#btsfanficwriters

[veronicaseleneisreal]

☾ Met Him Last Night 𐦍

Seokjin Kim and Taehyung Kim — locally famous in the town of New Orleans as the Kim Brothers — are unrealistically beautiful, and there’s nothing they can’t do.

There’s a rumor that these brothers are vampires, based on claims from the old and aged who swear they saw the two in their youth — and that they haven’t aged a day since.

Kim Seokjin, believed to be born on December 4th, 1306, and Kim Taehyung, on December 30th, 1313, are said to have hidden their true origins for centuries. No one knows exactly when they “turned,” or who — or what — their parents were. According to these rumors, the brothers have spent lifetimes masking their identities as noblemen, royal ministers, writers, artists, spies, models, actors, college students, and more.

What has never changed, however, is that these two brothers are inseparable.

____ has been hearing these tales since her teens. With every overheard whisper and conversation, she’s felt an inexplicable void growing inside her — a pull toward the mystery of the Kim Brothers. Eventually, uncovering the truth about them became her life’s mission.

Years of research, and piles of photographic and videographic evidence, have proven that the Kim Brothers have indeed existed across timelines in ways no human could.

And yet, that void remains…

Until one night — a perfectly dark, impossibly still night — ____ finally encounters them both.

— Veronica.

(A small (possible) fic intro inspired by "The Vampire Diaries", "The Originals" & "The Twilight Saga" because our Kim Brothers are never beating vampire allegations and

a small edit from my archives from when I was an amateur editor...or maybe I'm still one).

For more edits follow @/itsdaebakbangtan on Instagram.

🌕🧛🏻🥀🧛🏻‍♀️❤️‍🔥🌃🪉

DON'T REPOST.

[dillydandydaisy]

Cursed in your Orbit

Part 1

New city, same broke Y/N.

YN screeched, “Five hundred dollars?!” She threw her hands up. “I don’t see platinum joints in the walls or gold bricks lining the floors!”

She knew she was being dramatic, but someone had to say it.

The realtor, a guy with sharp sun-kissed features and dressed in all-black urban streetwear, squinted at her like she’d never paid rent before. “And how much did you pay for your last place, little lady?”

“Four hundred. For a 900 square foot concrete box with more holes than I have fingers. Oh, and a 24/7 view of my big-bellied neighbour on life support who thought he was the pornstar of my dreams. Never forgot to flaunt those hairy curves.”

The sunny man visibly gagged, shaking his head. “Right. So, compared to that, this place is a steal. No pervy neighbors. One-bedroom, kitchen, attached bath. Plus, a basement you could use for work or...”

He gave her a once-over. Twice.

...garage. Not that you have a car."

Rude. Also not wrong. Still rude.

Unbothered, he leaned back against the doorway, arms crossed. “And for your kind of work? This area is a gold mine.”

She blinked. “Therapy?”

“Exactly.” His eyes gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the cracked window. “A guy got murdered here just last week. Cold blood.”

Red flag. Huge one. Waving right in her face. 4K

He leaned in, like this was the best sales pitch in the world. “Low-cost living, high trauma. Gym down the street full of men and women with emotional damage and zero coping skills. Gangsters, goons, unhealed childhoods. You’re surrounded by walking case studies. Play it smart, you’ll be cashing in.”

Y/N nodded slowly, while her mind spun faster than the cracked ceiling fan above.

Later, at a dingy café with even dingier coffee, Y/N pulled out a napkin and scribbled a list:

Pros:

Cheap rent

No hairy curve-flashing neighbors

Free crime stories for dinner talk

Work in basement = cool

Cons:

Possible ghost

Definite murder

Gym full of potential murderers

May die

She sipped the watery coffee. It tasted like regret. Or maybe beggars really can’t be choosers.

🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫

Twenty-four floors above the crumbling city, Jungkook lounged in his leather chair, one boot resting casually on the windowsill. In his tattooed hand, a glass of dark liquor swirled as neon lights flickered across his face, cutting shadows into the sharp angles of his jaw. The skyline blinked like it owed him money.

Things were going too well.

“They’re celebrating, Taehyung,” he muttered, watching the grainy feed on the screen. His enemy, Brad's crew, hooting around crates like they’d just unlocked military-grade loot in a video game. “Those dumbasses think they scored premium Russian stock.”

Taehyung scoffed. “Premium? Bro, I wouldn’t trust those guns to shoot a water balloon from two feet. They jam if you sneeze near ’em.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook grinned, cruel and gleaming. “Third-grade polymer, stuffed with recycled metal, painted like they’ve seen war. And the cherry on top? They paid for it with a loan… from a Shell company under my false name. 50% interest rate. But of course, they don’t know that yet.”

Taehyung raised a brow, smirking. “Using your money to buy your fake guns to wage war against you. That’s fucking Shakespearean.”

“Nah,” Jungkook said, sipping slow, “that’s just business with extra glitter.”

A waitress dressed skimpily slid by, carrying whiskey and dead dreams. No one looked at her. The room was full of better distractions: drugs, drinks, bodies, and sin. But for Jungkook, the real high came from watching stupid men dig their own graves with polished shovels.

He rewound the video. One of Brad's men held a rifle to the light, nodding like it was divine. Jungkook hit record. “Make sure we film the moment these toys jam on them. I want a full fucking highlight reel. Send it to them with a fruit basket later.”

Taehyung snorted. “Operation Dumbass Deluxe in full swing.”

“Oh yeah,” Jungkook said, voice low and smug. “And get this...before they took the guns, they signed a supply agreement. Buried clause, bottom line, unread. They basically sold me the rights to two coastal cities if they default.”

“You’re kidding.”

“They won’t read it until it’s already mine.”

Silence fell, heavy, the kind that comes just before gunshots or bad decisions.

Taehyung chuckled. “You’re a bastard.”

Jungkook smiled slow and shark-like. “But an efficient one.”

He turned back to the window. The city looked small from up here. Like something he could fold and put in his pocket.

“Double the security on the west blocks. When these idiots realize the guns don’t work, they’ll panic. Try to retaliate...fast and dirty.”

“Landmines or snipers?”

“Both. And a drone. I want a drone hovering over them playing circus music when they try to fire those guns.”

Taehyung was still laughing when he left the room.

Jungkook stayed behind, watching the skyline like a man admiring his own reflection. This city ran on blood and bad decisions, and he owned both.

The floor below thumped with bass and bodies. His men were getting high on power, flesh, and illusions. But he? He got high on control.

And somewhere, way across the city, a young therapist with a cracked phone, student debts, and a chip on her shoulder was signing a lease.

Did she know the building sat on the edge of a war zone?

Did she know her future clients included half the city’s most broken criminals?

Not yet. Would it change her mind if she knew her place was built on the hotspot of an active volcano dressed as a human?

Nope.

After all, student debts don’t pay themselves.

🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫🎀🔫

[veronicaseleneisreal]

Complex Code

- A Jungkook x Reader fanfic by Veronica.

*always

To be read in sequence for a better experience: chapter 1 , 2

Check out my other works - Masterlist

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

📖 Summary

In a world written in fragments of code and unfinished sketches, two students find themselves circling each other in the quiet corners of a campus that never really sleeps.

____ dreams of becoming a cybersecurity engineer, guarding the firewalls that keep the digital world safe. She’s careful, ambitious, and constantly trying to convince herself she doesn’t notice the boy across the room.

Jungkook? He wants to build his own video game someday—something that’s his from the ground up. But between his half-finished dev projects and his not-so-secret dives into ethical (and sometimes not-so-ethical) hacking, his curiosity constantly pulls him past the edges of the rules.

Their paths shouldn’t align. One builds walls; the other slips through them. But every late-night debugging session, every sketch in Jungkook’s notebook, every text sent at 2:47 a.m. makes it harder to ignore the pull.

A story about contradictions wrapped in code, slow-burn tension, jealousy, and the quiet kind of love that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

---

🎮 Characters

👾 Jungkook Jeon

Computer science major, sketchbook full of characters + half-written lines of code.

Wants to be the developer of his own game one day.

Dabbles in ethical and unethical hacking—not to cause harm, but because curiosity always wins.

Inked skin, leather jacket, and an energy that makes him seem untouchable.

But he notices everything. Especially her.

💻 ____ (The Reader)

Future cybersecurity engineer with a color-coded planner and a stubborn streak.

Believes rules are there for a reason, though she secretly wonders what it’d feel like to break them.

Stays up late debugging code because she can’t resist solving puzzles — Jungkook being her favorite one, even though she hasn’t managed to solve him yet.

Strong on the outside, softer than she’d ever admit on the inside.

Swears she doesn’t overthink—but with him, it’s impossible not to.

---

🌌 Themes

Slow burn + soft tension

Sketchbooks + code + late-night messages

Jealousy subplot / rival energy

Alternating POVs

May or May not include mature themes eventually (so read ethically)

---

✨ Taglines

“Every code has a weakness. Every heart does too.”

“She builds firewalls. He breaks through them. Somehow, they meet in the middle.”

---

To be read in sequence for better experience: Chapter 1

Masterlist

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

[veronicaseleneisreal]

Off-track Revelations : Namjoon's Pov

(from "In Between Plays and Playlists"- a Namjoon x Reader fanfic)

First read: intro, chapter 1, 2

Next: chapter 3 . Masterlist .

---

You weren’t going to say anything about the eyeliner.

Not when she was already technically late — even though she insisted you were early — and not when she was flustered from running across campus and still looked like poetry in motion.

Or showed up today — rain-soaked, dripping at your door like a scene straight out of a novel she’d pretend not to romanticize.

But you noticed.

Just like you always notice the barely-there ink smudge on her wrist, the exact way her ankle curls beneath her when she’s focused, and the fact that it's just not her to flash her teeth every now and then — except when you call her Pocket Problem or Smol Chaos, or when she’s wrapped in your blanket, saying “Page 42” like it meant something more than a number.

You hoped she didn’t hear the way your heart tripped over itself when she did.

It’s unfair, really — how someone who looks like she’d square up at anyone who calls her five feet tall could also smile so softly it dissolves every ounce of logic in your body, like the sun breaking through fog.

She showed up at your door, soaked and breathless and half-laughing, claiming she was "fine" while shivering like a leaf.

You offered her a towel.

Then tea.

Then silence.

And when she asked if she could shower —

You tried not to think too hard about her being in your bathroom, peeling off damp layers, standing under water that used to only hit your shoulders.

You really tried.

And then she called out from the hallway, towel-wrapped, hair dripping, asking about that triple-wash you got.

Shit. You forgot about it.

You froze mid-sip.

> “What?”

She smirked.

You scratched your neck, pretending to be casual, giving her excuses that were barely convincing.

You're almost sure it’s over — the cat's out of the bag — she knows you too well to be convinced by that.

You didn’t say you’d kept it unopened for months.

You didn’t say you used it exactly once.

You didn’t say it still smelled like her skin, even in a bottle.

But then she disappeared back inside before either of you could unpack it further.

You sighed in relief — but also in confusion that she actually believed the stupid lie you just told.

Then came the awkward post-shower hallway run-in —

Her wearing your old oversized sweatshirt, face flushed from the steam, hair a little wild.

You nearly dropped your tea.

You definitely walked into the doorframe.

You hoped she didn’t notice.

---

Later, you sat alone on the couch long after she left, the imprint of her weight still warm in the cushions.

She nearly kissed you.

Or maybe you almost kissed her.

You weren’t sure anymore.

All you knew was:

His sweatshirt smelled like her.

Her fingers trembled slightly when she read aloud.

And when she looked up at you with those eyes, you swore the world stopped moving.

You played the moment back in your head like a mixtape — one you couldn’t rewind without aching.

---

____ ____ (your full name).

The storm in your study sessions.

The girl who hates rain but dances like she's always chasing the thunder.

She calls you Library Hulk, Overachieving Tree, Professor Flex — with mockery in her voice and something almost tender in her eyes.

Like she knows you want to be safe more than you want to be strong.

And God, you want to tell her things.

That the hoodie you always bring is more for her than you.

That you wait for her reactions to every new playlist like they're thesis feedback.

That you know she keeps a diary, and sometimes — selfishly — you want to know what lives inside her pages.

Because there’s a version of you in there, maybe.

A line. A margin note. A sigh.

And as overachieving as your nickname, maybe a slight mention of you — even just as a best friend.

But you don’t ask. Not yet.

Some things are sacred.

So instead, you write.

You scribble another few lines in your own journal — your lyric vault — the one she jokes about but never tries to open.

(Oh, how you wish she would one day.)

Tonight, it reads:

> “She tells me she’s tired of love songs / But still hums mine without knowing.”

“She’s made of margins and metaphors / says she’s five-two but fights like six-four / calls me Library Hulk — maybe she sees more.”

“She pirouettes through my logic / I write metaphors for her and call them ‘homework.’”

You tap your pencil against the page.

Think about her smile.

And close the book.

---

You pick up your phone.

Open Spotify.

Create a new playlist.

Title:

> Not Mine (But Should’ve Been)

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

So you text.

She said "my" Professor Flex.

You reread it twice.

You wish she didn’t leave.

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

[veronicaseleneisreal]

Chapter 3: Collide (from "In Between Plays and Playlists"- A Namjoon x Reader fanfic)

First read- Intro, Chapter 1, 2, off-track

Next- Chapter 4 . Masterlist .

Special Appearance: Mingyu Kim

Disclaimer: This is going to be a little long(er) emotional rollercoaster but trust me, it's worth it and to set the stage.

Also, I intend absolutely no hate or ill-feelings (neither will encourage/entertain it from others since I myself admire them) towards other persons or groups or people from other/same groups mentioned henceforth.

---

POV Namjoon:

The group project was supposed to be chill.

Just a four-person literary analysis for your Shakespeare class. But nothing about it felt chill when he saw you paired with Mingyu — that over-gelled drama major who quoted Keats like a pickup line and smelled like citrus arrogance.

You were smiling at him.

Laughing.

Touching his forearm like it meant nothing.

He’s sitting too close to her.

Mingyu leans over the table, chin propped on his palm like he has all the time in the world to stare at her while she explains the tragic unraveling of Ophelia. His smile is too wide. His eyes are too obvious.

Namjoon watches with his jaw clenched and highlighter forgotten in his hand.

“God,” Mingyu says suddenly, still looking at her, “the way your brain works is just…”

He exhales like he’s genuinely stunned. “Lowkey terrifying in the hottest way possible.”

Namjoon grips his pen tighter.

Snaps the cap shut — loud.

____ just laughs it off. “Terrifying is not the compliment you think it is.”

Mingyu grins. “Oh, it is when it’s you.” Then, with fake casualness — because Namjoon knows better — he adds, “You still down for that dance thing we talked about?”

____ blinks. “The one to Collide?”

Namjoon stiffens.

Mingyu nods. “Yeah. Studio’s open tomorrow. I’ve got something sexy in mind.”

Sexy?

She doesn’t even blink. Just sips coffee like they’re talking about coursework.

“I’m in,” she says. “I love that track. Let’s see how it flows.”

Namjoon barely hears the next few lines.

His heartbeat’s thudding in his ears.

His jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d crack a molar.

He knows the song — The suggestive lyrics. He’s seen the trend — Half his gym’s IG stories are flooded with steamy duets and couples grinding in mood lighting.

And now ____ —his ____ —is going to do that with Mingyu?

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until ____ turns to look at him. “You okay?”

He forces a shrug, voice too flat. “Fine. Just… didn’t know you were into that kind of choreography.”

She tilts her head. “It’s just dance, Joon.”

Mingyu leans back with a smug tilt to his lips. “Yeah, man. Just dance.”

Namjoon smiles—tight and teethless.

“Cool,” he says.

But inside? He's definitely not cool.

---

Studio Scene — “That’s... Not Nothing”

Your POV :

The track plays again, slower this time.

You move through the routine — Mingyu’s hand slides across your waist, you spin into him, then drop low and rise again with your back pressed to his chest.

It’s... good. Tight. Smooth. Every move hits like a beat drop.

But also?

It’s a lot.

“Relax,” Mingyu says gently, adjusting your hand on his shoulder. “You’re stiff. Trust me.”

You nod, still catching your breath.

You do trust him. You’ve danced together before. But this choreo — this sultry, up-close-and-personal, almost-whispered-against-your-neck kind of routine — it’s not your usual.

Still, the way he looks at you like he’s in some steamy music video? You’d be blind not to notice.

The music picks up. This time, you commit harder.

Hip roll. Slide. Step.

Spin into him.

Hold.

Your hand finds its place at the edge of his jaw just as his fingers slide along the back of your thigh, guiding your movement to match his rhythm.

And that’s when the door creaks open.

You freeze mid-step.

Mingyu’s arms still around you.

Your breath still high in your throat.

And Namjoon… Namjoon is standing at the door, staring.

His eyes flicker over the scene. Slowly. Deliberately.

From the press of Mingyu’s hand to your hip,

to the closeness of your bodies,

to your parted lips.

No expression.

Which somehow is worse than anger.

“Didn’t know you guys were… busy,” he says, voice cool as steel. His gym bag still slung over his shoulder.

“Joon—” you start, but he’s already turning.

“Studio’s booked after this,” he adds over his shoulder. “Just a heads up.”

Then he walks out.

And it hits you in a way that dance never could.

---

Later — Mingyu wipes sweat from his brow.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod slowly. But your chest is tight. “Yeah. I just… maybe we don’t post this one.”

Mingyu arches an eyebrow. “Why not? This is fire. We could blow up.”

You force a smile. “I just don’t want that kind of attention right now.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t push. “Your call.”

And as the song replays faintly in the background, you suddenly wonder:

If someone else had been dancing with him — that close, that slowly — would you be okay?

The answer is already in your stomach.

---

Aftermath — “It’s Just Dance, Right?”

Your POV:

You find him by the vending machine in the English wing. Headphones in, hoodie up, water bottle in hand — the full “don’t talk to me” ensemble.

You hesitate before walking up. “Hey.”

He glances over. Doesn’t remove his earbuds.

You raise your brows. “Seriously?”

He sighs and finally tugs one out. “Hey.”

You shift awkwardly. “I… wanted to say sorry. About the studio.”

He takes a long sip of water, shrugs like it costs him nothing. “Nothing to be sorry for. It was a dance routine.”

His tone is perfectly flat.

That’s what makes it hurt.

“Yeah, but I— I didn’t think it’d look like that. I didn’t know Mingyu was—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, ____.”

And there it is.

The quiet chill in his voice.

Polite. Detached. Deadly.

You force a smile. “Right. Just... felt weird. You walked in at the wrong time.”

Namjoon nods. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t.

---

Namjoon's POV:

Later that day, he skipped the library. Went straight to the gym. Threw on his hoodie. Blasted ragey hip-hop. Lifted until his arms trembled and the world blurred.

He should’ve texted you.

Instead, he made a new playlist.

Title: “She’s Laughing and I’m Lifting”

---

3 Days Later:

He’s benched 200 pounds and still feels hollow.

Three straight days in the gym. Sweating out thoughts he can’t afford to say.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her — back pressed into Mingyu, smile soft and unaware. Like she didn’t even know she was breaking him.

And that’s the part that kills him the most.

She doesn’t even realize what she did.

Not because it was wrong.

But because she still thinks it’s just friendship between them.

He grits his teeth and pushes into another set of reps.

Maybe pain is easier than pining.

---

3 days earlier (Your POV):

The next day, Namjoon doesn’t show up to your shared morning café run.

Or your study session.

Or the gym-library-coffee loop you’ve both lived in like ritual.

You told yourself you weren’t checking your phone for him.

Then you looked at your phone for the fiftieth time in two hours.

It wasn’t like him to disappear without a meme, a quote, or a sarcastic “miss me yet, Smol?”

Diary Entry —

> That day, 11:02 p.m.

I hate him. I love him.

I hate that he gets under my skin so easily. I hate that when he pulls away, it feels like gravity forgets me.

We had a stupid, petty fight. Over what? A project partner? A skipped text?

No. It wasn’t about any of that.

It was about what we don’t say. About all the things we’re too scared to risk.

I think we’re both terrified of breaking whatever this is.

But aren’t we already halfway cracked?

~____

---

Friday:

You found him in the gym. Hoodie soaked through, hair a mess, music blasting from his headphones. He looked at you like you were an interruption, not a comfort.

“Wow,” you said. “Remember me?”

Namjoon yanked out one headphone. “You seemed busy. With Mingyu.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously jealous of a guy who thinks Twelfth Night was a Bridgerton sequel?”

He scowled. “Are you seriously acting like that touchy arm and waist grabbing flirt thing wasn’t deliberate?”

You stepped closer. “It wasn’t. But I guess it’s okay for you to disappear and ignore me for three days because your ego got bruised.”

“That’s not—” he started, but the words tangled. “I just needed space.”

“I didn’t,” you snapped. “I needed you.”

That landed between you like a fire alarm no one wanted to acknowledge.

Silence. Harsh. Sharp.

You both looked away at the same time.

---

Back at the dorm that night:

She tossed the pen across her desk for the fifth time that hour.

Nothing felt right.

Not the music.

Not the silence.

Namjoon hadn’t texted back. Or maybe she hadn’t texted first. She didn’t know who was supposed to move anymore. But it was day four and the tension was sitting on her skin like a too-tight sweater.

She hated this.

Hated pretending it didn’t bother her.

Hated being angry when all she really wanted was to hear his dumb voice calling her “Pocket Problem” like it meant something only the two of them understood.

Maybe he was mad. Maybe he had a reason. Maybe he didn’t. But she was tired of waiting to find out.

Her pride wasn’t louder than missing him.

Not tonight.

Not anymore.

She sighed — a shaky, defeated thing — and curled up in the corner of the bed, then, she grabbed her phone.

> Fine.

If you’re mad because of me — even if there’s nothing to be mad about — I’ll be the one to say it first.

I miss you.

And I’m sorry.

Can we please talk?

Her thumb hovered over send for half a second.

Then she deleted it.

Instead, she decided on addressing it the other, more subtle way, to save the last of whatever was left of her pride and insecurity.

---

Text Thread — Later That Night

You

12:11 a.m.

> We were both kinda dumb today.

Namjoon

12:13 a.m.

> Yeah. I lifted like a maniac and thought angry thoughts about your dance partner.

You

12:13 a.m.

> I didn’t like watching you shut me out. Felt like losing you. And I hated it.

Namjoon

12:14 a.m.

> You’re not gonna lose me, Smol Chaos.

Even if I act like a dumbass sometimes.

You

12:15 a.m.

> Promise?

Namjoon

12:15 a.m.

> On Shakespeare’s ghost.

And my protein powder.

You

12:16 a.m.

> …idiot.

Namjoon

12:16 a.m.

> Your idiot.

---

Namjoon’s POV:

The cursor blinked at him mockingly from his Notes app. A string of unfinished sentences stared back — drafted and redrafted for the past forty minutes.

> I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Maybe I’m tired. Or maybe I’m scared. Or maybe it’s just—

He sighed, thumb hovering.

> I just wanted you to be not a moment away from me. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.

The words didn’t feel enough. Nothing did. He kept trying to shrink his feelings into lowercase confessions, like that would make him less exposed. Less ridiculous for missing her like this.

Why was it so hard to admit that being distant from her — even for a day — made everything duller?

He looked at their thread.

Her name glowing quietly at the top.

No new messages.

Not yet.

Maybe she was waiting on him.

Which is why it nearly knocked the breath out of him when her name lit up his phone.

His chest did that thing — clenched and softened at the same time. Guilt slipped in behind the relief — quiet, but slicing.

Because she reached out first. Again.

Even though he was already typing.

Even though he'd been meaning to.

Even though he should have.

He closed his eyes for a second and let it wash over him — the sound of her voice saying those words, even if it was only in his head. The softness. The surrender.

He could’ve met her halfway. But she came the whole way instead.

And somehow that made him ache worse.

So least he does is try to not let it all out yet — out of fear, ofcourse.

But he doesn’t hesitate to send the riskiest line of all: “your idiot.”

Because that’s exactly what he is — hers.

---

End of Chapter 3

---

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

[veronicaseleneisreal]

📚 Masterlist : My Treasure Trove of Fanfictions.

Welcome to my little corner 🌸!

Here you’ll find all my works neatly organized.

Last updated - 31st January 2026

More stories are coming soon 💌

Disclaimer: All these stories are a work of fiction. These works are intended for entertainment purposes only. No harm intended to persons mentioned in these works or stories who may bear resemblance to the people in real life.

---

🌙 Kim Namjoon

1) In Between Plays and Playlists

Content: detailed introduction + 9 chapters

Themes: slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, college AU, bestfriends to lovers trope, slight/eventual mature themes • Completed

Navigation: #inbetweenplaysmasterlist

2) Zodiac Experiment: Namjoon as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

🧛🏻 Kim Seokjin

1) Zodiac Experiment: Seokjin as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

2) Met him Last Night : Vampire TaeJin x Reader

🐅Min Yoongi

1) Zodiac Experiment: Yoongi as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

🪩 Jung Hoseok

1) Zodiac Experiment: Hoseok as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

🫧 Park Jimin

1) Zodiac Experiment: Jimin as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

🫅🏻Kim Taehyung

1) Zodiac Experiment: Taehyung as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

2) Met him Last Night: Vampire TaeJin x Reader

🌌 Jeon Jungkook

1) Complex Code

Content: Introduction + chapter 1 , 2

Themes: slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, coding & hacking, tattoos & piercings, college AU, slight/eventual mature themes • Ongoing

Tropes: study buddies to lovers, friends to lovers, two nerds/geeks in love, love tech and each other

Navigation: #codemasterlist

2) Zodiac Experiment: Jungkook as a Scorpio

Navigation: #bts as scorpios

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

[veronicaseleneisreal]

Chapter 5: The Space Between Us

(from "In Between Plays and Playlists" - a Namjoon x Reader fanfic)

First read- Intro, Chapter 1, 2, off-track, 3, 4

Next- curtains drop . Masterlist .

Special Appearance: Hoseok Jung, Yoonji Min

---

Your POV – The Spark and the Static:

It was a library afternoon. Sunlight hit the windows just right — dust motes suspended in golden beams like they had somewhere to be but weren’t in a rush.

Namjoon sat beside you, headphones in, glasses on, pen between his teeth. You tried not to stare, but he was wearing that hoodie — the worn-out black one that clung to his shoulders and smelled like cedarwood and distraction.

You were flipping through Much Ado About Nothing, underlining Beatrice’s lines, when someone walked up to your table.

“Hey, Namjoon, right?”

She was pretty. Soft curls, pink lip gloss — majoring in Philosophy, if you remembered right.

Namjoon looked up, pulled his headphones off. “Yeah?”

“Hi. I'm Yoonji. I was wondering if you'd be open to tutoring? My friend said you were brilliant with literary analysis, and honestly... I wouldn’t mind the company while figuring out Shakespeare.”

She smiled. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

And then — touched his forearm.

You didn’t say anything.

But you underlined the same sentence three times, your highlighter nearly bleeding through the page.

Hoseok noticed. “Are you okay? This isn’t a coloring book.”

He’s that friend in your group from whom nothing goes unnoticed. You've always feared he knows about your feelings for Namjoon too.

Namjoon blinked, looked a little awkward. “Oh — I guess. Yeah, I mean… maybe. I have kind of a tight schedule, though.”

She gave him a slow nod. “Just think about it and text me.”

She passed him a napkin with her number written on it like she already came prepared.

You stared at your page and suddenly hated Beatrice.

And you knew Hoseok was staring at you, internally screaming, Really, woman? as you felt two sharp holes being bored into your skull.

But it’s not like you could do anything.

Moreover, it’s not your first rodeo.

---

Namjoon’s POV:

She didn’t say anything after that girl left. Not a single sarcastic jab. Not even a, “Professor Flex has a fan club now?”

Which — for ____ — meant something was off.

Later, you went to the gym, trying to clear your head, but even your favorite playlist couldn’t drown out the weird tension. You liked the attention. Sure. But you didn’t want it.

Not like you wanted her attention.

When she walked into the gym unexpectedly — hoodie zipped, tiny frown on her face — your heart did that lurch thing again.

She didn’t even look at you.

Just started stretching near the mirrors.

You watched her in the reflection. She moved like something tightly wound.

> Was she mad about the girl? Or was this about something else?

You couldn’t ask. Not yet.

So you did what you always did when emotions got too loud: lifted heavier and hoped the ache in your arms would shut up the ache in your chest.

---

Your POV:

She’s back again the next day. “Hey, Namjoon, I was waiting for your text.”

Namjoon replies, “Oh — uh, I’m sorry. It slipped my mind.”

You don’t look up from your book like you’re actually invested in it, like you didn’t just breathe a quiet sigh of relief now that you know — Namjoon didn’t text her.

“No worries. But I wouldn’t be bugging you if this wasn’t urgent. Got a few spare minutes? I promise I learn quick.”

Namjoon, clearly hesitating but feeling like there’s no option left but to help: “Um, yeah, uh — okay.”

Yoonji gets excited, like he just handed her her favorite lip gloss, and plops beside him, making all of us shift to make space in our already-tight sitting arrangement at our fixed spot.

God. When was the last time you felt this irritated?

And the worst part is that he looks good while doing it.

The way he leans forward, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, index finger on his temple as he listens to her — genuinely listens — like she’s quoting Neruda and not talking about some dumb poetry slam happening downtown.

He laughs at something she says.

Laughs.

Not the soft huff he gives you when you mispronounce “cacophony” again, or the full-belly one when you trip over nothing. No, this one is smooth, casual, almost… flirtatious.

He knows the effect his dimples have on people.

Your skin prickles.

You bury yourself deeper into his hoodie, which smells like him because this morning, he “accidentally” spilled coffee on your cardigan. Accident, my ass. He smiled like a villain when you walked out wearing it.

And now here you are, swaddled in his scent like a damn lovesick idiot, while some poetic temptress with perfect eyeliner makes him laugh.

You tear your gaze away. Try to focus on your book — try being the operative word — but the words blur together.

> “She walks in beauty, like the night…”

You slam the book shut.

Irony is not dead.

“Hey,” Hoseok whispers beside you, nudging your arm. “Seriously, what's up with you these days? You’ve highlighted the same line eight times.”

“I’m just… appreciating the Romantic era,” you grumble, capping your pen with unnecessary aggression.

He raises an eyebrow. “Looks more like you’re about to stab Byron in the heart.”

Too late for that, you think bitterly.

You glance over again, and of course she’s leaning closer now. Her hand brushes his forearm as she laughs at something he says. He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even flinch.

And that?

That’s what makes your chest ache.

It’s not that she’s pretty — she is.

It’s not even that she’s smart — she might be.

It’s that he’s letting her in.

The way he does with you.

And you don’t know what to do with that. Because we’re best friends, right?

We’re allowed to talk to other people.

You're allowed to roll your eyes and call him a literature snob and crash at his place like it’s your own.

He’s allowed to help pretty girls who are into philosophy.

Right?

Then why does it feel like someone’s slowly twisting a knife between your ribs?

You tug the hoodie sleeves over your hands and press your palms to your cheeks. They’re burning.

> "Jealousy is not a good color on me," you mutter.

---

The Diary Entry :

> That girl touched his arm. He laughed with her like he was enjoying it. And I wanted to rip the earth open.

I don’t want to just be his favorite person.

I want to be the only one he looks at and laughs with, like that.

God, I’m in trouble.

~ ____

---

Namjoon’s POV – The Air Before It Breaks:

It was night now.

A post-class walk back to his place to collect a secondhand copy of The Tempest.

Clouds were thick with unspoken tension.

A storm was looming — literally and figuratively.

At first, it was easy, familiar.

Your hands brushed hers like they always did, and she smiled — soft, barely there.

But something was off.

You could feel it. Like static in your bloodstream.

And it was raining again.

Of course it was.

She tucked the hoodie tighter, shoulders tense.

You wanted to put an arm around her and pull her close for warmth.

You didn’t.

She’d just roll her eyes, call you “Overachieving Tree,” and pretend not to shiver.

> But she hadn’t called you that in days.

---

“Something wrong?” you asked, stopping, voice careful.

She didn’t look at you.

“No. Why would there be?”

Right. Okay.

Lie number one.

“You’ve been weird,” you finally said.

She stopped too. Slowly turned to face you.

You could see it — all of it — behind her eyes: the silence, the jealousy, the fear, the want.

She was so full of it, she looked like she might burst.

> “Just say it,” you said, low. “Whatever it is. I can take it.”

---

Your POV – The Thing We’re Not Saying:

The words tumbled out, sharp and unpolished.

> “I hated seeing her touch you. I hated that you didn’t pull away.”

Namjoon blinked.

You almost stopped.

But you didn’t.

> “I hated how you looked at her like maybe — maybe she was an option.”

His face twisted. “____—"

You laughed bitterly.

> “And I hated myself for caring, because I’m just your best friend, right?

> Smol Chaos. Pocket Problem. Little fury. A height joke with a heartbeat.”

His expression crumbled.

“That’s not—no. You are so much more—”

> “Then why haven’t you said it?”

The sky cracked open.

Rain started to fall.

Perfect. Of course it did.

You turned away, blinking back tears.

> “I can’t keep doing this, Joon. The almosts. The playlists that sound like love confessions.

The way you look at me like you’re drowning and I’m the shore — but then you never swim.”

---

Namjoon’s POV – The Dam Breaks:

You reached for her hand. She flinched. You held on anyway.

> “Because if I say it,” you said, voice shaking, “I can’t unsay it.”

The rain was pouring now. Your hood soaked.

Her cheeks glistened — and it wasn’t just water.

> “And if you walk away after, I don’t know if I’ll survive that.”

She looked up at you.

Afraid. Angry. Aching.

> “Say it anyway.”

You did.

> “I’m in love with you.”

---

The rain didn’t stop. But something else did.

That space between you?

Gone.

She stepped forward.

You met her halfway.

Your hands slid to her jaw, hers clenched at your shirt.

And when you kissed her — finally, fully — it didn’t feel like fire.

> It felt like relief.

Like the line you both danced on for so long had finally disappeared.

---

Your Diary Entry (Post-Kiss):

> It was raining when he said it.

I’ve hated the rain my whole life. The cold, the mess, the way it makes you feel small and helpless.

But tonight — I didn’t feel small.

I felt seen. Chosen. Wanted.

He didn’t say “I love you” like it was a risk.

He said it like it was the only truth he’d ever known.

And I didn’t kiss him back like it was a maybe.

I kissed him like it was the ending to every chapter I’ve been writing in secret.

~____

---

Text Later That Night:

Namjoon

02:50 am

> Need help reaching the top shelf of my heart, Smol Chaos?

You

02:51 am

>Only if you promise to never put me back down.

---

End of Chapter 5

---

Happy Girlfriend's Day, ARMYs ;)

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.

[veronicaseleneisreal]

Chapter 2: Storm Warning!

(from "In Between Plays and Playlists"- A Namjoon x Reader fanfic)

First read - intro, chapter 1

Next- off-track . Masterlist .

---

It started raining just after your dance practice — not the kind of drizzle you could outrun, but the soul-drenching, clothes-clinging kind that made you curse the gods, your planner, and every cloud in the sky.

You hated the rain.

It made your body feel heavy and your mind louder. It blurred windows and boundaries. It soaked through your clothes and made your already small frame feel like it could disappear in the fog of it all.

You banged on Namjoon’s apartment door, hair stuck to your forehead, hoodie dripping onto the doormat.

He opened the door in sweatpants and a tank top, blinking in surprise. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite drowned gremlin.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, stepping inside and kicking off your soaked sneakers.

“You love me,” he said casually, tossing you a towel.

You paused just long enough to wonder if he meant to say that out loud.

---

“Can I shower real quick?” you asked, wringing out the hem of your hoodie. “I feel like a walking bacteria farm.”

He was already heading toward his room. “Yeah, obviously. You look like a soggy bookmark.”

“Very poetic, thanks,” you muttered, trailing after him.

Few minutes later, you were standing in his bathroom, stripping off damp layers, your fingers freezing but your cheeks warm for… other reasons.

You turned on the water — hot, comforting — and scanned the shower caddy automatically.

That’s when you noticed it.

> Vanilla-bergamot triple-wash.

The exact kind you used. The exact scent.

You paused, blinking at the label.

Wait. Was this yours? Did you leave it here at some point?

Your visits to his place had never been frequent enough to justify claiming shelf space — but there had been a few crash-ins. A few emergency sleepovers. A few post-anxiety, post-exam, post-midnight stays.

Or… had he actually gone out and bought this?

The thought sent something fluttering in your chest.

Five minutes later, you called out from the hallway, towel-wrapped, hair dripping, head peeking from inside the bathroom and guarded by its door.

> “Hey, Library Hulk — did you start using vanilla-bergamot triple-wash?”

No reaction. As if he didn't even know what you were talking about.

“The triple-wash. It’s the same one I use. And I’m like… 90% sure I didn’t leave it here, but I might have?”

He blinked. “Oh. No — I, uh, picked it up.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Randomly?”

“I thought it was unisex. And it was on sale. Also — you always whine about how guys stock boring soap and that I don’t have proper skincare stuff, so I did it just to shut you up.”

A pause. Then he added, smirking, “Don’t read into it.”

You blinked.

“That’s not weird, right?” he added, suddenly self-conscious.

“No — it’s actually a good thing you did,” you said too quickly, then coughed.

You nodded, pretending your stomach didn’t just flip like a dancer mid-routine.

---

Twenty minutes later, you emerged. Namjoon was in the hallway holding out an oversized sweatshirt — grey, warm, familiar.

You accepted it wordlessly and pulled it over your head, feeling like you were wearing a hug as you adjusted the hemline.

---

An hour later, you were dry(ish), curled up on his couch in that same sweatshirt, and wrapped in a soft fleece blanket that definitely was also his.

Rain thundered against the windows. The lights were low. A half-finished mug of tea sat next to you, and Namjoon was next to that, his thigh warm against yours even through the blanket.

He handed you a poetry book you hadn’t read yet — vintage cover, dog-eared.

“Open to page 42,” he said, voice soft.

You did.

The poem was short. Bare. Sharp.

> Page 42

“And in her silence, I found the loudest part of myself.”

— anonymous

You looked at him. He wasn’t looking at you. He was watching the rain hit the glass.

“Do you ever wonder,” he said quietly, “if the right person’s been in front of you the whole time, but you were too busy narrating the story to realize they were already the plot?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

The silence stretched between you like a held breath.

You almost said something — something terrifying and real — when the power flickered.

The lights dimmed, and your bodies shifted instinctively, closer. His hand was on your knee, and you felt the heat of it all the way up your spine.

He looked at you then.

Really looked at you.

Eyes darker than they usually were. Brows furrowed like he was solving something complicated and important — like you were the riddle.

Your heart stuttered.

There was a pause in the universe.

You weren’t sure if it was going to be a kiss.

You weren’t sure if you were going to kiss him.

But then — his phone buzzed. Loud. Violent. Ruinous.

You both flinched.

“I should get that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The moment snapped like a string pulled too tight.

---

That Night — Diary Entry

> Thursday, 1:12 a.m.

Page 42. I can’t get it out of my head.

He looked at me like I meant something. Like I was a sentence he’d been waiting to underline.

I almost kissed him.

Or maybe I wanted him to kiss me.

Or maybe I just wanted to stop pretending that lying under a shared blanket with Namjoon wasn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

The rain is still falling. But tonight… I didn’t hate it.

I hated that it ended.

(Also. That triple-wash? — the vanilla-bergamot one. Mine? Or his?

He said it was random. On sale.

Ugh, why do I have to complicate, overthink, and read between lines, always!!

And why does that make my chest feel stupidly warm?).

~ ____

---

Text Thread — Just After You Left

Namjoon

2:01 a.m.

> You okay? Got home safe?

You

2:03 a.m.

> Yeah. Thanks for the tea. And the blanket. And the sweatshirt. And page 42.

Namjoon

2:05 a.m.

> That line reminded me of you.

(Don’t overthink it.)

You

2:05 a.m.

> Good night my Professor Flex.

(Too late.)

---

End of the Chapter 2

---

⚠️ Do not repost, translate, or copy this work without my explicit permission. This includes AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr, TikTok, or any other platform.