The First Few Chapters Are Promising So Far! I Can’t Wait To Dive Deep And See What This Story Has

I’m so, so happy this fic finally got a new chapter! I was so sad thinking it would be left unfinished. I love the idea of y/n and jk pining for Namjoon! Omg and the smut!!!! Please can I be the filling in a namkook sandwich? 😆

Love, Lust & Litigation | Ch 7 (JJK, KNJ)

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader x Namjoon

Genre: lawyer!AU, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, explicit sexual content, threesome, oral sex (m + f receiving), protected penetrative sex (m + f receiving), slight dom!namjoon

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: she's heeeeere, took a long time bc smut is hard, y'all. all that's left is the epilogue. unbeta'd bc fck it we ball, enjoyyy 💜✨

mlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | interlude | ch 6 | ch 7 | epilogue

“You’re leaving?”

Everyone pauses in a collective inhale, the moment suspended in time. 

Then, Namjoon flinches at the question, the world fast forwards back into action, and you remember that you’re in public, that this is a work dinner, and that you’re meeting peers in your industry. You swallow the burst of panic, and look over at Jungkook. He half-stands, as if he’s about to wrestle Namjoon to the ground and never let him leave. Guilt shadows Namjoon’s face as he looks at the two of you. 

None of you have done a good enough job of moderating your features because Jackson immediately backtracks. 

“Hey bro, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a secret. I shouldn’t have—“ 

“Don’t stress about it, man,” says Namjoon, turning to his friend with an easygoing smile, that diplomatic mask he wears in important meetings. You hate it. “I was going to announce it when we got back on Monday anyway.” 

You pull Jungkook back to sitting with a hand on his arm. He fiddles with the napkin on his lap before looking up at you, a lost look on his face that mirrors how you’re feeling on the inside. 

The reunion between Namjoon and Jackson doesn’t last much longer, the easy chat between the old college friends now strained. You reach for your drink as Namjoon wraps up the conversation, but your hand shakes too much when you pick it up. He’s your boss, just another face at the office, you try to tell yourself. The wine glass sits on the table, abandoned. 

As he says his final niceties, Namjoon stays facing towards Jackson, watching his retreating back for a long moment. He takes a deep breath and steels his shoulders before he turns back to the table. He tries to act nonchalant as he takes a sip of his wine. His hands don’t shake, and the stiff smile stays on his face. 

“So.” Jungkook breaks the silence that hangs heavy over your group. “You’re leaving.” 

The accusation sits at the table, a fourth dinner companion making everyone ill at ease.

Namjoon nods in response. Jungkook purses his lips and worries his lip ring, waiting for an actual answer. Namjoon’s eyes flit to your face, but you keep quiet. Silence has as much power as any question to get answers. He knows this; he taught you. 

“Remember the songwriter we represented?” 

The sudden change of topic throws you for a loop. “What does this have to do with her?” 

Namjoon twirls his wineglass between his fingers. “She wanted new in-house counsel, and reached out last month. She was really pleased with how the firm handled her case.” 

“How I  handled her case,” you say sharply. 

It stings that she didn’t reach out to you first. Of course she reached out to Namjoon first, though; she melted at the merest hint of Namjoon’s dimple during your initial meeting. Maybe you’re pissed that you melted at the merest hint of a dimple. And now here’s the owner of the dimple, deserting you. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. You don’t want to acknowledge that you’re not even a blip on his radar in his decision-making process because at the end of the day, you’re just a junior employee in the firm. 

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, and your temper deflates as quickly as it ignited. You brush the interjection out of the air with your hands and go back to the matter at hand. 

“I thought you loved your job at Bang and Associates.”

You hate that your voice cracks a bit while you speak. 

“Your friend was right, you were about to make partner. Why now?”

Jungkook’s voice sounds so much stronger than yours, and you hate him a little for that too. 

“Personal reasons.” 

You and Jungkook scoff in unison. Not a good enough answer. 

“It’s a lot of things.” Namjoon studies the glass in his hands while he considers his answer. “The long hours are a big part of it. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been feeling more like a robot than a person these days. I was ready to say no when her team reached out, but after I slept on it, I realized, I have no life outside the firm. Weekends are nonexistent. Everything is a fire that needs put out, ASAP. This will be a good change.” 

The tension drains from the conversation. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen your boss. To fault him for this reasoning, for being human, would be childish and petty.

Namjoon reaches for the wine and helps himself to a generous pour.

“You know, she asked about you, Jungkook.” You can tell he’s just trying to change the subject, bring the conversation back to something more light-hearted, but the sudden turn leaves you off-kilter again. 

“Who?”

“The singer. She wanted your number for, ah… personal reasons. I had to tell her you were otherwise engaged.” 

Namjoon’s gaze flicks to yours briefly, and you can’t stop a flush creeping up your cheeks. 

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s hand makes its way back to your thigh and you place your hand on his. “I am.” 

Namjoon clocks this movement and clears his throat. 

“How did this all start anyway? Usually, you can tell when people in the office are about to get together, but it took a lot of us by surprise.” 

You make a face. “I didn’t realize we were such a hot topic of conversation.” 

“Everyone talks,” he says with a shrug. 

You and Jungkook exchange a look. Tonight’s revelation has sent everything into a tailspin. What’s one more to the mix? Jungkook shrugs at your unasked question.

“Mutual pining,” you say, turning back to Namjoon. 

He raises an eyebrow. “For each other?” 

“For you,” says Jungkook. 

Namjoon chokes on his wine. 

It’s a relief to finally say it out loud. To admit it. Your hand tightens on Jungkook’s while you wait for Namjoon to recover. 

“Me?” 

“During the Christmas party. We got to talking, and… ” Jungkook looks at you for reassurance, and you squeeze his hand. “Turns out we were both head over heels for you.” 

“Wait… were?” 

Each new turn in this conversation feels like another landmine being triggered, blasting you into the unknown. 

“Are,” you say. “Present tense.” 

Jungkook lets out a sharp breath. “Yeah. Still are.”

Namjoon doesn’t meet either of your gazes across the table, eyes focused on the bottle of wine in the middle of the table instead. You bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything else. All your cards are on the table. 

Namjoon runs a hand over his face before speaking. “You’re only saying this because I’m leaving.” 

“You’re only asking because you’re leaving,” you retort. 

“Look, we’re all chicken-shits when it comes to this, okay?” says Jungkook, putting a placating hand down on the table. “But we’ve said our part. We both like you, a lot. And we’re hoping you like both of us, too. Together.” 

Namjoon looks like words are stuck in his throat. 

After a long moment, you scoff, shaking your head. “Yoongi was right, then, when he said—“ 

“Yoongi says a lot of things.” 

“Was he pulling it out of his ass, hmm? When he said you were too hung up on doing the right thing instead of going for what you want?” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them. A muscle tics in Namjoon’s cheek as he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck. Sorry, I —“

Before you can finish your sentence, Jungkook pulls you up to standing. 

“We’re gonna go get the check. And we’ll wait for you at the hotel. Take your time.” 

You glance back once as Jungkook leads you through the restaurant. Namjoon slumps in his chair, staring out over the city. 

Your footsteps echo in the hotel room as you pace. The TV makes a tinny attempt to fill the hollow emptiness with the sounds of a syndicated sitcom. You stop every so often at the window to look out at the buildings disappearing into the low clouds tinged yellow by the city lights.

By the second episode of the sitcom, you’ve exhausted your patience for canned laughter and stilted acting. You flop on the couch next to Jungkook and flip through the channels, trying to find something, anything, to distract you. Every channel is celebrating Valentie’s Day by playing sappy romcoms. The swelling string music and moon-eyed pretty people annoy you even more than the canned laughter, and you turn the TV off in frustration.

Jungkook has his phone out, swiping aimlessly on TikTok and you join him in pretending to watch as the memes go by.

“Did I go too far? At the restaurant?”

“I don’t know.” 

You sit on the couch for what seems like hours before the door lock beeps open. 

You’re on your feet before you can think, Jungkook beside you. It’s out of a scene in one of those stupid romantic movies, how the door swings open in slow motion and Namjoon appears, bringing a chill in with him. 

“Oh, hi,” he says when he sees the both of you looking at him like spooked deer. His cheeks are red with either cold or embarrassment. “Um, I thought about it on the way here, and I’m in.” 

Your heart jumps into your throat, but you don’t let yourself process the words because he’s started to shiver. His shoulders are damp and droplets of water cling to his hair. 

“Did you walk here in the rain?” 

He runs his hand through his hair. Strands clump together where he runs his hand through. 

“Snowing.” 

You turn to the window. Flurries dance in the air, blurring the cityscape, softening the harsh lights from the buildings nearby. 

“I’ll get you a towel.” 

When you return from the bathroom, Jungkook has already taken the wet suit jacket and is in the process of draping it over a chair. Namjoon stands sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You hand him the towel, wanting to run it through his hair, but not having the courage to reach up and do so. 

His cheeks stay red once he’s done rubbing his hair dry. You’re flushed too, because now you’ve had time to actually process what he said when he came in. Should you bring it up now? 

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and exhales harshly through his nose instead. Jungkook worries his lip piercing and picks at the skin around his nails. You stand between them, heart pounding in your chest. You’re all standing at the precipice but you don’t know how to take the leap.

Namjoon clears his throat before speaking. 

“Um, I don’t know if you heard before but—“ he clears his throat again “—I’m in. For whatever this is.” 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you can’t bring yourself to produce words. Jungkook looks equally shell-shocked.

The moment drags on in silence.

“I’m trying to be brave but neither of you are saying anything?” The words should sound harsh, but you’ve never heard Namjoon sound so unsure, so small. 

“Now that we’re here, I…” You wish you sounded more confident. 

“Here,” Jungkook says as he reaches out to take Namjoon’s hand. Namjoon looks down at his hand as if he’s never seen it before. You follow suit, and Namjoon looks at you with a fragile hope that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. 

“Don’t overthink it,” says Jungkook. He’s talking to Namjoon, but you try to take the words to heart, too. 

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” 

He rests his chin on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Just be here,” he says. “Take it one step at a time.” 

“How?” 

“Start like this.” 

Jungkook guides Namjoon’s hand to his cheek, and leans into it, closing his eyes. 

“What’s next?” asks Jungkook, voice gentle. 

Namjoon’s thumb runs over his lips. Jungkook lets out a shuddery exhale. The tension in his body shows he’s holding back, letting Namjoon move at his own pace, as if Namjoon were a rare and skittish animal. 

“And then?” 

Namjoon rests his forehead against Jungkook’s and slowly, inevitably, their lips connect. It’s chaste, just a press of lips against lips, but Jungkook melts into it, letting out the tiniest little whimper.

It’s something so intimate, you falter back a step, your hold on Namjoon’s hand going slack. But before you can pull away, Namjoon’s grip tightens and tugs you in closer. He turns to look at you, the expression on his face tender, and scared. His hand comes to stroke your cheek too, and it makes you want to cry, how delicately he’s handling you. 

It takes just a second, but feels like an eternity for him to press his lips to yours, for you to rise onto your toes to meet him halfway. You feel again like you’re on the edge of something, like any second, everything is about to change. You don’t know what you expected, but what you get is the softest lips, plush against yours. Gentle, chaste. A fairytale ending kiss that teases what’s to come. 

As Namjoon opens his lips against yours, you’re dizzy with the realization that you’ve been over the precipice, already falling headlong into the unknown, the first step taken hours, days, maybe even weeks ago. 

He turns to Jungkook and kisses him again, deeper. Jungkook whines as Namjoon bites his lower lip. Then he turns to you, and you taste Jungkook on Namjoon’s lips. And with a sigh of relief, everything clicks into place. There was a missing piece in your life and it was this, you and Namjoon and Jungkook, together.  

“What’s next?” asks Namjoon, eyes closed as he speaks into the disappearing space between the three of you. 

You tug and are tugged to the couch where Jungkook pushes Namjoon to sit. Jungkook sits on one side and you sit on the other, bringing his face towards you and you kiss him once, twice, then run your lips up his jawline and down his neck, inhaling the scent of him, musky and heady. Jungkook turns Namjoon’s head and kisses him like he wants to devour him whole. 

Namjoon’s shirt collar gets in the way of your quest to discover the spot that makes him squirm, and you unbutton the first couple of buttons of his shirt to get access. He hisses when you nip at the spot just where his neck meets his shoulder. 

You spend some time in your new favorite place, tasting and teasing with tongue and teeth, but the new inches of golden skin aren’t enough. You straddle one of Namjoon’s spread legs and work on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. Jungkook looks on as work your way down. His hand comes to rest on Namjoon’s upper thigh, fingers tracing light circles. You pull out the tucked-in ends of the shirt and let it fall open. 

“Wow.” 

The word sighs out from your lips as you sit back to look. Because Namjoon Kim is magnificent, skin glowing golden in the lamplight. Jungkook's muscles are more defined, but there's power underneath his skin. Everything you see makes you want to take a bite. 

Your gaze works its way up to his face, and the look in his eyes sends a shiver of want straight to the heat between your legs. 

Jungkook smirks at your reaction. “Never gets old.” 

“You’ve been keeping this to yourself,” you say, accusingly. 

Namjoon rumbles out a chuckle as Jungkook shrugs.

“I’m selfish. But it’s nice, right?” Jungkook says into Namjoon’s neck, where he starts on sucking a mark into the exposed skin. Namjoon's eyes close and he leans into the sensation.

More than nice, you think, letting your fingertips graze over Namjoon’s stomach. His muscles jump at your touch, eyes flying open.

“Ah, your hands are cold,” 

“They’ll warm up eventually,” Jungkook answers on your behalf. 

Your hands wander up, landing on his pecs. Namjoon grunts when you give them a squeeze. You bite your lip to suppress a giggle. They’re as good as you imagined, firm and warm under your touch. 

“What’s so funny, baby?” 

The nickname uttered in his husky voice makes your core clench. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for along time,” you say, giving them another squeeze. 

“And I’ve been wanting to do this.” 

Namjoon’s hand comes to the curve of your ass and he squeezes, bringing you closer, guiding your hips to grind down. God, his thighs. You bite back a moan. 

He turns to Jungkook and puts a hand on his waist. 

“And this.”

He kisses Jungkook’s neck as he palms the front of Jungkook’s straining pants. Jungkook’s eyes shut and he exhales out a groan.

You almost can’t believe it. Being here, with the two of them like this. 

Namjoon’s hands press down on your hips, and you roll your hips down again, the feeling of his muscles between your legs making you slick. But, as much as you want to get lost in the sensation and get yourself off on Namjoon’s thighs, you have much more pressing matters at hand. 

You start at his collarbones, kissing your way down his chest, grazing his nipples with your teeth. He hisses at the contact, and you do it again just to feel him squirming beneath you. You clamber off the couch and settle between his spread legs, kissing all the way down until you reach the waistband of his pants. They’re both looking at you, waiting to see what you’ll do next. You bite your lip in anticipation as you unbutton and unzip his pants. 

His cock springs free when you take both his pants and boxers off, the tip dark, ready. You take him in your hands, and the weight of him, how he could feel inside you, makes your mouth water. 

He’s holding his breath as you lean down. You meet his eyes as you wrap your lips around the head. He lets out a shuddery breath as your tongue comes out to tease the tip. 

“Fuck.” 

Both mean speak in unison. You press open-mouthed kisses against the shaft as you work your way down to the base, then lick a stripe up to the top. Jungkook meets you at the tip, capturing your mouth, licking into you, then onto Namjoon. 

He lowers his head onto Namjoon’s cock, and as he comes back up, you switch places, and take turns taking him deeper and deeper each time. Namjoon’s fingers twine through your hair, his other hand tangled in Jungkook’s wavy locks, setting the pace. His head falls back against the back of the couch. 

The tip meets the back of your throat, and Namjoon’s hips twitch up into you.

“Shit, baby.” 

His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you pull off with a pop. Jungkook, never one to be outdone, sinks all the way down, nose pressed against Namjoon’s abdomen. You can see the moment he swallows. 

“Fuck. Wait, wait. Stop.” 

Namjoon pulls him off and covers his face with his hands. You sit back on your heels. Jungkook wipes his mouth as he exchanges looks with you. Did you do something wrong? Is he rethinking his decision? You don’t know what you’ll do if he changes his mind and doesn’t want to do this after all. 

You wait for a long moment, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly. 

“Sorry, it’s just… it’s too soon.” The sound comes muffled from behind his hands. “I don’t wanna come yet.” 

Oh. You and Jungkook breathe sag in relief, the uncertainty draining from your body.  

You stand and pull Namjoon's hands from his face and smooth his hair back. 

“Don’t apologize.” One hands comes to rest against his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. He looks overwhelmed and a little embarrassed. “We can take it slow.” 

You’re close enough that your breath intermingles, and you watch as the embarrassment and worry on his face melt into incredulity and then into desire. He bridges the gap between you and leans up to kiss you. At first, it’s just a press of the lips, but you deepen the kiss, open mouthed, tongue tangling with his. He nips at your bottom lip and tugs a moan from you. His hands graze down your back and come to rest on your waist, hands bunching in the fabric. 

“Why am I the only one naked?” he mutters under his breath. 

Your hands fly to the back of your dress, but Namjoon stops you. He stands, and pulls you up with him. He turns to Jungkook, who has been sitting on his heels, watching, and points to the couch. 

“Sit.” 

Jungkook hoists himself up and goes to take his shirt off, but Namjoon shakes his head.

“Just wait.” 

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow and puts his hands up in surrender. He sits on the edge of the couch, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes never leaving Namjoon. 

He turns you to face Jungkook and stands behind you. With gentle hands, Namjoon finds the zipper of your dress and at a torturous pace, drags it down. A shiver runs down your spine as he brushes the dress off your shoulders. It pools around your ankles, leaving you in your bra and panties. He sweeps your hair to one side and presses his lips to your pulse point. The touch and the cool air send goosebumps across your skin. 

Namjoon’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you tighter to him as he works a mark into your neck. You don’t know what to focus on, the feel of his lips on your neck, his cock pressed against your lower back, or the tips of his thumbs just barely grazing the underside of your breasts. Jungkook sits back on the couch, palming his erection over his jeans, gaze heavy on you. You know the look on his face, the patient hunger. The intense focus of it grows the heat pooling in your belly.

It’s almost a relief when Namjoon’s hands slip behind your back and take your bra off. He cups your breasts, and you arch into the warmth of his hands. He hums into your skin and you moan when he takes your nipples between his fingers, teasing them. 

Your hand comes between your legs, pressing your fingers into the soaked fabric of your underwear. A whimper escapes through your lips at the stimulation.

Jungkook comes off the couch to kneel at your feet. He peels your underwear off you but before he can bury his nose between your legs, Namjoon’s voice stops him. 

“I said, wait.” 

Jungkook sits back on his feet with a little huff. Frustration plays across his face, but even so his pupils dilate as he looks up at Namjoon.

“Stand up.”

Cold air hits your body as Namjoon comes to stand in front of Jungkook. He makes quick work of Jungkook’s clothes, no lingering touches or caresses as he works buttons and zippers. Impatience doesn’t get rewarded. 

Jungkook’s clothes join yours on the ground and Namjoon points to the nearest bedroom. Yours. 

You spare a brief thought for the state of your bedroom — sometimes your clothes like to explode out of their suitcase through no fault of your own — but it’s pristine. You send a silent word of thanks up for daily hotel housekeeping. 

“On the bed, both of you.”

It would be awkward to crawl on the bed fully naked were the anticipation of what’s to come not thrumming through your skin. You sit up against the headboard, Jungkook next to you, legs outstretched. 

Namjoon gets on the bed and hovers over you to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth. Your hips jerk as he brings his hand between your legs and drags his knuckles over your slick folds. He doesn’t linger. 

“Tease.” 

He winks at you — which, somehow, makes you blush instead of rolling your eyes — as he leans over Jungkook and pulls him up by the chin. The kiss is all tongues and gasped breaths. 

Namjoon pulls away, leaving Jungkook to fall back against the headboard, dazed. He kneels and wastes no time in putting Jungkook’s cock in his mouth, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s. He groans and reaches for Namjoon’s hair. 

“Hands off,” says Namjoon around a mouthful of cock. 

“Fuck.” Jungkook’s hands twist into the duvet as Namjoon dives back down. 

The sight of the two of them, Jungkook’s muscles straining as he keeps his hands to himself, Namjoon taking Jungkook until his nose reaches his abdomen, has you pressing your legs together. You reach between your legs, desperate for any type of relief, but Namjoon stops you with a look. 

Hands off for you, too. 

You reach out a tentative hand toward Jungkook, and Namjoon sees, but doesn’t say anything. Tacit permission given, you spread your hand on Jungkook’s hip. He twitches at the contact, but doesn’t move. 

You brush his hair back from his forehead with your other hand. “Staying so still. Such a good boy.” 

He whines at the praise. “Ah fuck. Why does that fucking work for me?”

“Is this all you ever wanted?” you whisper in his ear. “Namjoon taking you so well.” 

“God, yeah.” 

Namjoon hums around his cock and you swallow the moan that rises from Jungkook's throat, kissing his pretty lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. 

It’s not long until he leans back. 

“I’m gonna come,” he says with a gasp. You can feel his muscles tensing under your grip. 

“Tell him that.” 

“Fuck! I’m coming!” 

Namjoon somehow smirks around a mouthful of cock and swallows to take Jungkook even deeper. Jungkook’s head presses back into the mattress as he comes with a groan down Namjoon’s throat. 

Then, Namjoon pops off Jungkook’s cock and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue to show he swallowed every last drop. You and Jungkook take twin gasps of breath. Fresh arousal pools between your legs. Not even in your wildest fantasies late at night alone in your room had you let yourself imagine that. 

“Fuck. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” says Jungkook, letting his head drop back down onto the pillows. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, Namjoon’s hand lingering on his softening cock. 

“Mmm,” says Namjoon, crawling up the bed to kiss the underside of Jungkook’s chin, as if he hadn’t just blown your minds. Jungkook pulls Namjoon in by the back of his neck for an open-mouthed kiss. 

You squirm a little, pressing your thighs together, and Namjoon notices.

“You’ve been patient.” He bites his lip before he says, “Good girl.” 

“Fuck. Why does that work for me?” you wail.

Jungkook laughs, as he lays back, spent. “Can dish it out but can’t take it.” 

You go to smack his arm, but he catches your hand and twines his fingers with yours. He presses a kiss to the back of your hand before releasing it. 

You look back at Namjoon. 

“Well, do I get a treat for being a good girl?” 

You let your legs fall open. Namjoon’s eyes follow your hands as you trace your curves down to the apex of your thighs.

“Is she always like this?” Namjoon asks, addressing Jungkook but looking at your fingers not quite touching where you want to be touched the most. Heat creeps up your cheeks as Namjoon’s gaze travels up your body to meet your eyes. You bite your lip. Namjoon’s gaze is intense on the best of days, but tonight, it burns. 

“She behaves. Most of the time.” 

“See?” you say with a coy smile, through burning cheeks. “I’m a good girl.”

Namjoon leans over you, getting close but not close enough for your lips to make contact. 

“What if I don’t want you to be a good girl?” His lips brush over yours as he speaks. Heat shoots to your core. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be.” 

He breathes out a chuckle and presses a kiss to where your jaw meets your ear, and works his way down your neck, dropping a kiss on the tender spot he worked at earlier. 

Where he was quick with Jungkook, he teases you, stopping at your breasts to take one nipple into his mouth. You arch up into his mouth at the contact, and he brings a hand to your waist to stop you from moving. 

His big hands are gentle, but you want them to bruise. 

Jungkook lays to the side and just watches at first, eyes glassy post-orgasm. As Namjoon continues down your body, Jungkook has you sit up a bit as he slides in behind you, bringing you to rest back down on him. He wraps an arm around your waist, and the other sinks into your hair, guiding your head to the side to work on marking the other side of your neck. 

You’re dripping by the time Namjoon gets to your cunt. He runs a finger through your slick, and you shiver at the contact, hands twisting into the sheets. His eyes close as he tastes.

“Sweet,” he says, almost to himself. 

He slowly settles between your legs, placing one above his shoulder, then the other. He drags it out, kissing your inner thighs as he makes his way closer and closer to your center. 

You cry out when he finally licks a stripe up your slit. When he wraps his lips around your clit, you let out a strangled sob. He hums in satisfaction as you squirm at the contact. You’re so keyed up that the vibration has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s much too fast, but not enough at the same time. You move your hips against his face, but he places a hand on your hip. 

“You’re gonna stay still, like a good girl?” Jungkook whispers in your ear. 

“Yes. Fuck.”

Your promise is hard to keep as Namjoon slips a finger into you. It takes every ounce of willpower to not clamp your legs around him.

“Damn, baby. So tight.” 

His voice against you, deep and rumbling, makes you clench even tighter around his finger. He adds another finger, working you open, mouth on your clit, tongue teasing with every thrust. 

Jungkook takes your breast in his hand and teases the nipple between his fingers, keeps breathing obscenities in your ear when his mouth isn’t on your skin. Your orgasm builds with every thrust of Namjoon’s fingers, with every dirty word Jungkook whispers in your ears. 

You whine as Namjoon adds a third finger and presses insistently against your sweet spot. Your gasping breaths and the lewd sound of his fingers moving in and out of you fill the room. 

“You’re gonna be a good girl, and come for us?” Jungkook breathes against your ear. 

You nod, head pressed against Jungkook's, and whine out a yes.

Namjoon sucks against your clit and you can’t hold still anymore. Your hands come to his hair and you hold him in place as you fuck your self against his face. He hums against you in amusement and that pushes you over the edge. Pleasure ripples over you in waves, core clenching, Namjoon’s name on your lips. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, mouth never letting go of your clit. It’s not until your hands push him off you that his fingers slip from your cunt. 

Your heart thuds in your chest as Namjoon slips out from under your legs and you come back down to Earth. You miss the warmth of him between your legs already, even though you’re so sensitive you might cry at another touch.  

He climbs up on the bed, kneeling into the bed between your thighs. You almost come again when he puts his slick-soaked fingers between Jungkook’s lips. It’s sinful, the way Jungkook takes his time licking one finger clean, then the other. 

Namjoon replaces his fingers with his tongue. Jungkook’s moans reverberate against your back. You press up towards them, joining in a mess of tongues, skin on skin, breaths heavy. Hands and lips wander, discovering sensitive areas, staking claim on curves and hollows. 

Jungkook is hard again against your back, and Namjoon’s stiff cock pokes into your stomach. Their movement makes his thigh graze against your still-sensitive core. You gasp at the first contact, still sensitive, but your skin cries out for more. Fingernails press into his waist as you pull him closer to grind against his thigh. He grunts in surprise at the movement, but meets you thrust for thrust. You’re on the verge of crying from how sensitive you are but still you want more. 

“Needy,” says Jungkook between open mouthed kisses. 

“Shut it,” you whine. 

Namjoon breathes a chuckle before kissing Jungkook once more. He grinds down into you until you see stars, then sits back on his heels. Cold air sweeps across your skin, and behind you, Jungkook lets out a whimper in protest. You pout at the distance. 

“How do you want this?” His eyes search yours, then Jungkook’s, hesitant hope written out across his features. 

You sit up, still nestled between Jungkook’s legs. 

Jungkook speaks first, propped up on his elbows behind you. “It’s not about what we want. Not tonight.” 

“Yeah.” You nod, looking at Namjoon as he kneels before you. “How do you want us?”

His face scrunches as he battles with himself, and you wait. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on your shoulder, and his thumbs caresses your hip, a mindless habit he’s picked up. You both wait as Namjoon bites his bottom lip, deliberating asking for what he really wants. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, cheeks flaming bright red as he speaks. 

“I want Jungkook to fuck me, while I fuck you.” 

A new wave of arousal flows through you as you let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck.” Jungkook shifts behind you on the bed. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. One sec.” 

He slips out from behind you and clambers off the bed, nearly sprinting out of the room. 

Namjoon slumps down on the bed beside you, face up, as if his request took too much out of him. You reach down to stroke his cheek. He’s flushed, chest rising and falling. His hand covers yours, fingers warm, strong as they link with yours. 

“You all good?” you ask. 

“Yeah, just overwhelmed.” He places your hand over his heart and you can feel it beating strong, fast. “Overwhelmed but good. I didn’t think this where we would end up tonight.” 

“None of us did, but I think we all hoped.” 

Jungkook bounds back into the room and drops a box of condoms and a travel-size bottle of lube on the bed. 

“Supplies!” he says as he bounces back onto the bed, the impact jostling you and Namjoon.

You all laugh at his excitement and you reach across Namjoon to pull Jungkook into a sweet kiss. 

“Always so optimistic,” you say with a smile. 

“Always prepared, that’s all.” He gives you your favorite smile, all scrunched up in happiness and you can’t resist pulling him in for another kiss. Namjoon props himself up on his elbows and joins in. Lips wander, hands caress, and you all get distracted for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of each other finally in this place, together.

Then, Jungkook pulls away and asks, “Um… how do we…”

“Here,” you say, laying on your back and pulling Namjoon on top of you, ass up. The weight of him on you is satisfying, like the world’s best weighted blanket. He props himself up on his elbows, one on each side of your head. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hey,” you respond. 

Jungkook kneels and rubs his hands on Namjoon’s back, massaging his spine as he kisses his way down to his lower back. Namjoon closes his eyes and hums at the sensation. You reach up and stroke his cheek. Jungkook kneads Namjoon’s cheeks, spreading them, about to start. 

He hesitates. “Is this the first time you…” 

“No, but it’s been a while.” Namjoon inhales sharply as the first drops of lube hit his ass. “Why is it always cold, though?” 

Jungkook’s hands spread the lube around, warming the area, teasing Namjoon’s rim. It’s like you can feel Jungkook’s hands on you, as Namjoon closes his eyes to the sensation, body moving naturally against the other man. He buries his face into your neck and the noises he’s making send you breathing heavy, too.

Your hand comes to the back of his neck, nails lightly scratching against his short hair. 

Jungkook works a finger in, slowly, gently. Namjoon tenses at the intrusion, but then relaxes against you with a moan. 

“Good?” asks Jungkook, rubbing small circles into Namjoon’s back.  

“Fuck. Yeah, good. Good.”

Jungkook drops a kiss to Namjoon’s back, and pushes slowly in and out to get him used to the feeling. You pull Namjoon into a kiss, exploring his mouth with all the languid movements of Jungkook behind him. 

 “You can add another.” 

And Jungkook, patient, the most patient you’ve ever seen him, works another finger into Namjoon’s hole, working him open. 

“Shit. You’re so tight.” 

Namjoon lifts his head and you see the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. Namjoon looking five different kinds of fucked out, pupils blown, pleasure the only thing on his face. You prop one of your knees up and his cock slips between your legs, teasing your entrance. As he fucks himself back onto Jungkook’s fingers, you move against him, craving the friction, more, more. 

“I think I’m ready,” says Namjoon. 

Foil packets get ripped open, condoms put on, and logistically, the first position you’re in doesn’t work out. Namjoon lines himself up with your entrance and Jungkook tries to position himself behind Namjoon, but the angle is all wrong. You’re ready to give it a go anyway, desperate as you are, but Namjoon holds back before you get any further. 

“Maybe this doesn’t actually work outside of… you know…” Namjoon says with a wave of his hand. 

“Wait, it does,” says Jungkook. “Let’s try it like this…” 

He arranges the three of you, with you on your side and Namjoon spooning you from behind. Jungkook settles in behind Namjoon and tells you to move your leg up just a little bit and— 

Your breath hitches as Namjoon’s cock slips through your folds and brushes up against your clit. You can’t see what Jungkook is doing, but him and Namjoon let out a groan at the same time. 

“Yeah,” says Namjoon breathlessly, “yeah, I think this is it.”

“Fuck.” 

“Ready?” 

Namjoon guides his cock into your entrance and you moan as you feel him enter you for the first time, thick and long. He pushes in slowly, so you can feel every inch of him moving through you. You take a deep breath as he bottoms out, getting used to the stretch. His bottom arm wraps around you, hand splayed out on your collarbone, anchoring you to this moment, as if you are his tether to Earth. In this position, you can feel every movement behind you, as Jungkook enters Namjoon. Namjoon’s cock twitches inside you in response, and he groans in your ear. 

Jungkook sets the pace, thrusting slowly. The movement is stilted at first, but then they find a rhythm, and you meet them, hips swiveling onto Namjoon every time he thrusts forward.

A chorus of moans and obscenities fill the room as each person chases their own high. The rhythm falters but Namjoon takes over, easier now, as he fucks into you then himself back onto Jungkook.

You crane your head to look back at Jungkook. His eyebrows meet in concentration, and he bites his lip as he rolls his hips to meet Namjoon's ass.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he grunts.

Namjoon picks up the pace as he pounds into you, hips snapping against you, and all you can do is take it, hands braced against the mattress. He brings his hand between your legs, circling your clit in insistent circles. Your legs start to shake.

"Come on, baby," he breathes in your ear, and you cry out. You're coming undone again, tight around him, and all you hear is his groan as you pulse around him.

He fucks you though your orgasm, grunting as he tries to hold back, but he follows soon after, spilling into the condom with a cry. Jungkook’s right behind him, breathing expletives as he comes.

The moment pauses, suspended as the three of you try to catch your breath. No one speaks for a long while, and you realize this could be it. You can't see their faces and right now, really, this could be the end of it. You shake your head to clear the thought before tears can threaten to prick at your eyes.

“We should do that again sometime.” It's a weak joke to ease the tension, but you don't want this moment to flit away.

Your whole body shakes as Namjoon and Jungkook laugh behind you. Namjoon squeezes you closer, tight enough to push your breath from your lungs for a brief second, and then he loosens his hold. His cock slips out from you as you twist in his arms and the human knot you’ve become comes undone. Namjoon lays on his back, Jungkook sprawled next to him. You drape yourself across Namjoon to reach out to Jungkook, and he squeezes your hand when you finally reach him. 

Your heartbeat synchronizes to Namjoon's as you lay on his chest. The pounding beat slows as the second pass, and his hand comes to rest on your waist.

Once you're fully back to reality, you become more and more aware of the state of your bed. The room smells like sex and you're sticky with sweat and slick. You push up to get out of bed and Namjoon follows. He swings his legs over the edge to sitting and catches you by the waist before you can go any further. You turn to look at him. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere. Bathroom.”

His eyes flick down to your body, and you feel suddenly self-conscious. Your hands come up to cover your chest, but he catches them before they make it.

"Don't."

He holds your hands between you, and looks at you with a warm smile. You lean down to kiss him. It's a bit thrilling, even after, for this to be normal. That he'll kiss you back now with no hesitation. You're not used to the casual contact, and it's going to take a long time to get accustomed to it.

You kiss him again. Practice makes perfect.

A sigh from behind Namjoon distracts you, and you both turn toward the sound. Jungkook looks at the pair of you with a soft wistfulness in his eyes, a goofy smile spreading over his features. You've seen this before. If he stays on his back much longer, he'll fall asleep.

“Come on, let's clean up." You reach over to tug him up. "Shower's massive in this bathroom."

A/N 2: eeeek we're almost at the end!! i'd love to hear what you think!!

©sowoozoo-7 2024

Please do not copy or repost. I do not crosspost anywhere else.

summary: you wake up in your friend’s bed after spending last night partying at his sister’s wedding as his fake girlfriend.

pairing: jungkook x reader

wc: 1043

genre: friends to maybe something more

warnings: swearing; mentions of alcohol; mentions of grinding and kissing; and this is all obviously made up, none of it’s real

a/n: i kinda want to ask you not to read it?? jk’s ck shoot forced me to post this so venture at your own peril.

Fuck.

You groan as sunlight hits your eyes. Last night is still running through your veins and suddenly you feel sick. The taste in your mouth tells you it’s not the first time.

It’s only when you sit upright that you realize you’re not in your own bed. Pulling off the covers in exaggerated annoyance, you’re met with a glass of water, an aspirin, and an irritatingly bright, smiling face. The amused grin on Jungkook’s face tells you he’s enjoying this.

“I hate morning people,” you say, taking the pills from him.

“Good thing I’m not a morning person,” he replies, still smiling.

Of course he has to be insufferable this early in the morning, even after the big favour you did for him yesterday.

“I’m never being your fake girlfriend again,” you say, right before downing the glass of water. “Your work party was bad enough, but your sister’s wedding? Do you know how many people asked me when you and I are getting married?” You shudder, pushing him aside as you get off the bed. “Never again.”

You take some time to freshen up and when you return Jungkook is on his phone. You stare at him long enough for him to notice you in the doorway. When he looks up at you, you point to your t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Tell me you didn’t undress me last night.”

“You did most of the undressing yourself, actually,” he says nonchalantly, and then goes back to scrolling through his phone. As if he didn’t just tell you he saw you naked.

“What?”

He looks up again, grinning this time. “You were pretty drunk and thought your dress was on fire.”

“But you didn’t look, right?”

“Of course not,” he says, “I’m a gentleman.”

You sigh with relief, salvaging the tiniest bit of dignity you have left.

“By the way, when did you get that tattoo on your ass?”

If your head wasn’t throbbing, you would walk over and slap that stupid grin off his pretty face.

“I’m getting out of here,” you say, scanning the room for your discarded clothes. Surprisingly, they’re folded on his now made bed.

You turn back to Jungkook and notice the sunlight illuminating his features.

He’s pretty. Like, super pretty.

You hate it.

But it begs the question… why does someone like him need a fake girlfriend?

That’s a question you’ve asked so many times, it’s lost all meaning.

“I see the way those girls at your work look at you. Why didn’t you just ask one of them out?”

“Not my type.”

“What? Gorgeous, intelligent women aren’t your type?”

He stares at you for a long time. Then he returns to his phone, muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite catch.

You scoff. “Well, I’m not going to any these things again.”

He snorts, setting his phone down and giving you a hard look. “You don’t handle alcohol that well. Why did you drink so much?”

You think back to the wedding. It was a lovely wedding, if you’re being honest. His parents were very kind to you and the food was pretty great.

Truthfully, it wasn’t until the reception that things turned sour. Last you remember, a beautiful girl in a tight dress pulled Jungkook into a slow dance. And then the wine started tasting good. Really good. And you might have joined them on the dance floor at some point, grinding against some fellow with very grey hair.

You groan. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

A bemused look crosses his face. “Why?”

“I made a fool of myself last night. I must have embarrassed you in front of your family.”

“You didn’t embarrass me. My family thinks you’re charming.”

You give him a quizzical look.

“And my uncle wants your number.”

You groan again, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m never going anywhere as your fake girlfriend again.”

Without skipping a beat, Jungkook leans over to grab his phone as he replies. “How about going as my real girlfriend?”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Be serious, Jungkook.”

You and Jungkook have been friends for years. You’re mature enough to admit there has always been some sexual tension between you two, but you have both kept things platonic.

“Well, I don’t want to go to these stupid functions on my own,” he mutters, eyes glued to his phone.

“Then just take some girl you like, instead of forcing me to go with you.”

“What if I like you?” He says it so easily you wonder if it’s always been at the tip of his tongue all these years just waiting to jump out.

Or maybe he’s just teasing you.

You look at him closely, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards as he continues to stare at his phone.

Oh, he’s definitely teasing you.

“Yeah you’re definitely in love with me,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “But next time go with someone you want to date.”

“And if that’s still you?” This time he looks up, brows quirking up as he scans your face.

“You trying to make me throw up or something?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“What do you want then?” You wriggle your brows suggestively but it’s over the top, clearly a joke, so it takes you by surprise when he gets up and walks towards you with a look in his eyes so intense you start to feel a little warm.

Within seconds he’s in front of you. He leans in, his warm breath tickling your skin. You inhale and hold it there.

Waiting.

Why does it feel like he’s about to kiss you?

When he leans in closer, your eyes shut without thinking and your face tilts upwards to meet him. Seconds pass like hours and finally you feel his hand cupping your jaw, a dark, gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine.

“I want my shirt back.”

Jungkook is back in his chair, smirking like the devil before you even realize what he’s said.

And when you do, rage rises in your throat as you fight off the urge to become apoplectic. “Fine,” is all you can manage, ripping his calvin klein t-shirt from your body and slamming the door behind you before he has a chance to stop you. You’re already in the elevator and putting your dress back on when your phone starts blowing up with calls from Jungkook.

You don’t care, though. You’re done being his fake girlfriend.

And you’re done being his friend.

woo you made it! hope you enjoyed 🤍

Enjoyable one shot!

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

–

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work. 

Keep reading

🤣

Namjoon is 1000% done with these guys

Woohoo! Top 2 fics recommended are very close to my heart! And the dearest author is such a sweet and smart young woman! So proud of her 🥰

#morallydeepestobservation #KimNamjoonfic #RMfic #idontknowhowtousehashtags #KimNamjoon #Joonie #LOML 😆

kim namjoon fanfics that should be turned into a movie or a book! (part 1, part 2).

Thank you authors for your infinite imagination and creativity! My days are better because of you.

Perfect Plan by @mortallydeepestobservation (namjoon x reader) genre: friends to lovers completed

The holiday pretense by @mortallydeepestobservation (namjoon x reader) Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au ongoing

It’s december (and i still love you) by @smoochkooks ex husband!joon x reader) completed

Parasomnia by @borathae (namjoon x reader) completed

False awakening by @taleasnewastime (best friend!namjoon x reader) completed

Me and your mama by @joonberriess (husband!joon x reader) completed

Sexts and showers by @moni-logues (namjoon x reader) completed

Everythingoes by @vantaenims (idol!namjoon x reader) genre: before sunrise au, strangers to lovers | fluff, angst completed

Satisfied by @luvismenu (roommate!namjoon x reader) completed

Just the tip? by @joon4eva (husband!joon x reader) genre: established relationship au completed

Nothing by @shina913 (namjoon x reader) Genre: Established relationship, slice of life completed

💗🌟 hi babies! this is my updated list with the best works with namjoon. i wanted a bigger list but good fanfics with joon is a rare thing to find, but i’m always open for recommendations (and let’s say that i have a giant list of fanfics to read… but i will get there.

i noticed that people are looking for namjoon recs so here i am! i’m thinking about a weekly list idk… anyway have a great time guys 💌

ps: forgot to mention that i do reviews!!! yes so if you want to check my crazy comments just click in the first # ok byeeee 💋💋

Love this to bits! So charming and witty. A must read!

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’. 

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. 

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space. 

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back. 

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume. 

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.” 

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit. 

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

---

Void - Part 1 (M)

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 7.9k 

Part 1 / ?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, masturbation, discussions of pornography, voyeurism, and excessive sexual tension

A/N: This chapter focuses on Hoseok, Yoongi, and Jimin. But trust me, all seven will get involved before this is over.

Keep reading

So, so fine!!!

he’s so fine 😳 for @rkivedfiles ♡ (cr.namuspromised) 

Really excited for this story! Bloom was one of my favorite fanfics! I really dig this whole soulmate au world that has the partners basically feeding of each other’s energy and emotions.

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader (afab)

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), realistic depictions of cancer and cancer treatment; mention of unfeatured character death (previous to plot); emotional health growth and development; eventual smut; feelings and dealing with feelings (no, but seriously, so many feelings)

Author's Note: First and foremost - Blame Me chapter 1 will still be tentatively dropping by the end of the week. However, this just literally wrote itself last night after a couple of drinks and several streams of Lonely 💔. It was the thing that just poured out of me and could not be stopped. It's been simmering in the back of my brain for a while, and so, now that it's out here, I'm going to be posting it in tandem with Blame Me, probably on alternate weeks (if I can manage it, 😅). I want to give credit to those whose works I have read which have come to set the stage for my concept of the soulmate au, and who are far my betters in creative artistry: Matchy, author of balls-to-the-walls masterpiece Trip No Further, Fallencairns, author of lovely work of art Turbulence, and @teenagebountyhunter , to whom I dedicate this work 💜 the author of the ineffably beautiful Namjoon soulmate fic Bloom (RUN to read this immediately) - the inspiration for what is to humbly follow below. If you're checking this out, thanks a million for reading, and please don't be shy in offering feedback should you be so inclined! (Baby fic writer here, constructive criticism always welcome!)

Without further ado, chapter one is under the cut.

P.S. Tag list is open. If you want in, let me know. 😊

P.P.S. In case no one has told you today, you're loved and worthy of love. 🧜💜

“When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight? Why did they stop at my lips, so suddenly, why do I know them, as if once before, I have touched them, as if, before being, they traveled my forehead, my waist?”

~ Pablo Neruda

Chapter 1: The Cure

Diana dipped another three fries in ketchup and popped them into her mouth.

"So, what do you need to talk about that has you desperate enough to buy me lunch?" She smiled smugly and sipped and her milkshake. You hadn't touched the burger in front of you, even if you probably should be absolutely relishing in it, considering your future prospects. You picked up a sweet potato fry and stared at it absently.

"I found my soulmate," you stated flatly. Diana's jaw dropped mid-chew, unpleasantly framing the masticated remains of a mouthful of turkey club.

"Wait, are you serious?" she pressed, round hazel eyes wide and unblinking. You dipped the fry down into the little cup of ranch and swirled it around slowly.

"Actually, he found me. Well, his people found me," you continued. 

"Huh? So is he some kind of a big deal - wait...they found you? What does that even mean? Wait, no - you have a soulmate?!" You smiled ruefully. It was kind of nice to see someone else freaking out about it for a change. You had known your little sister would react strongly, which is why you had waited until now give her the news. "Y/n, ANSWERS," Diana demanded leaning forward to flick your forehead. 

"Ow!" you protested, rubbing the throbbing spot on your brow. "Keep your pants on, geez!" You sighed. After having relayed this story to your mom, your doctor, a specialist, legal advisory, your best friend, your brother and his wife, and your very disappointed boss, you had gotten pretty good telling it. Yet, somehow, each time the burden of it's truth felt a little heavier. You ate the fry. It was pretty good. You wished it had sucked so it wouldn't be one more edible thing you missed the prospect of.

"So apparently, a couple of years ago a university in Switzerland found a way to match soulmates using DNA testing. Don't ask me about the exact science of it - I do not understand it. What I do know is that it's illegal to use this technology to locate your soulmate in the US."

"Why?" Diana had abandoned her food and was listening with rapt attention.

"Something about privacy rights. Though they've dealt with that issue in Switzerland - people interested in finding their soulmates join a biological registry. I'm sure our government is just waiting to find a way that big pharma can exploit it before they facilitate the process. Anyway, somehow, I ended up in a foreign registry. I guess there is a black market for soulmate data..."

"Oh my god, could I be on the black market?" Diana gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.

"I guess anyone could, provided they've ever been treated at a hospital, or given blood, or anything of the sort...but calm down! It doesn't even matter unless you have a match, which is rare."

"So he found you on the black market?! That's so fucking sketchy, Y/n."

"It was his company, actually. I got a visit from representatives of an organization called Hybe. They are some kind of South Korean entertainment conglomerate. One of their employees, a musician, is dying of cancer. Seeing if he had a soulmate was a last-ditch effort to save his life. Now everything is banking on me and my cooperation." You flicked your eyes up to your sister. Her expression had morphed into something far more somber.

"Heavy..." she whispered. You nodded. "What are you gonna do?" You took a bite of your burger. She wasn't going to like your answer. Diana's face changed again, this time registering alarm and indignation. "No," she murmured, "No, Y/n. You're just gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna go be the fucking hero! You're going to traipse off to Korea and save his sketchy, ungrateful ass!" She stood up, her chair screeching back over the concrete and drawing the attention of other diners on the patio. You glanced around apologetically.

"Diana, sit down! And how do you know if he's grateful or not?!" you hissed.

"No!" she countered defiantly, yanking her hand away from where you had reached for it. "You always do this! You never, ever think of yourself. And now you'll be gone forever...is this even safe?" Tears had started to well up in her eyes, and the glances around you had turned into stares and whispers. You stood up and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Lets get out of here and I can answer all of your questions, alright?" She sniffled.

"Okay. But you're not leaving me." You smiled and huffed out a laugh pulling her toward the parking lot.

You had anticipated that Diana would disapprove of your decision, and it being as difficult a situation as it was, you had decided to make all the arrangements and choices necessary before telling her. She loved you so fiercely, she would have watched the world burn before letting you break a nail, if she could help it. After your father's death nearly twenty years ago, you had become protector and provider to Diana and your younger brother Henry, three years her senior, in ways your sensitive and unworldly mother seemed unequipped to shoulder. If they had both not been so established and secure in the trajectory of their adult lives, you would have made it clear to Hybe that you regrettably had nonnegotiable responsibilities right where you were. But Henry was settled into a suburb with a lovely wife and year-old daughter, Diana was set to finish undergrad and head off to nursing school, and the deal with Hybe had actually allowed you to leverage for your Mom's retirement, so you were boarding a flight to Korea next week to take on a new set of cares and concerns.

You tossed your keys on the table on your way into your apartment and collapsed onto your comfy red couch. While Diana rooted around your fridge and loudly complained about the lack of hard seltzer, you sorted through the mail and made a mental note to add a forwarding address on a few of your accounts and subscriptions, including the one supplying you with Nightwing comics. You set the mail aside and took a moment to look around you. You loved your little apartment. The kitchen was small, but the big window with the spider plant hanging in it made it one of your favorite rooms - the herb garden on the counter and the fully stocked bar above the fridge did nothing to make you like it any less. The earthy brown walls of the living space were littered with shelves full of candles and living plants and quirky curios, and in and amongst them hung framed watercolors of flowers and herbs that you had painted yourself. The record player sat at the ready in the corner by the wall dedicated almost exclusively to books and vinyl. There was a small tv over the stone-lined fireplace. Over your shoulder your soft, queen sized bed with sheer canopy cozily called your named from the single bedroom. The whole place smelled like citrus and cinnamon. In every corner, there was you. It was going to be hard to leave the hobbit hole you had so lovingly curated for yourself over the last half-a-decade...especially since you wouldn't be going "there and back again", but just...there. Diana plopped down next to you,  breaking your reverie.

"So, you're NOT going, but tell me about the huge mistake you ALMOST made," Diana prompted as she side-eyed you, taking a sip of the wine she had poured herself. You set the comic book you had been thumbing through aside and drew your knees up to your chest as you swiveled to face her impatient stare.

"Last week, a these three people showed up at my door, two men and a woman, and they said they were from a company called Hybe based in South Korea. One of their employees, a singer named Kim Namjoon, has stage 4 liver cancer. I guess they caught it pretty late in the game, so even the most aggressive treatments aren't doing much good. Back in April the doctor gave him two months to live."

"Damn," Diana interjected softly.

"Yeah, that's why all of this is happening so fast. He needs me as soon as I can get there."

"We need you, too," she whispered, reaching out to loop her finger into the top of your sock. You smiled affectionately.

"I know, Di, but you're a grown woman now and you can take care of yourself. You're going to have to and I know you can. Life really won't be that different - you'll be off to school in San Diego anyway! Most of our hangouts were going to be over Facetime...now you'll just have an excuse for a little international travel." She heaved a stuttering sigh.

"Speaking of travel...Johnny broke up with me," she mumbled. Your mouth hung open in shock.

"Oh my god, Di, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me?" She downed her remaining wine and stared into the empty glass, twirling it between her fingers.

"I was gonna, but when I told mom last week she said to wait to talk to you about it because you were dealing with something stressful. Now I know what she meant." You shook your head.

"Ugh, Mom..." Your sweet, nonconfrontational mother, while you loved her deeply, was a horrible communicator. Whenever she got involved things like this always ended up worse. You looked at your sister twiddling with her wine glass. She looked so small. And Diana, while she exuded many things, very rarely seemed diminutive. You grabbed her and pulled her to you, and she instantly snuggled into your chest. "I'm sorry you've had to hold that in all this time," You said softly, stroking her hair, "You really could have told me. How are you doing? Was it bad?" She shook her head against you.

"Nah, it wasn't so bad. He's going to travel before starting grad school and wants to 'sow some wild oats'," she answered, flashing air quotes. You couldn't see her face, but the acerbic nature of her tone told you just exactly what she thought of that concept. You snickered. Atta' girl. You'd never liked that guy much, anyway.

"What an asshole," you remarked.

"Yeah, he better not hit me up in a couple of months when he's done fucking his way through Europe."

"Fuuuuuck that," you commiserated. 

"Yeah, so I thought this summer would be our last hurrah. You know, no guys, just you and me...like old times" Diana mumbled in a voice that was all sulking and bottom lip. 

"Ahhh," you said with a smile, "So that's why you are so disappointed. Well, we still have a few days - we can make the most of them!" Diana lifted her head from your chest and glared up at you.

"Boys ruin everything!" She whined. You smirked softly.

"Usually I would agree with you, but the one I'm leaving for seems kind of decent, actually." Diana frowned.

"How do you know? Did he call you or something? Wait, you never finished telling me your story!" You hummed in assent.

"I mean, there's not much more to tell. I agreed to move out there to bond with him and begin treatment. I signed a really basic contract that will be revised when he is well enough to think about the future - or in a year, whichever comes first. They were pretty quick to meet my terms, I guess they didn't really have much choice since I was the one holding the all the cards."

"What does any of that have to do with him being a good guy?"

"Oh," you blinked, "It doesn't. You see, when they met with me they talked a lot about him. It was almost like a job interview or something. They talked about his accomplishments, his net worth, the importance of his work, and his worthiness as a person. One of the guys was actually one of his bandmates, and he had come specifically as a character reference. They had initially wanted me to sign the contract right there and then - and let me tell you, that kid they brought with them almost convinced me with his giant puppy eyes alone - but in the end I had asked for forty-eight hours to consult legal advisory and think it over. The first thing I did when they left was look him up. You actually probably already know who he is - I think I might have been the only person in the world who didn't. Have you ever heard of BTS?" Diana jumped back like she'd been stung, clutching her chest.

"Are you about to tell me that your soulmate is a member of the biggest band in the world?" she whispered, her eyes impossibly wide. You smirked. 

"Not just a member, Di...their leader." Diana shrieked, leaping up off the couch.

"RM??? Your soulmate is RM???" You sister stared at you, agape, while you threw your hands up in indignation.

"I was the only person!"

"Oh my god..." Diana staggered back, demeanor having deviated sharply from disapproval to elation, "My roommate is obsessed with them! She has all these posters - but her favorite, I'm sorry, her bias, is Suga...holy shit, I can't WAIT to tell her she's gonna-"

"Diana," you interrupted her firmly, and her eyes shot up to you.

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone." Her face fell as she leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace. Clearly this was going to be even more of an emotional roller-coaster for her than it was for you, you thought in amusement. Typical.

"Everyone who I tell has to sign a gag order. You included." Diana slid down the wall into a slump and knocked her head back.

"This situation keeps harshing my vibes, dude," she whined.

"Well, I'm exceedingly sorry about your vibes, but I'm sure they'll recover," you rejoined sardonically.

"But woah, Y/n, your boyfriend is hot. And rich. And super famous. Your wedding is going to be fucking LIT..." 

"Woah, Nellie!" You cut her off, waving your hands as if you usher her train of thought into the landing strip of sanity.  "Slow. Down. Wedding?? What happened to 'sketchy, ungrateful ass'?! He is NOT my boyfriend. He's supposedly my soulmate. According to some Swiss pseudoscience. We haven't even bonded yet. And if we do in fact bond, that doesn't mean we're a couple." Diana popped her head up and fixed you with the most incredulous of stares.

"Um, excuse me...soulmates have to touch each other to survive. And I heard that the soulmate connection is better than sex. You're telling me you have the opportunity, nay, the duty, to be up in the business of one of the sexiest men alive, and you're just gonna platonically kick it for the next seventy years?" You rolled your eyes.

"I mean, if that's what he wants - if that's what I want. Soulmates doesn't automatically equate lovers. I've been reading about people's experiences and there are some soulmates who bond platonically. Some people are already with romantic partners when they meet. Some don't share a sexual orientation that makes them compatible as lovers..."

"Oh my god, Y/n, could you please not kill the sexy by going all nerd on this?" She asked you in exasperation as her finger swiped at her phone screen. Suddenly she shoved the phone out toward you, while tapping frantically with a neon yellow acrylic nail on the image she had summoned. She was saying something humorous and complaintive but you weren't listening. You were looking at the man in the photo. You hadn't seen this one in your superficial search-engine dives. It was a headshot. His hair was a light brown, full at the top and styled away from his face. His skin was darker than in many of the other images you had seen, emanating a beautiful golden glow. He was smiling just enough for his right dimple to softly grace his cheek. He features were strong, masculine, and incredibly handsome. All of that was already striking, but his eyes, oh, his eyes - they were staring directly at the camera, irises only half visible under his lidded gaze, warm and sincere, so incredibly intense. The hair stood up on the back of your neck and your breath caught in your chest in spite of you. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath. You needed to calm down. He was just a person. Good looking? Yes. Charismatic? Obviously. But you had a job to do, and no time to screw around with schoolgirl daydreams. He probably had a girlfriend. No, definitely, he definitely had one. And hey, he was just a person, like you. No need to be star struck...Diana had been continuing her rant, completely unaware of being ignored, when she had let out a high pitched squeal of laughter. "Oh my god...oh my god!" She shrieked.

"What?" You snapped, your hormone-wrestling train of thought cut off abruptly. She stared at you, lips pressed together as if she was trying to contain more loud giggles.

"What??" You demanded impatiently, your limit for her antics very swiftly approaching.

"RM. K-pop superstar, probably one of the coolest people ever born, gets YOUR dorky ass as a soulmate, HAH!" "Hey!" you deflated, unimpressed with what she considered to be so vastly comical.

"Oh that poor man!" she pushed dramatically, "That poor, poor man. You're the least graceful, geekiest person in the western hemisphere. What will you even talk about? Good thing you don't speak Korean, you'd probably bore him to death! Shit, at least you're pretty..." You folded your arms over your chest defensively.

"Hilarious. But actually, he's fluent in English. And I read somewhere that he likes art..."

"Y/n, he's rich," she interrupted condescendingly, "All rich people like art. It's a huge flex to own an original. If I was a billionaire I'd 'like art' too. Oh my god, I just can't believe this is happening. Like he's crazy famous..."

"And very, very sick," you reminded her softly. Her expression fell into something contrite.

"Oh, shit, I forgot," she murmured.

"I'm glad you're excited for me, Di. It really made me feel a lot better about the whole situation seeing you get some kind of joy out of it. But I can't stress enough that this isn't a fairytale. Who knows how he feels about resorting to this. I guarantee you this is as hard for him as it is for me."

Diana crossed over to the couch and skooched in next to you.

"All jokes aside, he's lucky to have you, Y/n. You love at a thousand percent. Even if you guys just end up being soul-buddies, or whatever, he hit the jackpot," she smiled at you, that sweet smile that made you rethink everything for one split second. Now it was your turn to try to hold back tears. "I'm gonna miss you," she murmured, "But I respect what you're doing."

"Now that he's famous?" You prodded with a teasing smile.

"Yeah, now that he's famous," she conceded. You pulled her into a hug. The silence that hung around you was pregnant but comfortable. Diana finally broke it with a soft question.

"So you're really going to give your whole life away for a total stranger next week?" she whispered.

"Mmhm," you hummed somberly into her hair.

"Why you always gotta be like Dad?" A familiar lump began to form in your throat, but you swallowed it back. You always did. And Diana fell asleep in your lap one last time. You stroked her hair as you thought back, rather emotionally exhausted, over your conversation. It seemed like people thought of the soulmate connection as some kind of miracle. You didn't believe in those. People made choices, and those choices governed reality. You had just made the biggest choice of your life, and if it was like any of the other roads you had taken, it would require much of you. 

***************************

The following day was your last at work. Your coworkers had greeted you with pizza, cake, flowers, and hugs. It was touching to realize how much you would be missed. Your boss, Shauna, hovered as you gathered you belongings from your desk. 

"Damn it to hell, I'm gonna miss you!" She mourned for the umpteenth time. You smiled as you tucked your little philodendron into the box, placing it next to the canvas speckled with daisies that read "You Matter" in curly green letters. 

"You have an amazing team here, you guys will do great," you insisted, patting her hand where she leaned on your desk.

"Um, a great team of people you trained!" she said, consoling herself with a swipe of frosting from what had once been a beautiful red velvet cake with white buttercream. You leaned beside her on the desk, joining her in sadly picking at the dessert remains. After you had graduated with your degree in social work, you had landed an internship in a program which Shauna was running. The two of you quickly discovered you had similar passions and community goals, and the following year had left the program to start Magnolia Village, a one-stop shop for women's services sadly unprecedented in your area. While the startup had been rough, your passionate duo had believed in the need and refused to say die, and from your mutual blood, sweat, and tears had blossomed a cornerstone of the local community. Over the years it had grown and extended its reach to thousands in need of support. Many of the staff were women who had first come through the door seeking services, and were now your partners in providing the aid they had found empowering in their hour of need. You were immensely proud of what the two of you had built, but leaving the Village was bittersweet, as you were more confident than ever that it had grown into a well-oiled machine powered by lovely, capable people who could keep it going at full tilt without you.

"This place basically built itself, we just propped up the scaffolding," you remarked, glancing around the building fondly - what had once been a residential fixer-upper was now a cozy space of offices, a nurse's station, six emergency beds, sanitation services, and a food pantry

"Bitch, you know very well that I am the bulldozer and you are the heart and soul of this place. We are going to feel it when you leave. You better come back and visit us. Mirabell is going to do a good job filling your shoes, though. Watching her step up to the plate has been something else." 

"It has," you nodded, "She's going to kick ass. You might just forget I was ever here by the end of next week." Shauna turned uncharacteristically tearful eyes toward you.

"I will never forget you," she choked. Then suddenly you were being crushed in a bear hug. You returned her embrace until you thought you might actually pass out from lack of oxygen.

"Okay, I love you, but I'm about to asphyxiate!" you wheezed, slapping her on the shoulder.

She let you go, but grabbed your arm and looked at you seriously. "I want you to promise me one thing," she said, holding your gaze. You cocked your head to the side. Shauna released your arm to clasp both your hands in hers. "I want you to promise me that when you get to Korea, you find something that you're gonna do for yourself." You started to respond but she stopped you. "Something for yourself. It doesn't matter what it is, but it can't be for your soulmate, or your family, or anyone else however deserving...just you, okay?" You looked at her quizzically.

"I do stuff for me..." 

"Don't get swallowed up, baby girl. Find someone to ground you, to remind you that you're worth more than what you have to offer." You scoffed.

"I'd like to see someone try and swallow me..."

"Y/n,"

"What?"

"Promise me."

"Okay," you nodded, "I promise."

Shauna squeezed your hands, then went back to chipping away at the mass of red crumbs and buttercream.

A little twinge of worry twisted in the pit of your stomach. You were strong. Resilient. No one could bounce back like you, could survive like you. People knew this - they had been telling you so since you were ten years old. So why was everyone acting like you were being cast out to sea without a life preserver? 

*****************************

You had spent the weekend with your family. Henry and Mercedes had even driven down, Elena in tow, to have one last Sunday dinner and see you off to the airport. Hugs and tears and small parting gifts had made leaving even harder than you had imagined. When you finally boarded the plane your eyes were red and your head was throbbing. After the plane had gained enough altitude to allow you to unfasten your seat-belt, you had slipped into the restroom to rinse your face. You returned, plopping down next to the man who would accompany you during your first few days of transition.

"I'm getting booze when they wheel it by, Matt, so don't try to stop me," you huffed, gesticulating in mild threat with the book you had extracted from your carry-on at the suited figure sitting in the window seat. The handsome older gentleman smiled, not lifting his eyes from the copy of the Korean Herald in his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he responded, flipping a large, thin page. Matt Anders had been many things to you in life. Before you were born, he had been your father's best friend. He had been the best man at your parent's wedding. He and his wife, Rebecca, had cared for you and your siblings during your mother's sanitarium stay. He had tutored you for the SAT score that had earned you a full ride to the university that had saddled you with a BS in social work and minor in English literature. Today, he was your attorney. Matt, who had an IQ of 146, had learned basic Korean so that he could translate for you and make sure that your interests were looked after as you settled in. Having him there made you feel one hundred percent more secure about the process. He, for instance, had been the one in negotiations to ask for the very cush business-class fight accommodations you were new settling into.

        "Whatever you would do for him, you'll do for her. I want an equality of treatment clause added with no addendums."

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his exchange with the Hybe's representation. He had asked for things you would have never asked for yourself, and you felt better having access to them knowing that he felt you were deserving. The flight attendant sweetly asked if you would require any refreshments. You asked for two whiskey and cokes, and handed one over to the man beside you. You took a long, refreshing sip.

"Damn it, I wish I had appreciated food more," you sighed, looking ruefully at your glass.

"What are you going to miss the most?" Matt asked before sampling his own beverage.

"Cheese. I can't believe I'm saying that, but in the end I just love cheese. And there are so many kinds I haven't tried. Do you know there's this Italian cheese that comes in the shape of a pear? It's super expensive because of the breed of cow the milk is sourced from. It's supposedly suuuuper creamy. But, hey, now I'll never know if it's as rich and complex as they say..." you took another sip of your drink.

"Caciocavallo Podolico," Matt remarked casually, returning to his newspaper.

"Excuse me?"

"The cheese you described, it's called Caciocavallo Podolico," he reiterated.

"You know, I should be used to it now, but I'm not. Don't think I'll ever be. How on earth do you know this stuff?" you insisted incredulously.

"Read it once," he shrugged, "And it's actually pretty famous as far as cheeses go."

"Catch-a-vayo Picadillo..." you murmured.

"No," Matt interjected succinctly. "Anything you want to go over again? We have the time, Lord knows." You sighed.

"Can't think of anything right now. What did you think of the list of questions I sent you?" 

"Very good," he nodded, "I'll be adding a few of my own, that I think should come from me, if you don't mind." You swirled the ice in your plastic cup.

"Of course not. Thanks again for coming with me, I'd be pretty lost without you." Matt smiled at you again, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

"You'd do just fine. But you would be flying coach." You smirked and cracked open your book. As you flipped to your marked page, a colorful, sturdy rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground at Matt's feet. He reached down and picked it up, regarding it with a curious eye before you could snatch it quickly away and tuck it back between the pages of My Antonia.

"New bookmark?" he queried.

"Something like that," you murmured. You thought he might press you further about the Hangul characters he had surely noted on the back, but just then the captain's voice crackled over the intercom reiterating the weather conditions in Seoul and you took the opportunity to bury your nose back between the pages. You glanced clandestinely over at Matt, who had settled back into the Korean Herald, before pulling the little watercolor card from between the pages where it had been hurriedly concealed. Your eyes traced over the purple clematis trailing elegantly across the illustration as you wondered if 12 hours was, in fact, a millisecond or an eternity.

-End Ch. 1-