Summary:
It’s been a year since you first met Kim Namjoon, the passionate, talented English professor at the local campus. He’s always been clumsy and aloof, but he’s on a whole new level in terms of “technologically incapable.” One call to IT was all it took to pull you into his life, and with it a whole string of friendships full of flirtatious banter and undying support.
Your dating situation has been drier than the Sahara for years now, and you’ve wasted too many lonely nights drinking alone, so you try your hand at Tinder. But you’re not getting any bites. When the group finds out, they are more than willing to help--even Namjoon, though he finds it increasingly difficult to deny that he’s hopelessly smitten. You consider their opinions on potential Tinder dates while fighting off feelings you never knew were brewing for the caring soul who becomes the home you never had.
A/N: It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything at all so I apologize for the first chapter being short. I plan on rewriting this beginning once I get into the swing of things again.
Do not repost.
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Saturday nights are the best. It feels like the only time you get to hang out with your friends all week, the one night that everyone’s busy schedules all align. Min Yoongi, the quiet, empathetic bartender. Kim Seokjin, the sweet, creative chef. Park Jimin, the elegant, angelic model. Jeon Jungkook, the silly, driven personal trainer. Kim Taehyung, the rich, successful artist. Jung Hoseok, the energetic, spunky dance instructor. Kim Namjoon, the pragmatic, passionate college professor. And of course you, the IT person for the university Namjoon works for. It’s how you became involved in this tight-knit squad. Truthfully though, the seven of them are beautiful, godlike even. You count yourself lucky to be among them, even by accident.
It seems a little odd for someone so young to be so bad with technology, but Namjoon explained he has a habit of stuff breaking around him --he calls it a curse-- so it held no lasting shock value after you really got to know him. Shortly after he started, you saved his ass by replacing a very expensive projector out of pocket so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the university. He promised to make it up to you, and not just by repaying you the cost of the projector. He was genuinely grateful and easy to talk to.
It’s no wonder you now call him your bestie.
At first disbelief swirled in your mind that a guy like Namjoon could know so many hot people, let alone be good friends with them. But even Namjoon is pretty for a professor, though it's something you’d never admit to his face. You don’t need him hanging it over your head since it's just an observation, not a confession. Better to let him suffer with the knowledge you think his friends are hot, and that he's mediocre. He doesn’t need the ego boost with the posse of college tail chasing him around campus.
As you approach the shared flat of Jungkook and Taehyung, you hear the sound of explosions and gunfire. You listen a moment before knocking. Overwatch maybe? Then comes the unmistakable “NERF THIS.”
Yup, definitely Overwatch.
“Get on the payload! Over here! Tae! What are you doing!? Come on!” A high-pitched Jungkook is pleading through panic, but you can barely hear him over Taehyung’s drawn out hollering.
“Video games? That’s the big plan for tonight? What happened to going out to a club?” Hoseok’s disappointed voice carries through the door.
You let out a giggle at the sound before your knuckles are rapping just below the peephole, with 5 knocks knock---knock-knock---knock--knock. From the other side of the door comes the answering knock--knock before it swings open to reveal a grinning, wide-eyed Hoseok.
“Y/N!” The excitement when he greets you is bright enough to melt your heart.
“Hey, Hobi. Huh. Did I miss the party or is this it?”
He rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I hope not.”
You scan the room. Taehyung and Jungkook are surrounded by pillows, controllers in hand with their eyes glued to the television. They don’t spare a glance, even as Hoseok slams the door like a child throwing a tantrum. Namjoon, who is lounging on the couch behind the boys, immediately greets you with a lazy “hey.” You notice a pile of blankets on the floor next to Jungkook as you wriggle out of your shoes.
“You alive, Yoongi?” You’re careful to step over the mess as the bundle begins squirming.
Mint hair emerges from the stack and you hear him groan. “If we’re not going out soon, I’m just going to stay here and sleep. I worked three doubles this week.”
“Three doubles? You sure you’re alive?”
“No,” he pauses, dropping his face back into a pillow, muffling the sound. “But at least I’ve got tips. Tips I can use to drink GOOD liquor and not the cheap stuff Jin is drinking. If we ever leave...”
“Okay, okay. We’re almost done,” Tae mumbles, eyes still fixed on the match.
You plop down next to your friend, stretching one leg across his lap. The response comes with a heavy sigh as Namjoon looks up from his phone. “For real? You know, there’s a whole lotta couch over there.”
He gestures lazily toward the empty cushion to your right. Not wasting a glance, you bring your other leg over his lap and recline fully across the space. “Better?”
“That’s just disrespectful.” He shakes his head as he resumes scanning his phone, but makes no attempt to move you.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah….” You mindlessly take out your own phone and open Tinder, hoping to see something noteworthy in your inbox.
Of course there have been crushes you developed in the last year within this group. Each one of them had their own way of flustering you, their own way of making you want to break the barrier between friendship and something more. However, you decided that messing with the group dynamic would be awful and unfair, so you made up a rule called “Firewall”; they were off limits and Namjoon agreed to help keep it that way.
The firewall rule did nothing to stop the biggest crush of all though, the butterflies when he said your name, or when he looked at you; it did nothing to stop the absolute thirst you had for Park Jimin. But you don't dare do anything about it. It would be awkward as fuck when he turned you down, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.
To distract yourself from your ever-growing thirst, you downloaded a dating app a few months back. It's been more than a few years since you’ve dated anyone, and even longer since you’ve gotten laid. It's time to do something about it. You can't just keep on telling Namjoon his friend is bangable and pining for even a one-night stand with someone so fine, not when you know it's something you'll never act on.
While you created your own profile a while back, you've kept it a secret from your friends, afraid of the humiliation that would come with the discovery. The problem is that you found yourself comparing every potential match with Jimin. Who could possibly measure up to a goddamn model with a heart of gold? But you’re not dumb; you know you’re not on his level. Lowering your standards allows you to swipe right on a few guys, but your standards can only get so low and there's a lot of garbage to sift through.
Most of the conversations have been boring dead ends that last less than a week. Trying to get laid is turning out to be harder than the campus-wide changeover to Gigabit Ethernet last summer. You still have nightmares about being strangled to death with cables.
“Hey that’s my seat!”
The pout dripping from Jimin’s voice is palpable and you can’t help it when your lips curl into a smile at the sound. It’s almost intoxicating how much pleasure you derive from being able to pull a pouty voice from someone so gorgeous.
Clutching the phone screen to your chest, you drop your head to the armrest and over the edge of the couch to look up at the boy sipping out of a bendy straw. “Move your feet, lose your seat, Chim.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Wanna be my headrest?”
You playfully kick at Namjoon’s thighs, trying to get him to volunteer his seat. Your boy, however, doesn’t have your back. He fails to take the hint or even acknowledge your attempt to move him.
Fuck you, Joon.
For a moment you see Jimin tonguing the inside of his cheek with consideration. You bite down, instinctively chewing your bottom lip. Watching him watch you feels like torture. There’s a hint of those bedroom eyes working over your form and you feel yourself trapped, pinned by the sinful gaze.
As if a switch is flicked, a shy smile creeps across his lips and he feigns innocence. “Maybe later, cutie.”
That man is going to be the death of you. You’re sure of it.
You can hear Jin and Hoseok doing shots down the hall and your desire to join them flares for a moment. Jimin seemingly has the same idea, and makes his way back into the kitchen with his drink. Your eyes follow his form as he saunters across the room, reflexively licking your lips at the way his ass moves in those jeans. You fail to fix your jaw as it goes slack. Your eyes glaze as you’re consumed by thoughts of gripping that same juicy ass as he’s plowing into you with his cock.
A throat clears from the direction of your feet, breaking the sinful imagery in your head. Namjoon is staring at you with that smug ‘do you wanna share with the class’ grin. He blinks in rapid succession and cocks his head to one side, mouthing the word ‘Really?’.
You feel warmth in your face, retorting with a silent, offended ‘What?’, to which Namjoon stifles a hard laugh with a slender finger. He shakes his head and begins typing on his phone. Not even a second later your phone buzzes.
Joonie: You want me to open your legs for him and point?? You got those fuck-me Jimin eyes going.
Instinctively, you flip up the hood on your sweater and tug on the drawstrings, as though they will hide the shame and heat in your cheeks. Your thumbs are like lightning as they move across the screen.
You: DON’T CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS. HE’S TOO HOT. I CAN’T HELP IT.
Joonie: You’re so thirsty. CHILL.
You: I 👏CAN’T 👏
Joonie: You know you could probably get it if you just asked already. You worry too much. He’s used to keeping things super casual.
You: yeah but I’m not
Joonie: I know. You’d make a big deal about it and freak.
You: wow rude
Joonie: I ain’t rude, just honest.
You: The only freaking i would be doin is in his bed
Joonie: Yeah, okay. 🙄
You: awww jelly Joonie is best Joonie. 😘
Joonie: 🤢Nah.
You: Try not to think of me gettin that high-speed hookup
Joonie: Cause it’s over so fast or???
You: …
Joonie: No comeback? Nothing?
You: Oh he’ll cum back alright… And on the front... maybe in the mouth? Idk if he’s got creampie privilege yet...
Joonie: 🤢🤢🤢I wish I was blind so I would never have had to read that with my own eyes.
You: that boy can penetrate my firewall any time 🍆
Joonie: ENOUGH 🤮
A fit of laughter creeps out of you when you look over and he smears a hand down his face slowly.
Joonie: Fuck it. I’m gonna show him this convo.
You: Good luck explaining a firewall
Joonie: You literally just said you want him to jizz all over you. Plus the eggplant, which is generous btw.
You: u wouldn’t know
Joonie: Wouldn’t I? 🤔 We were roommates once.
You: joke’s on you. Now im imagining an eggplant and an avocado, but the eggplant is still Jimin
Joonie: You know what people love? Avocados.
You: Smearing your thick avocado on those hipster girls?
You regret the text immediately, outwardly cringing as you hit send. The last thing you want to be thinking about is Joon’s cock, but with that euphemism, you can’t stop visualizing it in the worst way possible.
Joonie: …Are you done talking about my dick? 😏
“You drinking or what?” Ignoring the heat lingering in your cheeks, you pocket your phone and try to also ignore the way the top half protrudes from your annoyingly tiny front pocket.
He has a shit-eating grin strewn across his face, dimples forming thick creases in his cheeks. “I already pregamed.” He turns his attention to the match, which has been stuck in overtime for the last 30 seconds. “Go get your drink on. I’m good.”
You knock the phone from his hands as you swoop your legs off the couch, and his eyebrows raise at you in warning. “Watch it, Geeksquad.”
Maintaining eye contact, you rise and blink a few times. You have to assert your dominance and let him know where his lanky ass stands. “Oh Em Gee. I’m like. Suuuper sorry, Professor Kim!”
It’s not that you hear Yoongi’s laughter, but more that you see his shoulders moving the blankets in a steady rhythm. Namjoon’s disgusted groan that follows is music to your ears. You’d told him before two could play that game, and you always delivered. The amount of “Professor Kim, please don’t give me detention” lines were cringey enough as you were saying them, but it was that juicy pissed off Namjoon grunt that made every word worth it. With a witchy cackle, you follow the path around the hall that Jimin took to get to the kitchen.
Hoseok is waiting with a full glass outstretched. “Knew you were coming for one.”
You don’t bother asking what it consists of; you merely down the liquid and slam the cup on the counter. Wow, talk about a strong fucking drink. Was there any mixer in that? Man, you wished Yoongi was making drinks instead; he always gets it perfect. Hoseok tends to throw a bunch of shit together and live off the buzz for hours. Thinking about it now, you probably shouldn't have downed it that fast. But hey, thirsty girl and all that. You take what you can get.
“Aaaaahh, Y/N! My good friend!” You know Jin is already cocked as his arms constrict your airflow with the tightest of bear hugs.
You wheeze out a sound of surprise before your arms come up in a rigid motion to awkwardly pat him a few times. “Hey Jin. Started early?”
“Had the day off!” he states proudly. The loss of his body heat makes you shiver, but your lungs thank him for the relief.
Hoseok bursts into laughter, shoving a shot in your face. You find yourself laughing along with him before you down it in one gulp, face instinctively scrunching at the bitter taste of the cheap whiskey. Confused, Jin looks over at Jimin for explanation before succumbing to laughter without knowing what the joke is.
“It’s Saturday,” Jimin says plainly, his eyebrows knotted together in confusion. He’s smiling, but not nearly at the tipping point that Jin has passed to be laughing so hard. “We all have the day off.”
Of course the blonde’s response only makes him laugh harder.
“Man I wish I were that fucked up,” you say, watching the tall man keeled over in laughter.
Jimin pries the bottle from Hoseok’s hands and begins to pour you another shot. His hands are steady as he holds the glass out to you, his eyes warm and inviting. You can’t help but smile stupidly back at him. Soft fingers send a wave of electricity through you as they brush against yours. With a collected breath, you slam the shot faster than he poured it, swallowing the vile liquid as though it could save you from embarrassment of his touch. You reach for the bottle to pour it yourself this time, but the blonde-haired boy yanks it away from your grasp.
“Ah, now that I think about it, you should slow down actually…”
The pouty groan in your throat escapes before you can stop it. His mouth drops open in surprise before spreading into a cheeky grin.
“Aw, so cute!”
“You know, I can just take it back,” you blurt. Even though he has a point, maybe you just want to drink yourself stupid like Jin. Or maybe you just don’t like being told what to do. Maybe it's a little bit of both.
He cocks an eyebrow as if to challenge you, voice dropping an octave lower than normal. “Can you really?”
Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to abort mission yet you push through. You lean in close, trying to win this game of chicken you've grown accustomed to playing. He’s cheating, moving the bottle towards his back as you reach out. Your brows knit together as his smile grows impossibly wider. Damn that smug face. Your hand lightly traces the denim jacket along his arm, never leaving the contact of his eyes with your own. Instead of a bottle, you find an empty palm at his back, and it instantly grips you tightly.
Surprised but not willing to be outdone, you stand up straight enough to make yourself seem imposing, standing on your toes for extra assistance. For a moment he looks shy, like he might back off. The internal praise your mind produces inflates your ego. But instead he tilts his head to the side and towards you, inching nearer to your lips. Blonde hair sweeps across his forehead and he lets his eyes partially close, biting down on his juicy bottom lip to beckon you closer. Recognizing the seductive tactic, an unconscious restraint purses your lips and you trail shaky fingers across the denim of the other arm until you reach his back.
Feeling across the small of his back, your chest presses against his and you hold your breath to gauge his reaction. A sensual sigh fans your cheek as you drag your hand down, hoping to find the bottle and end the game. You'd like to go nurse the remainder of its contents and die of embarrassment. Again you find his hand, though as you grab this one, he intentionally drags your palm across his ass; he flexes his glutes as he does so, giggling when your jaw drops open.
“Wow, you would put me in this position, Y/N?” He clicks his tongue teasingly. He knows he’s already won, but he decides to put the nail in your goddamn coffin. “Such a dirty girl.”
The darkness in his eyes betrays the playfulness of his tone. Jaw still slack, the sinister expression of the man before you pins you in place. Desperate for escape, you suddenly notice Jin, who is standing unusually close. He takes a swig from the bottle, heavy-lidded eyes darting between Jimin and yourself. As Jimin breaks eye contact as well, you use the opportunity to slip from his sweaty hands and create distance. Jin is grinning like a madman.
“Such a dirty girl!” Jin croons, looping his arm around your neck.
“Such a dirty, girl!” Hoseok chimes in, hooking his arm with Jin’s.
You sigh, ducking out from beneath from the boys and leaning against the countertop behind you. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
Two short buzzes alert you to a message. Tapping the power button, you check the screen discreetly to make sure you’re not missing a Tinder message. The flash of Namjoon’s text sparks disappointment and a hint of annoyance. You whisk away his message from the lock screen with a flick of your thumb.
“We can change that!” Jin assures, rushing into the next room, followed by an amped up Hoseok. “Taehyung where are your keys?”
“Huh? You’re not driving!” There’s a scrambling sound and the familiar jingle of keys.
“Well duh. I’m just saying you have the best car.”
“Yeah, but I want to drink too so we’re calling for Ubers. Who’s riding with who?”
“Drinking buddies! Pair up!”
You fail to miss the way Jimin’s eyes slowly drift over you as he passes by; it’s as though he wants to devour you --and god, would you let him after that intense eye-fuck. He pauses for a moment, letting his tongue dart out as he turns his head back to you. It looks like he might have something to say, but instead he smacks his lips and shakes his head.
On the counter sits the bottle, nearly empty. As soon as he’s out of sight, you take a hearty swig, finishing what you’re pretty sure is half syrup, half Jin’s spit. The recoil of the taste is easier to handle than whatever the fuck that was.
As you round the corner you nearly bump heads with Taehyung, who is sprinting down the hall towards the bathroom. “Gotta pee quick. Hold up.”
You find yourself distracted by the very fit Jungkook army-crawling his way around the floor, the muscles in his arms bulging with each movement. “You guys see my other shoe?”
Yoongi yawns as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “A shoe?”
“Bless you!” Jin and Jimin are cackling, the familiar windshield wiper laugh drowning out the groans from the rest of them.
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You’re sitting cross-legged on the thick platform beside the front steps of the apartment. The concrete is chilly and you’re grateful for the layer between your thighs and the stone. Jin had climbed into the first car with Tae, Yoongi, and Jungkook. They were probably already halfway there at this point. Hobi was bouncing his leg impatiently as he sat on the step beside you. You can tell by his grumbling that he was more than a little irritated about having to ride in the second car. Namjoon and Jimin were relaxed though, talking about their movie plans for tomorrow.
The glow of your phone is the only thing saving you from catching eyes with Jimin. On screen is a half-written profile of someone trying not to get caught by their spouse; you crinkle your nose and swipe left. Nope. In its place you see the thousandth picture today of a grizzled man holding a fish. Nope. Next is a shot of a guy looking down into the camera and you swear you can see up his nostrils and into the cavity where his brain should be. Nope. You continue on like this, cringing at each profile before swiping left. You’re not sure how they can get worse, but they keep finding a way.
Then you see a smile that’s fairly captivating. You tap on the next photo, expecting it to suck, but it doesn’t. Scrolling down, you read a humble, self-deprecating blurb about a confident dude with a clear love of cats and exercise that brings an awkward smile to your lips. At this point, you’ve swiped left so much that it’s become habitual and you’re feeling uneasy about doing the opposite. There has to be something awful you’re missing. You scan through a second time, begging for some kind of dealbreaker to ease your twitching finger. Still uncertain, you scroll back up and decide to look through some more pictures.
When you tap on the next photo, a steamy image of nude chest appears. The outline of abs glisten below in the reflection of a mirror, a towel draped lazily around his waist just below a dark, delicious happy trail. Your hand instinctively comes up to your mouth, teeth clenching down on a curled finger. As you drink in the sight, the breath catches in your throat and a fire burns in your chest, spreading quickly down your stomach to the heat in your pussy.
It’s then that you feel your stomach drop, the horror of another presence looming over the screen with you. Hoseok sits with his chin resting on a palm, staring down at the same image with a concentrated gaze. For a moment only your eyes move, now acutely aware of the man to your left. You’re frozen in place, hoping the shame will kill you instantly so you don’t have to face the following moments.
You sit motionless, like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll forget you’re there. You pray his perception is based on movement as your teeth sink deeper into the flesh of your knuckle, letting only shallow breaths escape. But as the seconds pass, they grow increasingly unbearable. You turn your head, ever so slightly, immediately locking eyes with Hoseok. The crooked smile on his face speaks volumes louder than the whisper that follows.
Last time on LB02: You’re mortified as Jimin, Hoseok, and Namjoon view your tinder profile on the way to the club. So as soon as you get there, you get as drunk as possible to forget about it, which leads to a breach in the firewall later on. Namjoon denies he has any feelings for you, but it’s clear to Hoseok that he’s a damn liar and he’s determined to get in the middle of it.
Rating: M (18+)
Word Count: 10.9K
Series: Love Bytes (3/?)
Genre: F2L, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, ANGST! pining, sexual tension eventual smut, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, S O F T Namjoon, embarrassingReader
CW: fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism,
Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7
masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter
A/N: I work a lot of insane hours so I barely have any spare time, but I enjoy writing this, even though I still feel anxious sharing. So please leave a comment if you like; it makes my day!
Do not repost.
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You’re absolutely lost in the way Jimin’s tongue is dragging down into your cleavage when you feel the buzz of your phone press against your chest; you had forgotten it was there.
He pulls back, startled by the vibration, then laughs. “Maybe it’s Tinder? Could be someone interested... Aren’t you going to look?”
“Nope,” you hum against his neck, suctioning your lips over the exposed skin
A low groan escapes his throat and he reluctantly drags you by the chin, cradling your face with one hand. “My agent will kill me if I show up to work with hickeys.”
“I won’t leave any. I’ll be good,” you promise, knowing full well the honeyed words are pretty lies spilling from lips too drunk to have pure intentions.
He laughs again. “I don’t believe you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make some.”
His tongue laves across your neck, crossing your collarbone and meeting the exposed flesh of your chest again. The sensation of his mouth clamping down in combination with his pelvis grinding up between your thighs causes you to throw your head back. You feign resistance with the most pathetic “Jimin don’t” as you have a hand roaming through his hair.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
You curse your pockets for being too small to fit your phone as the vibrations give Jimin pause for a second time tonight. It’s only a moment before he smiles and returns to your bosom. Immediately the drone of a text alert goes off again. He blinks a few times and stares up at you. Again and again the notification buzz has you patting your chest, trying to desperately stop it.
What the fuck! Come on!
He peels himself back, taking a deep breath. Your body is weeping at the loss of his warmth against you. He fans himself with a goofy smile, and even in the dim light you can see the sweat beading along his forehead. “You should see who wants to talk to you. I need to get some more air anyway.”
His fingers trace a line across your jaw and he rests a thumb on your lip. “Join me when you’re ready?”
With that, he playfully boops you on the nose and disappears in the crowd before you can ask if he would rather just get out of here. Taking your phone out of the pocket between your bra and tit, you swipe at the screen to see messages from Hoseok and Namjoon. Your brows furrow as you try to navigate away from the dance floor while concentrating on the screen. You decide to open Hoseok’s first, as your mind is annoyed with Joonie, though you can’t quite remember why.
Hobi 😛: i see you
Hobi 😛: dirty
Hobi 😛: girl!!!!
Hobi 😛: 😧
Hobi 😛: are you really going to fuck jimin right here 🙊🙈
Hobi 😛: WHERE I CAN SEE???? 🤤 i hope so
As dark and loud as the dance floor is, you become keenly aware of the bodies around you, your skin blazing. Before you can think of response that will save face, arms are snaking around you from behind. Large, slender fingers fold across your waist.
His voice is already at your ear, causing your eyelashes to flutter and heat to pool between your legs all over again. “If you wanted to fuck while dancing, you should have just asked me... Dirty girl.”
You smack him on the arm and he concedes with a giggle, letting you squirm from his grasp and face him. “Oh my god will you please stop saying that?”
The wide grin on his face threatens to spread a sheepish one to yours, despite fighting to remain stoic. It seems as though Hoseok has a penchant for ruminating on humiliation, especially yours-- and you don’t want to give the satisfaction of letting him know exactly how mortified you feel in this moment.
His hands grip your cheeks tightly. “I just can’t believe you’re about to get laid! I’m so proud!”
“Hobi please. It’s not like that,” you begin, trying to hopelessly hide the shameful way your legs cling together.
It’s not like that. Not the first time he’s heard that one tonight. Hoseok knows for damn sure if you and Namjoon are using the same defensive phrases, things are one hundred percent like that. He rolls his eyes, roaming his hands over your hips and rocking them back and forth. Just like that he has control, making you feel compelled to move yours in time with his.
“If it’s not like that then stay with me. I’ll show you a good time.” His husky voice has you hypnotized, swallowing hard as you clutch the phone in your hand. “No Jimin, no Tinder. Just you and me, sweetheart.”
“H-Hobi...” your voice is pitiful and weak as it escapes.
Things are tense only for a moment and you’re sweating as you realize he may very well go in for the kill, the same way Jimin did. But the moment passes and he laughs, pulling away from you. “You’re so easy, Y/N. How can it be so hard for you to hook up? If it doesn’t happen soon, then you call me and I will help you out, no strings attached.”
You’re not sure if you should feel flattered or pissed off as he winks and begins circling you, as if to let you consider the offer. The alcohol swimming through your head is making it hard for you to be sure about anything, so you choose to ignore the way he just suggested pimping himself out to you as a thing your brain made up rather than words that were actually uttered by the gorgeous Jung Hoseok. Making out with Park Jimin had already maxed out your suspension of belief. Hobi was just joking. He had to be, right? Maybe you would just wake up sweating in another minute. Then again, if this was a dream, maybe you could press your luck and have a threesome? Could alcohol ever make you that bold? You chuckle at the thought. No fucking way.
Hoseok starts to casually stroll away, before he turns back, a brief pained expression striking his features.“Oh, before I forget! Namjoon was looking for you earlier.” He makes a lewd jacking-off motion as he smiles big once more. “Maybe talk to him before you get your rocks off with Jimin?” Before you can respond, he spins back towards the crowd, rolling his body to the music and internally applauding his performance as master cockblock. You shake your head as he goes, the irritation of being called easy paling in comparison to the sexual frustration lingering deep in your belly. With a grumble, you pull out your phone to glance at Namjoon’s text, noting the timestamp was much earlier in the night.
Joonie 😬: Remember. 🔥🧱
The fire and brick emojis immediately brought a pang of guilt through your heart. He had tried to remind you of exactly what you had asked. It was a little late now and you couldn’t help but feel like you may have ruined a friendship that you swore you would never interfere with. You struggle to not topple over, taking a moment to stand in place and try to fix what you feel in your gut is absolutely broken. Each text you attempt to compose only gets worse and you contend with the words forming on screen whilst getting elbowed by the dancers surrounding you.
You decide it’s too hard to accomplish in your current environment and make a beeline for the bathroom. There’s nothing that a good long pee and a hard look in the mirror can’t help you fix on a drunken night. You take a moment to survey the bathroom, noting each stall is occupied and a pack of women line the wall, waiting for their turn. You stumble over to the mirror to address your swollen racoon eyes, wiping excess mascara and eyeliner from your face and taking a deep breath. Making your way back out to the main floor, your eyes scour the room for alternatives and realize there’s another tier hardly anyone uses unless they’re in need of some privacy. As long as you keep your head down and avoid eye contact, you feel confident you can just chill in the restroom upstairs and think.
On your way up you immediately disregard the rules you just set, letting your eyes wander to a pair of bright red heels, finding legs partially agape. Next to those are sneakers --the wide spread of legs indicating a man, and finally a single black heel on the floor with the woman’s other leg stretched out over the man’s lap. Your eyes quickly travel up the owners’ legs and find the man’s hands planted underneath both women’s dresses. Black-heels has her panties thoroughly exposed, bush out. You watch in awe, jaw dropping as you take in the sight of the deft fingers sliding in and out of her dripping cunt.
Every fiber of your being screams to avert your gaze. But the shock of what you’re seeing has you paralyzed, leaning against the railing for support as your mouth hangs stupidly agape. Her hips greedily chase his palm each time it leaves the comfort of her clit, fucking his fingers further inside. She’s got her eyes closed; no doubt lost in the feeling, completely forgetting her surroundings as she squeaks out the kind of long, high-pitched moans you’ve only ever heard in pornos. The other woman is much quieter, more reserved as he rams his fingers into her, and seeks refuge in the crook of his neck.
Again you try to will the movement of your legs, but it seems more and more futile the longer you gawk, especially after you recognize the glint of faded green hair.
Oh fuck.
Now you’re desperate to keep moving, but your legs are still concrete. You’re drinking in the sight him finger-fucking not one, but two women in a public setting-- all while whispering something to the one who’s obviously embarrassed but doing nothing but parting her legs further. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her after watching the skillful way he slid into black-heels’ cunt while rubbing her clit with his thumb.
Is he really doing that to red-heels, too? Fuck. Me.
Yoongi ticks his jaw, an action you had seen him do many times in annoyance; now keenly aware of the audience. A heavy-lidded side-eye in your direction has your heart pounding. You’re using the same tactic that had failed on Hoseok: remain perfectly still to blend with the surroundings, praying again that the rules have changed and all hot guys now have movement-based vision.
Shitshitshitshit. Homer Simpson meme this shit. Come on, legs! Do something! Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. If there is such a thing as a merciful god, please let me die right now.
Slowly his head turns towards you, an expression on his face both deliciously sinful and wildly intimidating. You’re left stranded, trembling as his sinister gaze falls on you, furrowed brow challenging you to keep watching the show. His movements begin to slow on black-heels and he drags his digits at a leisurely pace, sure to spread her lips in a way that gives you a clearer view of his fingers disappearing inside her.
He surveys your face, the faintest hint of a smirk knotting at the corners of his mouth. You can’t help the bug-eyed response, resolve completely crumpling beneath his ruthless scrutiny. Your legs are wobbling beneath you, threatening to toss your ass down the stairs if you don’t do something.
But here you stand, quaking at the sight before you. Yoongi’s perverse eyes roam your face, drinking in every last detail in your expression. But black-heels has had enough of the teasing, lingering strokes. She claws along his shirt in desperation, begging him to pick up the pace and stealing his attention.
She trails long fingernails down toward his chest and along his sweatpants, blindly grasping for the bulge she knows is hidden there. His eyelids flutter for a millisecond and you make a clumsy point to peer at the length. You swallow, throat incredibly dry as you watch the lewd display of Yoongi inserting a third finger into the woman and increasing the speed of his thrusts. She keens, throwing her head back against the couch.
His eyes fix themselves on you again, dark and full of power. You get the sense that the longer you stay, the more interest he gains in making you his next objective. His fingers glide in and out of her slick at a vigorous pace, making her arch her back above the couch. Meanwhile he’s looking as though he wants to devour you, as though making this girl cum is simply an obstacle to achieving that goal. You’re struggling to hinge your jaw shut, realizing now that you’re bobbing your head lightly along with the thrusts. Or maybe you’re just shaking that much; it’s hard to tell.
“Do you like it?” He asks loud enough to be heard over black-heels, knowing full well the question is aimed at you.
She responds with an exaggerated moan that vaguely sounds like a yes and rolls her head forward. In that moment she finds your slack-jawed, fucked-out stare. Finally your mouth snaps shut, guilty eyes darting away from the scene. You manage to purse your lips, heat flaring in your cheeks.
Instead of hiding and letting embarrassment consume her, she smiles wickedly, recognizing the envy and desire on your face. She thrusts her hips harder onto his dripping fingers, telling you it’s still her turn, but she wouldn’t mind if you wanted to join too. Yoongi cracks a smile, leaning in to bite her bottom lip and give you a chance to see what you’re missing. You shake your head and shriek out an apology before covering your peripheral with a hand and finally finding the strength to leave.
___
You’ve been sitting in the empty bathroom for what seems like an eternity, head resting against the toilet paper roll as you glare at the blinking cursor on your phone. You’re trying to forget the way Yoongi had stared you down as he pumped his fingers in and out of those girls and you pray they won’t make their way in here while you attempt to string together an apologetic text message to Namjoon. ‘I’m sorry I kissed your friend after I said I wouldn’t’ seemed like an incredibly shitty thing to text. But the fact that you were thinking so hard about it probably meant you weren’t as drunk as you thought, right? Your body counters that thought with a hiccup that makes you queasy.
Your stomach swirls, heat gathering in your cheeks as sweat beads off your forehead. You roll your head to the side, fighting back the nausea in your gut as you type. The tremble of thighs against your elbows has increased the difficulty of composing a message, but you find that you can’t make them stop and you’re too tired to lift your arms up further. How do you even start?
You: Joon ifucked up
Ah yes, very finely crafted. Send.
A minute passes as you wait for the dots to come that indicate a response. Nothing. You roll your head against the stall, feeling like you just need a second to collect yourself, if only the room would stop moving. The pop of unfastened metal echoes throughout the stall as the cheap toilet paper dispenser springs open against the pressure of your head. Grumbling, you adjust the roll of toilet paper currently acting as your pillow and smack the side of the dispenser shut.
Regret hits you immediately as you feel the unmistakable snag of your hair caught in the metal. You try to push the metal back open but you find it stalwart and unyielding.
Are you fucking kidding me.
You do your best to calm yourself and card your fingers through bits of knotted hair, carefully attempting to yank it free. When it doesn’t work and you can’t stomach the pain of pulling out a giant tuft, panic sets in and you sink to your knees, twisting your body to try and get a better look at where it’s caught. Suddenly you’re very grateful that you had already relieved yourself because this would be ten times worse if your pants were around your ankles.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
Fuck. Of course it would be now. You open the message, staving off another wave of nausea from being so close to the toilet.
Joonie: Ok what did you do?
You: i kissed iruined evrtyghin
Joonie: Who we talking about here?
You can’t bring yourself to type any more and resume working out the knots in your hair. This is the worst place to be having this conversation. The buzz goes off again and you’re compelled to look, getting more and more frustrated with your current predicament. You give up and sit there with your head stuck to the dispenser.
Joonie: Hellooooooooo
Joonie: You still there Geeksquad
You: I BORK FIREWALL
Immediately Namjoon sends a picture of a silly dog with a comic sans caption “bork bork bork.” You can’t stop the laugh bubbling in your throat.
You: GDI JOON HTIS IS SRS >:\
You: ikissed mjinni like hot and sweat
Joonie: WHO? How drunk are you rn?
You: 🍆
You: ALSO FUCK YOU
Joonie: Ah… So did you suck his dick?
You: STOP
Joonie: Please tell me you’re not in the bathroom throwing up on his dick
You: 😭😭
Joonie: Please tell me you’re not in the bathroom CRYING on his dick
You: HE’S 🍆 U LIED JOON if elt it
Joonie: What. The. Fuck.
You sigh, head aching as you try to pull it back again. You know he would help you if you only asked, but goddamn this was such a shitty, embarrassing place to be. The breath hitches in your throat as you analyze the situation; would it be better to sleep like this and let a janitor find you and assume you’re dead, or let Namjoon tease the shit out of you? It was a close call at the moment and you weren’t sure which you actually preferred. Wasn’t there someone else you could text?
You think about Jen, the only real friend you have outside of Joon’s circle. You’d shared more than a few classes during your college years: she was a Graphic Design major and you were a programming/IT major so a lot of the core requirements were similar. When you couldn’t afford to scrounge enough change for coffee, you’d bribe her to buy you drinks in exchange for tutoring lessons in web programming. She’d been your friend for several years now, but she was out of town visiting her parents. Maybe if you ask nicely she’d drive two hours just to get you out of this mess? You frantically swipe your fingers across the screen, trying not to sound like anything is wrong. Hard to do when you’re drunk.
You: wheb areu coming back
There’s a long pause before you see the dots appear.
Jennie: Why did Joon let u keep your phone if he knew u were gonna get shitfaced again
You: bicyh hes not my boss
Jennie: I’m back next week... Kinda flattered u miss me this much but please let me sleep
Jennie: Unless you need something??? Are u safe????
You glance at the time in the upper corner of your phone. 2:13am. Welp. Now’s definitely not the time to ask for a favor. Better play up the drunk card as long as your texting abilities are still shitty.
You: 😭NO I MISS OU IS ALL
You: im sorry imok
You: dgnight beb
Jennie: GO TO BED DRUNKIE
You close the app and sigh. A thought sparks in the back of your mind and you mentally slap yourself for not thinking about it until now.
“Hello?” you call out, realizing there’s bound to be other girls in here. There’s no way a women’s bathroom is entirely empty for this long. “Is anyone there? I’m in the first stall... I need some help.”
Silence. How is this bathroom empty but the one downstairs is packed?
Then it occurs to you that anyone coming up the stairs would have to pass by gatekeeper Yoongi and the duo-heel guardians. Anyone with any common sense would go right back downstairs, pretending they didn’t see anything --or they’d be too preoccupied coming up here to do some nasty shit exactly like what Yoongi was. Your common sense had dried up with your last brain cell two drinks ago and you definitely weren’t waiting for a horny couple to barge in and be forced to listen to them bang while you were stuck like this. So unless you wanted to call loud enough to bring the menage trois to you, you were most likely shit outta luck.
Your fingers tap the screen again just as a new message from Namjoon appears.
Joonie: So you fuckin him in the bathroom or…?
You: pls come get me
Joonie: What do you mean come get you?
Joonie: Where you at?
You: bathroom
Joonie: Are you fucking serious right now
You: im surck
Joonie: Excuse me?
You: I,M FUCKING STUCK
Joonie: Please tell me you’re not STUCK on his dick after throwing up and crying
You: KIM NAMJOON COME FCUKING HEKLP ME >:(!!!!!
Seconds pass before your phone rings. You fumble with the buttons, tears stinging your eyes. Everything is frustrating and hard. Why are you such a mess?
“Geeksquad, which bathroom are you in: first or second floor?” The music is muffled and you’re glad to be able to hear Namjoon’s deep voice on the other end.
“S-second. Don’t worry there’s no one in here,” you choke out, defeated tone causing him to hamper the cheeky comment on the tip of his tongue.
“Hey, are you okay?” His concerned tone makes you feel ashamed and guilty.
The sobs start coming and you spend a fair amount of time weeping against the receiver before delivering the grossest sound that’s a cross between gargling and whimpering. All the words you mean to say get lost on the way to your lips.
“I’m on my way.”
The soft beep of the disconnect is the only thing you can focus on, your eyelids heavy from crying and the need for sleep. You don’t even realize you’re nodding off until you hear the main door creak open.
“Yo Geek Squad you in here?”
“First stall,” you call out, hardly recognizing your own voice with how small it sounds. You reach to unlatch the stall with a grunt, straining as best you can to reach.
“Do I even wanna know what’s going on over there?” he asks, the shuffle of his sneakers indicating he’s moving closer.
“I’m trying to get the door,” you sneer, feeling the latch finally unhook. “Got it. Dick.”
He pushes the door in a bit and you shift, trying in vain to avoid getting hit as it swings towards you.
He sighs, rubbing his face as he steps in. “What the hell did you do?”
“Please don’t. I really don’t need your smart ass comments. I can’t get it open… Please, Joon.”
The crushed tone your voice takes on causes him to soften his own. “Aight let me see.”
He crouches down beside you, joining you in the cramped space to inspect the tangled mess caught in the metal, briefly stealing a few glimpses at your tear-stricken face. You flinch as he brings his hands across your head, one above and one below, feeling around the apparatus beside you.
“You could have warned me about Yoongi,” he mumbles, carefully combing a few strands of hair out of view with slender fingers.
You feel the heat in your cheeks flare as you remember the show you had gotten on your way up the stairs. You offer a sheepish grin. “Oh, is he still out there? He uh… was a little busy last I checked.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I can see why you didn’t just text him to come help instead. Imagine those sticky, pruney fingers all up in here. Bet you’d love that.”
You wince as he tussles your hair and skims his fingers along your chin. “You’re supposed to be helping me, not making it worse,” you say, trying to separate the tangled mess he’s made from yours.
He brushes what he can from your face with an amused smirk. “Sorry. Let’s see here…”
He leans back in, arm cradled around your back to resume the task of freeing you. You can’t help but breathe in his scent as his face hovers so closely next to yours. He was never big on cologne, so you’re surprised he doesn’t smell terrible, despite the moisture glistening on his skin.
You hate to admit it, but you actually like his aroma; it’s a natural light scent that reminds you of a forest mixed with a bit of sweat. Then again, you remind yourself that could just be the deodorant fighting off his stench. Either way your nose is weirdly into it, and the more you breathe in, the more agitated you become with your body’s overwhelmingly positive reaction to his pheromones. What the fuck has tonight’s rollercoaster of teasing done to you?
This is why you needed to get laid. You’re wound so tight that even Namjoon is setting off your sexytime radar; you’re just about ready to grab that man by the collar and lap up every inch of his sweaty body. You scold yourself for being so fucking gross. But damn if he doesn’t smell like heaven to your senses right now. Maybe it’s the toilet bowl to your left that’s making him look so good. You smile at the thought, a fine attempt at putting your hormones at ease. However, you find it does nothing to quell the butterflies swirling in your stomach and chest.
You try to pinpoint what it is exactly that’s making you crazy enough to consider throwing yourself at him --especially when you’re this much of a mess. You note the heat radiating from his face as he focuses on the task of freeing you. His profile is soft, gaze concentrated on the task at hand, large pillowy lips slightly parted. Every gentle contact of his fingers against your scalp has you craving to lean into his touch and your fail to realize you’re subconsciously drifting towards him until the snag in your hair tugs you back to reality. You curse loudly, praying he didn’t notice what you were doing.
“Stop moving,” he chides, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “You’re such a hot mess. How did you even do this?”
“I’m a hot mess,” you parrot back, thankful he missed your drunken attempt at kissing. “Isn’t there a release bar?”
“I’m looking for it, but there’s a big ass head in the way.” He sticks his tongue out at you briefly before rising up a bit to get a better view. “You’d think there’d be more sense in here with how much space there is.”
“Har, har, har.” You roll your eyes and look away, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells as his firm chest presses against your cheek. Your arm instinctively comes up to steady his back as he wobbles forward for a second, muttering a quick apology. Clearly you weren’t the only one drinking heavily tonight. You both fall silent as he fiddles with the metal, leaving you to quietly bask in his scent.
Before long, the metal springs open and you breathe a sigh of relief as you yank your head forward. The sudden force causes him to fall back onto his ass, elbows hitting against the tile.
“Thanks Joonie.” You rub your head, feeling for any bald spots before tying your hair back up to avoid any more mishaps.
“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters as he sits up, crossing his arms and rubbing circles around his sore elbows. Timid eyes drop to your face, searching for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. He had seen how much you enjoyed yourself; there was no need to ask. And yet... His eyes dart away.
“What?” You swallow hard.
“So...” he begins softly, finding the resolve to meet your gaze. He raises his eyebrows, doing his best to feign confidence. “How was it?”
“How was….?” Your eyes widen in realization and your voice raises a few octaves. “What, the kissing?”
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “No, the handjob in the back room.”
“I didn’t--!” You catch the sarcasm a bit late and puff your cheeks out before deflating. “It… was good but…” You’re scanning his face apologetically. “...not worth ruining a friendship over.”
Your suck your lip through your teeth and hold your breath. You bow deeply, letting your forehead to meet the cold tile. “Please forgive me, Joonie…”
His stare is blank as he’s trying to process what you’re doing. “Ah….! Pfft.” He raises a hand to his mouth, covering his laughter before scrambling over to you. “Don’t apologize. I already told you if it’s what you wanna do I’m cool with it. ”
Liar; the word echoes in his mind over and over.
“So is he,” he continues, wedging his fingers between your face and the floor. He cups your cheeks and forces you to look at him, his face twisting into a doleful smile at the sight of the tears welling up in your eyes. God, he was so soft when it came to you. You made him stupid. You made him a liar. You turned him into instant putty, absolutely malleable and vulnerable in your hands. He wanted to tell you anything --do anything-- to make it alright. “Don’t apologize, Y/N. It’s okay. You guys play so much chicken, it was a matter of time, really.”
“But I made things weird!” you sob, letting your heavy head rest entirely on his grip.
“No you didn’t,” he insists, rocking you gently back and forth. “You’re fine. Jimin is a really cool guy. The only one who thinks it’s weird is you. And honestly? The slut you know is better than the one you don’t, AKA nasty Tinder boys.”
The statement makes your lips curl into a tired smile, the motion causing tears to drop from your eyes. Namjoon whisks them away with his thumbs. He wants to stop there, knowing it’s enough to have pulled a smile from you, but he can’t. “Yeah, my friendship with Jimin is important and yeah I never want that to be in jeopardy. But my friendship with you is just as important. We’re all adults and we can handle what hardships come our way together. I know it. So please don’t ask me to stop you or make you feel bad about pursuing anything with him, or with anyone in the group. Honestly, I just want to see you happy and I will be there for you no matter what. We’re all friends so just follow your heart and I’ll be there, wherever it leads you. Okay?”
Your heart swells with admiration. How could he go from being the shithead Namjoon --the one who teases you and eats whole cherry stems--- to the sweet, compassionate, understanding Namjoon before you? Despite being drunk you know that regardless of what he says, you don’t think you could handle causing any sort of rift in the group. It’s one thing to insinuate mindless flirting, kissing, or sex --something you had never been good with anyway. But it was a whole new dynamic when you introduced meaningful feelings that could rock the boat. Sure it could go very well and enhance your lives, but it could also go very, very poorly and affect more than just two people at the end of the day. Even hammered you knew that much.
“No relationships in the group,” you maintain, shaking your head weakly in his palms.
A heavy sigh crosses his lips. He doesn’t know whether it’s relief or disappointment flooding his lungs; maybe it’s both. “Whatever you say.”
“I just don’t want to make things more difficult for you,” you admit, tiredly rubbing the remaining wetness from your eyes. “For anyone.”
He drops his hands and sits back on his knees. If only you knew. You didn’t have to try so hard to skirt the difficult part; it was unavoidable. He struggled any time he was alone with you. It was so hard being so close without ever really having you. Not in the way he longed for. He had come to terms with that fact that eventually you were going to fall for someone else. He accepted that life would never be easy as long as he carried these affections, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.
You’d find someone and he’d find someone of his own to numb the ache, maybe many ‘someones,’ and eventually it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Eventually these feelings would pass. How different is it in the grand scheme of things to lose you to a friend than to lose you to a stranger?
Regardless, you’re still not snuggling up to him at the end of the day. You’re not reaching for his hand when you’re feeling anxious or sad. You’re not searching for his lips when you seek intimacy. You’re not waking up in his arms, in his bed with your stupid tangled hair and raspy morning voice. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
No matter whom you seek, it doesn’t stop Namjoon from waking up to thoughts of you, thoughts that sometimes make his heart race, fingers that itch to hold yours, legs that twist around pillows for comfort. Sometimes they make his stomach dance, indulging in the concept that you might feel the same. Sometimes they wake him with a throbbing cock, making his lungs burn with need, mind racing with shameful desires that he would never dare admit. Every last bit of him was aching to have you, but could he ever express it? Out loud? To your face?
The fact of the matter is that you make his life impossibly difficult no matter what. As much as he hated to admit it to his friends, he couldn’t hide from himself. How could he ever possibly explain that to you without making a complete fool of himself? There aren’t words he can piece together; nothing feels good enough, and maybe nothing ever will.
“You’re always making things so complicated,” he sighs, rising to his feet. “You’ll be back to playing chicken again in no time.”
You cross your arms and pout, knowing he’s probably right. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Aight well I’ve had enough for one night. I’m going home. You wanna catch a lyft with me or you just gonna ride Jimin’s dick home?” Teasing you is the only coping mechanism he has right now. He swears he’ll be fine the more he jokes, the more he reiterates the notion that you’re going to hook up with someone who cares for you as much as he does.
He begins to saunter away, hands in his pockets. He’s got a hand gripped on the handle when he looks back at you still sitting on the floor and giving him a heavy-lidded pout. He throws his head back and releases a heavy puff of air, scoffing at you. “What?”
“I don’t feel good,” you whine, voice small and deflated.
“I told you not to drink so much. I told you to drink water. But do you listen to me? Noooooo. What does Namjoon know? I told you to slow down and you just had to keep up with Jimin. Jimin... who literally guzzles bottles of champagne like water,” he chides, though there’s no bite to the words. He can’t fight a certain tenderness spilling out in his tone; he’s far too tired. “You know you don’t have a good tolerance. You know you’re a lightweight and yet--”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. You told me so. I’m drunk. Blah, blah, blah. Are you done lecturing me? Can you help me up now?” You stretch your arms up, grabbing at the air with your hands, to which he rolls his eyes.
“I should leave you here,” he grumbles, even though he’s already on his way over to you. “Maybe you’d learn your lesson this time.”
“Joonie, please,” you groan back, voice cracking with fatigue. You sound pathetic, even to your own ears.
There he is again. Putty boy. Soft. Squishy. Stupidly wrapped around your fingers. Best of all, he will thank you for squeezing the shit out of him until he breaks apart and still comes back for more. Why can’t he make you deal with your own problems for once? After all, you did this to yourself. God, he hated himself for wanting to take care of you, but in some fucked up way he loved that it made him feel like you wanted him, like you needed him for something.
“I gotcha,” he murmurs, hooking his arms underneath your armpits and helping you clumsily to your feet.
You stumble towards him, letting him support a good amount of your weight as you try to keep the world from spinning around you. For a second you’re just leaning into one another, arms slung across each other in what would be a rather tender embrace under different circumstances. You blink a few times, legs wobbling as you tilt your head up to meet his eyes.
A particularly long strand of hair falls across his face as he attempts to help steady you, glasses tipping down to the edge of his nose. Your hand moves unconsciously to correct the frames, pushing them back up for him. You comb back his unruly hair by carding your fingers through it slowly. He can’t help but close his eyes, trying to commit your touch to memory. You drift your fingers across the back of his head, grazing his ear before resting the heel of your palm along his jaw. Your index finger extends, toying with the longer strands that had been styled back for most of the evening.
“You really need to cut this,” you mumble, your words slurring together.
“Mmm-hmm,” he hums. It’s all he can manage as he tries to keep himself from completely melting into your touch. He bites the inside of his cheek, absorbing the desire for more contact with you.
You blink a few times, expecting a rebuttal but receiving nothing. You playfully smack his cheek a few times. “You must be tired if you ain’t even arguing.”
“I’m exhausted,” he admits, letting go of the breath he had unwittingly been holding. “Think you can handle the stairs?”
“If I say no, will you carry me?” you ask, only half joking.
He snorts. “I’d have to get Jungkook to help me and you know he’d be pissed to lose to Tae.”
You reach for the door, one arm draped around him for support. You can feel his fingers grip your waist, setting your nerves on fire. You do your best to ignore them. “Still going at it? What’s the score?”
“4 to 3 last I checked; Tae’s winning anyway.”
You snickered, knowing how competitive Jungkook was and how badly he must be trying to even the score. You kind of wish you could stick around and see how it ends.
As you’re rounding the corner, you both fall silent. Your legs are stone once more and you feel Namjoon stop as well, registering what lays ahead. Black-heels is nowhere to be found, but red-heels is on her knees, head bobbing over Yoongi’s lap. He sits with his head thrown back against the couch, eyes closed in complete bliss and you’re thankful that he can’t pin you down this time with that dark scowl.
Namjoon spares an awkward glance in your direction, but you’re enthralled once again, your teeth clamping around your bottom lip to try and sate your hunger for the scene before you. He clears his throat loud enough for only you to hear. Your bugged-out eyes snap to him, realizing he has the most arrogant grin you’ve seen from him tonight, and it causes shame to burn through your lungs. In an instant your lip releases, slightly swollen and red from the pressure.
“Come on, creeper,” he teases into your ear, practically dragging you as quickly as he can past the duo.
Yoongi peeks out from underneath one eyelid, watching your descent with Namjoon with a satisfied grin.
_____________________________________
The car was already waiting when you finally emerged from the club with Namjoon. It felt like an eternity as he pulled you through the sweaty dancers; honestly the fact that you didn’t have the best coordination right now didn’t help matters. You had apologized to Jimin on the way, claiming you didn’t feel well and needed to go home. He seemed understanding enough and you were anxious that he might hate you for leaving him after getting him all riled up earlier.
Of course you didn’t know Namjoon had already talked to him, requesting a take-back on the endorsement he’d given earlier that night. The boys had their own off-limits agreement regarding you, mostly because there was a general consensus that Namjoon was hopelessly smitten, regardless of his frequent denial. But after seeing your profile and how unsuccessful you were, of course he wanted you to have something good in your life, someone who made you feel wanted and was actually good at sex. Jimin and Hoseok didn’t hesitate to agree, both volunteering for the job --much to his chagrin. He convinced himself, at least for a little while, that it would be for the best if you were with someone he knew was safe.
But after seeing you with Jimin, getting hot and heavy out in the open, he knew it was a mistake to say he was fine with it. It hurt so much to think about, nevermind actually seeing it unfold. Thankfully they had the type of friendship where all he had to do was ask and they backed off, but not before Hobi gave him an ultimatum, which Jimin fully supported after getting blueballed for the umpteenth time. They had seen him flip-flop too much on this to keep doing nothing about it; it was time for some action. They would all help you with your profile and make you as successful as possible on Tinder. You’d go on dates with strangers, possibly even go home with someone; Joon could either nut up or shut up before that happened. And if it didn’t?
You close your eyes, resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder, causing him to stiffen. “Wake me up when we get there?”
If she’s still single after a month, you have to tell her. Or I will. Hoseok’s words echo in his head as he sits with his hands on his knees, reliving the conversation like a movie reel on repeat. You slip your fingers over his, searching for comfort. He flips his hand around to lace his fingers with yours, sighing softly. “Mmm-hmm.”
Why couldn’t he just come out and say it? Why did it scare the hell out of him so much? Is it that it’s awkward and uncomfortable to talk about? Is it because he’s built you up so much in his head, he’s worried you won’t measure up to his fantasies? Or is it because he feels he won’t measure up to your needs and expectations?
He gives your hand a light squeeze and is surprised when you return the gesture with a squeeze of your own.
Is it because he’s afraid you won’t reciprocate? Or is it because he’s not sure what will happen if you do?
______________________________
The lights flicker for a good ten seconds before remaining on. He sighs again, closing the door and locking it. You couldn’t even get out of the car on your own; three flights of stairs would be impossible in your current state. Besides, he had grabbed your keys from Tae’s couch. Didn’t he say he wasn’t babysitting you this time? Yet here he was in your apartment, dead tired and panting from practically carrying your sloppy ass up the steps. It wouldn’t be the first time he crashed on your small, uncomfortable loveseat. His neck was aching just looking at the thing. He was pretty sure you grabbed it off the side of the road, even though you always insisted you got it for a great price at a discount furniture store. He could always wait until Hobi or Yoongi came home. It also wouldn’t be the first time he’d crashed on their couch down the hall instead.
You feel along the walls as you make your way to the bathroom, vaguely hearing Namjoon ask if you need help. You mumble a quick “no” before shutting the door and peeling the sticky jeans from your legs.
“Where are your night clothes?” he calls through the door.
“Night clothes? What are you, a 17th century peasant? They’re fucking pajamas,” you wait for a smartass response, but it doesn’t come. “In the drawer by the bed.”
“Very helpful,” he grumbles sarcastically while surveying the room.
There are multiple drawers. Of course there are. Choosing a drawer a random yields the surprise of a long, pink, bulbous shape carelessly discarded above several pairs of frilly lingerie. He steals a glance at the closed bathroom door before focusing back on the item. His lips purse into a thin line and his fingers trace along the smooth, velvety surface. He turns it over in his hands, taking a second to measure it against his palm. He smiles wickedly, admiring the way his fingers extend past the edge; it’s such a little thing. Could it really feel that good for you?
His body grows ever more attentive to its contour as he tries to imagine what kind of expression paints your face as it plunges into you. Are you the type to ball your fists up in the sheets and let the sweet notes of your pleasure carry through the walls, or are you quiet, deliciously panting and groaning against pillows to muffle the sounds that escape while you’re coming undone?
His long fingers curl around the shape, noting the flexibility and ridges detailed into the silicone. He exhales a shaky breath, trying to subvert the erection currently tenting his pants. Suddenly there’s a light streaming out the bottom and a steady buzz reverberating off his hand. His eyes widen in panic as he shifts his attention from the vibrator to the bathroom door, praying you can’t hear it over the fan in there. He frantically tries to find the power button, but to no avail. He squeezes and pulls, twists and turns, trying every motion he can think of like it’s a goddamn “bop-it.” After a few seconds it whirs down, light on the bottom extinguishing itself.
Oh, thank god.
He tosses it back in the drawer, closing it as quickly as possible. Shuffling through your other drawers, he picks some clothes out at random before knocking on the door.
“You okay in there, Geeksquad?” he asks, leaning against the wall and listening for a response over the sound of the vent above his head.
You swing the door open and his eyes widen, sweeping over your exposed thighs. He anxiously thrusts the clothes into your arms and turns heel. “Can you please not be walking around in your underwear while I’m still here?”
You scoff, closing the door before tossing your panties on top of the pants. “I don’t know why you’re so mad. I only took off my jeans. Do you know what it’s like trying to squeeze back into wet jeans? Not fun. Sweaty. Gross. Too tight.”
“Sounds horrible,” he remarks, voice distant.
You’re glad he brought you shorts that are made from loose, breathable fabric. It’s too damn hot for anything more. You work to free your tits and quickly slip on the roomy t-shirt he selected, eager lay down so the world won’t spin anymore. You emerge from the restroom again, this time looking like an amorphous blob with legs and arms.
Namjoon extends a glass of water toward you. “Drink.” He quirks an eyebrow at the discarded clothes scattered behind you, but doesn’t care enough to comment beyond the assertive order.
You’re irritated by his demand, a scowl on your face as you bring the glass to your lips. You want me to drink? Fine, bitch. I’ll drink. You guzzle the entire thing for him in one go.
“Happy?” You blink a few times and give him a sour smile.
“Don’t be a brat when I’m taking care of you. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“Are you sure? Will I? Will I really?”
“You’d better thank me after I went into the ladies bathroom,” he snorts, “and saved you from the toilet paper trap.” He ruffles your hair and takes the glass, disappearing from view. “I still can’t believe you did that.”
“If you tell anybody about that I swear to god our friendship is over.” You shuffle your way towards the bedroom, using the wall as your guide. You practically fall onto the mattress, immediately curling your knees into your chest. You’re nowhere near the comfort of your pillows, but all you care about is getting the room to stop moving. If you can just lay still, you know you’ll be fine in a few minutes. Why does it feel like everything is still going? You’re down, aren’t you? You can’t even lift your head to make sure. It’s too much.
“God, you’re so drunk.” Namjoon sets down a full glass of water on your nightstand. “Remember when I said you got a big head you don’t use? This is exactly what I mean. You make yourself sick when you do this. You’re never gonna learn, huh?”
“Joon…” You weakly open your eyes, offering a pout. “It’s not nice to lecture someone who doesn’t feel good.”
“It’s not nice making other people take care of you when you make yourself sick, but you seem to be fine with that,” he shoots back, followed by a heavy sigh. “Is it fun being this fucked up? Why do you do this?”
“It makes me feel less empty,” you mumble, rolling your head towards the soft blankets. “If I’m drunk and having fun, then I can’t focus on how lonely I am.”
“Y/N… Do you really feel that way?” He sits on the edge of the bed, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.
You shiver at the contact with your skin and you can feel goosebumps already forming along your arms. “Yes,” you reply, your voice small and apologetic for the way you’re starting to tear up. How pathetic you must seem to him, falling apart like this over your nothingness.
He gently moves his palm across your shoulder a couple times before giving it a light squeeze. He wants to tell you that you’re not alone, that he’s always going to be here for you, but the words catch in his throat and he can’t muster enough force to get them out.
“Pfft listen to me being sad. That’s not like me, is it?” You peek back up at him through watery lids, cracking your best smile while trying not to let him see you cry. His knotted brow and pressed lips tell you he’s not buying it. “Don’t look at me like that, Joon. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Hey, I didn’t throw up this time so I must not be THAT fucked up.”
He hums softly, amused by your last statement. “That’s true, Y/N…” He pauses to lightly rub his hands across your shoulders; it soothes you and he knows it. While it isn’t his first time taking care of you, his touch is still delicate and reserved. His fingers feel uncertain as they connect with your form, gingerly kneading the skin through your shirt with his thumbs. You find yourself melting beneath the contact of his thumbs, exhaling a breathy moan that makes him tense ever so slightly.
“Everyone gets lonely. You gotta find the coping mechanisms that work for you. Healthy ones. Alcohol ain’t a good one. That’s why I worry about you.”
You manage to roll onto your back, looking up at him from what you’re sure is your most unflattering angle ever. “You worry about me?”
He floats a hand over your face, brushing the hair from your forehead. “A lot, actually.”
You can’t help but lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering closed for longer than you like with the question burning on your lips. “Why?”
“Because,” he begins with a heavy sigh, “you’re dumb smart, except when you’re not.”
Your eyebrows furrow and you lay there blinking at him, waiting for him to stop with his deep-talk and get to the point. He must notice because he rolls his eyes. “I mean, you take apart computers all day right?”
“Mmm, sometimes at night too, but yeah.” He looks like he’s about to say something when you start back up. “Sometimes I build them and sometimes I’m just repairing them.” You hesitate a moment, thinking about it. He opens his mouth when you mindlessly interrupt again. “Sometimes I’m just sifting through parts of our recovery programs, honestly.”
“...Can I finish with my point or you wanna keep going with that?” he teases, raising his eyebrows at you, a small smile playing on his lips.
You blush, wishing you could turn off the ramble function in your brain.
“You fix things, you wire complex shit all day. If you don’t know how to do something, you figure it out. You’re smart. But when it comes to people, you’re dumb,” he stops to correct himself. “Dumb isn’t the right word. You’re just... I don’t know the word I’m looking for. Desperate? No, sorry. Not it. Naive? Eh, I don’t think that’s the word either.”
“If this is supposed to be a pep talk, I’m not feeling it.”
He ignores you, continuing his train of thought, “You’re so open. You may not notice it, but you have this glow, this... energy around you. You smile and the room smiles back. There are people out there who will try to take advantage of someone like you, who will use up all your kindness and love and try to turn you into this dark little raincloud.”
“Am I a sun in this metaphor? You’re losing me here.”
“Nah not a sun. Well, maybe a sunset. More like… a rainbow I guess. You make people feel good, so good they stop and think, wow I love... looking at you, being around you.” He catches himself, knowing it’s time to crash. He’s spouting nonsense that’s too close for comfort. “You just need to be more careful. I won’t always be around to babysit your ass.”
Your eyelids flutter in displeasure. “So you’ve said. Where is this font of knowledge stemming from anyway? Where are these people who love looking at me? I wanna meet them.”
“You’re too drunk for metaphors, got it. Come on, let’s get you on the pillows at least. One, two, three,” he takes a deep breath on the third count and drags you towards the soft, fluffy pillows at the head of the bed. “There we go.”
You offer a soft groan, annoyed by the quick movement. “Joonie…”
But he ignores the sounds of your discontent, rolling you onto your side so he can pull the blankets down, but they catch underneath your body. You raise your leg to try and help, but the fabric to your shorts rides up, exposing the flesh where your thighs meet your ass. It’s then Namjoon realizes just how skimpy and thin the shorts are, eyes frantically searching for the missing layer beneath them.
Realizing the trap he’s about to fall into, he averts his gaze and quickly pivots you back towards him to further work the blankets down. You grunt disapprovingly at the rocking motion and rub your temple, unaware of how he’s clumsily grasping at the sheet to cover you as quickly as possible.
“No it’s too hot,” you complain, hooking your leg and trapping it between your thighs.
Namjoon swallows hard as his eyes settle on your bare asscheek. “You’re going to get cold.”
You disregard his comment and nuzzle your face deep into the pillow, trying to get comfortable.
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Whatever. I need to get some sleep. So if you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna go crash on the couch.” He gestures toward the door and waits a moment for you to respond. When you don’t, he begins to walk away.
“Wait,” you call in a small voice, peeking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Your arms outstretch, beckoning him to come back.
He turns back towards you, lifting his glasses to briefly rub his eyes. “Yeah?”
“When you said everyone gets lonely, do you...” your words falter, not knowing if it’s the alcohol, your hormones, or the loneliness that’s been haunting you, but you have to ask. “Do you feel lonely?”
The hum catches in his throat and he smiles softly, resting his tall frame against the doorway. He’s quiet for a moment, carefully contemplating his answer. “Sometimes. I try to let my friends know so that I don’t get lost in it. It helps.” You get the feeling he’s trying to offer advice and you open your mouth to refute the point, but close it when he continues. “But sometimes, it’s not as simple as having someone to talk to. Sometimes… I just want to find someone to be close to. To hold. To touch. And no amount of talking satisfies that feeling.”
His eyes trail off with his words and you can’t help but ache at the vacuum they leave behind. He gets it. Of course he does; he’s only human. How does he combat that loneliness?
“What do you do when you feel like that?” you ask, melancholy expression mirroring his.
He crosses his arms and thinks a moment. “I try to think about things that make me happy. I try to think about things that I’m grateful for. My job. My apartment. My friends.” He pauses and spares a glance at you, finding your blown out pupils scanning his face. He attributes it to the dim light, though for a second he almost swears there’s a hint of something dark and hungry hiding just beneath the surface and it makes sweat bead along the back of his neck. “...I… think about all that and try to reflect on the good, rather than the bad feelings.”
“Do you ever try to find company instead?” You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes as you twine your fingers between the sheets and tap them against one another. You’re considering the option through beer goggles, thinking about how his hands steadied you at the bar and the surge of electricity it sent through your spine. He’s always been super chill. Would it really be so bad to ask him to climb into bed beside you? Slowly, you move your other leg outside of the sheet, letting the fabric twist around to cover your torso. Your face is absolutely burning as you watch him take the bait.
“Sometimes,” he admits, face growing hot as his eyes crawl across the expanse of your thighs. You can’t help but relish in the shaky exhale he tries in vain to hide.
You stretch your arms across the bed and awkwardly tap at the mattress with your fingertips, lifting your head. “What about right now?”
His gaze locks onto yours, unblinking. His mouth falls open, in heavy need of clarification. “Huh?”
Before he can ask you to repeat it, the next question falls through your lips. “Do you feel lonely now?”
He blinks a few times, unsure if he’s hearing what he thinks he’s hearing. You find yourself growing agitated and increasingly embarrassed at the need to spell it out for him; the fact that you’re even considering this is downright insane, but your body is so touch starved that you have to say it. The hormones racing through you demand some kind of resolve for all the heavy grinding, Jimin’s lips all over your skin, Hobi’s hips at your back, Namjoon’s fingers swirling circles into your shoulders. Would it really be so bad? Is he going to judge you for insinuating such a thing? Is he going to get weird about it? Maybe it’s not such a great idea. Racing thoughts have you internally backpedaling while he draws out his response.
“I might be,” he answers quietly, taking a few slow paces towards the bed. You’ve got hope that Namjoon is also willing to entertain the idea but you have to confirm it.
You can barely hear yourself over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. “Maybe we could be lonely together?” You lick your dry lips and swallow hard, tapping the mattress with your fingers again. You see the pity in his face as he gets closer and suddenly you feel like a moron. Your head drops back against the pillow. “Ah, shit. Ne-Nevermind!”
But he continues to walk over to your bedside and chuckles softly. Soft fingertips brush along your forehead and whisk stray hairs from your forehead. His face floats into your field of vision, the sad smile making you want to crawl under the covers. Pathetic as you are, you lean into his palm as he rests it against your cheek.
“I’m not going to take advantage of the fact that you’re drunk and horny,” he says in a low, soft voice. “You really think I’m about to tap that and have you wake up with a million regrets in the morning?”
Your face twists into a scowl, and then an embarrassed pout. “I’m not saying we bang. I mean, even if I were insinuating that --which I’m not, you don’t have to act like it’d be so gross to fuck me. Sheesh.”
He holds back a laugh as your hands clumsily grip and fiddle with his fingers, pulling them away from your face. Boy, you took that terribly. Did it really bruise your ego so much because he turned you down? “Look, I never said it would be gross. I just mean that you’re not in any position to consent. I’m not about that life.”
He bites his lip, unable to explain further that if you asked on a sober day, he’d take you in a heartbeat. But he knows that will never happen and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up with drunk promises you don’t mean or will never remember.
On some level you know he’s right, but the sting of rejection doesn’t make it easy to accept. So you squash the one shred of pride you have left. “Could you… Do you think you could just hold me? Would that be okay?”
If his heart could pound out of his chest, it certainly felt like now was the time it would happen. He swallows, throat dry as he gives your fingers a small squeeze. “I can do that.”
You flick the light off as he scoots next to you, resting his back against the pillows. He’s incredibly rigid, awkwardly extending an arm over your head and waiting for you to settle in. You can’t help the uncertainty bubbling in your stomach. You slowly rest your head across the expanse of his chest and you can feel him expel the breath he had been holding. Goddamn it Joon. Stop being weird.
“You’re stiff,” you murmur, nuzzling your head into the fabric of his shirt, trying in vain to get comfortable at a ninety degree angle. “Can you like… lay down instead?”
He sighs and repositions, wiggling down beside you. His massive hand cups your head close to his chest as he does so. His head falls against the pillow and he nudges the side of your face with his knuckles. “Better?”
Your face angles upwards and you can just barely make out the mocking flick of his tongue in the moonlight that slips through the blinds. You bury your face, humming a note of approval over his collarbone. You’re quick to splay an arm across his torso and uncurl your fingers against his chest. Heavy fingers climb on yours, trapping your hand between his and the heartbeat beneath your palm. His other hand lands on your shoulder and you shiver when he starts to trace lazy lines up and down your skin.
You don’t have time to fully appreciate the motion as sleep threatens to take you. The last thing you feel is his chin falling against the top of your head, both of you subconsciously snuggling closer. Never in your life have you felt so relaxed, so fast. You forget whom is resting beside you, holding you in a way that keeps you from drunkenly crying yourself to sleep. The world falls away. The thoughts of the night fall away. The emptiness is replaced by something good. Something tender. It’s a strange and foreign concept, and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but what you do know is that it’s the closest thing you’ve ever felt to a place you’ve never truly had: Home.
