Boyfriend Material
Pairing | Namjoon x Reader
Genre | FLUFF. Just FLUFF.
Words | 2.3k
Warnings | (⋆._.)⊃▁⛥ none
A/n: Hola! C’est moi again! This is my early entry for TheKimLineNet’s birthday event for baby Joon bug, I love him so much, so much. So much.
"You don't even have to keep dating me, you should still like, meet my dad--" "Is that what we are? Are we dating?" You freeze.
"I know you're not actually reading anything, so you stop that, and cuddle me."
Namjoon's sleepy outburst rips giggles from your throat, the laughter bubbling from somewhere deep and warm. You drop your phone as his arm tightens around your waist to yank you closer, making your head slip off the pillow with a soft thud.
The sound makes his eyes crack open. "Oops, sorry baby." His voice rumbles a low bass, but his words are sugar sweet, and you let him curl his free arm under your head instead, tucking you to his chest without much fuss.
First, he kisses your forehead. Then your cheek, and then the corner of your mouth. Lazy, lazy; your lips find his, tasting milk and cinnamon.
"For the record, I was," you murmur into his neck, tone defensive. All you can reach when his head falls back against the pillow. He snorts. "Mmhm." You pinch below his armpit, where the loose tank top leaves exposed. "But then the screen died, and I found myself just..." You tangle your legs together, burrowing yourself in his warmth. Summon a hazy gaze and a dreamy sigh. "...gazing at your reflection."
Namjoon has three settings to his laughter, usually. The giggle, the high bark, and the kind that fills rooms. This is happily in the middle; not loud enough to break any walls, but big and full enough to be undoubtedly joy. Laughter enough for warm cheeks and to be flicking tears off of drowsy lashes. "Babe. That's so cheesy."
You grumble, indignant. "You're hot, you're you, can you blame me?" He shivers like your breath tickles, and when you notice, you happily lean in, nipping at his neck to make him giggly.
It's a gold, shiny kind of feeling, to be tangled up in a sleepy, giggly Namjoon, dimples on display, flailing like a golden retriever. It warms you all over, the privilege of being in Namjoon's room, held by Namjoon, surrounded by Namjoon's things: his books, his bonsais, his dirty boots; the dark wood walls industrial compared to the toy shop he calls his studio.
There are maps on the walls, littered with pins, polaroids and haphazard writing. There are picture frames of his friends, his family; framed records, framed table napkins, his favorite lyrics in different languages, scribbled quotes from his favorite books. He finds inspiration in anything. You wonder if he’s found it in you.
Surrounded by his wooden walls, in the dim lighting that's gentle enough to read in, you can forget that cars have horns and cameras flash and you have deadlines to meet, people to call, and places to be--and the world outside is always making you hungry for something. But Namjoon gets his way, and he's tugging you into his bubble, into warmth, into cozy, where his arms are strong and protective, his breathing matches yours, and time thinks it can meander and slow.
"What are you doing," you whisper, wonder. Though you already know, as his fingers play with the hem of your shirt, riding the edge of it higher up your back. His eyes are closed but his hands and his lips are determined to feel. Touching you demands concentration. "Shhh. I'm Namjooning." Perhaps you have dimples of your own. "Ah." His big hands splay, beneath your shirt, and his eyes are soft as they ask for permission. Permission you always give. Gave. Offer. Gift. Namjoon taking feels like giving. He never needs to ask, but he always does.
When your shirt's off, he buries his nose where your neck meets your shoulder, thighs taking weight so he can shift to be half on top. Lips brushing into not-quite kisses, traversing up to your jaw to just under your ear, and you bury your fingers in his hair, humming nothing, just warm, just comfortable, your free foot traveling up his leg.
Traveling, resting on the pillows that are his butt cheeks. You dig your heel in, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. "Hey," he rumbles, mock-offense, a hand leaving your hips to slap your ankle off. "Aren't you Namjooning," you whine, and you can feel his answering laugh down to your bones.
He's smiling, blinking up at you, thumbs making circles where they meet skin, and your heart is skipping beats, has been for a while now, arrhythmia in response to anything Namjoon does, ever, especially when he does it in this kind of proximity. Namjoon, please. Namjoon, yes. Namjoon. Anything.
You are. Content. Happy. Warm. The L-word. You haven't said it properly yet, although if he coaxed it out of you, you'd probably mean it.
You've said it before. As fans, and then friends. But hanging out with friends extended to time spent alone, the midnight walks turned less accidental and more planned, there was a gradual shift from silently waiting outside your door into letting himself in. Him leaving snacks in your fridge and discovering which shirts of his you like to borrow and texting, always texting, from captionless pictures to rambly paragraphs,depending on the mood.
Suddenly I love you doesn't taste the same, and it feels heavier in your mouth somehow. Like it used to be just seeds but now it's grown into a tree. A big tree, covered in thin vines and lianas, and bird's nests and baby bugs, tiny flowers and moss. And the trunk is tall and the branches are full of leaves in every shade of green, and every time he smiles, sunshine streams through.
"Joon, you should meet my dad." He stops. Blinks. You blink back, and continue. "You'd love him." His tone is indulgent. "If he's anything like you, I'm sure I will." You fall a little more, as if that was possibl- who are you kidding. It will always be possible. How you feel about Namjoon could only fit in an ever-expanding room. It would only fit outside. In a forest. Under a sky full of stars.
You brush his hair back from his forehead, and Namjoon moves to hover on an elbow when you're done, capturing your nervous fingers to thumb across your knuckles. Your face warms under the attention. "He likes animals too. And trees. And plants. He's really good at smoking fish. You can use all the big words you want. He'd love that. He'd love you." Twice, in a span of a few minutes. You're unstoppable. "That would be wonderful," he answers, carefully but not insincere, eyes searching yours, breathing like he's waiting. "You don't even have to keep dating me, you should still like, meet my dad--" "Is that what we are? Are we dating?" You freeze.
You groan, rolling away, unable to meet his eyes. He bursts into laughter, pulling you back, but you curl in on yourself, avoidant, anxious, afraid, and your heart is racing and you just let him take your shirt off and he can probably hear it booming away--
"No, don't hide. C'mon, look at me. Please. I'm sorry, baby. Look at me." He's laughing, and you're too mortified to uncurl, so climbs over you instead, one leg over yours, bringing his face as close as he possibly can. Your eyes are closed, you're not looking. "Uh-uh." "Y/n." "No." He breathes deep, in the face of your stubbornness. "I'm sorry. Yes, we're dating. It's been a few months. Our anniversary was last September. You stayed over after my birthday dinner and made me fluffy eggs in the morning. I'm sorry if you wanted a monthsary, or a hundred-days'ary, but you always say those are stupid. I can make up for it if you want. Let's have every-other-day'saries." "Joon!" You wail, face still red, but at least your hands are off your face. He holds them just to be sure. Makes locks with your fingers.
"I'm pretty sure I've introduced you as my girlfriend. At least four times. Twice it was a conscious decision. I wanted to see you blush." "Kim Namjoon," you hiss, less panic in your voice. Still unable to articulate anything but syllables of his name, like a demented Pokemon. "I should've said something sooner." He kisses your forehead, laughter left over coming out if his chest. “It's just. You've been shy."
You sputter, indignant, but yes, you have.
You've never felt this way about anyone, ever. And it is absolutely spontaneous. Organic, and an accident. You're supposed to be single and free for at least two more years, for the sake of financial, emotional and career stability.
But Namjoon being Namjoon--Namjooning--has thrown a wrench in the gears of all your grand plans to be a bitter bluestocking, and you've already gone on two planes, up four mountains, visited three rivers and a bunch of trains just to follow your heart, which he's hidden in one of his dimples.
Kim Namjoon on your doorstep on a Friday night, is an adventure waiting to happen. You haven't yet said no. You can't imagine saying no.
You pause, needing to breathe.
"If we weren't dating," you choke out, needing to be hypothetical. "Like, that's still possible. I wouldn't be devastated. Yet. Or too much. Maybe." You look up at him, and his face is mostly unreadable, behind the curiosity that's almost always there. "We'd still be friends?"
He scoffs. "Of course. We're too good for each other not to stay friends. You're my friend. I love you." You know what he means, knows that it isn't yet the other thing, which while made of the same words, happens to be unequivocally more. Not yet. You nod, agreeing. "I love you too."
Out in the air, your heart stops straining so much, and your body relaxes a little. "If we weren't dating," he continues, knowing you still need it. "I wouldn't come over as much." You tuck your chin, grinning. "No more touching like this." He pouts, because skin-to-skin is his favorite thing. "No more kisses." he counters, chin jutting. You give up and cuddle close, and he lets go of your hands to open his arms, gathering you in them. He tucks your head under his chin, bare feet rubbing against yours. "That's kinda sad."
"I'd still text you." you mull it over. "But like, less. Especially if we're dating other people." "Okay yeah," he concedes. "Other people would not like how much I need to text you. So much I need to tell you. Like. Just to share." "That's weird, right?" You pull back a little, looking up at him. "But you get me," he replies, easy. Easy. "I get you?" "Yeah." His smile is as big as a rainbow.
"Am I someone you thought you'd date?" "Well, yeah. Am I?" His eyebrows furrow a bit. You free a hand to caress the divot between his eyes, unable to help the smile peeking on your face. "I love everything about you. Except when you buy baby shoes." "They're cute!" "I know. So are you." He rolls his jaw, shaking his head. "I just think they're cute. I'm not there yet, if that's what you’re... you know? I do wanna be a dad. But someday." His eyes soften, and you sigh, helpless and in awe. "Joon. You'd be like, the best dad."
You're veering towards sentimental, but he needs to finish what you've begun. The two of you have put this off long enough. "Shh. And I know neither of us are ready for marriage." Fine, you nod. "But." "Oh?" "I would be very sad if we stopped seeing each other." Your mouth was frozen in an 'o', and he's being very intense and very serious and it reminds you he's had to wrap his emotions in practicality,logic and focus to get where he is, even though they've always run deep. "I wouldn't call it a break up?" "Ddaeng. I would." "Joonie." "I'd miss you." You're absolutely gone. "I'd miss you too."
His eyes melt, and then he's kissing you, warm and slow, soft and full of feeling, like there are words that don't fit into spoken vocabulary so I'll kiss you them instead.
He presses your foreheads together when you break to breathe. "So what are we ready for?" he prompts. "You've met my friends." "You've met mine."
"To be honest, Joonie." You let out a huff of air, finding the bone you were picking earlier. "I don't think meeting the family has to be this big scary commitment thing, I mean they're just like my friends, only like, blood-type compatible."
He throws his head back when he barks out a laughter. Your smile reaches the ceiling. "Alright, already! Let's schedule dinner with your dad. I admit I have been curious as to exactly what raised you." You swat him, but with no real swing.. "And then my parents, the week after that?" "I've already met them," you mull, eyes glazing as you recall. Backstage, harsh lights, gentle people. She tried to feed you a banana. "Right, but." He rubs his nose. "Not like that met them."
Your eyes close, and maybe so do his. Your hands find each other in the darkness.
"Okay." He chuckles, panning for your attention with Eskimo kisses. "So we're not breaking up?" You shake your head. "Yeah." He grins. "We’re going to keep doing this." You nod, enthusiastic. "For like, a month."
He steals a kiss, like he can't help himself, and you're getting into it, despite the lightness in you that wants to come out like fireworks and aurora borealis. He murmurs, between kisses. "Mm. Yes. More of this. But. Mmf. First..." he pulls back, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Pinky promise?" You laugh in his face, but you hold your little finger up to his, the difference in size making you coo.
Way more than a month, he mouths.
You push, all of your force knocking him off balance. You push, until you're on top of him, and he's under you, and his hands are on your wrists, and then on your shoulders, on your waist, and you can't believe that the universe is made of beauty like this, of happy coincidences and magic and Kim Namjoon being awfully compliant, letting you kiss him silly.
"Joonie," you purr, breath ragged, mouth trailing down his torso. His breathing becomes laboured, catching. Fingers tangling in your hair. "What did you think I meant?"
Thanks for reading! All hours are Love Namjoon hours.
Soo PS: Check out my masterlist? :*
