It was time.
“You know, Namjoon, I did a lot of thinking…. over the years… About myself, the world…. You know, we called ourselves unlucky but we’re really quite stupid.”
“I know,” he nods. “We are, but… go on.“
“It was stupid of us to attribute it all to luck and the world. Especially because… all these years, I don’t think either of us really knew what we were searching for. We chased the empty label of ‘love’ without defining how that’d look like to us. And that’s what I’ve been working on.”
“And?”
“And…. After countless movies, books, art, and a lot of self-reflection….. I finally have an idea.” Your eyes wandered as you talked, but you were determined to keep them on him, who listened intently, as you continued.
“I have an idea… of what love looks like to me. Whenever I thought about what I wanted, what I had and experienced… I realized that what I wanted was what we had. That friendship, that support, that empathy, respect, trust, honesty, and understanding… that… love.
I loved you, Namjoon. I love you.”
“And I loved you…and love you. I always did and always will,” he says immediately, calmly. “But…. what exactly are you saying?”
You knew he meant it as you did. You didn't need to define what type or over-analyze it and sub-categorize it as you would have when you were younger. It was love. Deep, true love. And it’s now or never...
“Is that offer still on the table?”
A chuckle escapes him, as well as the smile he tried so hard to contain.
“You needed to rewatch all those movies and reread all those books to figure it out? I could’ve painted you a picture years ago. But… you never even asked if I was single.”
“Are you?” you ask, hoping the quiet chuckle you let out concealed the bubbling feeling of regret in your chest. “Or is there another model? Some artistic muse? What did you call that one from years ago? ‘Alright’? ”
“The model, the curator, the.. whatever, they were all… alright but… wrong. No one ever… got me,” he admits, raising his eyebrows when he sees you nodding at his use of your words. You were on the same page. “I stopped searching for someone who did…. and then I went to that party.
I always wanted that for you, Y/N, but I never realized I needed it too…”
Namjoon was at his most vulnerable, and so were you, laying your honest truth out to the person who knew you best…. But it was easier to see it in his eyes. It’s something you hadn’t seen in him since your twenties, but he seemed more sure of himself than ever. So ready to be vulnerable, so ready to be honest, so…
“So…." you say, partly thinking aloud, partly hoping Namjoon could continue the conversation.
“So, you finally get why I made that offer, way back when?” he asks.
“How did you know? We were in our twenties… Wait… did you come up with this because you had feelings for me all along?!”, you say, mouth agape in shock and amusement. You’d never doubt your friendship was a sham, but what if…
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not the Knightley to your Emma, idiot, I wasn’t attracted to you then. It was just…. something that felt right. It still does. I didn’t know… much.”
“So, the offer is still on the table?”, you ask after a moment of silence.
“Of course it is.”
“Are you 35?”
“A little older,” he winces. "All this time and you're still bad at math, huh?"
You roll your eyes. “Well, you said ‘around 35’.... so, we’re right on schedule. And I still need to be wooed, Kim Namjoon. I know you have it in you,” you smile, feeling confidence return to your bloodstream like a rush of adrenaline after years without it.
“You finally know what you deserve,” he says softly. “You are getting bewitched, Y/N, whether you like it or not.”
“Bewitched and hitched?” you laugh.
“Hey, don’t come for my job. Or actually, a joint poetry book or short film shit would be nice, we should do that,” he thinks, “but yes…. bewitched and hitched.”
Staring at the man you knew so well sitting opposite you, you couldn’t wait.
“‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible,’” you quote quietly.
“When Harry Met Sally…,” Namjoon nods. “You loved that film.”
“I do…” you nod. “so with that in mind, how soon can we make the wedding?”
He laughs, his hand reaching for yours across the table before he stands up and envelops you in a warm, soft embrace. Taking in his familiar scent of coffee and cologne, you don’t want to let go. In any way. But he does, only to kiss you on the cheek and giggle when you tip-toe to reciprocate.
“And if we fight?”, you suddenly ask Namjoon, your demons briefly popping in to ruin the moment.
“We used to. As couples do,” he shrugs, taking your hands in his. “All those ‘if’s’ worked out in our favor, didn’t they? It didn’t seem like they did….until today.”
He brushes a hair away from your face, fingers grazing your jawline. Amidst all the familiarity of the night, this was new…. His lips slowly meet yours in a kiss as soft as summer and sweeter than the chocolate you could taste on him.
Breaking away, his hand instantly finds his stomach. You don’t need to theorize what it means, but you can’t hide the shock you’re feeling. He could be so innocent at times, you remember thinking, whenever you saw him rub his belly button every time he got butterflies from a girl.
“Wow, do people our age still get butterflies in their stomachs?” You giggle, placing your hand on his. This was definitely new ground. “And to think I caused this.”
“I hate how I could never control it, it feels like a tickle," he smiles. "Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt this in a while, though... I wish my 'tell' was as subtle as yours.”
“I have a tell?!!,” you yell, immediately wondering if anything gave away that you were feeling the same way.
“You do. Not to bring him up but I never saw it with what’s-his-face and that's when I knew… But anyways, I think I’ll keep it a secret. So you don’t make a note of it,” he says while you roll your eyes, but in doing so a book behind Namjoon catches your eye and suddenly, you remembered your surroundings.
“Anyways, is this beautiful place magically open for us to have this moment?”
“Well, if you’d say that, then I’m the wizard.”
“What?” you laugh.
“Sweetie, I own this place.”
You momentarily ignore another ‘first’ in your life, Namjoon calling you a pet name, to take in the fact that he owned the most beautiful place you’d ever seen in your life.
“You OWN this place?! And you never told me about it? This is what I feel most betrayed about, Joon,” you huff, looking around. Of course it was his. Every inch of this placed screamed his name. No wonder you loved it so much.
“I guess I have to explain this one to you, don’t I? I saved this place from going bankrupt and completely revamped it. I thought of you every step of the way and… you know, I’m a romantic. I liked to believe one day you’d find this place by chance and just get that it was mine…. And that that’s how we’d meet. There’s even a screening room upstairs, beside the mini gallery, so I’m surprised you hadn’t found this place yet. There’s even a DVD section because you went on about the importance of physical media, which I now get. You didn’t even notice the name, huh?”
You look around, finding the minimalistic lettering and logo of the place on the far wall. “Unlucky - Art. Books. Coffee.”
“I love it, Namjoon,” you say, looking around in wonder… “And let me guess, you called it ‘Unlucky’ to defy the word itself?”
He nods, smiling as he walks over to you. “We were never unlucky. We were lucky… because we had each other.”
“‘Had’… I hate that we wasted those years in between,” you whisper.
“Don’t be. The years got us here. To when we could finally have each other… again. It’s not too late if it’s the right way, the right time....”
“Let’s go back to that party,, hmm?” he says after another hug, “I’m already excited to introduce you as my fiancé.”
“And then we'll leave and talk some more. I’m not wasting a single moment of my life from now on, Kim Namjoon.”
“Of course…,” he smiles. “We’ll leave and… talk. The talking that results in the other thing we said would come with this deal.”
You pinch Namjoon’s still squishy yet firm arm before taking it in your hands as you walked back to the party, anticipating what came next.
Whether it was talking, Namjoon’s new definition of talking, hearing him introduce you as his fiancé, working with him, or even just the next minute by his side. It was the rest of your life. He was the rest of your life.
And neither of you could ever let this go. This was the love you’d both been searching for.
As usual, nothing in this reading is factual. This should be used for entertainment purposes only. Finally, y'all better be ready to stream Indigo. This album will reveal a lot about him. He’s reaching his ultimate self
cards: iv of wands, vi of swords (r), ix of swords, page of pentacles, ix of pentacles, iii of swords, queen of pentacles, knight of swords
random song: caution - mariah carey
Joon as a lover - First things first, his future spouse will be one lucky person. Right away I got the four of wands for Joon. His words are ever so sweet, but his actions speak louder. He'll never forget to cherish his partner and will express his gratitude often. Every moment together is precious to him. He’ll intently listen to his fs’s concerns and improve himself to support the relationship. He won’t take offense to any constructive criticism. Of course he’d like the same from his partner, but he’s patient too. Joon hopes they can learn from one another. There's a sense that he's been waiting for true love for a while. He doesn't give up hope but he's at the point where he's trying to lower his expectations. He's a romantic and wants to believe that his "soulmate" is somewhere out there. It will be momentous when he finally finds the one. His future spouse is going to be spoiled in every way. With time, attention, gifts, and love. He really wants someone to experience life with. Create their own memories. They should be independent and have their own life. Yet, ideally, they should bloom together… cultivate a beautiful garden together.
his future spouse -
independent for sure, will always bet on themselves
might’ve left home or their comfort zone to pursue better opportunities
spiritual, not necessarily religious but relies on their intuition a lot. Maybe meditates to gain a better understanding of themselves
self starter, motivated, hard worker. Intelligent and assertive. Not afraid to take the untraveled road if it means getting closer to their goals
definitely about their money, maybe even bringing in a lot of it. Or they’ll gain big financial success in the future. Attracts money nonetheless
I sense they endured some trauma in the past. Whether it be in romance or with family. Maybe even both. They carry deep trauma with them and it often affects their relationships with others. That’s why they turned to spirituality? And worked so hard to get away?
despite their hardships, they’re extremely caring. Nurturing even. They build the world they want to see. Become the person they’d wish to meet. Now, actually seeing this side of them? A different story. They don’t trust easily so they’ll be cordial of course, but never share their own life.
long hair, keeps it up or always styled for practical reasons
refined style, classy, neutrals, shades, no bright colors. Not too fancy, but put together
dreamer for sure. Constantly aiming for new goals and reaching new heights
values their freedom. Does not like when their partner is constantly bugging them about what they’re up to. Wants an equal partnership, not to be owned
to work on -
- Seems like namjoon’s fs will miss him a lot when he’s gone. Yes, they’re independent but they still have a belief about what a relationship should be. His fs wants to grow old with him and enjoy life together. I don’t see that Namjoon has any plans to slow down. If anything, his fs will inspire him to aim for even higher achievements. They will be his muse. However, his fs should express this concern to him. They don’t seem to care about fame or notoriety. His future spouse wants to slow down at this point. Enjoy what they might’ve missed out on while working too hard. Enjoy the fruits of their labor if you will.
- Joon tends to harbor a lot of his feelings. He’s someone with a busy mind. While he may hide it well, his fs will notice when something is wrong. They’re quite observant and extremely intelligent. His fs might also do some research to see what’s being said about him. While Namjoon acts nonchalant, there’s some negative aspects about the industry that he can’t ignore. A lot of sneaky work behind the scenes that he doesn’t agree with. His fs is willing to listen if only he expresses his emotions. He doesn’t want to dump his problems on his fs in order to protect them, but his future spouse will feel like he has no trust in them.
✰ pairing: namjoon x ex!reader
✰ warnings: angst. a different format than the usual. mention of drunkenness.
✰ word count: was 0.5k before i added stuff idk
✰ note: oh hey, angsty MJ is back! again! a little happy indigo day gift from me to you.
✰ inspired by: lonely - RM
—
Please leave a message after the tone. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options.
[Beep]
Hey, it’s me. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m calling. […] [laughs] Actually, fuck that. I do know. I fucking miss you.
I thought this so many times as I was getting on the car, getting on the plane…. It’s the first time in a long time I’m going somewhere and coming back to an empty place. It hurts. I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m calling…. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do about that. I guess I did this to myself, huh?
[…]
Um… yeah. So, I just got back from this photoshoot in the middle of a park. It was really nice out today. I kept thinking I’d want to take you there someday, and then I’d remember. But you would have liked it, I think. Really pretty grass, the sky was so blue, there was a lake nearby. But I know how much you hate lawns. Blight on the environment, and all that.
[…]
I used to come back to these empty hotel rooms and feel okay about it because—well, yeah, there are staff next door if I need anything, but—I used to come back and the first thing I’d do was call you. I’d just… sit, just like I am now, on this bed, and we’d video chat. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this, like you weren’t there. Like we didn’t do it together. Remember how long we’d talk—for hours, sometimes? But now, I just… have way too much time to think.
[…]
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I spent this whole day thinking about you. It’s been a while. We haven’t spoken in months. I shouldn’t be calling out of the blue—I’m sorry. But everything reminded me of you, today. Ah—not just today. Every day. I can’t ride my bike at Hangang without thinking of you. I can’t drink coffee without thinking of the disgusting way you drink it, with all that sugar and milk. I can’t get in the passenger seat of anyone’s car without wishing you were sitting beside me.
[…]
And I’m not going to lie, it’s lonely here. I used to feel okay about it, because no matter how many people treated me like I was inferior because I didn’t speak their language well, or no matter how much I felt out of place here, I knew… I knew that later, I’d come back to my hotel room and be able to call you. You used to pick up whenever, wherever. And I never had to be anyone else. I could... take off the mask. Just looking at your face and hearing your voice made me feel like myself. Better. You were home, to me. For me.
[…]
I’ve been trying to watch Netflix, or YouTube, or whatever the fuck just to feel something—anything like that again. I don't think I'll ever stop chasing that feeling.
[…]
I should probably hang up now. I probably shouldn’t have called at all. But… I miss you. I don’t know if it matters that you know that. You don’t owe me anything, I guess.
[…]
I just... got lonely. Got a little too drunk, and thought of you. [laughs] I’m not expecting anything, but… call me, if you feel like it.
Summary: You and Namjoon meet in Seoul again, this time as exes.
Pairing: Namjoon x OC
Genre: Fluff, angst
Word count: 13.8 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: language, break-up, talk about parental issues, stress, infidelity, kissing
A/N: So... this got a little longer than expected. Some questions will be asked, many will be answered. A lot of holiday cheer and pretty Christmas lighting. But the best part about this fic has to be the fact that I haven't proofread it.
Set approximately nine months after Next Time but can be read standalone.
Tagging: @bbl32, @meirkive, @quarter-life-crisis2, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)
Listen to: “ghost” by parekh & singh
namjoon masterlist | main masterlist
The last cloud floats away, and the sun peeks out apologetically. Bathed in light, the landscape looks like a colourful painting - a blue sky with a hint of purple, the edge of a green hill cutting it at an angle, and a winding road finishing it off. Visible in between two parallel rows of buildings, it feels like a glimpse of summer on a cold winter morning.
Kaya raises her phone to click a picture, ignoring her frozen fingers. This is Instagram-worthy, she decides - story only, even though she rarely posts anything else. She considers a caption for a brief moment, but it feels almost cruel to disturb the picture.
Over an hour later, when she’s in the car on her way home, her phone pings and she sees a reply to her story.
artisfolly [12:45]
You’re in Seoul?
Kaya’s heart skips a beat. She suddenly realises why she’d felt the need to take a picture of that particular hill and it’s no surprise that he’s recognised it, too. His question is unexpected, though, and she can think of nothing to say but the obvious.
kaya_m [12:46]
Yeah.
artisfolly [12:47]
Why didn’t you tell me?
She stares at the screen, at a rare loss for words. She can’t fathom why he would ask her this, and the fact that they’re speaking to each other for the first time in nearly three months reduces her to simple honesty.
kaya_m [12:50]
I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.
A beat passes. Kaya realises only a moment later how tightly she’s clutching her phone and forces her fingers to loosen up.
artisfolly [12:51]
I always want to hear from you.
Another beat. Then –
artisfolly [12:51]
Can we meet for coffee?
—
The city is already lit up and ready for the holidays. There’s the faint sound of instrumental carols from somewhere down the street as people enter and exit shops in a flurry, all bundled up in fashionable winter wear.
Namjoon still isn’t entirely sure why he picked this place to meet up. Gangnam just made sense because it was reasonably close by, but it’s also busy - it makes him feel less exposed somehow, although he isn’t fully sure what he’s trying to stay hidden from.
He glances at the menu of the coffee cart as he waits for her. Again, it wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d proposed to meet up for coffee, but his mind had gone blank when he’d tried to think of a place. For some reason, all he could think about was this small cart and the fact that it had a hazelnut drink. Around two hours ago, after nearly a whole day of thinking, he’d realised he couldn’t put it off anymore and texted Kaya with the location of the department store next door.
Namjoon exhaled, trying to ignore the low hum of anxiety in his stomach. A lot had happened in the last couple of days: a new track had been submitted for approval, their appearance at the AMAs in January was under review, he had a package that was currently stuck in customs - and then he’d found out his ex-girlfriend was back in Seoul. The anxiety is warranted, he decides.
It’s a few minutes past four pm when his phone buzzes. He feels a jolt in his stomach as he answers. “Hey.”
“Hey. I, uh… I think I’m at the location…” Kaya trails off, sounding unsure. “I can’t see Aldo, though.”
Namjoon swallows; the last time they’d spoken on the phone, she’d sounded very different. His heart skips an uncomfortable beat when he thinks about it.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Um, where are you right now?”
“I’m at…” She trails off again, and he pictures her looking around, eyes big and upward. “Okay, I just passed Zara.”
“Okay, just keep walking straight,” he tells her, turning to face the direction he knows she’s coming from. “You’ll see an auditorium kind of thing on your left -“
“There’s just a turn here.
“Yeah, no, you’ll have to cross the street. Be careful,” he adds automatically when he hears a car horn at her end.
She says nothing to that but stays on the line. “Okay, I think I see the auditorium… is that an auditorium?”
“Kind of, I guess. Street musicians, up and comers perform there and stuff.”
“That’s nice. Did you?”
“Still a stage I have yet to conquer. Can you see me?”
“Not yet. It’s pretty crowded. Is there an inflatable Santa near you?”
Namjoon turns slightly on the spot. “There’s a 3D Santa cut-out, if that’s what you’re referring to. There’s, like, three of them, though.” He bites back an unexpected chuckle when she swears under her breath. “Try to look for a banner with the directions to Santa’s Village.”
He can hear her stop in her tracks. “A banner? Everything’s written in Hangul, Joon. Oh, hang on, I think I see shoes - it might be Aldo…”
Namjoon nods wordlessly, trying to ignore his heart racing. He tries to look over the heads of the people on the street, hoping no one recognises him as he looks for Kaya - and spots her. She looks… exactly the same, or more beautiful than every single person in Gangnam put together. Probably both.
He can hear her murmuring on the phone, trying to look for him as well, but he can barely make out what she’s saying. He’s reminded, inexplicably, of the last time he’d seen a similar sight: London, almost two years ago. They weren’t dating yet, and he’d waited for her by the entrance of his hotel as she arrived from the station. He’d spotted her just like this in the crowd, albeit much later in the night. The moment she’d seen him, her face had broken out into a happy smile, complete with Disney princess eyes, and he’d asked her flat out to be with him two minutes later.
It’s a bittersweet memory. Namjoon blinks rapidly a few times before clearing his throat. “I can see you,” he says, hearing how low his own voice is all of a sudden. He raises his arm halfway. “I’m here. Right in front of you.”
He registers the moment Kaya sees him. Her mouth stops moving mid-word and she halts for a moment before exhaling slightly and giving him a small, polite smile. They lower their phones at the same time and Kaya continues walking towards him, dropping hers into the small sling bag hanging from her shoulder. He notices her gaze travel up and down his figure before lingering on his chest, and he’s suddenly glad he chose the turtleneck at the last minute.
“It’s cold,” she says when she finally reaches him, rubbing her hands together and shivering slightly.
He nods, feeling his heart leap unnecessarily. “It’ll get colder,” he informs her. “You look nice,” he says after a moment.
“Thanks. So do you.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence before she exhales. “So this is the coffee place,” she states, looking up at the lit up cart, at the fairy lights, the menu written in both English and Korean - anywhere but him, he notes.
“Oh - uh, yeah.” He shakes his head. “You should - we should order,” he stutters, fumbling with his wallet as he fishes it out. “Sorry, I know you probably weren’t expecting this, but I couldn’t decide -”
“No, no, it’s totally fine,” she says immediately, the silver hoops in her ears glinting as she shakes her head. “This is nice. I’ll have the hazelnut, I think,” she adds, retrieving her own wallet. “Uh, one hazelnut,” she repeats to the barista, enunciating a bit and holding up a finger before turning to Namjoon.
“Oh, right. One caramel macchiato,” he adds in Korean. He pulls out two bills and is about to place them on the counter when Kaya beats him to it. “Oh, I was going to -”
“That’s alright,” she interrupts, glancing up at him with a stiff smile as though to let him know it’s still good-natured. “I can pay for my own coffee.”
They don’t say much else until two steaming lattes are placed on the counter, smelling warm and cozy. They pick up their drinks, and Namjoon is suddenly faced with the consequences of choosing an establishment with no designated seating area.
“Um…” He looks around, starting to feel a bit silly, before looking back down at her and sighing. “Do you want to walk?” he asks finally.
She seems to have already expected this. With a glint of amusement in her eyes, she nods. “Sure.”
They begin strolling down the sidewalk in Gangnam square. The place is busy and most people are bundled up, meaning it’s one of those rare occasions when Namjoon is likely to make it through unrecognised. He tenses up for a moment when he thinks about the fact that he isn’t alone, but then remembers he has no business caring about that anymore.
“So… how’ve you been?”
Namjoon looks up, wondering where to begin. He isn’t sure how much of his post break-up state is appropriate to reveal, and if she even wants to know. He can talk about work… but even that could be a delicate topic, given recent events.
“Not great,” he says finally, surprised at his own honesty. “You?”
She shrugs, once again not meeting his eyes. “About the same.”
He bites his lip. The distance between them, while expected, feels awful - and wrong. Namjoon takes a brave step closer to her. “How did the seminar go? The second one was in October, right?”
Kaya pauses for a fraction of a second before nodding, and Namjoon knows she’s caught the deliberate tone in the question. He doesn’t regret it, though. Forgetting the first one was bad enough; the guilt that had washed over him when he’d realised he’d missed an academic milestone in her life had been one of the last straws for him.
“It wasn’t bad,” she says, taking a small sip of her drink and cracking a smile. “Went better than the first one. But I got to design the lecture series at the end so I guess it worked out.”
“That’s great,” he replies, meaning it. She seems taller, the top of her head almost reaching his cheek. He looks down to see her boots, long and straight up her legs… swallowing, he looks away. “You didn’t sound so good about the - about the last one,” he adds quickly, wincing a moment later.
“Yeah. That one was… way worse.” Kaya doesn’t say anymore, taking another sip instead. “Coffee’s good.”
“Yeah. We got a bunch of these delivered to the studio about a week ago. Thought you might like it.”
“Right.” She nods. “How, uh, how is the studio? And the collabs?” she tacks on at the end.
Namjoon feels his stomach twist again, his eyes falling to his cup at the mention of what was probably the breaking point of their relationship. Hwasa, Sunmi and IU. In the aftermath of their break-up, it had become increasingly clear to him that this was the core of the issue and yet, it seemed like the one thing they avoided talking about.
Kaya seems to remember, too. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to make it weird,” she mutters.
He shakes his head. “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”
She bites her lip. “I was genuinely asking. You were working pretty hard.”
I’m working hard, too. And not just at my job.
“They’re in post production now,” he answers as they turn into a quieter street. “Except for one. It came out last month.”
“Oh, really? That’s - that’s great. Must be doing well.”
“It’s doing fine. Just finished promoting it earlier this week.”
“So does that mean you have Christmas off?” Kaya raises her eyebrows. “Must be doing really well.”
Namjoon chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t want to jinx it. I’m going over to my parents’ house tomorrow night. I’ll probably stay there for a few days.”
Their coffees are almost done now; as the sky darkens, they throw their empty cups into a trash can by the sidewalk and continue walking. Namjoon shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, glad for the momentary warmth.
“God, it’s colder than usual,” he mutters. “You know what it reminds me of, though?”
She looks up at him with the first genuine smile of the evening. “London?”
Fucking hell. “Yeah, exactly. Except there it was cold and wet.” He shudders. “I don’t know how you made it all the way from the station with a suitcase in that weather.”
Kaya shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad. The hot shower after really helped,” she adds absently.
It’s not super high up in the list of things Namjoon wants to be reminded of right now, the image of her in his shower. What’s up, boyfriend? she’d greeted him when she’d stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair swept over one shoulder. The memory makes him smile involuntarily.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” He straightens his face. “I read that Sean Scully was touring Europe again. Did you get to go?”
She sighs hugely and groans. “No, work piled up way too much. But, I found out he was going to be in Belgium and he was putting up some of his figurations on sale,” she says, shaking her head already, “and I started saving up - and I mean saving up. And two months later, the sale happened, and the painting was nowhere to be seen.”
“Wow. You know, some of his stuff is in the National Gallery here, too,” he says, pointing generically behind him. “We can - I mean, you should check it out… if you have time,” he adds lamely.
“Yeah, probably. I’ve been checking out more indie stuff lately, though - but, yeah, maybe.”
“Oh, is that why you were in Hongdae yesterday?”
“Yesterday? No, I was there to see a play.”
Namjoon frowns. “In English?”
“Nope.”
He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, but gives up a moment later. “Are you serious?”
“Shut up,” she mutters, looking adorably embarrassed and nudging him with her elbow. “Jae-lin wanted me to come along.”
Ah. “And there was no way you could say no to her,” he finishes in understanding.
“Exactly. Even the best of us have some weak spots.” She peers at something across from him on the other side of the street. “Hey, is that an ATM?” She stops and looks up at him. “Do you mind? I just need to -”
“No, go ahead. I’ll grab a bottle of water.” He watches her jog across the empty street and enter the vestibule before he ducks into the convenience store behind him. It’s easier than he’d expected, being around her - except for the part where he wishes he could forget for a moment that they aren’t together anymore.
As he wordlessly passes the bottle to the cashier, he wonders for what feels like the millionth time in the last three months if this was the right decision. It had felt like it at the time. The snapping and the fighting was becoming more frequent than before, but at least that was mutual. Disappointing her each time was too much, though, and before he knew it, he was doing the one thing to ensure he didn’t hurt her anymore.
“Thank you,” he mutters to the shopkeeper and exits the shop. The cold air hits him again and it feels as though the sky has gotten several shades darker in the last few minutes. His eyes go straight to the ATM, noting two or three more people apparently in line, before he spots Kaya among them. Her uncertain expression, ducked head and hunched shoulders tell him everything he needs to know, and all thoughts of their break-up disappear in an instant.
Striding over, Namjoon registers three other men, two behind her, seemingly chuckling at something the third is saying to Kaya. It’s clear she isn’t able to understand him, but his proximity to her is enough for Namjoon to automatically feel his pulse race in annoyance.
“Which - country?” The third guy says in English, louder and more deliberate. Before Kaya can answer, Namjoon reaches over and wraps his hand around her wrist, gently tugging her out of there. The relief in her face is brief but evident, and she immediately falls into step beside him as they walk away.
“You alright?” he asks in a low voice, dropping her wrist but staying close to her. “Do you have your wallet and everything?”
She nods and exhales, her arm brushing his shoulder. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice shaking slightly. “Thanks.” She doesn’t move away from him, not until they turn into a busier street. It’s more brightly lit, with Christmas decorations and fake snow everywhere, and Namjoon can’t help but feel sorry when she finally takes a step to her right and the familiar scent of coconut and vanilla disappears.
They don’t speak again for a while but unlike when they’d initially met at the coffee cart, Namjoon doesn’t feel pressured to make conversation. Some kind of ice between them seems to have broken and he suddenly feels a lot more secure in the fact that she’s here with him, that they’re here together.
“Oh, my God!” Kaya gasps suddenly, halting in her tracks and clutching his arm, and for a moment Namjoon thinks the creepy men are back.
“What?” he asks hurriedly, looking around and automatically stepping closer to her.
She doesn’t seem to notice. “What - the hell - is that?” she stutters, pointing shakily at something in front of her. Namjoon follows her finger, expecting danger, only to find something even more terrifying.
“Oh,” he exhales, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. He wracks his brain for an appropriate explanation but soon gives. “That’s… yeah, that’s a cardboard cut-out of Taehyung.”
Kaya looks up at him incredulously. “It - what?” She turns back to the six foot tall cut-out of Taehyung in a suit, smirking and making a finger heart, before she looks behind it to see the rest of it.
“Okay, Namjoon, there’s no easy way to ask this,” she begins, taking a step back, “but why is there a shrine to Taehyung in the middle of Seoul?”
Namjoon chuckles, a little embarrassed. “It’s his birthday in a week, so… they do this every year. Birthdays are a big deal around here,” he adds, following her as she gingerly continues down the aforementioned shrine.
“No, I get that,” she says slowly, lightly touching a fringe of sparkly streamers bordering a photo booth. “This is just…” She trails off, looking up at the fake snow and candy canes decorating a line of photo cards and smaller cardboard cut-outs.
“A lot, I know.”
“Kind of sweet,” she finishes. “You know, once you get used to it.” She stops at a wall-sized poster of the entire group, a shot from their last concert in the summer. Namjoon isn’t sure, but he thinks her gaze is lingering on him in the corner, hair a lighter blond than it is now.
My man looks so fucking sexy in a suit.
“What about you?”
It takes Namjoon a moment to focus. “Uh, what about me?”
“Does this happen for everyone’s birthday?” She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Was there a life-size Kim Namjoon here, too?”
“God, no,” he says, shuddering a bit. “Although there is a graffiti drawing of my face back in Ilsan. It’s actually pretty good!” he exclaims when she laughs, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’ve only seen pictures, anyway. I guess I’ll see it when I go back tomorrow.”
“Spend some good old quality time with it?”
“Not that much time. Our schedule starts on the…” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to recall. “Twenty-eighth, I think. Need to double check that.” He opens his eyes to see Kaya frowning.
“You’re working on New Year’s?”
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “New Year’s Eve special in New York. Holidays, birthdays… doesn’t really matter,” he adds, hearing a note of bitterness in his own voice. He stops by a pop-up stall. “Honestly, it’s a miracle we got Christmas off.”
Kaya stops beside him, facing him slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “About your birthday. I didn’t forget,” she clarifies when he looks up. “I thought about texting or something, but… it was just too soon.”
Namjoon nods, feeling his heart clench a little. That hadn’t been a good day. “I get it. It was less than a week after… everything.”
“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d be working, though.”
“I didn’t mind. Kept me occupied.”
She bites her lip, glancing over at the collectibles. Namjoon watches her, recalling with a heavy heart just how much he’d been hoping she’d call. It hadn’t been fair to expect it, given that he’d ended things just a few days prior. He’d tried to do it as amicably as possible, tried to reassure her that it had nothing to do with how he felt - it was just a consequence of their situation. Long time coming, he’d said. Despite that, he’d kept his phone on all day, hoping that at least special events would mean he could hear her voice again.
“I did… wait,” he confesses after a moment. “I thought we ended on good terms.”
Kaya exhales, and he can see her defenses go up. “We did. That’s why we’re here right now.”
“Three months later.”
“Yeah, well. I needed time to process it,” she counters, folding her arms across her chest. “You really caught me off guard.”
Namjoon lowers his head, unsurprised at her astute observation. He had caught her off guard - and not accidentally. He can still remember the rain in the background, the sound of the people around her as he revealed what he’d been thinking for a few days by then. Most of all, he can remember how confused she’d sounded. That had been the worst part: her confusion. Sadness, anger, denial; he would’ve chosen all of them over her uncertainty, how she’d taken a few minutes to realise what he was proposing, by which time it was too late to argue.
“I wouldn’t have been able to go through it otherwise,” he confesses quietly.
After what seems like several minutes, Kaya sighs. “Well. In the spirit of processing things,” she begins, and he looks up to see her reaching for one of the small stuffed toys on the cart, “a belated happy birthday.” She hands it to him.
“Thanks. And thank you for…” He looks down at the toy and back up at her. “... for this stuffed doll of Taehyung?”
“A stuffed doll of Taehyung holding a wreath,” she points out, jabbing a finger at the plastic decoration. “And wearing a Santa hat.”
“Wow. This is, uh…” He looks back at the doll, stitched down to immaculate detail. “... so terrifying.”
Kaya laughs. “What are you talking about? He’s a good-looking kid.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want a voodoo doll of him staring at me while I’m, like, changing or something.”
“Well, that’s your punishment for breaking up with me while I was running late to class,” she says lightly, already handing cash to the shopkeeper.
“Fair enough,” he mutters, stuffing the silly doll deep into the pocket of his jacket as they begin walking away.
“So?” she continues as they stroll down the street. “How are the other guys?”
“Good, mostly. Pretty tired.”
“And your parents? Your family and everyone?”
“Also good.” He pauses. “My mom asked about you.”
“She did?” Kaya sounds surprised.
“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. “Nothing specific. Just how you were doing and stuff.”
She’s quiet for a moment, hands tucked into her elbows. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Not yet.” Namjoon bites his lip, realising only at this moment, that it’s because he was hoping he wouldn’t have to at all. “Guess I’ll have to, soon enough.”
“Believe it or not, it was hard to tell my mom, too.” She squeezes his forearm sympathetically. “Although, if I’m being honest, the hardest person to break it to was Jae-lin,” she adds.
He snickers. “Really?”
“Yup. And not to pressure you or anything, but she’s expecting some seriously deep music to drop soon.”
His heart jolts uncomfortably. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When he says no more, he notices Kaya give him a curious sideways glance. “And speaking of my sixteen year old cousin’s obsessions,” she begins, the forced upward lilt in her voice evident, “what about Taehyung and Dilara Komyshan?”
“Oh, who knows with them,” he replies absently, stretching out his neck before looking back down to see her raised eyebrows. “No, they’re dating now. Officially.”
“Wow. Score. For Tae, I mean,” she clarifies.
“I agree. They went on some trip or something recently.”
“Ah, the honeymoon phase,” she says knowingly, shaking her head. “Children.”
“He’s happy now. And I mean too happy,” grumbles Namjoon. “He’s smiling into his phone all the time like an idiot; I swear, he looks high.”
Kaya snorts. “Wow, single people really are bitter.” When he doesn’t respond, she looks up, biting her lip awkwardly. “Too weird?”
He winces theatrically. “A little bit.”
She chuckles. “Sorry.”
They stop at a traffic light, waiting to cross the street. The sky is dark now, but the area has never looked more lively. Namjoon is suddenly glad he asked her to meet today; the closer Seoul gets to Christmas, the prettier it looks.
Which reminds him.
He glances at her beside him; they’re both standing tilted towards each other, almost automatically. To anyone else, it might look like they’re midway in conversation.
“By the way,” he begins, shifting to face her. She does the same, her silver hoops catching the light again. Namjoon pauses; there’s a certain science to this, a certain combination of elements that will get him the reaction he wants - or at least the one he’s hoping for.
“Yeah?”
Hands deep in his pockets, he lowers his head slightly to look her in the eyes. Disney princess eyes. His blond hair falls onto his forehead and he gives her a small smile, just enough for a dimple to appear. His gaze drops to her mouth before meeting her eyes again.
“You look really pretty,” he says, meaning it, hearing his voice low and deep. The flicker in her eyes makes his heart race, but he holds it, waiting for her response.
“Thanks. You look…” Kaya swallows visibly and her gaze falls, lingering near his chest for a moment. Thank God for the damn turtleneck. Namjoon is almost anxious at how she’ll finish her sentence.
“... really pretty, too.”
“Huh.” He nods. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She pauses, clearly awkward. “The blond suits you,” she adds, reaching up as if to touch his hair but stopping herself at the last moment.
“Yeah, it’s, uh… the stylists like it,” he replies lamely, running his fingers through his long hair.
“They’re doing a good job, I guess. You’re looking thinner,” she murmurs, her eyes on his chest and shoulders before they dart up to him. “Not in a bad way,” she says quickly. “Or - or a good way. I was just… it was just an observation.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s okay,” he says simply, placing a light hand on her back as they cross the road. “I haven’t had a lot of time to hit the gym lately. I’ve lost a bit of muscle mass. What about you?” he asks after a moment, feeling his gaze drop to her hips as she walks a step ahead of him, before averting them with an effort.
She turns around and waits for him to catch up, raising her eyebrows. “Am I losing muscle mass?”
“No, are you… you know. Taking care of yourself and everything,” he clarifies. “Eating well, locking your door… that stuff.”
She laughs without humour. “Remember when I told you I was saving up for that Sean Scully painting? Yeah, that means two whole months of nothing but instant noodles.”
Namjoon stares at her, unamused, until she looks up at him. “Are you serious right now?”
Kaya raises her eyebrows. “Are you? Do you seriously think you get to lecture me on a healthy diet?”
“God, I hate it when you have a point.”
“Which is often,” she says fairly, nudging his shoulder playfully. She looks around then, frowning slightly. “Wait, I thought we were going to your car. How far away did you park it?”
“Not that far, actually. There’s a shorter route through the alleys inside,” he explains. “I just thought you might… feel safer this way. Out in the open.”
He wonders for a moment if he’s made it weird again, for he can’t decipher Kaya’s expression. She licks her lips and looks at the ground, but before he can begin getting anxious about it, she looks up.
“I always feel safe with you,” she says calmly, gesturing for him to start walking again.
As he falls into step beside her, Namjoon feels, for the first time all evening, as though he finally knows what he wants. He sees her hand by her side as she walks, half-covered by the sleeve of her dark striped sweater, her nails painted black.
He imagines what it would be like to hold it; lightly at first, fingers grazing her palm before linking their fingers together. Holding it tight then, tugging her closer to him, feeling her long hair brush his chest… for a moment, Namjoon feels like crying.
“Wow, I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”
Kaya breaks him out of his reverie, and he looks up to see her peering at a passing tteokbeoki stall.
“Do you want to get some?” he asks, although he can’t imagine eating anything right now.
She waves her hand. “No, I’m good. Ji-eun’s making dinner and she’ll kill me if I ruin it.”
“Yeah? What’s she making?”
“Not sure. Something with noodles.”
Namjoon laughs. “Sounds about right. She may have grown up in America but she’s Korean at heart.”
“Completely.” Kaya shivers as a cold wind blows. “And Korean by blood, clearly, because there is no way winters back home were this cold.”
“Yeah, the winds are a bit harsh,” he acknowledges fairly. “Why did you decide to visit in the winter anyway? There’s a reason tourism is at an all-time low this time of the year.”
“Oh… my mom wanted to visit. Said she wanted to spend Christmas with family.”
There’s something off in Kaya’s tone, but Namjoon doesn’t want to pry. Not too blatantly, at least.
“Don’t you usually go to Connecticut to spend Christmas with her?” he asks.
“Yeah.” She nods, falling quiet for a few seconds. “She’s dating this guy,” she blurts out. “And they’ve been going out for a few months and it sounded like everything was fine, but I think - and I’m pretty sure I’m right - that he asked her to spend Christmas with his family. And it freaked her out,” she finishes, breathing slightly heavily.
Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a moment. From the way the words tumbled out of her mouth, it’s clear she’s been waiting to talk about it.
“Is it the dating part?” he asks gently.
“No,” she mumbles, looking at the ground as she steps within the tiles. “My dad’s been gone ten years, you know? I’m glad she’s dating. But when she does things like this, I know it’s because she’s scared. And I just wish she wasn’t.”
He frowns. “Did she actually tell you about him asking her to come over for Christmas?”
She opens her mouth but deflates. “Not exactly,” she admits. “But I know I’m right. The way she sounded, the words she used - she was avoiding talking about it.”
Like mother, like daughter. “Why don’t you just ask her?” he suggests. “You and your mom are close, aren’t you?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. “I can’t tell her what to do. It’s not up to me to tell her how to move on from her dead husband.”
Namjoon touches her elbow, wishing he could do so much more. “I didn’t say to tell her anything. I said you could ask her. She knows you just want her to be happy, right?”
Kaya swallows, stopping as the parking lot comes into sight. “And then what? We talk about it? Because I’m such an expert on how to be happy?”
There’s a moment of heartbreaking silence before she looks up and blinks. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you.”
He frowns. “It’s okay -“
“No, it’s not. This isn’t your problem anymore, and we don’t -“
“Kaya.” He gives her a look when she stops talking abruptly. “You know, I didn’t intend for… this to mean that we cut each other out of our lives. You can still talk to me,” he says earnestly. He sighs and looks at his feet. “I know there are still things that I can't talk about with anyone but you,” he admits quietly.
He watches her expression change from confusion to curiosity, and then to a kind of concern. Her shoulder makes a movement and he wonders wildly, hopefully, if she meant to reach for him.
“Like what?” she asks softly.
Now that she’s asked, the words seem impossible to say. Namjoon looks down at his hands, feeling months worth of anxiety creep in again.
“I think I’m losing my touch,” he says finally, still not looking up at her. “With songwriting, producing… everything. I’m not… I can’t…” He trails off, wincing in irritation as he struggles to recall English words for his exact emotions. “I can’t write anymore. And the more I can’t… the more I have no idea who I am anymore.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Kaya watching him closely, her forehead in a frown. “Why?”
“I don’t know. The words just aren’t coming. The music… I can’t hear it in my head the same -“
“No, I meant,” she interrupts him, and gives him an apologetic look when he meets her eyes again. “I meant… why don’t you know who you are anymore?”
“Because if I’m in the studio for hours and hours and I can’t actually… produce anything, or create anything, then what the hell am I doing in there?” If I’m in the studio for hours and hours, what does it all matter if I don’t have you?
“Joon…” She takes a step closer to him. “You’re… it’s recency bias. You’ve been producing great stuff all year. Didn’t BTS just win, like, five awards at the MAMAs?”
“Yeah, but not for anything I wrote,” he counters immediately. “And that’s fine. We always win for the popular hits, and that’s fine with me. I just… I can’t write anymore,” he says in a small voice. “The words aren’t coming.”
Her eyes flicker, as though searching for the right words. He knows it’s far out of left field for her, that a lot of his work is something she can’t contribute a lot to, choosing to primarily listen.
“Well…” She sounds a bit uncertain. “What did you write about before?”
He shrugs, looking away. “Just stuff. Things that made me happy, things that made me sad.”
“And you don’t have those things anymore?”
Namjoon doesn’t know how much clearer he can make it without risking losing even the last remaining fragments of her in his life. “Not the ones that make me happy,” he states, meeting her gaze.
Somewhere, a Christmas carol begins on a loudspeaker, sleigh bells in the background. Bright lights flicker on, jerking them out of their conversation.
Kaya takes a step back, exhaling shakily. “It’s getting colder,” she mutters. “Is that your car?” she asks, tilting her head towards something behind him. Before he can answer, she begins walking over.
Namjoon follows her slowly, knowing their conversation is over. He waits until he’s a few feet away from the car to open it. She doesn’t enter immediately, though; looking up at him from across the bonnet of his Mercedes, she gives him a small, sad sort of smile.
“I’m glad you messaged me yesterday,” she says softly.
“So am I.” He swallows, his heart sinking at the realisation that their evening is at an end, whether he wants it to be or not. “Come on. Let’s get you home before Jieun kills you.”
—
“And he crosses the finish line,” murmurs Kaya in humour as Namjoon slowly pulls into Jieun’s driveway before stopping the car. There’s teasing in her tone, but also a hint of pride, for he really has come a long way since she’d first started teaching him how to drive two years ago.
He doesn’t look at her, though, choosing to stare out of the windshield with a pensive look on his face - the same one he’s had for the entire drive.
Kaya deflates slightly. “Thanks for the ride.”
“How could I have let you go?”
It’s a whisper, but on a quiet street and inside a crowded car, it feels like he’s shouted it from the rooftops. Kaya says nothing, choosing to stare at her lap instead, for she isn’t altogether surprised. The way he’d begun looking at her as the evening progressed, eyes softer and warmer with each minute, some of the things he’d said; the poet in him might have thought he was being subtle, but Kaya knew him well enough to know where his mind was at.
Namjoon, meanwhile, is still in the midst of his crisis. “How - how could I have thought that was the right decision? How could you have let me?”
She bristles. “What?”
“No, I’m - I’m not… I’m not actually blaming you,” he stutters, glancing briefly at her, as though just remembering he’s not alone. “I just can’t believe…” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “God, I fucked up.”
When she’d gotten the call three months ago, her first emotion had been surprise. It had been a long time since Namjoon had called her, despite his best efforts to. Their conversations had turned terse and short, with more passive aggressive statements going back and forth than actual talk about their lives.
It had been a busy day and Kaya already had a lot on her mind, so when he’d broken up with her with barely any warning during a busy evening on campus, she’d been furious. Not at first; no, at first she’d been confused, then in denial, then in class, then busy - very busy - until something had finally forced her to face the fact that she’d been dumped over the phone by the love of her life.
He’d said many things, the first being that he loved her. He missed her, cared about her, and hated being a dick to her - so he wasn’t going to do it anymore. Throughout, through all the sadness and heartbreak, her anger at how he’d deliberately chosen a Wednesday evening in Amsterdam time to break up with her was the worst, because he’d more or less ensured that she wouldn’t be able to argue back.
I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it otherwise.
It’s probably true, and Kaya remembers being annoyed by it even a couple of hours ago. Now, though, surprisingly, she finds herself wanting to comfort him.
“Namjoon -”
“No, you know what?” He interrupts her. “I know I was wrong. I know I was too busy and I wasn’t making the time, and I was taking out my stress on you, but -” He shakes his head, and she realises he’s glaring at her. “You weren’t being honest about what was really bothering you.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I - what?”
He gives her a look, indicating he isn’t fooled. “You know what I’m talking about, Kaya.”
“No, I don’t. And… we don’t need to talk about this,” she mutters hurriedly, unbuckling her seatbelt when he grabs her wrist.
“Wait, come on,” he says quickly, stopping her. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to start a fight. Or maybe I am,” he says after a moment. “If that’s what it’ll take to finally talk about this.”
Kaya hesitates. “You talk about this stuff when you’re together,” she reminds him in a low voice. “And we’re not together.”
“I know.” He gives her a long look, almost pleading, before speaking again, slower and more deliberate. “I’m saying… I want to talk about it.”
“Fine,” she says finally, sitting back in her seat. “Go ahead.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re the one who wants to talk about it.”
“No, I want you to admit what was really bothering you,” he corrects her, giving her a knowing look.
She frowns, puzzled, even as her heart begins to race uncomfortably. “What are you talking about? We were apart, there was distance… wasn’t that the whole problem?”
“That’s a pretty macro way to look at it.” When she gives him a look, he nods, satisfied. “That’s right. I didn’t date an Economics research student for a year and half and not learn a few words along the way.”
Kaya’s mouth twists as she tries to suppress a smile. “No way. You’re not allowed to make me laugh right now.” When he raises his hands in apology and gestures for her to continue, his dimple still faintly visible, she sighs. “Fine. It was… it felt like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay? Long distance is always hard, and we made it last for a really long time.” She shakes her head forlornly. “It was like watching a tornado approach. I guess I just wanted to spare myself the pain of a long, gruesome… demise of a relationship.”
Namjoon folds his arms across his chest. “You’re lying.”
Her eyes widen. “What? What are you - how dare you -”
“Kaya, don’t fuck with me, alright? I can read between the lines - I basically already know what it is, so why don’t you just admit it?”
“I am,” she exclaims defiantly. “I was afraid, we weren’t talking, we were drifting apart - what else is there?”
“Why were you afraid?”
“Why is anyone ever afraid in a relationship, Namjoon?”
“No, why were you afraid - and why did it come up only when I started working on my collabs?”
“Because I was afraid you were going to cheat on me!” Kaya huffs and sinks back into her seat, glaring out the window as she feels the corners of her eyes prickling at the memory.
Neither of them speaks for a few moments. It feels like the invisible wall that’s existed between them all evening has finally been broken down, wrecking ball and all, to leave a pile of cold, hard truths.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks finally. He doesn’t sound satisfied; on the contrary, he sounds almost disappointed. It breaks her heart just a little.
“Because it’s humiliating to admit that,” she mutters, still not looking at him. “Because if there was one thing that made us work, it was that neither of us was clingy. But if I started acting insecure just because you were suddenly working long hours with beautiful women, then -” She shrugs, feeling ridiculous. “I was officially a clingy girlfriend.”
“Clingy? Kaya, you’re as far from clingy as a partner can be. We both are - we work crazy hours, we’ve gone days without talking and it never mattered. I could never think you’re a clingy girlfriend. And I would never cheat on you,” he adds firmly.
Something settles in Kaya’s chest. “You know, that’s all I needed to hear?” she says, finally looking up at him. He looks almost wounded, his blond bangs thick and falling onto his forehead. “I didn’t actually think you would go ahead and - and have an affair or anything. I just needed that reassurance - I would’ve believed you in a second. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I wasn’t sure – but I suspected it. And honestly, I was a little insulted,” he adds sullenly, “because I didn’t think I’d ever given you a reason to doubt me.”
The truth of that statement is too painful, enough to make Kaya fall silent. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs abashedly. “I was too proud to say it. It’s just… these things happen. When there’s distance and stress and - and then there’s physical distance… it’s not outlandish to think something could happen. I don’t know how it works with celebrities,” she adds, shrugging heavily. “I just know I see a different story on Just Jared every other day and… well, we’ve already established that I was afraid,” she finishes, not knowing what else to say. “I was being crazy.”
She can feel Namjoon’s gaze on her, but she doesn’t look up until he sighs and touches her hand.
“You weren’t being crazy. I mean, I thought you were,” he amends, giving her a momentary smile, “but… okay, after we broke up, I was in the studio with Sunmi, right? And I must have looked like hell because she asked me if I’d had a fight with my girlfriend. It was too hard to correct her, so I - I didn’t,” he admits, wincing slightly.
“Anyway… then, out of the blue, she told me she had a boyfriend. And then a minute after that, she told me wasn’t bragging, but she was making it clear that nothing could happen between us. And then I was, like, what? and she said that in her experience, whenever two people had problems with their partners, they ended up hooking up. And she had no intention of doing so with me while we were both in committed relationships,” he finishes, shaking his head a bit. “So, no. You weren’t crazy.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Kaya picks at a loose thread on her black jeans. It’s cathartic for all this to finally come out, but she can’t help but feel as though it’s only given their separation a kind of finality. Now that you’ve talked about it, you can move on in peace.
“I really missed you,” she murmurs, not looking at him. “And it felt like you didn’t, not as much. It seemed like the first time we weren’t in sync, you know?” She shrugs, her throat starting to tighten. “It scared me.”
“Kaya, you have no idea how much I missed you,” says Namjoon heavily. He doesn’t say the next bit, but it seems like a logical completion.
“God. Imagine if we’d just had this conversation back then,” he laments, running a tired hand through his hair.
“Yeah. You can cut yourself some slack, though,” she adds, glancing up at him meekly. “We both fucked up.”
Namjoon nods, giving her that same longing look that he’d begun when they’d entered Santa’s Village in Gangnam, before looking away.
“Have you… you know. Moved on?” he ventures, giving her a sideways glance.
She shrugs. “Define moved on.”
“You know. Are you - are you dating anyone?”
Am I ever. “Well,” she begins, taking note of how his shoulders stiffen next to her, “there was this grad student who tried to kiss me in the library, after which I ran away and cried for half an hour in the girls’ bathroom.” She raises her eyebrows. “Does that count?”
Namjoon’s head darts around to look at her. “He did what? Are you okay? Are you - did he hurt you?”
“What? No, no - it wasn’t like that,” she says immediately, shaking her head. “It was the day after you broke up with me and I hadn’t quite had the time to… deal with it yet,” she explains, giving him a reproachful look. “And I guess I’d mentioned sometime offhandedly that I was single, which he seemed to take as permission to try something and… then I told him to get lost.”
Dude, I have a boyfriend! had been her exact words to him, once she’d pushed him away and wiped her mouth in horror.
No, you don’t! he’d retorted, a lanky, brown-haired guy with glasses, sounding more confused than anything.
It had taken someone else to yell it at her for it to sink in, deeply, hurtfully, all the way down at the bottom of her stomach that she, indeed, did not have a boyfriend anymore, that Kim Namjoon was no longer hers - and everyone knew it.
“Why - why did you cry?” Namjoon asks, a note of concern audible.
“Because it felt weird, kissing someone else,” she admits, unable to look at him. “Felt wrong. Like I was cheating on you. What about you?” she asks after a moment. “Have you moved on?”
Namjoon gives her a look. “Does it look like I’ve moved on?”
“Uh-uh. This is not a topic where you can give me a cryptic answer like that.”
He sighs hugely. “No, Kaya, I haven’t,” he clarifies, almost indulgently. “It’s going to take a lot more than three months to move on from you.”
She tries to ignore how her heart zooms at his words, but it’s impossible. Clenching her jaw to keep from smiling, she takes a deep breath. “Wow, we were really late having this conversation,” she echoes his previous remark.
There’s a pregnant pause, with a world of possibilities visible in a single second.
“It doesn’t have to be,” murmurs Namjoon, and the hope in his voice makes her heart skip a beat. He waits for her to look at her. “What do you think? Can we give this another shot, baby?”
Screw you, Kim Namjoon. Kaya hates and loves in equal measure just how well he knows the right words to say to her. Her stomach flutters - butterflies, probably - while a warmth seems to course through her entire body, down to the tips of her fingers.
His face is inches away from hers. In the darkness of the car, with only the Christmas lights from Jieun’s house being the lone bright spot, and she tries to recall the last time he’d ever kissed her.
“I think…” She trails off, unable to think straight with how intensely he’s watching her. She tries again. “I think… I can’t have this conversation with that creepy doll staring at me.”
When Namjoon glances in confusion at the Taehyung doll they’d propped up on the dashboard before they’d begun driving, Kaya uses the opportunity to open her car door and step out. She hears him chuckle before following suit, and goes around the front of the car to join him by the driver’s side where he’s leaning against the door.
“Told you it was a creepy-ass doll.”
“And you were right.” Kaya stops in front of him and almost wishes she’d risked staying inside with the stupid doll. Tall and broad-shouldered, he suddenly takes her breath away. Maybe it’s the black turtleneck and grey jacket combination, maybe it’s the blond hair falling into his eyes and brushing the top of his collar, maybe it’s the familiar, woodsy cologne that she’s only noticed now that they’re out of the car. Either way, she can’t speak for a moment.
“So?” He raises his eyebrows, looking earnest and hopeful and heartbreakingly handsome all at once. “Do you think we can try this again?”
She shivers. “I…” It’s getting harder to breathe, and not just because of how he looks. This is so much more complicated than he’s making it sound. “I think.. we should sleep on it.”
Namjoon raises his eyebrows, apparently processing her answer.
She tries not to hurry her next words. “Look, I know we got all our issues out right now, but… our problems, they’re not going to go away. It’s still going to be the long distance thing, we’ll still have rough patches because of work… and I don’t think I can go through this break-up again.”
He frowns at the ground. “Why do you think we’ll break up again?” he asks, and she can tell he’s working to keep his tone neutral.
“Because making up this time isn’t going to last,” she says softly. He drags his gaze to look up at her then, and she can tell that he knows she’s right. “I just think… I think if we’re going to think about getting back together, we need to have some kind of view on - on what’s going to happen.” She swallows, wondering if he’s caught on to her hesitance to say the word. “Our situation… there’s a lot to think about. And I’m not just talking about the long distance.”
After what feels like an eternity, he nods. “That’s fair,” he says, but she thinks she can sense an undertone of disappointment. “It was just easy to forget, you know?” He shrugs and drops his gaze.
“I know.” And she did. She’d been starting to forget as well; it was too natural to fall into old habits. The way he’d rescued her from the guys at the ATM, the way she’d offered him the chocolate candy that came with her coffee without thinking, how he’d pulled her behind him when he thought he’d noticed someone pointing their phone at him; each of those moments had felt like déjà vu, except totally and completely real.
“That’s what made us kind of great,” she points out after a moment, wrapping her jacket tightly around her. “We always kept each other grounded.”
“So we’re sleeping on it?” Namjoon asks after a moment, looking up.
Kaya nods. “Yeah. Just so we’re sure.”
“I’m leaving for Ilsan tomorrow,” he reminds her.
“Good. That gives us a deadline.”
“Right.” Namjoon exhales. “I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.” He turns to open the door behind him when something grips at her heart.
“Wait, um -“ She breaks off, turning to glance at the house for a moment. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
As expected, he shakes his head. “Oh, I - I couldn’t. But thanks.”
“I’m serious. Jieun always makes a ton of food.”
“Yeah, but…” Namjoon looks unsure. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome, right? Your ex-boyfriend… having dinner with your family?”
Kaya has never hated that word more, but she rallies. “I’m inviting you,” she points out. “And no one is going to make you feel unwelcome, I promise. They all love you. Please?” she appeals again. “I… I don’t want the evening to be over just yet.”
That seems to do the trick. Namjoon tilts his head the same way he always does when he wants to give her something but is prevented from it. “I - are you sure? You’re really close with your aunt. And your cousin.”
“Jieun’s always liked you. And believe me, with Jae-lin there, I’ll only be the second happiest person in that house if you join,” she informs him, rolling her eyes. He chuckles and her heart flutters at the sight of his dimple. “My mom’s inside. You should say hi.”
After a moment, he nods. “Okay. Let’s go,” he says, taking a step towards her, his hand gently hovering over her back as they make their way to the house. “I really do think you should ask Jieun, though. Just in case.”
“Jesus, don’t worry…”
“No, but what if she actually says no…”
—
Jieun doesn’t say no. In fact, Kaya’s aunt, more like a sister to her than her actual cousin sister, seems only mildly surprised but tells him he’s welcome. Her husband Jack seems not to notice anything strange at all, while Jae-lin seems absolutely thrilled that Namjoon is back.
“Oh, no, not - not exactly,” Kaya had said when Jae-lin had asked, point blank, if they were back together. There had been no further explanation, and her cousin had been enlisted to set the table and minimise the awkwardness.
“Sorry,” she’d muttered to Namjoon as they reached the dining table, looking up to see him both relieved and amused.
“Don’t worry about it,” he’d replied softly, reaching out behind her to pull out a chair and taking the one next to her. All through dinner, it felt as though nothing had changed, really. Jieun seemed to be enjoying some private joke as she watched them, sharing knowing looks with Kaya’s mother across the table, while Jae-line monopolised Namjoon completely, chattering away in Korean with no attention to anyone else.
Namjoon, ever the gentleman, engaged her fully; there wasn’t a moment where he tried to stop the conversation, his arm on the back of Kaya’s chair the entire time. Kaya stayed in conversation with Jack and her mother as much as she could, hoping that they wouldn’t allude to the situation at all.
Meeting her mother’s gaze was the hardest - not because Kaya was afraid she would disapprove, but because of how openly happy she looked.
“Mom, we’re not back together yet,” she’d murmured halfway through dinner, when her mother had given her yet another glowing, knowing, mom look.
“I know,” she’d replied, glancing at Namjoon over Kaya’s shoulder, “but you want to be.”
Did she? Kaya didn’t know. She was sure what she felt for him, even what he possibly felt for her. She knew they were happy with each other, understood each other, had an unimaginable amount of affection for each other.
But she didn’t know if she could do this again. As she sat next to Namjoon, feeling their shoulders brush occasionally and hearing his deep laugh next to her, she knew that “sleeping on it” would be far easier said than done.
“Thank you for dinner,” he says an hour later, bowing slightly to Jieun, Jack and her mother. “I had a great time.”
“I’ll walk you out,” says Kaya quickly, already turning towards the door, when Jae-lin pipes up.
“Oh, I’ll come, too!” she volunteers excitedly in English, and before anyone can say anything, sweeps by them and opens the front door.
A moment of silence follows before Namjoon speaks. “Sure, lead the way,” he says, smiling at her and squeezing Kaya’s hand apologetically. It’s the only thing that keeps Kaya from saying anything, even as the three of them exit the house into the cold night.
She trails behind them, arms folded across her chest, as she listens to them converse in Korean again. For all she knows, Jae-lin has just resumed their conversation from dinner, the words blending into each other for Kaya. With Korean-American parents, Jae-lin speaks both Korean and English with ease. Right now, though, Kaya wishes she would just stop speaking.
“Wow, what a sexy car,” says Jae-lin in wonder, running her hand on the smooth metal of the bonnet. She looks up to see Kaya glaring at her with a hand on her hip. “What?” she asks defensively. “We all use that word, unnie.”
Kaya stares at her. “Hey, Jae? Can you give us a minute?”
Jae-lin’s eyes flit between her cousin and Namjoon before they widen suddenly, as though she’s just realising she might be interrupting. “Oh! Yes, of course! I - uh, good night, Namjoon oppa,” she adds hastily and hurries away.
Kaya watches her until she enters the house before turning around to face Namjoon. “God, what a nightmare,” she mutters, rolling her eyes when he guffaws. “Shut up.”
“You shut up. You love her,” he says easily, still grinning.
“And you’re a saint.”
“Yeah, because you love her.” He leans back against his car again, the same way he was before. “And not to take a leaf out of Jae-lin’s book, but you looked really sexy being all strict with her.”
Kaya raises her eyebrows, feeling an old, familiar stirring in her abdomen. “Really?”
His smile gets wider. “Uh-huh.”
“I guess it’s a good quality for someone who’s working to be a professor one day.”
“Uh-uh. With a bunch of horny college students? They aren’t going to hear a word you say if you look at them like that,” he argues, taking a step closer to her.
The stirring passes from her abdomen to between her legs in an instant. “Okay, no. No flirting tonight,” she mutters, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “Not when we’re in this… limbo.”
His jaw drops teasingly. “No flirting at all?”
“No. It’s supposed to be a serious night, to think. With the… thinking. And stuff.”
“Good call on those three glasses of wine during dinner.”
She sighs and drops her head in her hands. “I was nervous. But I’m okay, really,” she insists honestly, straightening up as he gently pries her hands away from her face.
Namjoon doesn’t say anything, just smiles at her fondly, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It tugs at her heart, how transparent he’s being with his feelings. She’d seen it earlier in the evening, too, when they’d been navigating the market square to locate his car.
They’d stopped to open the map on his phone and Kaya had moved closer to him to be able to see the screen. All of a sudden, she’d heard him say something in Korean and looked up to see him smiling at an older couple who were walking away. Just before they disappeared from sight, the man had caught her eye and pointed upward. Slightly confused, she’d tilted her head up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the wooden structure of the pop-up stall next to them.
Namjoon hadn’t said anything then either, choosing to simply suppress a smile and look somewhere near her shoulder, leaving the ball in her court. His you look pretty stunt was still burnt in her mind, though, so without too much thought, she’d reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before continuing walking.
It’s the same look now, the one where he seems to be on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. But she knows him too well, enough to know that caution is something he doesn’t play around with.
“Kaya…”
“Sleep on it,” she interrupts softly. “Seriously. It’ll be better.”
He looks for a moment as though he’s about to argue but at the last second simply nods. “Your hair’s longer,” he comments, fingering the ends of her loose, dark hair.
“Yeah. I’ll have to cut it soon.”
“Don’t. It’s beautiful.”
Kaya sighs. “Joon, you’re making this really hard,” she complains softly, her gaze dropping to his chest. She imagines him pulling her into it, feeling the hug she’s needed for months now.
“Sorry.” He swallows, just as a tune begins playing. His eyes light up in surprise. “Wait, do you know this song?”
“Uh… no,” she answers, frowning at the unfamiliar melody. It sounds like it’s coming from Jieun’s bedroom, but she can neither recall nor understand the lyrics. “Do you?”
“Yeah,” he says immediately, glancing up at the same window. “It’s pretty popular. It came out a long time ago, though. Like, when I was a baby.”
“Huh.” She listens for a few seconds. “Very Phil Collins,” she remarks.
Namjoon bites his lips and smiles, the dimple popping gorgeously. “You know what this reminds me of?”
Kaya grins despite herself. “Let me guess,” she begins deliberately as she lets him take her hand. “London?”
He chuckles, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “Hey, I can’t help it if London has so many good memories,” he reasons, his feet already moving in a rough rhythm.
She laughs but doesn’t argue, choosing to enjoy how he feels against her for a few precious minutes - quite possibly the last few minutes that she’ll ever feel it. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before opening them, only to see a light over his shoulder.
“Oh, God. Can we not do this where the neighbour can see us from his bathroom?” she groans, starting to step away.,
Namjoon tugs her even closer. “No one’s watching us. It’s Christmas Eve; they have better things to do.”
“Actually, it’s Christmas Eve-Eve and - okay, we’re in direct eyeline of the main road. Namjoon, what if someone sees you - oh, my God!”
Kaya’s feet leave the ground all of a sudden and after two large strides, Namjoon places her back down on the ground, arm firm around her. She bursts into giggles, stifling them against his shoulder as she regains her balance, looking up to see them under the tree in Jieun’s front yard, the fairy lights giving them a warm glow.
“Is that better?” he asks, laughing.
“Much better,” she agrees, feeling her heart expand as she moves right up against him, holding his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his collarbone as the song continues playing.
“Good,” he murmurs, his lips at her hair.
It isn’t a long song; Kaya’s just about registering how good he feels, how familiar, how safe, when the music fades away. They don’t step away from each other, though. She rests her forehead on his shoulder, hoping another song will play - anything to keep this moment going on a bit longer.
It doesn’t, but they still don’t move. She can feel Namjoon’s heartbeat against her hand, the one he’s clasping against his chest.
“Do you still love me?” he asks quietly.
Just like yesterday when he’d texted unexpectedly, taking the initial step, displaying the first hints of vulnerability, Kaya feels every strip of remaining defensiveness fall away, leaving nothing but raw honesty behind.
“Yes,” she admits, softly but clearly.
Namjoon’s arm tightens around her. “Can I kiss you?”
Her heart leaps. “Can you check if Jae-lin is still here?”
He snickers but she can feel his head tilt up. “No, she’s gone.”
“Then, yes,” she answers immediately, finally separating from him. Namjoon looks as though the sun’s come out; he exhales purposefully, his gaze falling from her eyes to her mouth. Gently moving her hair away from her face, he pulls her closer and, after more than half a year of doubt, anxiety and sadness, he kisses her.
The first time he’d ever kissed her was sweetness; sunny, warm and inviting. The next few times were flirty, sensual, teasing, followed by sexy, loving, affectionate - whatever the situation demanded. Namjoon was a hell of a kisser, his lips and body always moving in tandem, and he made her feel whatever the moment desired, every single time.
Right now, it’s a multitude of things. Kaya can’t even begin to identify it; she’s barely made it past the fact that she’s kissing him again, finally, feeling his lips and his hair and his hands on her. There are too many things in the kiss, but there’s only one thing clear in her mind: please don’t let this be goodbye.
It’s a vain hope because it may very well be, and she pulls him closer by the lapels of his jacket when she thinks it, trying somewhere in the desperation of their passion to remember that at least now, if they end everything right here, she’ll remember their last kiss.
Namjoon’s holding her close, so close. His lips are soft but firm, and the kiss sinking. When they finally pull away, staying right there, foreheads touching and his hand still in her hair, Kaya feels his heartbeat again. It’s under her palm, racing unevenly, but so strong.
This can’t be goodbye, she thinks again, even though every passing second makes it more and more clear that it probably is. It had been her suggestion to think it over and to consider more than just love, but in this moment, she regrets it immensely, for while Namjoon can be sweet and loving and romantic, nothing makes as much sense to him as pure, rational thinking.
It was one of the most attractive qualities about him; he was an artist, had an artist’s vision and temperament, but still held logic and reasoning in high regard. To a research student who worked with numbers, data and science, he was the perfect combination of everything she wanted in a man.
Despite that, Kaya wishes she’d never said anything. Eyes squeezed shut, she can’t believe this might be the last time, the last everything. She feels him take a deep breath before he kisses her forehead.
And just like that, she knows she’s made a mistake.
“Goodnight, Kaya,” he whispers against her skin. He pulls away and smooths down her hair. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
There’s nothing left to do but nod silently, and watch him drive away into the cold.
—
A faint buzzing wakes her up.
“Fuck,” whispers Kaya, feeling around on her bedside table for her phone. Squinting at the screen, she pauses in confusion. When the ringing continues, she answers before she wakes her mother sleeping next to her.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Namjoon sounds far more awake than her. “Sorry, I think I woke you.”
“Good guess,” she mutters thickly, sitting up into a slightly more comfortable position. “What’s up? Is - is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” There’s a pause where she can hear the smile in his voice. “I forgot how adorable you sound when you’re sleepy.”
Despite how her heart skips a beat, she frowns. “Seriously? You woke me up at the break of dawn to flirt with me?”
He chuckles, low and pleasant. “No. I was hoping we could talk. In person,” he clarifies after a moment.
“I - well… I don’t think I’ll get a cab for a couple more hours at least.”
“Mhm, mhm. It’s a good thing I’m outside Jieun’s house, then.”
Kaya’s eyes snap open. “You’re - what?” She peers out of the gap between the curtains in the guest room. “Babe, it’s six am - the sun isn’t even up yet,” she groans, a second before she inwardly cringes and hopes he’ll let her slip of the tongue go without comment.
“I - I know. But I’ve been thinking about this all night. You asked me to sleep on it - and that’s what I did. I thought about it, looked back on everything, even had a drink to clear my head.”
“So you did everything but sleep on it.”
Namjoon sighs. “I’m sorry, I just… I have to leave in a few hours. And I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone.”
His tone seems to imply not wholly good news. She swallows, her heart already sinking. “And it can’t wait?” She drops her head into her hand. “I think those three glasses of wine are finally hitting me.”
“I have coffee,” he offers. “And the fresh air should help.”
Irrefutable logic. The smell of caffeine seems to spur her decision and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. Thank God you’re not my leader.”
He laughs. “I’m waiting outside,” he says before hanging up.
There’s no scope to pretty herself for this. Kaya manages to stumble to the bathroom and brush her teeth, after which it’s layer upon layer until she deems herself sufficiently padded for a December morning in Seoul at dawn. She doesn’t want to risk waking anyone up, so simply drops her mother a text: I’m fine. Just went outside for a walk with Namjoon.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets her when she steps out, pursing his lips when she momentarily freezes. “Here you go,” he says, handing her a cup of coffee.
“Thanks. I needed this.” She takes the first sip, hot enough to scald her throat, and shivers in the frosty air. They begin walking down the street, the same one they’d driven up last night, with hundreds of unspoken words between them. Now, with all of them uttered and confessed, the air seems clearer and sky seems lighter, a nice indigo over the Christmas lights put up through the lane.
“Thank you for having me over last night,” he says. “I was planning on going home and ordering in, so home-cooked food was kind of amazing.”
“Well, you definitely paid Jieun back in kind, by keeping her daughter entertained all night,” she reminds him, still annoyed by how gushy Jae-lin had been last night. She’d always been a fan, since years before Kaya and Namjoon had ever met, and even though she’d somehow managed to get used to the fact that they were dating, her outward behaviour still needed some restraining sometimes.
Namjoon laughs. “I didn’t mind.” He’s dressed in sweatpants and a grey hoodie, with a black leather jacket thrown hurriedly over it. Looking at him, it’s as though he’d rushed out the door to meet with her.
They reach the neighbourhood park, empty as expected. It seems to be the only area in the entire neighbourhood that isn’t decorated; at this time of the morning, it looks strangely eerie.
“This should work,” mutters Namjoon, stepping inside and heading towards the swings, sitting on one edge of a two-person swing. Kaya trails after him silently, stopping a few steps away as he adjusts his position and looks up at her.
It’s gorgeous, his small smile. “Sit with me?” he asks. “I always loved going to the park as a kid. My parents would get happy because it meant I was taking a break from studying.” He chuckles.
Kaya doesn’t move. Dropping her gaze to the cup in her hand, she traces the mouth of the lid with her finger. “What’s happening right now, Namjoon? Is this us taking another risk together or… just an amicable way to say goodbye?”
Namjoon’s smile fades slightly. “Sit with me?” he repeats, sounding more sombre this time. “I’ll explain everything.”
Hesitating for a moment, Kaya joins him on the swing. Their shoulders brush, and she tucks her hair behind her ear before placing both hands around her cup like a safety tool, savouring the heat from it.
He takes a deep breath. “I thought about it,” he says finally. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it all night. And if you ask me right now if I want to get back together… the answer is yes. It’s just yes,” he says earnestly, meeting her eyes. “I don’t have to think about it. I - I want you,” he admits. “I want to be your boyfriend. I want you in my life.”
I want you. The words should be enough for her to break into song, but instead Kaya’s chest constricts, as though her heart is bracing itself for the bad news.
“But if you’re asking me about a decision,” he continues, looking away now. “If you’re asking me about a long-term plan for our future - which is a fair ask, by the way,” he inserts quickly, glancing up briefly, “I - you know, it turns out I’ve been thinking about this for a while? I didn’t realise it, but it’s always been there at the back of my mind.”
Kaya doesn’t say anything. There’s a sense of foreboding in his words and she wonders all of a sudden if it isn’t just better to have a break-up over the phone.
“Given my job,” he says slowly, sounding like he’s choosing his words carefully, “given the industry, given my family… the fact that I’ll have to enlist in the military in a few years -” He breaks off momentarily and clears his throat, while her heart clenches. “Given all that, I think it would be impossible - and irresponsible - of me to promise you a future that I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you.”
“But I can promise you,” he says after a moment, and she knows he’s tilting his head to try and meet her eyes, “that every decision I take, every plan that I make… all of that will be done keeping this future in mind. The one with you in it.”
She frowns, finally looking up at him. “Are you sure?” she asks, and she hopes he understands what she’s asking.
He seems to. “Yeah, I am. I can’t… not have you in my future. If I look down ten years, fifteen years, twenty… I just can’t picture a future without you in it.”
Kaya doesn’t know what to say. They’ve just ventured into territory she wasn’t expecting. It’s not commitment. It’s not even a plan. It’s just a promise of intent, and she has no choice but to take him at his word.
He brushes her knee with the back of his hand. “Kaya?”
She bites her lip. “This… future,” she ventures, finding it strange even saying the word. “If you had it your way… what does it look like?”
Namjoon seems to consider this. “White picket fence,” he says, nodding. “And a backyard, definitely.”
Without meaning to, Kaya feels her face break into a smile. “Really?”
“Yeah. And, uh… one of those small bars in the house, with a countertop and the mixer things,” he adds, using an imaginary shaker. “A suburban house… late night drinks, where we talk about how our day was.” He looks down at her and smirks playfully. “Meeting for quickies in the studio during lunch?”
Kaya laughs. “Of course, I’m sure,” she says sarcastically, secretly unable to wait for more. “What else?”
“Um…” He squints up at the lightening sky, trying to think. “Museum dates on the weekends… Learning how to use a lawnmower.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, reaching up to touch his bangs, her heart full, “but there is no future in which I’m ever letting you near a lawnmower.”
Namjoon snorts. “Fair enough. What about… oh, a home gym, for sure.” The smile fades a bit, and he gets a slightly faraway look in his eyes. “An SUV… big enough to fit multiple people.” He meets her eyes. “Four bedrooms. At least.”
She swallows, her heart pounding. The prickling in her eyes is back and she stares at her lap, hoping it’ll go away. “Are you really serious right now?” she asks quietly, hearing the tremble in her voice.
“Completely,” he promises. “I know it’s not what you asked, and I’m sorry I can’t give that to you. But it’s the best I can do. Is it… is it enough for you?”
After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few seconds, Kaya nods. “Yes,” she answers, watching the relief flood through his face. “It’s enough for me.”
When Namjoon says nothing and simply exhales shakily, she tilts her head. “Do you still love me?” she asks him, unable to keep the teasing out of her tone.
He gives a raspy sort of chuckle, pulling her to him and kissing her temple. “You’re the love of my life, baby.”
This would be the time to break into song, but Kaya reins it in, choosing instead to close her eyes and press her lips to his jaw, savouring that Kim Namjoon is, once again, hers - possibly for a long, long time.
“You know I spent, like, an hour yesterday picking out my outfit,” she murmurs after a moment, waiting for him to hum against her hair. “Should I get mad at you now or later for choosing to confess your undying love for me when I’m in a college sweatshirt and Jieun’s Uggs?”
He laughs, the deep sound making her heart flutter. “If it helps, I realised my undying love for you yesterday, while you were in your sexy outfit.” He tugs her closer by the waist and kisses her on the mouth.
Kaya makes a sound of surprise but doesn’t pull away. She holds his face to hers, running her hand through his hair, his thick blond strands as he gently coaxes her mouth open. There’s only so much room on the swing, though, and after about a minute of renewed passion, Kaya feels it sway dangerously under her. She’s just about to pull away when Namjoon sucks on her lower lip, a low groan accompanying it, and squeezes her waist - and she falls.
“Shit,” he mutters, taking a second to understand what just happened. “Are you okay?” he asks, snickering and bending to give her a hand. His dimple appears on his left cheek, brighter than the sunrise.
“What better way to resume our relationship, right?” she mutters dryly, taking his hand and dusting herself off. “The sun’s coming up, anyway - you don’t want to get caught making out with someone in a children’s park.”
“What kid comes to the park at seven in the morning?” he argues, tugging her closer by the waist again. “It’s the perfect place to make out with my girlfriend, if you think about it.”
She’s about to differ, but he kisses her on the cheek then before trailing his lips down her jaw and towards her neck. She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut on their own. He leaves for Ilsan in a few hours; if there was ever a time to risk making out in a public place, this is it.
“Fine, come here,” she instructs, stepping away and ignoring his protests, pulling him towards the corner of the park. She stops just beyond the jungle gyms, near the wall bordering the park and under a canopy of trees. “This will do,” she says approvingly, grinning when he wordlessly kisses her again.
Here, with the protection of the trees from prying eyes, Kaya allows herself to be taken by him completely. It’s the same urgent passion, but less desperate and more affectionate. Museum dates, late night drinks and an SUV, she thinks, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeper. He knew the right things to say and she hopes with all her heart that they make it to the future he’s envisioning.
“Mm, Joon, your hands are cold,” she complains against his lips, giggling as he slips them under her t-shirt.
“They are, huh?” he murmurs, low and deep, nipping at her lip and backing her against the wall.
“Fucking freezing,” she adds, sighing when they disappear from against her skin. “Can we go back to my - oh, wait,” she remembers, leaning her head back against the wall. “This isn’t Amsterdam and I don’t have an apartment of my own.”
“Well, it’s Seoul and I do have an apartment of my own,” he points out. “I have to be back in Ilsan for brunch but maybe we can sneak away for a bit…?” Namjoon trails off, shaking his head already, clearly on the same lines as her.
“We can do better than a quickie,” she says heavily, even as she presses her lips together. Her eyes dart to the bulge in his sweatpants and she swallows, resisting the urge to palm him right here. “When are you back?”
“Twenty-seventh morning,” he answers. “When are you flying back?”
Kaya hesitates. “Twenty-eighth morning.”
“Okay.” He nods, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “It’s going to be a hell of a twenty-seventh of December, then.”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah. I’m glad you’ll be with your family on Christmas, by the way.”
“Me, too.”
“Do you want to come over for a quick breakfast?” she offers, raising her eyebrows. “Everyone in that house is an early riser, including Jae-lin.”
“Sure,” he answers, surprising her. “You can tell her we’re back together, too.”
“Perfect.”
“Oh, wait.” Namjoon frowns, apparently just remembering something. “Won’t they be worried? If they wake up and see that you’re gone?”
“We’re half a block away from the house,” she reminds him.
“Sure, but they don’t know you’re here,” he points out.
She shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I dropped my mom a text.”
“Do you think that’s enough?”
“She’ll know I’m okay,” assures Kaya, getting up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. “I told her I’m with you.”
—
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