So Excited For More Of This Story!

Oooh this sounds very promising! Can’t wait to read what happens next!

Kaleidoscope | Red

↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, eventual smut ⤜ WC: 873 ⚠️ Crass language, secret personal pining, intimate personal thoughts about a stranger

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Like the taut skin of the apple that snaps under his perfectly straight pearly teeth as he takes a bite. You try not to stare through the reflective surface of the metal wall, but it’s impossible as he brings the shiny, red fruit to his mouth to take another crisp chunk from the rounded side.

Your neighbor stands across from you in the tiny elevator that’ll take you up to the seventh floor, where your apartment door is just across from his. He’s lost in the music you can faintly hear carrying from his headphones and is oblivious to your unwavering attention.

Forbidden fruit, full of secrets that you want nothing more than to be privy to. That’s what he represents. A tantalizing, teasing morsel of the unknown that begs for your touch. At least, that’s how it is in the privacy of your own thoughts. You don’t even know his name. Just simply always think of him as Apartment A, the counterpart to your Apartment B on the seventh floor.

He moved in nearly two years ago, and you always meant to say hello, to introduce yourself. But, every time the opportunity arose, your tongue would thicken, and you’d find it impossible to form words around the offending muscle. So, it’s only been silence between the two of you with the occasional hospitable, cordial smile that everyone does to be polite when passing by strangers and unintentionally making eye contact.

Apartment A takes another bite of the apple. That’s three so far since you entered the elevator with him from the lobby of your apartment building. The steel carriage is slow, slower than it should be, but the super refuses to fix it until the thing breaks down completely. It lurches along, emitting a constant vibration under the worn soles of your ratty sneakers. They’re covered in splatters of paint, most dried, but some still shiny-wet against the black canvas from when you spent time in your studio this morning.

There is only one more floor to go. With that, you know you’ll only have a few seconds to continue admiring him before he disappears into his apartment, closing you off from learning more about who he really is and why you’re so enthralled with him.

You step closer to the elevator doors and, by proxy, closer to him. The sweet, floral scent of the apple reaches you. It’s involuntary, the way saliva pools under your tongue at the thought of taking your own bite. However, it’s not the red fruit that you imagine, but the pouty bottom lip of Apartment A.

The sudden jerk of the elevator stopping sends you stumbling forward a step, your palm instinctively catching on the button-laden wall beside the doors. Heat immediately crawls up your neck, replacing the momentary flare of self-indulgent fantasies. You throw a quick glance at him, more than sure you’re going to find his dark, quizzical eyes staring at you like you’re a spectacle.

Relief, mixed with an odd sense of disappointment, clouds into your mind when you see your stumble didn’t so much as register to him. He’s hyper-focused on the fruit in his hand, his lips silently moving as if singing along to whatever song is playing through his headphones. You might as well not exist.

As soon as the doors slide open, the squeal of the worn-out belt and pulley echoing through the small space, Apartment A steps out and continues the dozen paces to his door while you’re still trying to gather your wits against the elevator wall. The offending sound begins again as the doors try to squeeze shut before you can throw a hand out and halt them.

You scramble out, shoving the doors as they try to catch on your shoulders. “Fucking hell,” you grumble, the warmth of embarrassment quickly turning to burning irritation. It’s unlike you to get so caught up in your thoughts over Apartment A. It’s not fair. It’s all because of that damned fruit. If he weren’t eating it, the bright, ruby-colored skin practically screaming at you to pay attention, you’d not have gotten so distracted.

Red is still coloring your vision as you push into your apartment. Your shoes thud against the wall by the door as you kick them off, eyes honing in on the blank canvas waiting for you on the other side of your living room. What you do in your studio is for the eyes of the outside world, but what you create here—in the comfort of your own space—is completely and utterly for you. Which is why you let yourself indulge in him.

You know precisely what you’re going to paint. Arching strokes meet eager swipes—the gentle curve of a fruit, the solid straight lines of nimble fingers. Pouty lips and white teeth, the faintest hint of a wet tongue poised to accept the sweet nectar that waits hidden beneath the thin peel.

It’s comforting, getting lost in the process of recreating something with such intimate clarity. Channeling your emotions, whether that’s the unbidden lush fantasy of biting into Apartment A’s bottom lip or the self-critical chastisement laced with irritation for being so hung up on him, red flows across the canvas—glorious, wicked red.

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◅ Back to Main Master List   ©️ 2023-09-07 ColorMePurplex2

can we get amnesia trope with namjoon pleaseee?

Never Forget You

Pairing: Mafia!Kim Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: Soft Yandere, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

3000 celebration

“Do I know you?”

You visibly stiffened when you heard his deep voice. You tried to calm your heart that was beating too fast, tried to breathe slowly. But how could you pretend like nothing was happening when Kim Namjoon was literally standing in front of you? When it had been almost a year since you last saw him?

When it had been eight months since you left him?

When it had been eight months since you last saw him bruised and bloodied?

You heard him chuckled softly when a moment passed and you still didn’t acknowledge him. You were terrified. You knew nothing was simple with him. You knew nothing was uncomplicated when it came to you and him… and Namjoon suddenly appearing in front of you made you lose all the progress you made.

You thought you had escaped him. Yet now, he was standing in front of you.

Suddenly, you were back to being that naive girl who loved him too much.

“I’m sorry if I scared you. It’s just that…you looked familiar,” Namjoon trailed off when you finally looked up at his tall form. The first thing you noticed was the scar on the side of his forehead, a clear and bitter reminder of how the two of you ended on what seemed like lives ago. The second thing you noticed was the color of his hair. The old Namjoon would never dare color his hair, but the man in front of you was spontaneous enough to do so.

The last thing you noticed about him was his eyes- they were no longer angry. His eyes looked as angelic as the first time you met him. Kim Namjoon looked at peace.

And so, you lied.

You lied because he deserved the peace and you were terrified.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”

The second time you crossed paths with him again was after two months. You decided to move again the very next day that you saw him. You were certain you weren’t safe, that you needed distance from him for your sanity and his peace. However, destiny seemed to laugh at your efforts.

You were walking, your eyes focused on the scenery on your way to work when you felt someone crashed into you, cold liquid poured on your white shirt. The dark contrast of coffee against your shirt was enough to make you lose your composure. You were about to unleash hell on the assailant when you saw who it was.

However, his face shut you up. Of course it was him. Again.

“I’m so sorry!” Kim Namjoon exclaimed in a horrified voice, his mouth focused on your wet shirt and the see-through brassiere that you snapped your fingers in front of him.

“Eyes up here, Namjoon!”

He looked at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck when he realized what you said…when he realized what you called him. Suddenly, he lost the apologetic look on his face, his eyes widened with curiosity and suspicion.

“What did you just call me?” He asked in a deep voice. He tilted his head to the side, his mannerism even before the accident. You hated how you still knew about this. You so badly wanted to erase him from your thoughts.

In fact, it should have been you who lost the memories. In that way, you would be able to escape his memories: the good and the bad.

You stepped back when he walked closer to you. You were glad that this happened in public. You wouldn’t be this glad, though, if this happened eight months ago. If this happened eight months ago, Namjoon would just simply take what he wanted regardless of the consequences.

“You called me Namjoon,” he stated, his eyes taking you in. He looked lethal despite the changes in him. For heaven’s sake, the old him wouldn’t be caught wearing a tote bag like he did now. The old him wouldn’t even dare wear whatever he color of clothes he was wearing right now.

You opted to look at his chest rather than his eyes, which he found rather unacceptable. You gulped when you felt his finger tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Do you know me, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The one he used to call you so lovingly…yet sometimes he did so mockingly. You were shaking when you met his curious eyes.

He chuckled without any emotions when moment passed and you didn’t confirm nor deny. “Was I a bad person that you would lie to me about knowing me?”

He wasn’t. Until love or rather, until obsession swallowed him whole.

For the second time, and what probably was the last time, Kim Namjoon let you go. The tears that were pooling in your eyes were enough for him to gently let you walked away from him.

“Are you going to be honest now?” He asked his father who was sitting in front of him as though he was the king himself. In a way, he was. They sat on top of the hierarchy in the underworld, and Kim Namjoon before the accident was the King when his father stepped down. He was the king, yet he couldn’t lead right now because of his memories.

They said he was chasing after someone when it happened.

They said the person wasn’t important and that the person was now gone.

The doctor was confident that he would remember everything in due time, which was fine to him. Really. It was fine. However, he felt a constant stabbing pain in his heart. He felt incomplete. He felt as though his world lost its balance.

Something was missing.

Someone was missing.

Because if not, how could he explain the dreams that both haunted and enchanted him each night? How could he explain the scenes similar to that of a movie whenever he closed his eyes of a girl who loved him?

Someone loved him.

And he was desperate to remember her, to get her back in his arms where she obviously belonged. He was simply restless.

“What are you talking about, son?”

Gently, he laid his palm on the wooden table. He leaned in, his calmness a mask to his insanity. Namjoon was always calm, yet his calmness was lethal. His father knew about this. Most especially, you knew about this. “Don’t lie to me,” he whispered in his deep voice. “Who was I chasing that night, father?”

His father thought he deserved the truth, yet he didn’t want to him to know. His son had always been levelheaded, yet when it came to you, his ever-loving sanity vanished. Personally, he thought it was a blessing in disguise when he forgot about you.

He should’ve known, Namjoon would never just let go. His obsession was stronger than the clean state of his memories. He recognized that obsession because he too was once obsessed with Namjoon’s mother. And it was his love that drove her away.

He didn’t want it to happen to Namjoon.

Yet, it still did. He drove you away.

“And this time, please don’t lie to me.”

He regarded him with his eyes, “You were chasing your fiancé that night.”

Three months passed, and you hadn’t seen him since then. You moved once again, living peacefully. Or so you thought.

It had been thirteen months since you escaped from him. The car chase was something you would never want to relive, yet you could remember it clear as day. His love suffocated you. What was once a sweet relationship turned sour when he let the darkness won. He terrified you. His love was obsessive, his embrace became tighter, his kisses became more desperate the more he felt you pulling away. But didn’t he realize you pulled away because he stopped being the Namjoon you fell in love with?

And when you finally discovered how deep his obsession was, how people suddenly disappeared when he felt they were a threat, you had the courage to leave him. But he didn’t take it easy. Of course, he didn’t. When he found your ring on his bedside table, he lost it.

And that was how the car chase happened. That was how he lost you.

You turned your head to look in front of you when you heard someone sat. You thought that finally, your date your coworker set you up with finally arrived. But instead of him, Kim Namjoon was there.

He sat down comfortably, his eyes focused on the menu. And you knew, you just knew that he was back. His hair was dark once again. Gone was the tote bag and simplicity in his clothes. Now, he was sporting the usual suit you knew he favored.

It scared you that he hadn’t once looked up at you. He only did so when he placed his order, and you noticed he ordered for two. He ordered your favorite.

He remembered now.

“W-what are you doing here?” Your voice trembled as you took him in.

“You’re here, sweetheart. Where else would I be?” He asked in a mocking voice, his eyes finally on yours as he took you in.

Thirteen months you ran.

Thirteen months he lived without you.

He had enough.

“What did you do to him…”

He leaned in, his head tilted to the side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We only…talked.”

“Don’t lie to me!” You hissed, anger getting the best of you. “What. Did. You. Do?”

Suddenly, the restaurant was emptied by men wearing dark suits. And then they dragged the bloodied man inside. You were crying, you didn’t realize until Namjoon wiped your tears. He hated seeing you cry. It was his weakness.

Perhaps, he loved you too much.

“Shh,” he comforted you, standing up to kneel beside you. He looked into your eyes with overflowing love, with too much love that it drowned you. “Nothing will happen to him. I promise you.”

He kept his promises, always.

After all, he promised you that he would never leave you. And beyond his memory loss, he never left you. Namjoon kept on coming back.

“If you marry me now, nothing would happen to him.”

You looked at his sincere eyes. He looked worried over your state. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I promise.”

That night, he slipped back the ring you left. That night, Kim Namjoon promised that he would love you forever.

That night, he promised to himself that he would never let you escape again…and that he would never forget you again.

💜

Namjoon II:

Updated 7/14/23

Moon Child - @adonis-koo

Open Chest - @hamsterclaw

Americano - ^^

Fleeced - ^^

Run - ^^

Reprieve - ^^

Dragonfire - ^^

Bloom - @hobidreams

Beauty & the Bookworm - @jungshookz

Underground King - @sugaxjpg

Something I would like to read over and over!

Perfect plan -1-

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: friends to lovers, friends with benefits? (But the benefit is a baby); crack, a smidge of angst, smut, fluff, happy ending. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings:  mentions of cheating and ‘being the other woman’ (past relationship), reader works at a hospital, Namjoon is just an absolute sweetheart in this, cursing, multiple sex scenes, dirty talking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, just a smidge of size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, intensive orgasms, Namjoon tells you to “Relax, woman” before eating you out, lovemaking, and a quick scene of pregananat sex. Word count: somewhere around 15k. Author's note: You know there is this idea travelling around that writers write what they need to hear? Apparently, I need Namjoon to tell me it’s okay if I don’t have it all figured out. Thank you @callmenoona25 for all your help once again. You’re the sweetest! ✨ ps. English not first language. Brain dumb sometimes. If you’re still reading this, leave a comment, drop a like, they’re literally the joy of my existence. part 2: here

Confetti was not just decoration; it was a phenomenon. It had a very special way of never truly being vacuumed up. No matter how many times you tried, the colorful bits- pink, blue and gold- always seem to wiggle away and hide comfortably into the far corners of the room as if they had a mind of their own. They would stay there, nestled in the shadows, only to flutter up again whenever you tried to sweep them away.

After the third failed attempt, you let out a frustrated sigh and abandoned the vacuum cleaner. You’d leave that task for the sober version of you tomorrow.

Instead, you started gathering the scattered napkins from the dining table, folding them mindlessly. Your gaze wandered to the half-burned candles that still sat on the table, the melted wax serving as a quiet witness to your little gathering.

29.

“Happy Birthday!” – those words never felt heavier, laden with unfulfilled dreams and the weight of another year gone by without much to show for it. Even the celebration, once full of light and laugher, had left behind just another mess to clean up. The year was over and you were left with the quiet aftermath.

You had always imagined this age differently, or at least, that’s what you told yourself every year. By now, you thought you’d have things figured out. You thought there’d be someone by your side, someone to share the joy of the life you had built.

Little baby prints all over the house. Raising a child, teaching them how to blow out birthday candles and clean up the mess afterwards.

You had always imagined being a mother by now. Maybe that’s what hurt the most- how the years seemed to slip by without any sign of the family you’ve dreamed of. The house full of laughter, a partner to help you navigate the messes and milestones.

But instead, you found yourself alone. Alone in a big beautiful house, holding a top position as an administrator at a private hospital. But alone.

You threw away the last of the napkins and pushed your way through the clutter on the dining table, your mind still heavy with the weight of the thought that had followed your around since the last of the guests had left. The candles sat atop the garbage pile when you walked towards the kitchen.

The house felt quieter now, almost too quiet, as if it was holding its breath since the celebration had ended.

When you entered the kitchen, the hum of the dishwasher broke the silence. You hadn’t expected to find anyone still here, but here he was- Namjoon, your friend, still loading dishes with the same quiet focus he’d had all evening.

You two met back in your last year at college, when you were both striving to become more than just another student. You butted heads a few times, competing for the opening position of Teacher Assistant, only for the teacher to completely compromise the project by offering the job to his very own son.

Either way, you walked away with a new friend. (The enemy of my enemy?)  You were drawn to his passion, his drive, and his unwavering belief in himself. Turned out the two of you also made a hell of a team when it came to it, because you managed to get the job done, despite the professor’s questionable decisions. You’d stayed late countless nights in the library, hashing out ideas, studying together, even venting your frustration in between textbooks. Namjoon had the uncanny ability to make even the most tedious projects feel worthwhile, and you couldn’t help but admire the way he could turn anything into an opportunity for growth. It was contagious, his unwavering belief that everything- every setback, every challenge, was just another chance to prove yourself.

You’d both laughed about it afterwards, the way the professor’s son had been handed the job without so much as a second though, while you and Namjoon had essentially worked the entire course in the shadows. But it didn’t matter in the end. What you had created, together, was far more valuable than the title ever could’ve given you.

The sound of glassware clinking together was oddly soothing, and for a moment you just watched him.

He was dressed in a casual cream turtleneck that beautifully highlighted his broad chest, paired with olive-green slacks. The golden framed glasses perched on his nose adding a little touch of elegance, perfectly tying the outfit together. He seemed relaxed, at large within the confines of your apartment.

“Still here?”

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a tired but warm smile, “You thought I’d leave you to clean all this on your own?”

You lean slightly against the counter, suddenly feeling restricted by the tight dress you wore, watching him work. It was such a kind gesture, but something about it made you feel even more isolated.

“I could’ve handled it,”

“I know you could,” he said, turning back to the sink, “But I wanted to help.”

There was something about him that made you feel seen, even in moments like these, when you didn’t want to be. Almost like he wasn’t just cleaning up your party mess; he was cleaning your life in some way too. The laughter had faded hours ago, and now it was just the two of you- no more distractions, no more Taehyung and Jungkook cracking jokes, no more celebrating. Just the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the soft clink of plates.  Just still life.

You sigh and pull out a chair to sit down at the small breakfast nook “I just feel like… I’m stuck, you know?”

The sparkling champagne made you tongue loose. Feeling vulnerable and raw, you quietly searched his eyes. “Like, I thought by now I’d have it all figured out- where I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to be doing. I just thought I’d have more… more something.”

Namjoon set the plate down with a soft clink and turned towards you, his gaze steady but gentle. He wiped his hands on a dish towel, and for the first time that evening, he let the silence hang between you, as if giving you space to let the words settle before responding.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. That sense of… not being where you thought you’d be. But I also think you’re more than what you’re giving yourself credit for.” He paused, then leaned against the counter, meeting your eyes in that way he always did- like he was truly seeing you, not just the person in front of him, but the one beneath the surface.

You shrugged, a half-smile pulling at the corners of your lips, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I just-” You sighed. “I need to stop drinking.”

Namjoon studied you for a moment, his eyes softening as if weighing your words. He didn’t rush to fill the silence with advice or reassurances. Instead, he simply watched, letting the moment hang in the air, even as it thickened with unspoken words.

Finally, after a small eternity, he spoke.

“It’s okay not to have it all figured out.” He paused for a moment “Life isn’t a straight line. I know you like to plan every little detail of it, but sometimes, it’s just not how it works out. You can’t just arrive somewhere and expect it to be perfect.”

You wanted to laugh, to dismiss his words as is you didn’t know already. But something in the way he said it made it feel real. Like he wasn’t just offering empty comfort, but speaking form a place of understanding.

“And maybe you’re not where you thought you’d be. But that doesn’t mean you’re lost.” Namjoon set the tea towel down with quiet precision, then met your gaze once more, his smile faint but steady. “I think... maybe we’re all just figuring it out as we go. Some of us more than others.”

 You wanted to say something, wanted to argue, but the weight of his words settled over you, a gentle blanket you didn’t know you needed.

“C’mon, you’re tired. Let’s get you to bed.” The softness of his tone caught you off guard, tugging at something inside of you. His words didn’t come with expectations, didn’t demand anything from you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, you simply nodded, feeling a heaviness settle over you that was both familiar and strange. You stood up slowly, legs still a little unsteady from the alcohol, and made your way to the bedroom, Namjoon following quietly behind you.

You didn’t speak as you reached the doorway. There was nothing to say, not really. So instead, you turned around and wrapped yourself around his body, pulling him in a tight hug.

“Thank you Joonie.”

Namjoon chuckled, squeezing you tightly before whispering “Anytime love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fluorescent lights of the 7/11 hummed overhead, as you stood in the middle of an aisle, heart melting into a puddle as you cooed over a chubby-cheeked baby sprawled across a shopping card. All bundled up in a puppy themed onesie, the little one giggled as he reached for a colorful toy, and you couldn’t help but mimic his joyous sounds.

You watched with admiration as the mother, a confident woman in yoga pants (and a vomit-stained shirt), gently tickled the baby’s round face, eliciting a fit of giggles.

Namjoon, as usual, was talking as he dropped something into your shopping cart, not that you were paying him any attention. Not when the baby’s eyes caught your gaze, his smile widening as he cooed at you.

“God Joon, I want one too.”

Namjoon, ever the pragmatist, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I can get you one, they’re on sale.”

His voice was light, casual, the way he spoke when he didn’t take your thoughts too seriously. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“What are you talking about?”

“The crackers?” he said, glancing at you, his brow furrowed in confusion as he held a box of crackers in his hand, examining the label as though the fine print held some secret to the universe. “What are you talking about?”

You stared at him for a second, still caught up in the midst of your daydream, before laughing softly.

“The baby, Namjoon.”

“Ah-” he paused, looking back at the baby boy. “I don’t think they sell those here,” he chuckled, throwing a sly glance your way. “But if you want, I can distract the mother, and you make a run for the exit with the baby.”

You laughed at the absurdity of it, shooting him a playful glare, knowing where his teasing would lead.

“Don’t say that! You’ll get us kicked out." You scold with a playful grin.

Namjoon just shrugged, as if the thought didn’t bother him, the teasing glint in his eyes only making you smile wider. You pushed your cart towards the checkout line, the weight of it heavier now.

It’s been a few weeks since you had that moment of weakness, but the ache still lingered, quietly tucked away in the mundane day-to-day distractions. You’d buried the feelings under careful planning, an extra dose of work, and fleeting nights out with friends. But the longing never quite went away.

Instead, it had grown far beyond a mere ‘baby fever’. It was a full-blown malady by now.

Namjoon, however, was a constant, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of your thoughts. And tonight, it was no different, even in the middle of a basic errand run to 7/11. He was there, filling the space with his usual teasing and lighthearted energy, offering a sense of normalcy you didn’t even realize you missed.

“But seriously, I think you’d make a wonderful mother.” Behind you, Namjoon continued to toss items into the cart- bags of chips, cans of soda, candy bars- anything within his reach as he dropped one of the biggest compliments you’ve gotten in the past few years.

It hit you like a soft wave, unexpected, yet somehow exactly what you needed to hear. You paused, a bag of cereal halfway to your cart, processing his words. The motions of the store continued around you- people chatting, the hum of a checkout line in the distance, the baby’s giggles- but for a minute, they all slowed, and it was just the two of you in that fluorescent-lit aisle.

You turn slightly, trying to keep the heat from rising to your cheeks “You think so?”

Namjoon, oblivious to the shift in your mood, continued picking through the shelves, tossing things in your cart with an almost absentminded rhythm “I do.” He said, his voice easy and sincere as it always was with you

“You’re nurturing, you know? And patient. You make people feel safe, like they can just… be themselves around you.” He smiled “And you’re the mother of the friend group.”

He was focused on a big bottle of orange juice when he tacked on “You’d be amazing at it.”

The way he spoke made it sound so simple. But to you, it felt anything but simple. A rush of conflict swirled in your mind.

“Too bad my dating life is so stale,” you grumble, snapping him out of his obsession.

Your past experiences hadn’t been exactly pleasant. From really weird alpha-sigma-dudes trying to convince you that your worth as a woman has declined since you passed the age of 25, to insecure men that felt intimidated by your position in the working field, to just bad timing in general- it was all just… complicated.

The cherry on top was your last relationship. You felt the bitterness creep back into your chest as you thought about him- the doctor. The one who had lied to you for over two years. Even now, the memories felt like a stab straight to your ribs. Like a snake squeezing your heart into nothingness. You gave him everything, trusted him with your heart, only to have it shattered in the cruelest way. You could still remember the disbelief in your voice when you had to confront him.

“God, how did I miss that?” You murmured underneath your breath, your grip tightening around the cart handle.

Namjoon, who had been rifling through the cart, didn’t seem to notice the dark cloud that settled over you.

“Stale? Nah, you’re daring life’s just on pause.” He said, completely unaware of how much his words stung.

“The only man I wanted to start a family with turned out to be married!” You snap. The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp and bitter. You could feel the heat rise to your chest as the frustration spilled over, the old wound reopening with an ache. Namjoon froze mid-motion, his hand still hovering over a bag of something. The silence that followed was heavy, and you immediately regretted it.

But Namjoon, ever the perceptive one, quickly managed to draw you back in.

“That dick?” he huffed “Its better you found out early on. I can’t bear the idea of you having asshole-babies.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Namjoon’s lighthearted response, despite the lasting burn. The absurdity of ‘asshole-babies’, paired with the sincerity of his tone, almost made the bitterness dissolve. The tension in your chest shifting slightly.

He dropped the bag back into your cart and met your eyes. “You deserve someone who treats you right, who sees all the amazing things you are. You don’t need to settle for anything less.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. It was comforting to hear him speak like that, as if he believed in you more than you sometimes believed in yourself.

“Thank you love,” you said softly, your smile genuine but still fragile.

He flashed a grin, nudging you with his elbow as he walked along you towards the checkout.

“Now, what the fuck did you buy? Why are there three bottles of ketchup here?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay! I have decided.” You announce suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone at the small table to you. The murmur of laughter and clicking of glasses fades into the background, and a bubble of anticipation surrounds your little booth.

The bar is buzzing with life; particularly crowded for a Thursday evening, yet, even among the crowded mess, Jungkook still somehow managed to secure a secluded little nook for your rag-tag group of four.

You glanced around the dimly lit room, where the flickering neon lights casted playful shadows along the walls- a slight twinge of courage envelops you as the warmth of the alcohol teases your senses, coloring your cheeks bright red.

Namjoon’s brow rises, and he takes a contemplative sip from his tall glass of beer, a thoughtful expression dancing across his face. In front of you, Jungkook and Aera are deep into their third glass, laughing at some inside joke only cringey couples would make, oblivious to the rising tension radiating from your suddenly bold proclamation.

“Decided?” Namjoon echoed, setting his glass down, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches you.

Aera and Jungkook both turn their attention to you as well. Jungkook leaned back in his seat, a mischievous glint in his eyes, while Aera wiped her lips with the back of her hand, ready for whatever random revelation you were about to drop.

“I’m going to have a baby by myself!”       

The words hung in the air for a long moment, as though the entire bar had suddenly gone still. Your proclamation floating quietly through the air before crashing and tumbling on the small table between you.

Namjoon blinked, his beer halfway to his mouth, while Aera and Jungkook both froze mid-laugh, their faces a reflection of disbelief and curiosity.

“What?” Jungkook was the first to speak, his voice completely drowning in confusion.

“I already set up a college saving’s account, and I got a head start on the nursery.” You reached for a napkin, just so your fingers have something to do. “The contractor is coming over this weekend to look at the room.” You looked up to gauge their reaction, but when no one spoke, you continued “I mean, I don’t even use the at-home office. It’s perfect.”

Leaning back into the seat, you plant your elbows on the table, the rough surface grounding you as the weight of your declaration settles heavy in the air.

“Wait, wait,” Aera says after regaining her composure, her eyes slightly narrowing with skepticism. “You’re seriously saying you want to become a single parent? Just like that?”

“She’s serious.” Namjoon cuts in, setting his now-empty beer glass down on the table.

He nursed that drink for the past hours only to finish it with one long sip?

 “Trust me, this isn’t a rushed decision. She’s been toying with the idea for months.” He mumbled, leaning back into the booth.

“Yeah,” you nod confidently “The kindergarten right down the block from me has an afternoon group. So, after the baby turns three, I can start working again. And until then I should live comfortably with my savings.”

“Noona you can’t!” Jungkook looks terrorized by the thought, the alcohol just as evident on his face as it was on yours. “So what? You’ll just start fucking every Dick, Harry and Joe in town until you get knocked up?”

Under normal circumstances, the youngling would be much more careful with his words around you, but now, with the buzz going on in his head, his desperation seemed to have taken over. His eyes quickly shifting from you to his Hyung, as if pleading Namjoon to back him up.

 The atmosphere shifts as Jungkook's words slice through your carefully crafted confidence. Laughter begins to bubble back to life around you, but your own heart has started to race, confusion and boldness swirling together like a cocktail in your stomach. You stare at Jungkook.

“You know that’s not how it works.” You reply, your tone steadier than you feel. An involuntary smile creeps back onto your lips. “It’s not that simple, and I’m not looking for casual hookups. God only knows what messed up genetics those dudes have. And I run a risk of an STD.” You shake your head. “No Kookie, I have a plan.”

You take a deep breath, allowing the faint buzz of the bar to seep into your consciousness again, grounding you while your amusement at Jungkook’s pure shock begins to surface again.

“Besides, the plan isn’t just a plan; it’s a well-thought-out strategy.” You try to encourage him, but he just blinks up at you like a hurt little puppy. “I scheduled an appointment at a fertility clinic.”

“And if the plan fails? What if you’re not ready for the challenges of parenting? It’s not just about the nursery or the savings. Have you thought about the reality of it?”

Deep down, you know that Aera just wants to help, however, her questions rub you slightly the wrong way.

“Of course I have!” You assert, a tad defensively but with sincerity woven into your voice. “I’ve done my research, Aera. What it takes. What I need. There are all sorts of resources out there for single parents. It’s not like I’ll be doing this entirely alone. I have you guys, and I know I can reach out to others too if it gets too tough.”

Jungkook ran an exasperated hand down his face, grasping at straws as he mumbled, “What about your love life? This is such a huge commitment, and you’re just going to push that aside for... A child?”

You appreciate the concern, but something in you quakes at the thought of your future being dictated solely by the prospect of a romantic relationship.

“My love life is already complicated. I don’t want to put my dreams on hold for a partner that might not even come.”

“Namjoon! Say something!” Jungkook pleaded, but the gentle giant just kept on silently studying you.

“Congratulations.” Was the only thing that left his lips after a long moment, making you beam up at him as if you’d just received a gold start on a test.

“See?” you said, your smile widening as you glanced back and forth between them. “Namjoon gets it! Life’s too short to wait around for the perfect moment!”

Aera finally shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips despite the concern in her eyes. “It’s just, we can’t help but worry for you. What if it’s harder than you think? What if you regret this choice down the line?”

You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s the thing Aera. I’m not doing this on a whim. I’ve mapped it out. I’m prepared. I believe I can give my child the love and support they need.” You smile, glancing between Jungkook and Namjoon.

“Fine.” Jungkook relented, leaning back in his seat with a resigned sigh, his hands raised in mock surrender. “I guess if you’re really set on this… just promise you won’t forget about me when you become Super Mom or something.”

Aera rolled her eyes playfully, yet her smile remained as she leaned against his chest “As if you’d let her forget. You’d probably be the most dramatic babysitter ever.”

A ripple of laughter echoed among the three of you, the tension momentarily lifting, only Namjoon just kept on staring at the bottom of his empty beer glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook took no mercy on Namjoon as they walked down the street. After making sure you and Aera safely got an uber home, the little drunken monster unleashed.

“Hyung! You can’t let her do this!”

Namjoon gave a soft chuckle, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He was still processing everything himself; the weight of the conversation hanging heavily on him. Jungkook, who was practically bouncing on his feet with a mix of frustration and concern, shot him an incredulous look.

“You can’t just sit back and let her make such a huge decision by herself!” Jungkook insisted, his voice rising “She’s literally planning to have a baby alone, Hyung!”

“Kookie, she’s a full-grown woman.” Namjoon began slowly, rubbing a hand over his face “And she’s not doing this impulsively. She’s been thinking about it for months.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully “She’s not the kind of person to just… act on a whim. She has a plan. And I think, maybe, that’s what she needs right now.” He exhaled a deep breath, looking up at the street lights overhead, his mind running through the conversations he’d had with you.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.

“And what about you?”

Namjoon stopped walking, his steps halting mid-stride as the question hit him like a stone wall. For a brief moment, there was nothing but the distant hum of a passing car and the quiet rustling of leaved in the evening air. He turned towards Jungkook; his eyes wide with uncertainty.

“What about me?” Namjoon asked, his voice low, the question more to himself that to Jungkook at first.

“Are we really doing this now?” Jungkook groaned “You love her. C’mon, catch up.”

Namjoon stood still, eyebrows meeting his hairline. He had always kept his feelings hidden, buried under layers of friendship and mutual understanding, the steady belief that he was just someone who needed to be there for you- no strings attached.

But now? Jungkook’s question churned him harder than he expected.

Namjoon blinked, unsure whether to laugh it off or tell him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kookie.”

Jungkook didn’t let up. “Hyung, I’m serious. I see the way you look at her! The way you act around her! You’re not fooling anyone!”

“Yes, because she’s my friend!” Namjoon tried to protest, but Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“You don’t look at me like that!”

Namjoon’s chest tightened, his throat a little dry as he tried to force some clarity into his emotions.

“Kookie. You’re drunk, you need to sleep it off.”

Jungkook shook his head, as if he were trying to clear out the haze of alcohol clouding his mind. But the intensity of his words didn’t waver. “I’m not drunk enough to miss what’s right in front of me.” His voice softened a little “I’m just saying… maybe it’s time to stop pretending?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Namjoon repeated, but his voice wavered slightly, betraying him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday movie nights have been a staple in your relationship. Something you both held sacred since the beginning. Only under the most extreme circumstances had either of you ever canceled.  

Lately, though, you seemed to call it off more often than not. Ever since you started your weekly appointments at the clinic, Namjoon noticed he was seeing less and less of you.

But tonight, you were adamant to keep the tradition alive. The opening credits of Deadpool 3 were already up on the screen, waiting for someone to press play, while Namjoon busied himself hauling all the blankets to the couch. A spread of your favorite snacks sat neatly on the coffee table. The only thing missing was... you.

In your bedroom, you sat at in the middle of your bed, the laptop balanced on your lap as you repeatedly refreshed your email inbox.

“You ready?” Namjoon called out from the living room.

“Yeah, just a sec!” You refresh again, your face lighting up when the awaited email appeared.

Namjoon watches your reaction and laughs, “Let me guess. It’s going to be more than a second now?”

“I just got the donor list. Want to help me choose?”

Namjoon’s laughter fades, replaced by a look of concern that make your heart race. He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to gauge your enthusiasm.

“Choose?” he repeats hesitantly, “Like, pick a donor?”

“Yeah,” you respond, excitement bubbling over as you quickly type away on the computer. “You’re my friend. I want your input. It feels right.”

He bites his lip, unsure of how to process this new layer to your already documented decision. “You really want me involved in this?”

“Of course! I trust you. Plus, it’s a big step. I could use a little support.” You give him a little sheepish smile, almost hiding your face behind the screen.

Namjoon nods slowly, the weight of your request settling in. “Okay… I’m here for you.” You beam up at him, quickly patting the space next to you “Just-how do we do this?” Namjoon settled down, his eyes quickly scanning the screen.

“There’s a list of profiles with backgrounds, interests and even photos. We can look through it together.” You pause, letting him read over the page.

“This guy seems interesting.” you say pointing to a profile that catches your eye “He’s into poetry, works as a dentist and seems really kind…” but your voice dies down “Ah, but his hair line is receding.”

Namjoon leans closer. “What about this smiley one?” he asks, highlighting a profile with a striking smile.

“Nah, he has a bit of an overbite.” You move the mouse away, “I want to minimize the chances of the kid needing braces.”

Namjoon chuckles, watching you scroll through the list “Oh look! A Redhead!”

“Can I be honest?” you glance up at him, smiling once you caught his gaze “I’m not really into gingers.” You whisper, earning yourself a lighthearted laugh from him. His dimples deepen, and his eyes nearly disappear with mirth.

“You’re such a stereotype.” He teases.

You finish scrolling through the profiles. Each one eliciting more critiques than compliments.

“Too many tattoos.”

“Too much facial hair.”

A crooked nose, a weird eye color, a weird mole. Too short; too tall. That one yodels for fun. You could go on~

After a few more profiles you reached the end. “Ugh, none of these guys are right. It’s like a never-ending list of disappointments.” You groan, closing the laptop and falling back on the mattress.

Namjoon sighs dramatically, taking the laptop from your grasp and setting it on the bedside table, leaning back on the bed. “Maybe you should add a ‘no weirdo’s filter’.”

“Seriously! What’s wrong with some of these guys?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

This was already the third trial, and you still hadn’t chosen a single profile. Deep down, you knew the things you got so fixated on were merely superficial flaws, but they felt monumental when it came to deciding your future. Even with your careful planning, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were running an undeniable risk.

That is not even considering the fact that the insemination might not even work in the first place. But that only added more chances and statistics to your plan, making your head spin. So, you consciously avoided that rabbit hole.

Namjoon chuckles softly, rolling on his side to face you. For a moment he said nothing, quietly studying your frustration.

“Listen,” he finally broke the silence, his eyes reflecting a gentle resignation “I know you don’t need it; but you have my full support. Whatever- or whoever- you pick.” His smile was so sincere that it made your heart skip over a beat, and in that moment, a new, bold idea took root in your mind.

You allowed yourself a moment to admire your friend- his perfectly symmetric face, kind eyes and adorable dimples. Your gaze drifted lower, taking in his chiseled jawline, elegant neck and the contours of his collarbones, all perfectly complementing his broad shoulders and newly toned muscles.

Suddenly, that unconventional idea that popped in your mind began to feel more enticing. After all, you knew him- the little quirks, the strengths, the pet peeves. You’d met his parents’ countless times. It could actually work out. And you were confident enough in your relationship to give it a shot.

You let out a soft sigh, your heart racing as you considered the next step in your journey. Turning to face him, you bit your lip as you hesitate before speaking.

“Namjoon… can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He propped himself up on one elbow, concern flickering across his face.

You took a deep breath, gathering your ideas. “I’ve been thinking about this process, and-” You swallowed hard “It’s a big commitment. I want to make sure everything it perfect, you know?”

 He is so understanding, watching you quietly and nodding along to your ramblings.

“So, I was wondering if you’d be willing to get tested.” You rushed the words out, your gaze darting to the ceiling, avoiding his eyes.

Namjoon’s brows furrowed in confusion “Get tested? Like... for what?”

You swallowed again, trying to keep your voice steady. “For compatibility. I’d like to know the donor’s genetics, and it would really help to have your input on it. It you’re comfortable, of course.”

A heavy silence filled the room. You could feel the tension in the air as Namjoon processed your request, your heart racing louder with each passing second of his contemplative silence.

“Wait.” He finally snapped, his voice low and measured “You want me to get tested as a potential donor?”

Your palms felt clammy as you looked back at him, offering him a shy nod “Yes?”

“That’s not what I meant-” He stopped his own idea in its tracks “Won’t it make things weird between us?”

“No! Just think about it! I know you; I know your family history. I like your face. And we don’t have to tell anyone. And you can choose how much you want to be involved in the baby’s life. Like I said, I want to be a single parent.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he listened to you ramble on and on about your idea. His brows furrowed deeper, knitting together as he tried to process your words. After a few long moments of constant talking, he held up a hand, stopping your frantic speech.

“Slow down,” he instructed, his voice low and measured, “Let me get this straight- you want me to consider being a sperm donor for your child?”

You nodded eagerly, stomach twisting with emotion and heart picking up in double time. “Yes! I know it’s a lot to ask, but I trust you. We’re best friends, and it would be nice to have a personal connection to the kid’s other parent.”

He turned away from you, deep in thought running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I-I don’t know.” His throat made a weird noise “This is a lot to process.”

Suddenly feeling uncertain, you bit your lip hard. “I know, I know. And it’s totally fine if you say no. We never have to speak of this again.” You shift slightly, feeling heat rise to your neck. “I just though since we’re so close…” You mumble, losing your idea for a moment, before quickly picking it up again "It's not like we'd be raising the kid together! Just, you know...biologically related. As friends."

Namjoon sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I need some time to think about this, okay? It's not a decision I can make lightly."

"Of course," you replied quickly, not wanting to pressure him. "Take all the time you need. I'm sorry for springing this on you out of nowhere."

He offered a small, reassuring smile. “It’s all right. I’m just surprised. That’s all. I’ll let you know once I’ve had a chance to really consider it.’

You nodded, feeling a mix of hope and anxiety swirling in your gut. “Thank you, Joonie. Just for thinking about it.”

He reached out, giving your hand a comforting squeeze “I’ll always be here for you.”

You returned the gesture, heart full of affection for your best friend. “I know, thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joon 🎍: Just got the tests back. Damn. Don’t even know what half these things are. Busy-bee🐝: If you bring them over, I’ll translate. 😊 Joon 🎍: Yeah. Omw rn. Did you have dinner yet? Busy-bee🐝: Nooo, can we please have Bibimbap? Joon 🎍: Anything you want, love.

Namjoon arrived a short while later, carrying a takeout bag that wafted delicious aromas through the kitchen. He set it down on the table with familiarity, fetching plates and utensils as you carefully looked over the medical results.

“Bibimbap, just as you ordered.” He said, grinning. He looked at you, his expression shifting to one of concern as he noticed the serious look on your face “Is everything okay?”

You glanced up from the papers, forcing a smile “Just trying to wrap my head around all of this.”

He slid into the chair across from you, pulling the take-out container and placing it in front of you. “Take a break from the serious stuff for a moment. Food first. Medicine later.”

You chuckle softly and opened the container, the colorful array of veggies and rice making your stomach growl. “You’re right. Can’t think on an empty stomach.”

As you began to eat, Namjoon began to rifle through the papers. “So, what’s this one?” He picked up a paper, squinting at the dense text. “I swear, some of these graphs look like they belong in a science-fiction novel.”

You giggled, nodding along “I know, right? Let me see… This one is about genetic markers for health risks, and this one,” you pointed to the colorful one “It’s about traits related to personality and intelligence.”

Namjoon let out a long-intrigued sound, “What does it say about me?”

You chuckle, trying to suppress a smile “Well, it’s not like one of those personality tests you find in a girly magazine. But it says our baby might have higher chances of being a visual learner, with higher openness to experiences.” You take a big bite, quietly chewing over the fact that you just called it ‘our baby’ – as in, you and Namjoon. Mashed together.

“Openness to experience? That’s code for ‘adventurous’ right? I think I prefer the term ‘spontaneous’.” Namjoon feigned offence, looking over the papers as if trying to confirm your diagnosis.

 “It’s another way to say you’ll jump at any wild idea.” You tease him, mouth half-full. “But it’s a good quality! You’re creative, fun and adaptable.”

He leaned in closer, curiosity piqued “And what about intelligence? Am I a genius?”

You flipped the paper around, scanning for the relevant section. “Looks like you score high on analytical thinking and problem-solving. So, I guess, in the right context, you could definitely call yourself a genius,”

“Can I add that to my cv?” he joked, before turning serious again “But does any of this affect your choice? Does it change anything for you?”

You took a moment, pondering his question as you quietly chewed your food. “I guess it just adds another layer to think about. I want the baby to have a good mix of traits, you know? If I choose a donor who has strengths like yours, it could make an indent in my favor.”

Namjoon’s expression softened, silently watching you scan the results, before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Whatever you decide, love.”

You smiled, feeling reassured as you grabbed the next paper “Thanks, love. Now, let’s see how your swimmers are doing!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is a thin line between being a genius and an idiot. Namjoon liked using that line as a jumping rope. He had been called both names, sometimes within the same day. One minute he’d be diving deep into philosophical discussions, and the next he was deemed a mumbling fool simply because you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

He knows he is brilliant. His academic achievements and professional life were testament to that. A whole company depending on his decision. Yet here he was, getting grilled for the past hour by Seokjin and Taehyung for being the biggest dumbass that walked this dying earth.

“What do you mean you just agreed to be her sperm donor?” Seokjin blurted; his disbelief palpable as he leaned against Namjoon’s desk.

Namjoon just shrugged, trying to keep his cool. “It’s not as simple as that. We’ve talked about it, and I think it could work out.”

Taehyung leaned in; eyes wide with mock horror “You really jumped into this without thinking it through? Are you insane?”

“I thought about it plenty!” Namjoon retorted, frustration creeping in. “I trust her! We’re best friends. This isn’t some random decision.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk “Best friend or not, you’ll be tied to her and that kid for life!  You’d practically be family!”

"Guys, I get it," he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. "I've thought about this a lot, and I really believe this is the right thing to do."

Taehyung shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. "You're not thinking straight, Namjoon. This is a huge decision, and you're not even considering the long-term implications."

"I am considering them!" Namjoon insisted. "I know that by agreeing to be her donor, I'm getting myself involved with her and the kid for life. But that's exactly what I want. I want to be there for them and support them in any way I can."

Seokjin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Namjoon, you're a brilliant guy. You've always been one of the smartest people I know. But sometimes, I worry that you're so focused on doing the right thing that you don't stop to consider whether it's the smart thing."

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but Taehyung cut him off. "He's right, Namjoon! This isn't just a textbook case. This is real life, and there are real emotions involved. You can't just apply your weird logic to everything and expect it to work out."

Namjoon sighed, feeling a pang of frustration. He knew his friends were just trying to protect him, but he couldn’t help but feel like they were overcomplicating things.

"Maybe you're right," he said after a moment. "Maybe I am an idiot for doing this. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. I trust her, and I want to be there for her. That's all that matters to me."

Seokjin and Taehyung exchanged a look, but eventually, they both nodded.

"Alright," Seokjin said. "We'll support you, no matter what. But you’re still an idiot.”

Namjoon sighed; resignation evident on his features at he turned his attention back to his computer.

“You could’ve asked her on a date and get to the baby making naturally.” Seokjin added.

“She doesn’t want a relationship.”

“Well, you can skip straight to the baby making!” Taehyung exclaimed, but Namjoon just rolled his eyes.

 “It’s not that simple, Tae...”

 Unbeknownst to Namjoon, on the other side of town, you and Sumi, your good friend and co-worker, were engaged in a strikingly similar conversation.

“So, I asked him to donate a sample.” You fidgeted with your fingers under the table, unable to meet her eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you voiced your actions. “Any thoughts?”

Sumi studies you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. You felt the intensity of her gaze as she tries to gauge your sincerity. Finally, she broke the silence.

“Yes, and prayers,” she said softly “You need them.” She gives you that incredulous look that only the head nurses seem to master.

You blink, stunned by her response. You expected something different, something along the lines of excitement or curiosity, instead, her reaction was surprisingly tame.

“Why didn’t you just bang him?” She asks, her tone casual, no hint of professionalism in her demeanor.

Your eyes widen in shock “Ayy! Don’t say that!”

“I mean, you can cut out the clinical middle man this way,” she continued “And god knows you need to get laid.”

Your face grew hot. “That’s not the point...” you mumble.

Sumi raised an eyebrow. “Then what is the point, exactly?” She leaned back in her chair, bubble tea clasped in her hands and a smirk playing on her lips. “The baby gets made either way. This is just more fun.” She giggled “You know, Jimin told me that Namjoon used to have quite a reputation with women back in his day.”

You shift in your seat, avoiding Sumi’s probing gaze as you gathered your thoughts. The conversation has taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated, and you were struggling to find the right words.

“The point is, I want to do this the right way.” you say, aimlessly spinning the straw in your drink. “I want to give this child the best possible start in life, and that means doing things properly.”

Sumi considers your words for a moment, before nodding in understanding “I get that,” she says. “But you don’t have to be so serious all the time. You can still have fun and enjoy the process.”

You can’t help but snicker as she emphasizes the words “You sound just like Jimin,” you say, referencing her boyfriend. “He’s always telling me to lighten up and enjoy myself.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Sumi says with a grin. “And just so we’re clear, sex is the ‘proper way’ that normal humans use to make babies.”

You roll your eyes, “I know that.”

“Good. At least I don’t need to explain how that works.” She smirks “And I’m sure Namjoon would be more than happy to oblige.”

Suddenly, a very vivid image appears in your mind. Namjoon, hovering over you, his breath washing over your face as your hips collide together. You feel a shiver run down your spine, butterflies emerging in your stomach and quickly push the thought away.

“Make the poor guy feel more involved in the process. You’re treating him like milking cow right now.”

“God, don’t say that!” You cry out, shaking your head to clear the image from your mind. Namjoon was a gentleman, and you were grateful for his help. But the thought of asking him to sleep with you too made you uncomfortable. How would that conversation go?

Hey Joonie, since you’re already getting me pregnant, why not just fuck me?

Sumi laughed, "Well, it's an option. And sometimes, the most unconventional methods can lead to the most beautiful outcomes."

You couldn't argue with that. After all, you were about to become a single mother, and that was certainly not the conventional route.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you look across the table at her. She was watching you with a knowing smile, one that suggested she could see right through your nervous façade.

“And just think of it this way, all that money you save from all the clinic appointments can go towards buying cute baby clothes.”

That was the weakest argument yet, but still, you found yourself actually entertaining that idea.

“Do you really think he’ll agree?” as the words leave your mouth a pang of guilt strikes you. Namjoon has been nothing but kind and generous so far, and here you were, letting your horny thoughts take over. You respect and value your friendship more than the need to ‘make things fun’. You can’t do anything to jeopardize that.

“Trust me babe,” Sumi sounds so casual in her conviction. She’s right thought- sometimes, the unconventional ways do lead to the most favorable outcomes. And you can’t deny the spark that ignites in your chest whenever you think about Namjoon.

And this way, you can have more control over the situation. The amount, the frequency. The position….

After all, all the pregnancy and fertility books you’d read recommended that a deep connection is important when it comes to getting pregnant.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers again. “I mean, it’s not like I can just ask him to sleep with me.”

Sumi chuckles and takes a sip of her bubble tea. "Why not? You're two consenting adults, and you both want the same thing. It's not like you're asking him to marry you or anything."

You can't help but roll your eyes at her flippant attitude. "Yeah, I know, but it's not that simple. Namjoon is a good friend, and I don't want to ruin that. Plus, I don't know if I'm ready for something so...intimate with him."

Sumi raises an eyebrow. "Intimate? Girl, you're already asking him to donate his sperm. How much more intimate can you get?"

You take a deep shaky breath, trying to lower your blood pressure as you absorbed her words. She has a point- you hate it, but she has a point.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” you finally say, meeting her gaze. Sumi just smirks at you, clearly pleased with that response.

“That’s all I can ask for.” She says, taking another sip from her bubble tea. “And remember, there’s no rush. Take your time and do whatever feels right.”

You nodded, feeling the heaviness in your chest swirl. You knew this was a big decision, and you don’t want to take any part of it lightly. But you also can’t ignore the possibilities that lay ahead.

As the conversation turns to other topics, your thoughts wandered back to Namjoon. You imagined his kind smile, his gentle nature, and his unwavering support. And you can help but let your mind fantasize.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Busy-bee🐝: Need to ask you smth. Joon 🎍: If it’s about the sample, I’m omw to drop it off at the clinic now. Busy-bee🐝: NoooOooOoo Busy-bee🐝: Stop! Busy-bee🐝: Pls don’t. Joon 🎍: Did you change your mind? Busy-bee🐝: No. Not quite. Joon 🎍: Quite? What happened? What do I do now? Busy-bee🐝: Can you just come over? Joon 🎍: Sure? But just so you know. I have a jar of sperm with me. Busy-bee🐝: Yyuckkk Joon 🎍: Don’t worry. It’s sealed. Busy-bee🐝: Still gross, lol. Just hurry. Need to talk.

While you waited for him to arrive, your heart pounded in your chest. You paced around your apartment in your pajamas, desperately searching for something- anything to clean or organize. The conversation with Sumi replayed in your mind, her words echoing as you contemplated your options thoroughly.  

You couldn’t possibly complicate things with Namjoon, could you?

A soft knock on the door breaks you out of your reverie. And with a deep breath, you open it to find Namjoon standing there, casual and charming, in a green hoodie and ripped jeans, the familiar warm smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside “What’s up? You sounded urgent.”

“Um, yeah…” you close the door behind him and gestured for him to sit on the couch. “I wanted to talk about the… um, sample?”

He raises an eyebrow “Didn’t you just say not to take it to the clinic?”

You wince sightly, still grappling with how to express what you really wanted to say. “Well, I was thinking…maybe we can talk about the process?”

Namjoon settles down, giving you his full attention, confusion clearly evident on his face “What’s on your mind?”

“Sumi mentioned that-” You stop, allowing yourself a second to gather your fraying thoughts, “Well, since we’re both consenting adults…I thought it would be more medically apt to try this with a more ‘hand-on’ approach.”

He nodded, listening closely as he rubbed his chin. A cliché lightbulb suddenly going off in his mind and Namjoon’s eyes widened as he took you in.

“Are you suggesting you what I think you’re suggesting? Because if you’re not my mind went to a very inappropriate place.” He asks, his tone light but serious.

You stammer, nodding slowly as heat flooded your face and neck. “I mean, it’s just an idea. We’re both single…” you trail off, staring at a painting on the wall, “I know it’s unconventional, but I just want to make sure everything’s… right.”

He leans back, quietly considering your words, “It’s definitely a bigger step. Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

As he leaned back on the couch, he spread his legs wider, getting comfortable and invertedly drawing your attention to his well-toned thighs, making your mouth go dry.

“Honestly,” you force yourself to look him in the eye. “I don’t know. But I like the idea of us being more connected during the- that. It feels… outlined better?” you sighed exasperated with your own brain for not cooperating.  “But I don’t want it to ruin our friendship. You mean a lot more to me.”

“You mean a lot to me too, and don’t worry,” he says, “I promise the friendship will remain intact.” He paused for a moment, “And I also agreed once, so yeah, I’m here for you whatever you decide.”

A quiet moment passes as you let his words sink in. His expression was earnest, and the sincerity in his voice offered a reassuring warmth. It was comforting to know that, no matter what weird direction you decide to go in, Namjoon would still treat you like a priority. You let out a long breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“Of course,” Namjoon replied, “If your plan needs me here five times a week, then I’ll be here.”

A deep red blush creeps up your neck to settle on your cheeks, as your mind quietly conjures up the scenario where five nights in a row, Namjoon comes over and bends you over every surface in your apartment.

You smiled, a wave of excitement washing over you, but beneath that smile, your mind raced and your heart fluttered. This was a significant decision, and you needed to approach it strategically!

“The plan requires we lay down some ground rules first,” you say, shifting your tone to a more analytical one, “We need to define what this would look like for both of us. Like boundaries, approach and what we’re comfortable with.”

As you sit down next to him, your heart still pounds in your chest. “Okay, so, here’s what I was thinking,” you begin after a drawn-out breath, “We should approach this like a partnership, with communication and mutual respect. We’ll need to set some rules and make sure we’re both comfortable.”

“That makes sense. I want you to feel safe throughout this process. What kind of boundaries did you have in mind?”

 “Well, for starters, we should only do this when we’re sober and well-rested. And we should check in with each other beforehand to make sure we’re on the same page.” You scratch at the back of your neck, looking away for a second.

“That’s a good start.”

“And it’s about the baby making.” You add.

“We already established that.” Namjoon nods, a serious look on his face.

“Are you comfortable with a more casual approach or do you think we should be more clinical about it?”

“Casual. Definitely.” Namjoon shakes his head at the idea of doing it in a sterile white room, a shiver running down his spine. But he quickly composes himself and in turn asks you, “What about after? Do we tell people about this, or keep it to ourselves?”

You took a moment to chew on your bottom lip, considering the implications, even though you’ve thought about this before.

“We should keep it to ourselves for the moment being. Even if almost everyone knows you donated, they don’t need to know…” you trail off again, the blush deepening “How.”

Namjoon nods in understanding, “I can respect that. I don’t want any unnecessary drama.” He gave you a reassuring smile.

You take another deep breath, and allow the sense of relief that comes with his smile wash away any lingering discomfort.

“Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’re doing.

Namjoon reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm here for you, no matter what. And I want you to know that I'm not doing this out of a sense of obligation. I genuinely care about you and want to help you achieve your dream of becoming a mother."

Your heart swells with emotion at his words. "Thank you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That means more to me than you could ever know."

You sit there for a moment, hands intertwined in silence. The weight of your decision quietly sinking in around you.

“I think the next thing we need to set is a schedule,” you say, ruining the moment. “It’s important we’re consistent about this, for the best possible outcome.”

“How often do you think we should try?”

“The research suggests that every other day is a good-enough frequency. But we can see how it works out and adjust afterwards.”

“Every other day. Got it.” He confirms, then asks the only important question of the night:

“When do we start?”

Your heart stops right in its tracks, even as you distract yourself by suddenly reaching to grab your phone, “Let me look at my cycle.” You mumble, opening the fertility tracking app you’d been using.

As you scroll through the app, you felt Namjoon’s presence loom closer, curiosity evident of his face. “How does that work exactly?”

“Do you need me to explain a period to you?” You tease, small smile breaking you from your serious poise.

“No. I just-” Namjoon took a deep breath, nervousness lingering on the edge of his voice as he ran a hand through his hair, “I’m just thinking out loud here, but why wait?”

An audible gasp leaves you lips when you look up at him.

The air between you crackles with electricity, and you suddenly realize just how close you were. In that moment you could almost feel the weight of your actions begin to unravel.

You lock eyes, the tension thickening as you ponder his suggestion. Taking a shaky breath, your heart thunders, and you struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

"Are you sure?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean-"

Namjoon nods, leaning closer to you, his voice steady "I'm sure."

You bite your bottom lip, your mind racing as you try to decide whether or not to take the leap. You've always been a planner, someone who likes to have everything mapped out in advance, but for once in your life, you find yourself wanting to throw caution out the window.

It couldn’t possibly hurt; in fact, it might prove to be beneficial. You’d get the awkward stage over with quickly, instead of letting it simmer while waiting for your fertile window.

Why let nervousness and anticipation settle in when he’s right here, sitting on your couch looking absolutely delectable?

You quickly go over your mental check-list, feeling grateful that you showered and shaved just before he arrived. Your Pj’s are cute, and while your underwear isn’t the sexiest, it’s decent- either way, this isn’t about passion; it’s practical.

You were almost done chewing your lip off when you feel his thumb gently touch your chin, stopping you.

“Only if you want.”

“I can’t remember if I made my bed this morning.” You whisper sheepishly, pulling him out of his serious demeanor. His heartfelt laughter weaving through the tension that hung between you.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m here,” You giggle, shaking your head and throwing your phone somewhere on the couch. “Let’s do this.”

Namjoon’s smile broadens as he stands up, extending his hand to you. You almost hesitate for just a moment before placing your hand in his, letting him  pull you up from the couch and in his arms. Heat radiates off his body as he leans in, his hand gently brushing your hair away from your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, closing your eyes as his breath lingers just above your lips.

Then, he kisses you.

At first, it’s gentle, his lips barely brushing over yours, a subtle invitation for you to take the lead. His lips taste faintly like mint from Chapstick, soft and warm, and soon the kiss deepens with a surge of passion. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, feeling the heat between you build. Namjoon’s hands glide to your back, exploring you with a leisurely touch that sends waves of excitement through you.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down to your neck, and you tilt your head back, moaning softly when he gently nibbles on your ear.

“You’re adorable.” He whispers, his hands moving to the front of your shirt to cup your breasts. You gasp as he teases your nipples through your shirt, and with a flicker of courage, your hands slip under his hoodie, feeling the hard lines of his abs under your fingertips.

Namjoon smirks at you as you tug his hoodie upward, but he helps you pull it off, revealing his bare chest and you run your fingers over his toned muscles, feeling his heartbeat beneath your touch.

“Joonie, you’re so jacked.” You say with an airy laugh, feeling a surge of confidence pulse through you. “God, I need you.” Taking his hands in yours, you guide him towards the bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

Walking ahead, you can feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over you, even as you remind yourself that this is just Namjoon—the man who always chooses his words carefully and who’s always there for you. But any hesitation melts away when you reach the bedroom. You push the door open, and with renewed vigor, you quickly shed your shirt and bra, moving on to your pants.

Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of you standing there in just your underwear. Though he fights to remain respectful, the hunger in his gaze is unmistakable when you bend down to throw your clothes in the corner of the room.

When you face him again, his lips capture yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His tongue delves into your mouth, teasing and exploring, and you respond eagerly, his touch sending a thrill of excitement through you.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He murmurs, his mouth leaving a trail of fire down your neck and shoulders. You arch into his touch, your eagerness growing with every lingering touch.

When his mouth finally finds your breasts, he captures one in his mouth and starts teasing it with the lightest graze of his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, a rush of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel him against you. But struggling to push his jeans down, Namjoon steps back just enough to help you, letting you slide them off with ease.

Taking a moment, you stop to gawk at his arousal straining against his boxers. Damn, you had a feeling he was equipped. He just carried that air about him.   But nothing could have prepared you for how massive he actually was. The sight of him, hard and ready for you, sends a new wave of heat through your body, and you find yourself biting your lip in eager anticipation.

You can’t help but stare, taking in his impressive size. He truly is a giant, with broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and an impressive cock. You can’t wait to feel him against you, inside of you, filling you up all the way.

But Namjoon has other ideas. He kneels in front of you, his hands moving to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before pulling you closer. He plants a series of soft kisses along your stomach and thighs, each one sending waves of electricity coursing through you.

“Can I take these off?” he asks against your thigh, playfully snapping the elastic of your panties. And unable to speak, you nod.

With a quick tug, Namjoon hooks his fingers around the elastic and pulls, leaving you completely bare before him. You gasp as the cold air brushes against your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he looks up at you, his gaze intense and full of determination.

You take a moment to savor the image before you: Namjoon kneeling, his eyes dark with desire, radiating an intensity that makes it seem like he could devour you whole. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, and without hesitation, he places one of your legs over his shoulder, kissing your inner thigh while his fingers move to your folds. A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine as he finds your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles against it.

“So wet.” He breaths against you, sending shivers through your body. He glances up at you one last time, seeking your permission with his gaze.

“Namjoon, wait,” you say, gently pushing him away. “This isn’t how we make a baby.”

God, the hold he had over you was intoxicating, making it nearly impossible to refocus and regain your composure.

He chuckles, the hunger in his eyes still smoldering. “No, but this is going to make you feel really, really good.” He replied, his voice a low rumble, hands still holding you steady by the hips.

“I know. But this isn’t about feeling good.” You insist, your hand dropping from his hair and your leg from his shoulder.

Namjoon almost looks disappointed as you step away from him, but then he nods, understanding the importance of your goal.

“Right, I got carried away.”

“Here, just sit on the bed,” you instruct, offering a hand to help him up. Namjoon obeys, perching himself on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked onto you, tracking your every step as you approach. 

Removing his boxers, you’re awestruck once again by the sight of his pretty cock—big, veiny and heavy with a flushed pink tip, leaking precum. Namjoon reclines slightly, his hands resting behind his head, watching you straddle him. You spit into your hand, wrapping it around his hardness to pump him a few times before positioning him at your entrance, slowly sinking down on him.

You both let out a sigh of pleasure as he fills you completely. A soft whimper escapes you as you bottom out, and you bury your face in his shoulder as his hands move to your hips, his thumbs tracing gentle circles in a soothing rhythm.

“Are you okay?” he whispers in your hair.

“Yeah, give me a second,” you reply, taking a deep breath as you adjust to the stretch, his warmth filling you completely. After a moment, you straighten up, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “It’s been a while.”

Namjoon nods, his gaze soft as he steadies you, guiding you into a rhythm. Rising and sinking back down, you gasp at the sensation of being this stuffed, bracing your hands on his chest for balance as you start to rock your hips, grinding against him.

At first, you move slowly, savoring the feeling, but soon your pace quickens, spurred by the intensity building in your lower stomach.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Namjoon encourages, squeezing your hips to help you maintain your rhythm. Your quiet moans blending beautifully with the sound of skin meeting skin, filling the room with your shared pleasure.

Before long, your thighs start to burn, but the growing tension inside you keeps you bouncing on his cock. You were almost there; Namjoon could sense it too in the way your walls flutter around him. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers deftly finding your clit and stroking it with perfect precision.

And once he feels you getting too tired to continue, Namjoon takes over, trusting up into you with powerful, steady strokes that meet your faltering movements. The intensity of his pace, mixed with his fingers that never slowed, push you right over the edge, sending you spiraling into bliss.

You cry out as waves of pleasure ripple through you, your orgasm shaking you to your core. Namjoon groans, feeling you clench around him as your body crashes against his chest. His hands grip your ass tightly, and his thrusts grow erratic as he chases his own release, his breathing ragged and soft whimpers escaping his lips. Each sound spurs another clench from you, drawing him even closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby,” you whisper in his ear, fingers gently massaging his scalp as you let him use your spent body however he pleases. “Just let go.”

With a loud, drawn-out moan, Namjoon buries himself deep inside you, and you feel his hot, sticky cum filling you completely. A cry escaped you, muffled against his shoulder as you sink your teeth into his soft skin, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Your body slowly relaxes, breaths still coming out in quick, shallow gasps.

Namjoon looks over at you, a satisfied smile softening his expression, and a deep, unexpected sense of connection settles over you, an intimacy unlike anything you’ve felt before. Leaning in, you kiss him slowly, silently thanking him for the experience

As you pull away, you roll to lie beside to him, your legs still intertwined. Staring up at the ceiling, a warm contentment fills you, grounding you in the quiet rhythm of his steady breathing.

“Thank you,”

 “Anything for you, love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6:30 AM- Your alarm rings.

You bolt upright, momentarily forgetting you were meant to wake up, letting out a little groan as you flop back onto the pillow.

“Why do you wake up so fucking early?”

The voice behind you startles you, and you remember with a rush that Namjoon ended up spending the night. His deep, early morning voice sends a flutter of butterflies through your stomach, memories of last night’s activities rushing back to you.

“Usually I do my yoga,” you mumble back, “and after that I shower and get ready for work.” You yawn, stretching all your limbs, before settling right back in his arms, snuggling closer.

“Why?”

“Because we can’t all afford to sleep till noon.” You tease.

Namjoon chuckles softly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Fair point. But I could get used to sleeping in with you.”

You smile, your heart picking up at the thought. “Maybe I’ll let you join my morning routine someday.” You stay nestled in his arms for a few more moments, enjoying the comfort of his warmth. But soon, the call of nature interrupts your peaceful morning.

With a reluctant sigh, you wiggle out of his embrace. “I’ll be right back.” You say, glancing over your shoulder at him.

Namjoon nods, sleepy smile on his face as he watches your naked body, before he snaps himself out of it.

“Are you going to take a pregnancy test?”

You chuckle as you swing your legs off the bed and pad softly towards the bathroom. “It’s too early. That would be a waste of a test.”

The cold floor contrasts with the warmth you just left behind, and as you close the door, you can’t help but grin, thinking about how nice it is to have him there with you. 

You quickly go about your business, splashing some water on your face to wake yourself up. After a moment you finish up and head back to the bedroom. Namjoon is still lounging against the pillows, his eyes slightly glazed but filled with warmth.

“Back already?” he asks, sleepy smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah,” you walk over to your closet, rifling through your clothes as you decide what to wear. The soft morning light filtering through the windows, casing a warm glow over the room. Once you’re all done you walk over to him, leaning down to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“I’m heading out. I’ll leave the spare key in the kitchen for you.” You say, feeling a mix of excitement and reluctance to leave.

He smiles, his dimples showing up on his cheeks, “Thanks, I’ll take good care of it…”

You laugh lightly, leaning in again, this time kissing him.

“God, if anything, I hope out baby gets your dimples.” You confess, your heart swelling at the thought.

His expression softens, a hint of surprise lighting up his eyes. “That would be adorable.” He says, a smile spreading across his face, and this time he leans in to kiss you. So soft and sweet, almost convincing you to join him back in bed. You need to place a hand on his chest to pull away, a deep red blush spreading across your face.

“I’ll text you later.”

“It’s a plan.” He smiles, watching you walk away, taking the warmth in the room with you. When the bedroom clicks shut, he finally feels like he can breathe again.

He was a walking disaster. Books will be written about his sheer foolishness, how he willingly tosses aside logic and reason in your presence.

Yet, deep down, he recognized that beneath his eager exterior lay a selfish yearning- a desire for you, wholly and completely, all to himself.

But for as long as you would have him, even like this, with weirdly restricted intimacy, he would give you everything you ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the following months, you two manage to establish a working system. The spare key was Namjoon’s now, and he had a dedicated drawer in your closet for his things.

His toothbrush quietly chilling next to yours in the master bathroom.

Along the way, you uncovered a surprising list of things you never imagined you’d learn about your best friend;

Like the fact that he is a talker, loving the way you’d clench around him when he spills pure filth in your ear. He talks you through your climaxes, encouraging you to lose yourself, and cheering you on as if you were competing in a marathon each time.

He also had a habit of giving you all kinds of pet-names, sweet endearments that easily fell from his lips. “Sweetheart”, “Baby”, “Honey”, “Lovely”. However, your favorite was probably the time he accidentally called you a ‘busy bee’ in the middle of one of his ecstatic hazes. The unexpected nickname bringing a smile to your face, even as you surrendered to the waves of pleasure he unleashed within you.

He also had a thing for hickeys. Your breasts now fully decorated with blooming red love-marks, after you scolded him for leaving one right under your collar bone for the whole world to see.

For two weeks, you only wore turtlenecks because of him.

But what stood out the most was his seemingly endless stamina. If it wasn’t for your insistence to take it easy, he would very willingly fuck you until the early morning light.

Much like he was doing right now…

But it was Saturday. You decide you could afford to sleep in.

You could feel him right in your stomach, a ring of cum forming at the base of his cock as he kept on pounding into your abused pussy.

One of your legs over his shoulder, and the other one around his hip, pulling him closer as he kept on trusting into you. You tried your best to move with him, meeting his rapid movements, but you got lost in the pleasure when his finger flicked your clit. You almost scream reaching your climax for the nth time, your body shaking with the force of the release. Namjoon didn’t slow down though, instead picking up the pace as he chased his own orgasm.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he growled “Not gonna stop til’ I fill you up with my cum. That’s what you want, right angel? Want to be stuffed full? Have it dripping out of you when I’m done?” he rendered you a completely useless, weakly moaning back at his filth.

“God, if you’re not pregnant after this.” He groans in your neck, making you shiver again.

The moon was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the room. Engulfing him completely in a silvery haze, and you couldn’t help but admire the beautiful man on top on you. His closed eyes, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, his lips parted in pure ecstasy. You almost couldn’t believe this was your best friend, the person who knew you better than anyone else in the world.

Namjoon reaches his own climax, and you clenched around him, milking every last drop eagerly.

 He collapses on top of you, your bodies slick with sweat, yet you just lay there, wrapped in his arms as the night quietly carried on.

This was the new normal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

After a little while, Namjoon pulls out, quickly grabbing a napkin from the nightstand to wipe away any excess cum before it stains your sheets. You winced at the touch, feeling sore in the best of ways.

“I’m sorry baby. I went a little hard.” He says after discarding the napkin, pulling you closer to him.

You lay there, spent and satisfied in his arms, a little chuckle escaping you at the absurdity of ‘little’ being the past four hours. “Rough day at work?” you ask, looking up, your fingers gently pushing the hair away from his forehead.

“You have no idea,” he huffs, glancing away “With the business trip coming up I can’t seem to catch a break.”

“You’re leaving on a trip?” you stand up straight, looking down at him, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice.

“Yeah baby, I told you I’m leaving on the 5th.” He replies, his voice twinged with exhaustion.

“That is this month?” You fumble out of the bed to grab your calendar from the desk, turning all the lights on and flipping through it.

Has it been two months already? How come you’re not pregnant already?

You quietly look over the pages, calculating exactly what day you should be getting your period on. And your heart raced when you realized;

Last week. This might be it. You might be pregnant already.

“Oh my god, Namjoon!” you giggle like a little girl, jumping and spinning around the room. “This might be it! I’m one week late!”

Namjoon’s eyes widened in surprise, and he grabs your arm, pulling you back on the bed. The calendar flying away somewhere as he places his hand on your still-flat belly.

“Really?”

You nodded, a big smile completely taking over your face

“Yeah really.” You giggle “I mean, can’t know for sure, but I’m one week late.” You insist, almost kicking your legs with excitement.

No way you were going back to sleep after this. Instead, you jump back up, running around the room like a little tornado, gabbing your clothes and rushing to the bathroom to shower.

You needed to schedule a doctor’s appointment, go buy the last of the supplies, pick a color for the nursery and look up all the forms needed for maternity leave.

Namjoon sat in the silence of your bedroom, listening to the water from the shower run as you chaotically prepare and plan your future. The thought leaves him feeling a little empty, knowing he is not a part of that plan.

He wanted to invite you to join him for the business trip in Singapore, the plane tickets bookmarked and ready to be purchased. Even if he’d be busy working, the thought of having you nearby calmed his nerves about the whole ordeal. But now he hesitated, unsure if it was a good idea. With everything getting more complicated- especially the possible pregnancy- his feelings were tangled between simply wanting to support you and grappling with the deeper emotions he couldn’t ignore.

“Do you think you can handle building a crib?” you ask when you return form the bathroom.

 But only silence greeted you, with no sign of Namjoon left behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had this way about it. One moment you’re riding high, and the next one you’re struggling to comprehend the fragility of human nature.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, yet it still stings when your plan doesn’t perfectly match reality.

You plan a future with a man, only to be confronted with the painful truth that you’ve been the second woman all along. Shaking you to your core and ruining any future relationships for you along the way.

You take the leap, decide to get pregnant, and for a moment, it feels like everything is finally falling into place. But then that red dark spot appears, shattering all your dreams and hard work.

You didn’t need the pregnancy test anymore- not when your period arrives unexpectedly at the hospital office. Yet, you still find yourself staring at the little stick resting on your desk while Sumi draws a blood sample.

“Are you going to be okay?” She asks, pressing a sterile swab to your arm before continuing. Her voice is gentle, but you can only hear the concern beneath it. You nod, though uncertainty lingers in your mind, and the weight of your reality feels heavier than ever.

You spend the rest of the day meticulously reviewing the hospital’s schedules, throwing yourself in the comforting security that the numbers and graphs provide. You check supplies, organize the timetables, and ensure that no section of the hospital is backed up. Each task grounds you, allowing you to focus on something tangible amid the chaos swirling in your mind. 

At around noon you get the message from the testing facility. Deep down, you already knew the blood work would come back negative, just like the test stick, but it still shattered the last glimmer of hope you had left.

You read the message again, trying to process the words, but they blur together as a wave of disappointment washed over you. The sterile walls of the hospital suddenly feel suffocating, and the rhythm of the bustling environment seems to fade into the background.

You take a deep breath, fighting back tears. Great. Now you were hormonal too.

You force yourself to push through the day, focusing on tasks, but the ache in your chest still lingers.

Joon 🎍: Are we still on for tonight? Baby-momma 🐝: Nah. Got my period. Joon 🎍: Shit. Are you okay? Baby-momma 🐝: Shit pretty much sums it up. Baby-momma 🐝: But I’ll be fine. Joon 🎍: Well, it’s Sunday. We could just watch a movie…. Haven’t done that in a while. Joon 🎍: I’ll even pick up your favorite greasy foods if you agree.

You smile at your phone, feeling the warmth spread through you despite the heaviness of the day. The idea of sharing a cozy movie night with him feels like a welcomed escape. You type back quickly, your heart lifting just a bit.

Baby-momma 🐝: That sounds nice. I could use a distraction✨ Joon 🎍: Great. I’ll be over after work.

 When the working day is finally over, you make your way home, quickly going through the motions. You shower, tidy up a bit, and set up the living room for the movie night, arranging blankets and laying out an array of snacks across the coffee table.

Namjoon said he’s be there by 7, but as the clock ticks closer to 9, you find yourself bored out of your mind. You glance at your phone for any updates, but there’s nothing. You try to distract yourself with a show, but your mind keeps wandering to what could delay him.

Just as you consider sending a text, you hear the key turning in the lock. The door swings open, and Namjoon steps inside, a smile breaking across his face.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up in a meeting.” He says, holding the bag of junk food.

You feel a rush of relief as he walks in the familiar warmth of his presence instantly lifting your spirits. “You made it just in time.” You say, gesturing to the setup.

He chuckles, placing the bag on the coffee table.  “I got you one of those abominable triple chocolate cakes you like.” He settles in besides you, unpacking the bag and you can’t help but smile up at him.

“God, I love you.” You grin digging in, completely unaware to what effect your words have on him. He pauses for a moment, a hint of surprise flickering across his face, before returning your smile with a warmth that sends your heart racing.

As you both dig into the food, Namjoon seems a bit more pensive than usual, his smile lingering as he watches you blissfully enjoy the cake. You almost moan out loud after the first bite, your face surprisingly similar to the one you have when you reach your climax.

After a moment he clears his throat, looking away as a deep shade of red takes over his ears.

“Hey, I was thinking,” he begins, glancing at you with a hint of hesitation. “You know that I have that business trip coming up.”

“Yeah,” you’re barely paying him any attention.

“I’d really love for you to join me.”

Your head snaps up, surprise lighting up your features. “Wait, really? You want me to come?”

He meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Yeah, I think it would be great. I’ll be busy with meetings, but we can explore together in the evenings. It’ll be fun.”

You can’t help but smile, feeling a rush of excitement. “If I can get off work, sure. Just tell me when to book my tickets.”

Namjoon’s face lights up with relief and happiness. “Yeah, I’ll send you the details as soon as I can.”

You giggle, already daydreaming about the adventure ahead.

“Next week, no?”

“Yeah.” he replies, taking a big mouthful of his burger. You grin, excited at the thought that by that time you would also be done with your period.

“Ah! There’s a medical conference happening around that time too. It would be so cool if they aligned,” you say your excitement bubbling over.

Namjoon nods, his eyes lighting up. “That would be perfect! You could network while I’m in meetings.”

“Exactly! I’ll look into it!” you say, feeling the anticipation grow. The idea of a trip filled with both work and exploration feels like just the right remedy for your disappointment, reigniting a spark of hope.

The duality of man.

Loving the vibe of the song and mv!

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Please Linger | Chapter 1

Summary: After terrorizing the villagers with one too many pranks, you’ve been locked away in The Tower to atone for your petty crimes. As far as you know, The Tower is impenetrable. Nobody can get in, and nobody can get out. It seems you’ll never escape—until one night, a man named Yoongi barges in…

Pairing: Musician!Yoongi (pan flute!) x Reader (F) Word Count: ~7.5k Rating: 18+ Warnings: footnotes (lol), random character is blasély killed by a mythical creature (off-screen), mentions of drinking/getting drunk, swearing... Genre: fantasy!au, slow burn, humor, eventual smut, angst... Links: AO3, Masterlist, Ko-Fi, 🎶 Composition of the Century Collab Masterlist 🎶 🖤 Please note: Please Linger does not have a tag list 🖤

NAV: NEXT CHAPTER

(Me to me): I am going to create a story that is so UNHINGED...

A/N: Welcome, besties, to the Shreka-Hole-ian Greek Pornthology Bonanza (and my contribution to the Composition of the Century collab—please look forward to/go check out the other stories!!)! 😃 Kindly accept my apologies for the chaos that is this fic in advance, and also intermittently throughout this long ass message!

First things first: This is dedicated to @ootjepetootje, whomst gifted me this morning with perhaps the best mood board for this project ever: BEHOLD! Jen, I love you. Thank you also to @reliablemitten and @blog-name-idk for allowing me to scream intermittently at y'all about this for far, far too long. Sorry. So sorry! Perchance.

Next: This story contains footnotes. For that, I apologize. It's also kinda important to the plot that you read the footnotes, too. I REPENT, YOUR HONOR.

🚨🚨🚨 To that end: Tumblr doesn't support footnotes, for which I A P O L O G I Z E. I recommend just reading the entire way through normally and then reading the footnotes after (as a special treat), OR heading over to read this on AO3, where you can actually click the footnotes and return back to the text seamlessly. 🚨🚨🚨

Finally, and most importantly: I LOVE you all. I love you so much!!! (Sorry!)

Chapter One: Alack!

It’s not that the local wizard Namjoon wants to lock you in the secluded tower hidden deep in the dark, dark woods just outside of the village. It’s that you, after plastering hair extensions to hang down from the cracks in Taehyung Kim’s ceiling—such that it appeared a succubus had taken up residence in his hut—left him no choice.

“This feels personal,” you say, kicking your many skirts and digging your boots into the forest floor as Namjoon drags you, none-too-politely, toward the tower.

“It is personal,” he snaps. “You’re a menace, YN. Last month, you stole all of the eggs in Hoseok Jung’s chicken coop the night before the EggstravaGala.”

“I had my reasons,” you say shiftily.

“What about last Tuesday, when you replaced the innards of Jungkook Jeon’s punching bag with flatulence pillows?”

“For the last time, their creator calls them whoopee cushions.”

“They emit the most unseemly of noises whenever Jungkookie trains, now.” Namjoon ignores your correction. “Jungkook is one of our finest warriors, YN. Warriors are meant to be respected and feared. You’ve turned him into a laughing stock!”

You roll your eyes. “Tell me you’ve fallen victim to the toxic notion that asserts men must adhere to traditional gender roles that both stigmatize and limit the emotions they’re allowed to express all while glorifying unhealthy habits without telling me you’ve… done all that.”

Namjoon heaves a careworn sigh. By now you’ve arrived at the tower, a fifty-flight triumph of rubbled stone banded by hanging ropes of ivy. You cast a sullen glance toward the top of the structure, your eyes alighting upon its single window—dusty, you note—which will serve as your sole view out to the wider world for the next…

Well. For as long as it takes Namjoon to consult with the villagers you’ve “wronged.” For as long as it takes for them to come to a consensus on how to deal with your meddling ass long-term.

“You won’t keep me in there for years, will you?” you ask, wisps of trepidation coiling in your belly.

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

“But… but…”

“Oh, quit your blubbering,” Namjoon grumbles, avoiding your eye. “This is actually really annoying for me, you know.”

“For you?”

“Sure! Usually, I like to use this tower for personal gain. Such as holding princesses for ransom, and pet-sitting other village’s monsters, and…” Namjoon trails off. If he were the type of wizard to grow a very long beard, you imagine he’d be twirling it sagely betwixt his fingers right about now. “Actually,” he says, “it’s pretty much exclusively used for those two purposes.”

You perk up at his admission. There are two main things to know about princesses, and the first is that the term refers not to any actual regal rank or gender designation, but rather a specific type of beautiful nincompoop. The last princess to be held in the tower, for example, was an almost preternaturally gorgeous man named Seokjin Kim whomst you once personally observed wandering the streets after dark because someone had told him he’d “lost his mind” and he was trying—quite earnestly—to find it.

The second thing to know about princesses is that they’re worth a tidy sum; beats you why, as they tend be a rather whiny sort, and are always trying to converse with rodents—a notoriously low-minded mammal—but alas. It is what it is. Every time Namjoon manages to bag a princess, dashing royal suitors come from high and low to pay—literally pay—for the privilege to risk their lives to rescue said princess from the tower and earn eternal glory. You’re not like the other girlies, [1] and have no burning desire to make any royal suitor’s acquaintance. But the secret third thing to remember about princesses is that after they get rescued from the tower…

Well, then they’re free.

“Ransom me,” you suggest slyly. “Take the money you earn and put it back into the community. Fix people’s homes! Stock the taverns! Everyone will forgive me once their roofs are patched and their bellies are full of free mead.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Namjoon snorts. “First of all, a traveling circus has commissioned me to pet-sit some of their creatures for a few months, so I’m not exactly stripped for coin.”

Balls, you think.

“Second, the villagers would sooner turn out their pockets to keep you locked up for good, YN. Everyone’s fed up with you.”

Ripping yourself from Namjoon’s grasp, you fling yourself at the nearest fir, wrapping your arms around its weathered stump.

“But how is that fair?” you moan. “It’s not as though I exited the womb aspiring to wreak minor havoc! It’s my—”

“—Do not say compulsion—”

“Compulsion!” you exclaim—for that is, in fact, the scientific term for the reason you are the way that you are. [2]  In the same way Hoseok had woken up one day with a sudden, burning desire to build himself a chicken coop, you’d woken up one day with an unshakable urge to slather grease on all of Jimin Park’s spoons for a full week in high school. They’d slipped right into his bowl of boiling hot soup, one after the other, such that his tiny fingers—and you do mean tiny—had no hope of retrieving them. In the end, he’d had to befriend one of the village’s premiere hunter-gatherers, Sungwoon Ha, to keep from starving come lunchtime.

“Everyone experiences compulsion during puberty, YN,” Namjoon says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Having… unusual compulsions doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a jackass.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” you counter. Compulsion—the deep, internal, and unexplainable instinct to act in a certain way—is a perfectly natural part of growing up. Abiding by your compulsion imbues you with a sense of utter fulfillment; of inner peace; of purpose. Most people strive to live their lives in alignment with their compulsion, treating it as a guiding light of sorts—a natural, deep-seated tool for self-betterment. “It’s an instinct, Namjoon. Not an impulse.”

“I know, YN,” Namjoon says. “Haven’t I been patient with you all these years? Haven’t I always defended you?”

He has, for the most part. You haven’t the foggiest why.

All the same…

“So defend me one more time, then!”

“You’re not listening!”

“I didn’t ask to be a menace.” You raise your voice. “My compulsion simply compels me to my incredibly hilarious and devious antics. The fact that I’m being punished for an innate, fixed inclination that I didn’t ask for is, to be frank, fucking bogus. The villagers are compulsion-shaming me, and I—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Namjoon interrupts. “No one’s shaming you, YN. Grow up.”

You stick your tongue out, the portrait of maturity.

“I know that instincts can’t be changed,” Namjoon continues, “but they can be ignored. Having shitty compulsions doesn’t make you a bad person, but acting on them—especially when you know they’re going to make other people miserable—does make you selfish.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” you say, quiet.

Namjoon’s eyes soften.

“No,” he agrees, “it’s not. But that doesn’t change anything. I haven’t forgotten about the time you switched all my wizard hats out with bugles corn chips, you know.”

“Tiny hats for a tiny mind,” you mumble. And then, louder: “Please. Give me one more chance.”

“Come,” he says firmly, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me hex you.”

Defeated, you step back from the tree, padding back over to where he waits with a hang-dog expression. Namjoon’s touch is firm as he steers you into the tower.

“Thank you, YN, for taking accountability,” he says. “Now up you trot.”

Trot you do not. Instead, Namjoon leads you, huffing and sulking, up the fifty flights, until you emerge in your new living quarters with aching gluteals and a brand new situational case of depression. You look around at the single bed, the single bookcase, and the circular table that seats two near the single window. The table is set with two jugs, a chalice, and three bowls. Beyond, a woven tapestry hangs, behind which your bathtub and privy chambers reside.

“At midnight, the two jugs on the table have been enchanted to refill completely—one always with water, and the other with either coffee, apricot juice, or wine, depending on your wish upon a star the night prior,” Namjoon explains. “The bowls, too, are ever-replenishing. One shall always be full of rice, one with protein, and one with some sort of stew, soup, or curry.”

“What about dessert?” you demand, outraged. Namjoon’s eyes narrow.

“The local baker doesn’t wish to extend you the kindness of their confectionaries,” he snaps. “Without Hoseok’s eggs, they were unable to prepare the cake they promised for the EggstravaGala—a source of great humiliation for them, I’m sure you can imagine. Your actions affected more than just the direct targets of your petty pranks, YN!”

“Well, I should hope so,” you huff. “I put a lot of effort into them!”

Namjoon shakes his head—if he had a beard, it would sway mightily from the exertion, you imagine. Instead, he merely fixes you with one last disappointed look before disappearing in a puff of indigo smoke.

You spend the next several hours feeling rather like you’re on some sort of surreal vacation—perhaps an ayahuasca retreat, where everyone’s bid to sequester themselves in their rooms before undergoing their vomit-fueled spiritual awakenings.

Indeed, your new chamber has its charms: it’s satisfying to watch your rice bowl continuously refill with every bite you take, and the bookshelf is stocked with all manner of tomes—including a fine selection of steamy romance novels—which is more than you could have hoped for. The candles in the lanterns and sconces never melt, so you’ll never have to worry about illumination, and the soap in the bathroom is self-regenerating, too. Even the mattress is nice—perhaps even more comfortable than the one you have in your own downtrodden hut.

By nightfall, however, you’ve thoroughly investigated your quarters, and come to determine it wanting. It’s serviceable for a night, sure, but certainly not for a lifetime, and so tomorrow, when you’re well rested, you will engineer your great escape.

With that comforting thought to warm you, you drift off to sleep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY ONE

A letter materializes on your table just after daybreak.

YN—

I have drawn for you a detailed map of the premises. Study it well and conduct yourself accordingly.

Warmly (but not kindly, and certainly not in support of what you’ve done),

Namjoon Kim, Wizard

You unfold the scroll to find a clumsily rendered diagram of the tower. An arrow points to the base, and reads, simply: Dragon.

“I see,” you mutter. That explains all the wretched screeching and peculiar wing-flapping that kept you up all night!

Above the dragon, which resides on the ground floor, there are approximately forty-eight flights that contain, according to another arrow (accompanied by a large bracket), “forty-eight elephants who never forget… to kill!”

“I see,” you mutter again. That explains all the wretched trumpeting and peculiar stampeding that ALSO kept you up all night!

You drag your sights upward to find one last arrow attached to your name, all aloney on your owney, at the top.

Being a visual learner, you open the surprisingly unlocked door of your chambers to confirm Namjoon’s claim with your own eyes. The door opens directly to the flight of stairs you climbed last night. So far, so good. You inch out to find an elephant with infernal red eyes sizing you up from the bottom of this particular staircase, ivory tusks gleaming wickedly despite the lack of both sunlight and torch-flame. Its hide looks very thick. Impenetrable, really.

There is a suspended moment in which you both peer curiously at one another—this must be one of the circus creatures Namjoon spoke about in the forest, you realize—and then the elephant gives chase. Hastily, you slam your door seconds before the elephant collides violently against the wood. There must be an enchantment in place keeping its tusks from piercing through the grain.

Being an orphan with no magic of which to speak—your father was a lowly jester; your mother, a vindictive nymph who went around prodding people with whetted sticks—you cannot hope to swap the elephant’s tusks out for hay, or replace its murderous instincts with high-minded ideals, such as a vested interest in the opera. Plus, its hide looked much too thick to pierce with the two best weapons at your disposal: a weighty tome detailing the entire village’s genealogy, and an illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra.

“Very well,” you sniff, defeated, as you chug down some apricot juice. The reasoning behind the unlocked door becomes clear: stay in captivity, or get brained by Demonic Dumbo. Clearly, you won’t be sauntering your merry way down and out of the tower in this lifetime.

You make yourself comfortable on your new mattress, determined to think of some other ingenious means of escape by sunrise.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY TWO

Five minutes into your brainstorming session the next morning, you deem the lack of available sweets—which ordinarily serve as your think-tank fuel—abruptly unbearable. Stomping your boot-clad foot against the window, you cry out victoriously when the glass shatters. If you can’t walk down to your freedom, you suppose you’ll just have to launch yourself out the window, and trust the Powers That Be to send strong winds to allay your fall. [3]

No sooner has the thought arose in your mind than the glass reforms, a smidge dustier than before. This, once again, feels personal. No matter how many times you shatter the window, it cobbles itself back together, dustier and dustier, before you can so much as wiggle a shoulder free of the tower.

No matter. You’ll just write down a plea for help and fling that out the window instead! Only that plan, too, is thwarted when you discover someone’s casted a protective spell upon the books. Try as you might, you can neither tear a page from any of the tomes, nor scribble upon them with the quill and pot of ink you found on the bookshelf.

The only book that seems to have escaped the spell is the Kama Sutra, which is brimming not only with personal annotations, but a variety of hand-drawn and frankly optimistic illustrations.

Sighing, you retire to the bathtub with a steamy romance novel and a dream—for REVENGE.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY FIVE

You’re gazing forlornly out the window—which you, in fit of boredom, deigned to dust off with your sleeve—when, at long last, the savior you’ve been praying for appears.

A prince!

Now, the thing about princes is that they’re a jaunty and boastful sort, given to prancing and declaiming in loud, sonorous tones—as though addressing a horde of (semi)loyal subjects—even when the occasion calls for silence. Judging by the way the person approaching the castle is

1) ululating, and

2) wearing a flashy tunic that reads I’M WITH PRINCE (with an arrow pointing up to his own face), you’re reasonably certain you’ve got this guy’s number. Who cares if you’ve always found princes to be insufferable bores? The times! They are a’changing!

“You can do it, beloved!” you yell in support. The window, you suspect, is sentient: as long as it knows you’re not trying to auto-defenestrate, it’s perfectly content to swing open and allow you to converse with the outer world. “Rescue my firm, shapely ass!”

Which isn’t even self-flattering, you reason, considering all those damnable flights of stairs Namjoon had made you climb!

To demonstrate the full measure of your gratitude, you cheer and twirl and do-re-mi prettily—as princesses are so wont to do—as the prince enters the base of the tower; you’ll go until your throat is scraped raw and bleeding if you must.

Your plan, though honorable, proves unnecessary.

Approximately one minute after your dashing prince enters the tower, the abominable dragon does an abominable dragon thing, and breathes out fire—a fuckton of it, too. You watch in mute horror as crackling flames erupt from the base of the tower, shooting toward the forest. Seconds later, an unmistakable crunching sound rents the air, sending shivers up your spine.

As if to ensure your understanding, the dragon tosses an intact skull—picked utterly clean—out from the tower seconds later. It glimmers up at you from its place in the singed grass, vacantly smiling.

You slump despondently down at your desk, resigned to another bleak day of imprisonment.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY TEN

Another prince—this one wearing a pith helmet at a jaunty angle—comes flaunting through the hemline of the forest at noon.

She takes one long look at the skull resting near the tower, and skips merrily back into the forest, never to be seen again.

“Coward,” you hiss. All princes are bastards.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY FOURTEEN

The well of willing princes appears to have dried up, and so, too, has your tolerance for solitude. There’s an itch under your skin—a frantic desperation quite unrelated to your compulsion—for revenge. Once released, you will swap all of Namjoon’s non-existent beard oil out with glue; you will cut holes in all of the villagers’ hats; you will place pebbles in their socks and also buy enchanted laundry soap to ensure the socks stay eternally damp, and never dry!

NEVER DRY!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY NINETEEN

After two long weeks of sober fretting, you succumb to your crushing sense of helplessness, and wish upon the first star you see for wine to fill your jug tomorrow. It’s over. The princes have forsaken you—and probably, had any made it to the top, they would have realized you weren’t a princess, and couldn’t earn them glory, and would have left you for dead anyway. The villagers have won. One day, you will have to come up with a game-plan for how to cope with your new reality.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you will make some progress in your steamy romance novel.

Not tomorrow, either.

Tomorrow, you will drink.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

DAY NIGHT TWENTY

Thou art drunketh. And at which hour thou drinketh, thou tend to pretendeth to beest a Renaissance maiden—which, given the whole locked-in-a-tow’r thing, doth feel appropriate.

Also, being drunk is dope rampallian.

Ahem—dope arse.

“How fares mine own fav’rite elephant?” you calleth out to Demonic Dumbo—D-Dum, to those in the knoweth—hoping to make at least one acquaintance during thy imprisonment.

D-Dum, much to thy chagrin, doest not replyeth. In fact, thou art unconvinc’d that gent even speaketh the common tongue.

To passeth the time, thou playeth a game of make believeth, just as you didst as a young wench. In thy game, you pretendeth thine parents didn’t kicketh the bucket in a t’rrible flood when you were a bébé. [4] Instead, thine parents raise thee prop’rly to adulthood. As such, you grow into a well-respect’d young mistress with a truly hon’rable compulsion. In fact, thy compulsion is so incredible that it makes thee hundreds of companions, rath’r than enemies, and you liveth happily ev’r aft’r in a grand palace, rath’r than a wretched tower.

O, in anoth’r life—a life in which thou art not a scoundrel—thou wouldst have liked to joineth in on all the most wondrous events the village holds each year! Unf’rtunately, in thy current timeline, someone usually ends up banning thine arse from attending, which totally sucks, for thou thinkest that dancing at the Eggstravagala sounds like excit’ment.

Though you’ll nev’r admiteth it to Namjoon, thou wouldst secretly loveth to consume a slice of the local bak’r’s cake, for you’ve heard ’tis delicious—thou didst not actually wanteth to sabotage their baking b’fore the Eggstravagala! Thy compulsion is to blame! Furthermore, the valorous warrior Jungkook is very much buff, and thou thinkest you wouldst enjoy exchanging boxing tips with that gent one day…

Ah, but Jungkook probably hates thy guts. Perchance.

Ov’rcome with a senseth of loneliness and despair, you closeth thine eyes, and commit whole-heartedly to thy daydream—when you concentrateth v’ry hard, ’tis as though the entire w’rld grows quiet. You pretendeth thou art dresseth in a spiffy-arse fit, suitable f’r a gala; you pretendeth some gentle and noble suitor asks thee to danceth.

O, ’tis as though you can actually heareth the music—you sway to and fro as a quiet, haunting tune permeates thy quart’rs, lulling thee into something of a trance. The melody sounds almost liketh a lullaby. As thou art pirouetting across the cubiculo, you imagineth the forest flo’r beneath thy feet, instead of bitter cold stones.

’Tis as thou art whirling and twirling thy way through the tower that three realizations befall you in quick succession. 

First, it occurs to thee that thou can neith’r heareth any of the usual stampeding from the elephants, nor any of the wing-flapping from the dragon guarding the tower.

“What-ho!” you murmur, but resolveth to pay it nay mind.

Next, you tireth of dancing and ope thine eyes. To thy surprise, howev’r, the soft, haunting melody you did imagine as you did dance doest not cease at which hour you stop pretending. Instead, the music plays on—in fact, you realizeth that the sound is coming from just outside the doth’r.

And lasteth, you realize the doth’rknob is turning. 

“Alack!” you shriek, just as the doth’r opens a slith’r. Thou leapeth back, expecting to seeth two honed tusks at any moment. Where’s the damned genealogy book when you needeth it f’r protection? And at which hour didst D-Dum groweth opposable thumbs?

Forsooth, thou art so afeared that you sort of drop the whole Renaissance-thing you had going on in favor of raising your trembling fists. A pox on Namjoon’s house! A pox on all the villagers! You were supposed to be safe—bored out of your mind, but safe—so long as you didn’t try to leave the blasted tower! Yet here you stand, preparing to battle a blood-thirsty elephant with flaming red eyes, all because Namjoon—that clay-brained, hedge-pig of a wizard—couldn’t be bothered to fix a proper lock on your—

Oh. False alarm. The strange music stops at the same moment a seemingly non-murderous man—with normal brown eyes, no less—slips into your room, shutting your door behind him.

Wait.

You lower your fists at once.

A man!

“Fie me! Hey-ho! Huzzah!” you shout, all of a flutter—for you’ve not made direct contact with another human in almost three weeks. A bolt of hope shoots through you. Perhaps this man mistook you for a princess, and is here to help you escape! “Art thou a prince, my lord?”

The man’s eyes, catlike and pretty, widen as they take you in: your wine-stained teeth, which you flash at him with a crooked smile; your tattered dress, which has turned an unbecoming shade of yellow from overuse; the unkempt state of your hair.

“Um.” His voice is a dark growl. “The fuck?”

“I can’t believeth mine own marvelous f’rtune,” you exclaim, hiking up your skirts and stepping eagerly toward the stranger. Clearly, he battled his way to the top of the tower in search of glory—and you are more than willing to play the part of damsel-in-distress, so long as it spurs him to help you go free. “Thou art h’re to rescueth me, c’rrect? Prithee, what be thy tide?”

You allow your gaze to sweep over the man in his entirety. To your surprise, he’s wearing none of the chainmail or fire-resistant armor you’d expect a dragon slaying prince such as himself to don—instead, he’s dressed rather simply in an oversized dark grey sweater and black sweat pants.

The man looks ready to lounge and lounge hard.

“My tide is Yoongi Min,” he says after a beat, dragging a bony, pale hand through his long, black hair. In doing so, you notice that his other hand holds something that looks very much like a pan flute. “How did you get up here?”

Your smile wavers as he peers expectantly at you, a most un-princely furrow settling between his brows. [5] Why is he acting like he didn’t expect you to be here?

“I crave your forgiveness, my lord,” you hedge, “but wherefore didst thee cometh here if not to saveth me?”

Yoongi blinks. “I’m not a lord.”

“Alack!” you exclaim again, sinking into a curtsy. That feels like something a princess would say. “Pray pardon, good sir, but I am drunketh! Tis unbecoming behavi’r f’r a princess such as myself, I know, but rest assureth I am still w’rth rescuing…”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

“You’re a princess.” He doesn’t say it like a question, but you sense the challenge in his tone, regardless. You freeze.

“Aye. Verily.” You nod. And then, for good measure: “Do-re-mi.”

Yoongi makes a noncommittal sound deep in his throat as he eyes the near-empty jug of wine on your table; the mound of rice in one of your bowls. 

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “But then why did I overhear Namjoon talking about how he didn’t expect to ransom any new princesses for at least a few months last night at the tavern?”

Your fists clench reflexively.

“Months?” you shriek, horrified. Namjoon planned on keeping you locked up in here for months?

“Months,” Yoongi confirms.

“That clotpole hast no more brain than stone,” you hiss—and then, forgetting the ruse: “When I get my hands on that slimy little—”

“Hold on,” Yoongi interrupts you. “I thought he meant he was making enough coin pet-sitting that he didn’t to need to ransom anyone, but…”

He takes in your bedraggled appearance once more, understanding slotting into place.

“Are you a criminal?”

You cross your arms, affronted. “Thou can’t just asketh people if they’re criminals, dummy.”

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says, releasing a low huff of laughter. You can see his gums when he smiles, amused. “You are. What did you do?”

“None of thy beeswax,” you snap. It’s no use. Dropping all princess-y pretenses, you fix him with a glare: “I’m guessing you’re not a prince, then?”

“Nope,” Yoongi says, striding over to your little table now like he owns the place. He sinks into a chair and takes a swig from your mostly-depleted jug of wine, not even bothering to use the chalice. A drop of wine dribbles down his chin; you track its journey with ill-disguised contempt. 

“Figures,” you mutter, smoothing down your skirts. “But since you’re here… make yourself useful, would you?”

He’s eyeing the steamy romance novel you just realized you’ve left on the table with a smirk.

“Useful how?” he says suggestively.

You’ve been alone too long—that’s why you can feel that cocky smile all the way down in your toes.

“Rescue me.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi says, sounding anything but. “It’s not gonna happen.”

You stomp your foot, petulant. “Why not?”

“Namjoon’s my friend.” Yoongi reaches for the rice. “He wouldn’t put you in here if you didn’t deserve it.”

“Would, too,” you parry.

Yoongi’s unmoved. “If someone figures out I helped you escape, I could get locked up myself.”

“Better make sure no one finds out, then.”

“I don’t even know what you did,” he says, mouth full. “What if you’re a murderer?”

“I’m not a murderer,” you object, offended.

He arches an eyebrow, as if to say: Out with it, wench!

You sniff, and keep your lips clamped.

“Fine,” he says after a beat. “At least tell me your tide, then.”

You hesitate.

“I told you mine,” he reminds you.

You eye him warily. Loath though you are to admit it, you’re sort of enjoying having someone to talk to—even someone as staunch in his refusal to help you do a runner as Yoongi. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all, and he’s the first person you’ve seen in nearly a month.

You know better than to trust his good humor will extend beyond the novelty of the encounter, however. Sure, he knows you’re a “criminal”—which he clearly finds somewhat amusing; he wouldn’t stick around if he thought you were actually dangerous— but what he doesn’t know is your name.

You’re a YLN. And your family’s reputation precedes you.

Then again, he did say he was friends with Namjoon. And the Kims have always treated both you and your parents with respect…

With a sigh, you introduce yourself, and though you’re expecting the sharp intake of breath Yoongi takes at your name, it still stings.

It fucking stings.

“Heard of me?” you say wryly, bracing yourself for his inevitable departure. To your surprise, however, Yoongi’s gone deathly still. He looks shocked, to be sure, but his face betrays no sign of ill-contempt or judgement as he stares at you. Instead, he tilts his head, an inscrutable expression painting his features. You can almost hear the wheels in his brain turning.

“Huh,” he says after a moment, tilting his head the other way.

You ignore the flutter in your chest as you indulge him, keeping still and allowing yourself to be studied—it’s not often anyone holds your gaze for longer than a handful of seconds, so this is something of a novelty. It doesn’t take long before the unwavering heat of his stare has you fidgeting, though—has you wondering what’s on his mind, and what he makes of what he sees.

You fold first, the back of your neck prickling when you turn from him to prop your elbows on the windowsill. Your vantage point is such that it’s impossible to miss when a flare of light—dragon fire, you recognize—gets expelled from the bottom floor of the tower seconds later, shooting off into the ink-dark forest.

You whip around, eyebrows pinched together. “Uh, Yoongi?”

He is, for some unknowable reason, still staring at you like you’re a riddle that needs solving. It takes a moment for you to find your voice.

“The dragon?” you prompt.

He’s impassive. “What about it?”

“It’s… still alive?”

The end of your sentence is punctuated by something that sounds suspiciously like D-Dum stomping around outside your door. You blink confusedly.

“How… how did you get all the way up here without slaying the dragon or the elephants?”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes that you can’t parse. He looks down at the pan flute you spotted earlier, then back to you, his gaze ping-ponging for long enough to make you consider picking up your smutty read to pass the time. At last, he appears to reach some private resolution, and sets the flute on the table with an almost defiant grunt.

It makes no damn sense.

Compels you, though.

“What’s the deal?” you say. It’s a handsome instrument, you’ll give him that—the reeds are smooth and shiny, bound together and arranged in two neat rows. You’ve seen large pan flutes before, but Yoongi’s seems nice and portable—maybe eighteen centimeters across at best.

“It’s enchanted,” he says at your dumbfounded look—for a pretty instrument does not a dragon-conquerer make. “My great-great-uncle made it himself. Whoever hears its music falls asleep.”

You’re skeptical.

“I’m still awake,” you remind him. “And I heard you playing before you came in.”

Another look you can’t decipher passes over Yoongi’s face as he picks the flute back up, rubbing his thumb over the thin rope binding the reeds together.

“Works faster if you’re in the same room,” he says eventually, frowning.

You regard the instrument with new eyes, and then train your sights back on Yoongi. He’s not huge, by any means: broad, yes, but lean. What’s more, his grip on the pan flute is loose at best.

You square your shoulders, resolute. You could take him. Thawp him upside the head with a chalice and snatch the pan flute from his feeble grasp. What’s more, you’ve got a good set of lungs on you, and the stamina to match. You bet you could play your way down forty-nine flights of stairs, no problem…

Yoongi, correctly reading the hunger on your face, lets out a rueful laugh.

“Gonna fight me for it?” he says.

You have the grace to feel ashamed.

“I thought about it,” you tell him, honest. 

Outside, the clouds shift as Yoongi stares at you again, etched now in a wispy beam of moonlight. You can practically feel the intensity of his thoughts, like static in the air, tingling across your skin. Never in your life have you wished you could read someone’s mind as much as you do right now.

“Go ahead and give it a go,” he says at last, placing the flute on the table and pushing it toward you.

Your mouth drops open.

“Really?” you say, but you’re already lunging.

The instrument is warm to the touch; smooth and familiar-feeling in your grasp, even though you’ve never held so much as a kazoo before. You raise it to your lips, pausing after your inhale. At Yoongi’s nod, you blow—and are met with resounding silence.

“It’s broken,” you moan, deflated.

“It’s not,” he drawls, but he looks… confused. Pensive.

“Then why…?”

“Only people in my family can play it,” he says after a beat. “It’s a genetic thing.”

You should have known. Magic, being hereditary, does tend to work like that—you doubt even a wizard like Namjoon could play it if it requires Min-DNA to operate. You place it back on the table, and then place your head in your hands.

“So if you didn’t come up to save me, then why are you here?” you say. “Climbing to the top of a fifty-flight tower is no joke.”

“I didn’t take the stairs,” Yoongi says. “You know there’s an elevator on the ground floor. Brings you all the way up to flight forty-seven.”

Right.

“Of course there is,” you manage through gritted teeth. When you get out of here, you and your newly developed calf muscles are going to donkey kick Namjoon Kim—that rampallian-hole—to the fucking stratosphere.

“But to answer your question, I come here when I want to be alone,” he says. “Nobody thinks to look for me here, especially on the night of a festival, or a party, or a holiday like today.”

“It’s a holiday?” you ask, taken aback. You’ve been tallying up how many days you’ve been cooped up on the Kama Sutra’s dedication page—the only book you’re able to deface—but haven’t bothered to keep track of the actual date. For some reason, the reminder that life outside of the tower is moving on without you—that holidays and festivals are passing you by as you remain stranded here, all on your lonesome; that nobody misses you or cares that you’re gone—cuts deeper than you expected tonight.

“New Year’s,” Yoongi confirms.

You try to school your face into one of careful indifference.

It appears you don’t succeed.

“Overrated holiday,” Yoongi says, his deep voice a bit softer than before.

Suddenly, there’s no sight more fascinating than the bookshelf over Yoongi’s shoulder. You don’t know why he’s still here; don’t know what’s keeping him sat across from you in a fucking tower so far from the village on New Year’s Eve.

What you do know is that he’s staring at you again, and at once, you’re hyperaware of your hands—of how stupid they look, resting like overgrown slugs on the table. You meet his dark eyes as you place them back in your lap, and a burst of electricity crackles through you. 

Clearing your throat—and training your eyes steadfastly back on the bookshelf behind him—you ask: “Don’t you want to see the fireworks, Yoongi?”

His eyebrows crease as he kills the wine.

“Don’t want to see the people,” he says at last. “I’m not one for parties.”

You nod, determined not to be maudlin. Perhaps there’s still a way to twist this whole thing to your benefit.

“I have an idea,” you begin, placing your elbows on the table and leaning toward him. You don’t even remember sitting down. The wine must be catching up to you—must be to blame for the way your heart stutters a bit when you catch the faintest trace of Yoongi’s scent as you inhale: cedar and amber. “You want to live out your misanthropic dreams in the tower,” you say, “and I want to be… where the people are.”

“If you start singing, we’re done here.”

Reluctantly, you shelve your spirited karaoke renditions for when you’re free.

“Just hear me out,” you plead. “Whenever there’s a festival, or a party, or a social function you want to miss, come here at sundown. Let me out of the tower for the night, and we’ll swap back at sunrise.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you try, gesturing like you’re a game-show host. “Don’t you want this nice, isolated prison cell all for yourself?”

He looks away. “I’m sorry,” he says, and sounds like he means it. But there’s something final in his tone—something that feels an awful lot like a precursor to a good-bye.

You panic.

“Please, Yoongi.” Pride has no place here, now. The time to beg has come. “I’m so sad here, cooped up on my own.”

He winces. “I know.”

“I don’t belong here, Yoongi.”

“Maybe not.”

“I just want to breathe some fresh air and stretch out my legs,” you say, clasping your hands together. “That’s all.”

Silence. Maybe he likes it more when you use his name.

“Don’t let me waste away here all alone, Yoongi.”

He’s glaring at the table now, conflicted.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Yoongi, please.”

“It’s not that I don’t… want to,” he rasps, voice low.

The lure has been cast. All you need to do now is calmly—carefully—reel him in.

“Let’s do what we want, then,” you say.

He cocks a brow at that, his mouth set in a straight line when he finally looks up again. His gaze on you is almost wild in its intensity—you find yourself shrinking back from him, feeling exposed.

“I can’t defy the entire village just to satisfy my own desires,” he states, firm. “I won’t.”

You tamp down the reckless side of you that wants to ask for clarification—that wants to know if he’s referring to the desire to run away from social functions, or the desire to help you.

The solitude and the wine, you decide. They’re getting to me.

“We live in a society,” Yoongi says, at the same moment a muffled popping sound reaches your ears. You glance at the window in time to see glimmers of prismatic light shooting into the sky, just visible beyond the thick canopy of forest. Fireworks. It must be midnight. “And we should abide by its rules.”

“Narc,” you grumble.

“They exist for a reason,” he presses. “To protect people. We shouldn’t rebel against them for personal gain.”

“None of my so-called ‘crimes’ were committed for personal gain,” you say, wounded. The cheers from the village are loud enough to reach you, even all the way up here. You swallow thickly—Happy New Year, you think—tearing your gaze from the window to find Yoongi looking at you intently.

“No?”

“I know you have no reason to believe me,” you say, “but I never wanted…”

You trail off thoughtfully, and Yoongi waits for you like he has all the time in the world.

“My intention was never to make people miserable,” you say some time later. “I never got anything out of what I was doing, either.”

That stymies him. “Then why do it?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Yoongi makes a show of stretching his arms and settling into his chair.

“Try,” he encourages.

It’s not that you want to evade his question; you’ve just never been able to find the right words before. Or maybe you’ve just never been given the chance.

“Your compulsion?” he prompts gently.

You think back to the last conversation you had with Namjoon.

“I guess sometimes my compulsion puts certain… ideas in my head,” you begin—and then flinch, feeling foolish. Yoongi’s not a child. He knows how compulsion works. “And I can’t control when that happens.”

“You’re the one who decides to follow through on those ideas, though,” he says, the hint of a frown forming.

“That’s true,” you agree. There’s really no contesting that. “But…”

God, how do you explain yourself? You’ve tried before, but it always leaves you feeling so unsettled. Broken. Compulsion is supposed to be this pure, positive force—an almost spiritual sort of wisdom people are born with, akin to a blessing.

What’s more, there’s a visceral, positive reaction associated with honoring your compulsion, too. Each time you follow through on your compulsion—even when it asks you to do things like grease up Jimin Park’s spoons—a warm, happy tingle spreads through your chest. You feel selfless; worthy; like you’re giving a gift to the people you’re apparently hurting.

It’s very confusing.

“Look,” you snap—self-reflection often leaves you feeling unduly defensive. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your relatives crafted magical flutes that granted their progeny the ability to subdue dragons, and mine passed down a penchant for… pissing people off. So. Congratulations on winning the genetic lottery.”

Yoongi makes a strangled sort of noise in his throat, and you don’t think it’s one of pity.

“I’m just like my mom,” you say, on a tangent now. “Nobody liked her. But I don’t…” You take a deep breath, watching the distant fireworks reflected in Yoongi’s eyes—sparkles of rich purples, pinks, and blues. “I want people to like me. Okay?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I know you come here to escape,” you say, gesturing around the tower, “but being cooped up here isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. If you let me out, I promise I will do my best to make up for what I’ve done.” Your voice is a bit thin, but it holds. “I don’t want to harm anyone, okay? I’ll dedicate those free hours to trying to right my wrongs.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. He looks rather stricken.

“Don’t believe me?” you say lightly.

“I do,” he replies, the first words he’s formed in a while. He sounds sincere. “Though I’m surprised that’s how you’d choose to spend your time.”

To be honest, you sort of are, too—initially, you’d just wanted to con Yoongi into letting you go free so you could go sew all the leg-holes of Namjoon Kim’s underdrawers shut. But now that the words have been spoken aloud, you realize they’re true—you don’t want the villagers to dread your return. You want them to look at you the way Yoongi did before he knew your name: with a smile. You want to prove you’re worthy of a second chance.

You want to watch the New Year’s fireworks with someone who’d miss you if you were gone.

“Don’t worry,” you say, sensing Yoongi’s hesitation. “No one has to know you helped me. I won’t drag your good name down with me if I get caught, or anything.”

“Ah.” Yoongi’s thumb is stroking over the reeds of his flute like they’re rosary beads; like he’s asking them for guidance.

Abruptly, he stands.

“I’m sorry, YN,” he says, and your stomach drops. Something’s hardened in his face; something that looks sickeningly like resolve. “I—”

He doesn’t stick around for long enough to finish his sentence. It’s as though something snaps; as though a switch has been flipped, and he can’t retreat quickly enough. Without so much as a, “Fare thee well, my sweet-seasoned goddess!” or an, “Egads! I must away!” he sweeps out the door.

The memory of his pan flute's haunting tune is the only evidence you have that Yoongi Min came at all. That, and the visual of his retreating back—the silver hoops he wore in his ears glinting mockingly up at you from where they shimmer under the moonbeams—as you watch him disappear into the forest.

Sighing, you wash up and sink miserably into your bed.

Al—and you cannot stress this enough—ack.

Footnotes:

[1]. You are, in fact, exactly like the other girlies.

[2]. Compulsion [noun]: An innate, typically fixed pattern of desires that arise in individuals during puberty. Compulsions cannot be controlled, are person-specific, and are marked by various physiological and psychological symptoms.

[3]. This has happened before, after all. You’re freakishly talented at hopping from high places—such as from the rooftop of Hoseok Jung’s coop, when you’d stolen all his eggs—and not getting hurt.

[4]. Okay, you were sixteen years fusty—er, old—but who’s counting?

[5]. For princes remain, as a rule, opposed to making any facial expressions that might cause wrinkles.

A/N: OHOHO. Questions? Theories? Concerns? I would love to hear what you think—please consider leaving feedback (via reblog! via comment! via my ask-box, either anonymously or not!) and see you next time 💜

Oh, also: the elephant who never forgets..... to kill! is a Futurama reference ;)

NEXT CHAPTER

jimin and taehyung are only two months apart but jimin sounds like hes 12 and taehyung sounds like he’s gone through puberty twice and this is why i have trust issues 

Sorry, but I can’t choose between some of the options 😆 Can someone please write more of those tropes for the LOML Namjoon? Like, there are so very little new fics with Namjoon as the main character. 🙁

got bored and wanted to do a tag game :p this was super interesting! i feel like these go for what i tend to read and write as well, not just one or the other 🧐

tagging: @junkissed @neo-shitty @beomcoups @hannieween @jalitepng @dreamescapeswriting @agustdiv1ne @redsaurrce + anyone else who wants to do it :)

Headed to the Mountains |KNJ

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•one shot

•Masterlist

•pairing: songwriter Kim Namjoon x oc with chronic pain

•word count: 3,465

•genre: escapism, hurt/comfort, smut, established relationship

•rating: MATURE/ 18+

•warnings: current event commentary, somewhat anti- American sentiment (I live in Texas so I see a lot of mess first hand 🫤 it’s my country but my god, it’s messy), stress, chronic pain, high sensitivity, sensory issues, first person voice, smut smut smutty smut, oral (female receiving and male), tandem oral, smex, doggy style?, Namjoon’s big brain during smex, smut with feelings and a lot of thoughts (as usual) ((all my air sign placements really coming out to play

•a/n: idk what this is, besties, besides extremely unedited and wildly indulgent. I may change the voice out of first person and all the “i’s” to “you’s” but it’s up the way it’s up for now. 🤷🏽‍♀️The world is just a horrifying place right now, especially in the US, and I just wanted to write something that felt like a small refuge, spend a little time some place that felt better, so we’re back in Namjoon’s living room. Also, who better to escape into the woods and away from reality with than the founder of namjooning himself ((also also, that bit about Pennsylvania was 100% true. It’s wild here, man))

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“I cannot get comfortable for the life of me,” I huff grumpily.

It’s a Monday night, late in March. The threat of rain has been looming for hours. Despite its sudden absence in the forecast when I check the weather app, I can still feel it in my bones. In the raw, creaky way my joints scrape against each other. The way the inflammation in my body burns like fire ants beneath my skin.

Namjoon is quick to notice from across the room.

“This weather’s been making your body feel like hell this spring.”

“Yeah, I hate to begrudge it though. Winter was even worse.”

“Gosh, it really was huh?” He frowns at the laptop screen on his desk. He’s got the tiniest beanie shoved on his very big head but somehow, it works. The tips of his hair peak past the beanie’s brim, brushing the mussed hair of his furrowed eye brows. “God, I can’t stand to stare at a screen a second longer.”

He peels his gold rimmed glasses off his nose, rubbing the little indentions they've made along the bridge and pressing his fingers into his closed eye sockets. I can tell he’s exhausted and miserable too about how much energy life seems to require of him these days.

“I’m going to scoop you up and make you the most comfortable woman in the world, I promise. Just give me like three minutes.” He tips back in his desk chair, the spine of it sliding out to a wide reclined angle as his long legs stretch out in front of him.

“Why did we spend so much money on a couch that’s not even comfortable, joonie?” I whine, shifting once again.

“Because the last one was even less comfortable than this one,” he reminds me, “and at least this one is cognac leather,” he shrugs. “It’s comfy on the eyes at least”

“Well I need it to be comfy for my bones.” I grunt, shoving yet another throw pillow out of your way. “Maybe we should pick up and move to the shore, like in a regency novel. I think the air would be good for me. I wonder if American healthcare accepts existential dread and deep chronic pain as enough of a reason to just financially support us until I turn to dust.”

“You and your TikTok algorithm both know as well as I do that America will do no such thing,” Namjoon chuckles with his eyes closed.

“I know…. But they should take at least some culpability. God knows most of my health problems probably exist BECAUSE of them.” I slide the strap of my bra and shirt off my shoulder, not because I want to be a seductress but because the elastic is cutting into my throbbing right trap muscle and if I don’t get some of the tension off of it, I might scream.

“Right? Did you hear about the latex spill in the Delaware river yesterday? The entire city of Philadelphia doesn’t have usable drinking water right now. My friend there literally got a text message about it from the city strongly recommending every use bottled water only until

Further notice. One and a half million people woke up to that text Message! It’s insane.” Namjoon pulls his oversized hood up over his beanie as he looks up at the ceiling, ankles crossed beneath the desk.

“Lord, haven’t we lived through enough of this? I’m so tired, joonie.” I can hear how pitiful I sound. To his credit, he treats me just the same as when I sound intellectually astute and strong. I’ve always liked that about him.

“If the world is going to hell in a hand basket anyway, maybe we should look into a- moving internationally and b- signing up for a payment plan on one of those YouTube influencer mattresses,” Namjoon tips his head my way, and suddenly my heart feels a little more light.

“Ooo, the helix?“ I smile, for perhaps the first time tonight.

His dark eyes twinkle in the low evening lamplight.

“ I actually did some research and found one made out of avocados.”

“Is that as close as I can get now that my body has decided it’s allergic to Avos?”

Namjoon’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “God, your body would find a way to betray you like that wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not my fault I’m too delicate for this world,” I shrug.

“I forget you were born inside a flower that protected you from the world with its petals until it bloomed, thumbelina.”

“If I could take a nap inside a peony right now, I’d do it in a heartbeat…. The pollen might be too much though.” I sigh.

“Come here,” Namjoon laughs, standing from his chair and extending his hand toward me.

“Where are you taking me?”

I slip my knuckles between his and knock against his shoulder with my head.

“To my bumblebee. Take you on a spin around the block” he winks.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say take a ride. It’s like the only lyric you use these days” I snicker, bumping the curve of my hip into his.

“You’re supposed to write what you know,” he shrugs.” It’s not my fault your hips are your area of expertise.”

He winks at me and god, if he took every piece of clothing off of me right now, I’d ride him in a heartbeat.

Shit. Knowing him, he can probably feel my response to him without even looking at me. Sure enough, he looks down, smiling until his dimples dip in his cheeks, and damn it, I’m so captivated by the focaccia dough dips in his face that I stumble into the corner of the wall. My hip catches and I yelp, more embarrassed than in pain.

“Shh, hey, I got you.”

That calm voice of his is so low right now as his palm curves around the dip in my hip that got nicked by the wall. I tip into his long, warm torso and let him guide me into the bedroom. I’m clearly too disoriented and agitated to make it here without careening into something else and frustrating myself, so I’m happy for the assistance. Besides, being scooped up in Namjoon’s substantial hands is never a bad place to be.

“Thanks, baby. I needed that.”

I press my temple into his chest, kiss his ribs. Marvel at the resistance of muscle I feel beneath his soft green shirt. I press my nose into the fabric and let the warmth of him calm me. His other hand strokes soft knuckles along my jaw. His touch is so light and sweet - I feel my shoulders drop as he does it.

“Pick me up?” I whisper, eyes lifting softly to look up at him from where I’m pressed into his chest.

His hands slide up my sides, palms pressed into my waist as he lifts me. The soft grunt he makes as my thighs wrap around his ribs makes something in my brain feel a little fuzzy. Life is better like this, I think. Our faces nuzzled cheek to cheekbone, his hands fitted beneath my thighs, mine trailing softly through the silky bits of his hair peeking out of the back of his beanie as my arms drape over his shoulders like fabric. I can feel the knot of tension in the middle of my spine begin to untie itself as I melt into him. God, I’m so happy he exists.

“Where would you like to go, princess?”

Namjoon kisses the top of my ear, and that fuzzy tingle in my brain is back.

“What are my options?”

I press my lips softly to his throat in light, meditative kisses. They’re more like delicate exhales. My tongue barely tips out to taste his skin. Just a touch. Just a taste. Sleepy and slow because that’s all I have the energy for. His eyelids do that hazy half flutter that tells me he likes it enough to pretend he doesn’t so that I’ll keep going. I smile as he gently tips his head to the side, as if waiting for my answer, but really he’s just giving me more room to access that spot behind his ear that likes my lips. Let’s humor the man.

“We could go to the bed, the shower, the bath…” he gasps a little on the last word, the ah sound coming out too airy as I gently mouth at his pulse point and his grip on my thighs gets tense. “Or there’s a ….counter right here.” His head tips toward the half bath in the hallway as his fingers dig into the meat of my legs.

When I look up to meet his eyes, they’ve gone serpentine. Deep and dark and heavy as he holds me close. I can feel how shallow his breathing is becoming and I smile, sleepy and soft as he watches me.

“Take me to bed, Joonie.”

He’s kissing me before I can even finish his name.

He tips the door open with one of his feet before squeezing us both through the threshold of it. With his eyes closed and his tongue between my lips, he’s bound to crash into something and he does. He thunks an elbow, I knock my head, but in seconds, he’s cradling it where I’ve bumped the wall, spilling “sorry, I’ve got you, sorry,” onto my tongue as he pulls me in closer.

The spell doesn’t break.

He’s big and he’s bulky but he’s careful with me as he lays me on the bed and climbs over me. His mouth doesn’t leave mine even as he peels off each piece of my clothing. His movements are slow, his touch tender as he does.

Namjoon has learned how to soothe my body when it’s alert like this. Knows the cool air feels refreshing and crisp when my skin is hot with pain and sensitivity so he gets me naked with a deft touch. He knows the feel of his skin is grounding for me so that soft green shirt of his hits the floor. Knows I love his hair so the beanie goes next. Knows I love the strength in his thighs so his shorts are next as he tugs my hips down beneath his to let me wrap my legs around his slim waist.

I'm so wrapped up in the warmth of him that I don’t realize he’s tugged my silk pillowcase beneath my head. It’s cool when my head falls back and I smile, toothy and wide, as his plush lips sink into my skin. He’s at my collarbone now, then the volume of my breasts. His breath is warm, the air is cool and his substantial hands grip me firm like dough he’s being careful with as he kneads.

His cock brushes against me between my legs and the bright feeling it sends sparkling through me makes my breathing stutter.

“Joonie,” I shiver, and I can feel him smile against my skin. See his eyes flash up at me in the dark.

“We do too much, baby.” He breathes, voice smoky and low like the dragon he is.

I don’t know what he means. My critical thinking is losing its sharpness as he suckles warm and soft at the dip of my ribs.

“Too much?” I can feel my brows crumpling, but his tongue is so warm on my stomach that my hands dig into his shoulders without my consent.

He reaches up to brush one hand over mine.

“Shhh, easy. We’re trying to relax you, not tense you up.”

He’s smiling. I can barely see him but I can feel him and I know his grin would only dissolve me deeper into the mattress.

“We do too much, we deal with too much. God, your skin is too motherfucking much,” he squeezes me, latches his soft mouth onto my waist and tugs at the skin. I can feel the bruise blooming there, but he’s off and on to the next before I can even get words out. “Your body is always trying to process all of it, but it’s too much. Let me take care of some of it- let me help.”

When His tongue slips between my legs, his strong hands push my legs wide, press them down when he feels me buckle. His breath is so warm, his mouth is so molten, his nose on my clit is so gentle- it all leaves my body in an exhale. Tension drops off like melted wax and I feel myself go supple in his palms as I let him do what he wants with me.

“There’s been so much chaos. So much to deal with. So much to do. I just want to run away from it all with you.”

His tongue is languid as it works on me. The rush of warmth undoes the aches in my body better than a hot bath ever has.

“Then let’s go, Joonie. Where do you want to go? I’ll follow you anywhere.” And I mean it. They’re not lusty rambles. They’re not hollow words. I’d follow him to the edge of the world.

He puts that plump mouth of his over my clit and the gentle way he slurps me up melts my bones into soup broth and clears my head.

“You’ll let me take you anywhere?”

He looks up at me, his mouth never leaving his post, working me slowly as he waits for my reply. His mouth is so wet, his eyes are so sharp and my body is just another piece of music he’s learned how to perfect. I nod, bottom lip bit between my teeth and relax as much as I can as he composes a symphony between my legs. His smile folds the crinkles around his eyes, and his aura flickers between lovingly soft and steadily authoritative as he doubles down, wrapping his arms around my legs to scoop my hips up into his face and pressing into me, deeper, faster, harder.

I arch up when he does, gasping as my shoulders lift up, my fingers twist in the bedspread, my jaw goes slack. He’s really doing a number on me and all I want to do is say thank you and let him continue.

He slides up my body then, one hand behind my head bringing my forehead to his as the other grips my hip with enough pressure to split it apart as he tips his cock inside me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The sound is squelchy and wet and he smiles as his nose bumps against mine.

“You’ll follow me?”

He sounds cocky in a way he hasn’t in a while and a little piece of me loves it. His hips are fluid as his cock rocks in and out of me. All I can do is nod wildly, disoriented as I clutch him close to me. My legs are folded up, feet along his hips for purchase with my knees butterflied wide. I’d laugh at how much I must look like a frog if this didn’t feel so good. He’s got a hand beneath my bum, lifting my hips off the bend and gliding his cock so deep into me that surely my organs are all shifting wide like the Red Sea to make room for him.

“Wherever you want to go,” I hum, arms falling slack. I’ve lost the energy to hold on to him, but he’s got me held up so precious and tight that we’re still more intertwined than two fibers of thread in a tight knit sweater. I’ve fused into him and now every breath is in tandem.

“I’m gonna take my girl away from here.”

His thumb brushes my bottom lip and I feel myself flush at his tenderness.

“Yeah?” My eyes are wide, following his. He hovers above me, furrowed face sculpted with intensity and aggression as his body works mine into ecstasy. I’ve really acquiesced to the fact that I’m nothing more than a soft lump of clay in his hands that he’s working with precision. I’ve always wanted to be a work of art.

He slips my breast into his mouth like a lychee jelly, moaning at the feel of me tightening around him when he does it. Pumping harder, faster, deeper, only to pull out and dip his long fingers into the mess he’s made. He slathers it over all my sensitive bits, caressing with finesse as sparklers crackle in my vision.

When He pulls me up and into him, my face is pressed between his pecs and god, I can’t keep it together. I kiss them furiously as he works, clutching onto his arms, dragging my fingers down his abs as he slides his glossy fingers over my clit like he’s casting a spell. I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I can’t….

But I can because I have to- Namjoon won’t ease up until he gives me the sweet oxytocin of release by his hands and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So I dig deep and exhale slow and controlled, whimpering as he rockets past that orgasm to send me into preparing for the next one. He smirks like I’m his plaything and I comply with no resistance. I’ll have as many rounds as he gives me. I’m a big girl. I can handle- Oh!

At least, I thought I could handle anything. Naive me, I suppose.

I smile into the sheets when he tips me over onto all fours. He kisses my shoulders, kisses along my spine, brushing his thumbs on the folds on my hip, all tender and kind and syrupy sweet as the behemoth between his legs tips ever so slowly inside of me despite my incredible tightness, and I don’t know whether to breathe or scream so I press my face into the bedding and giggle like there’s something wrong with me.

“Take you somewhere quiet,” he slides in deeper. “With no noise,” he thrusts. “No news.” He thrusts. “Just nature.”

My chest feels tight with affection but my body feels limps like a rag doll as he pumps me silly. His gargantuan hands holding up my hips are the only thing keeping me from sliding off the bed and melting into the floorboards.

“Joonie, i’d- I’d love that,” soft puffs of air leave me with each fluid roll of his hips. The snap at the end of the graceful flourish knocks my skull a little loose but I don’t mind. Thinking so little is really quite nice.

“Take you for walks, lay with you in nature, fuck you like this in an outdoor bath tub while we watch the stars.”

His hand glides down my spine as he paints beautiful pictures with his words. My heart and my body don’t know which way is up.

“Escape all this chaos. At least for a little bit.” He smirks. I catch a glimpse of it as I look over my shoulder, reach back to hold his hand.

“I might never let you drag me back to the real world.” My smile is gooey, fond and so is his now. His dimples have come out - all his sincerity and heart on display, as his hips still even as he still fills me up.

“I can write poetry in the wild,” he shrugs. “My music would probably be better for it.”

He looks bashful and soft. The juxtaposition of his strong body and sweet face make me dip forward. He slides out of me, watching with confusion as I guide him to stand beside the bed.

When I flip onto my back, letting my head loll backwards off the bed in front of him, he arches a brow at me. I just chuckle and pull him forward by the back of his legs.

“Come here. I want to make my own music.”

I take the length of him into my mouth and he topples over, hands bracing on either side of me on the bed. He groans so sweet and low that I smile as I take him deep. His knees buckle when my nose tips softly against his balls as I suckle him slowly and it takes everything in me not to laugh at how happy I am.

His hands travel my body as his mouth occupies itself. He makes a meal of my breasts, takes a drink between my legs, holds my throat to lighten my breath. When we cum in tandem, he collapses to my side as we catch our breath in silence.

The night is still, the air is cool and rain is finally trickling against the windows.

Our bodies are spent and our plan is set.

We’ll run away soon enough.

But now, cradled breast to breast, we sleep knowing our world is just the smallest bit brighter.

This is the Namjoon in my head.

WHAT SEX WITH NAMJOON WOULD BE LIKE (RM pt. 3)

~ everyone’s favorite part. based on the character as described in part 1 and part 2. Masterlist here.

*NSFW CONTENT*

• When Joon is in a horny mood, oof, prepare to be destroyed. His eyes darken, expression turning into pure lust; he knows how to tease her to the point where she is begging for him. He thrives on that shit; giving her little hints of pleasure, but without fully satisfying until she is desperate.

• His kisses would be deep and passionate. She would already be dripping wet before any touching.

• Would subtly tease her, like kiss her neck or whisper dirty things in her ear in public (when no one is watching of course). Loves to see her riled up and weak in the knees.

• He wouldn’t just tease though, I really think he would know how to please a woman well when it came down to it.

• A lot of people type him as dominant in bed, and I sort of agree. I see him as a soft dom, complimenting her and wanting to make her feel sexy and powerful. He would love to please her and would sometimes make sex long and drawn out.

• There is no doubt in my mind that Kim Namjoon has a big dick.

• His thrusts are strong and hard. He's a big boy with a lot of strength (those baepsae hip thrusts...).

• We all know he would love her on top, riding him (that man is obsessed with riding). Watching her use him to please herself would drive him mad. He would worship a woman’s body.

• Because he has a tendency to get sentimental, I think he would like more intimate positions like missionary, too, where he can be slow and show her how much he loves her.

• King of dirty talk and praise in that deep fucking voice.

• “You like that, baby?” “You’re so fucking sexy.” “Good girl.” “Ride me, baby.”

• Namjoon would be fucking loud in bed, unable to control his grunts. Probably louder than her.

• He’s probably very good at oral, second best to Yoongi. He would pin her hips down so he was in complete control of her, refusing to stop until she orgasms.

• She might enjoy thigh riding or light spanking if she’s feeling really horny (she probably has a secret kink for his thighs, although I may be projecting here).

• They also might like to incorporate toys into the bedroom. A couples vibrator would be super hot.

• He would become completely useless during blowjobs, being so enveloped in the pleasure but avoiding touching her or moving too much as to not accidentally hurt her.

• Would love to cum on her body, especially her stomach and pussy after missionary.

• He can be a little clumsy at times, underestimating his size and strength - he’s like one of those giant dogs who thinks they’re a tiny lap dog.

• He might get carried away sometimes and be over-indulgent or accidentally rough. He would feel awful if he accidentally hurt her, though, and would make sure she’s ok and provide a lot of love afterwards.

• She would wear one of his giant t-shirts after sex, and he would find it so endearing. They would cuddle and watch TV until they fall asleep.