The Story Of The City Of Valoria

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

                December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

                Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

                “You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

                You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

I would love to live in this fantasy forever! This is the Namjoon I have in my head!

Perfect plan -2-

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 16k. Author's note: Here we gooo, part 2 and the finale. Hope you enjoy.✨✨ and if you do, do not hesitate to comment (let's be friends). Tell me what you liked, what you didn't. I'm writing again after a really long time and could use some feedback. (and friends lol) I stole the name Cosmo from “Castle”- (an oldish detective/crime serries I used to love, and I always found it so funny naming a kid Cosmo that I just couldn’t help myself.) Thank you @callmenoona25 for being my trusted beta reader. You’re the best! ✨ part 1: here

Normally, you weren’t one to brag. However, when it came to your packing techniques, no one could compete. You prided yourself on your ability to fit everything you needed into a single suitcase, neatly organized and perfectly folded. Never went over the set limit, even by a gram. You even made sure to leave room for any souvenirs you might pick up along the way, maximizing both space and efficiency.

As you laid out your essentials, you felt a sense of satisfaction. Each outfit was carefully chosen for its versatility, from causal daytime to polished evening. The thrill of the trip only adding to your excitement as you zipped up your suitcase, ready for whatever awaited you in Singapore.

You met Namjoon at the airport, his big bright smile making your heart race when he collected your hand in his, leading you across the airport with familiarity.

The flight was smooth, filled with laughter and light conversation, and before you knew it, you were landing in Changi airport.

The vibrant city welcomed you with its dazzling skyline and warm, humid air. You could hardly contain your excitement as you stepped off the plane and into the bustling airport. Namjoon glanced at you; his eyes sparkling.

As you made your way to baggage claim, a sleek black SUV waited for you outside. The driver greeted you both with a warm smile and opened the door, and you slid into the plush back seat. Namjoon settled beside you, glancing out the window as the city zipped by.

“Look at all the lights! It’s beautiful,” he said, pointing out the iconic sights.

You nodded, mesmerized by the blend of modern architecture and lush greenery. The drive to your hotel felt like a preview of all the excitement that awaited you.

 Once you arrived at the hotel, the luxurious lobby took your breath away, with its stunning decor and welcoming atmosphere.

Your room just as elegant, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The soft lighting and plush furniture created a cosy yet sophisticated atmosphere. You couldn’t help but smile as you set your bags down.

“Wow! This is incredible” you exclaimed, fully enchanted by the room.

There was a little loune area to your right, complete with mini bar and plush seating that invited relaxation. A small coffee table was set perfectly in the centre, and the soft glow of the lamps added to the cozy ambiance.

The open kitchen was opposite to the lounging area, sleek and modern, with gleaming countertops and high-end appliances.

“This place is amazing.” You beam “I didn’t expect it to be this nice.”

Namjoon chuckles, clearly pleased. “Yeah, one of the job perks.”

You moved to the kitchen, admiring the little details- the stylish bar stools, the complementary snacks neatly arranged on the counters. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured, almost in disbelief as you run your fingers down the counter.

“Just wait until you see the view from the balcony,” Namjoon said, walking over to the sliding door. He opened it, and a warm breeze flowed in, carrying the sounds of the vibrant city below.

You stepped outside, and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the stunning panorama. The skyline shimmered against the dusk sky, a blend of colours painting the horizon. “This is breathtaking!” you exclaimed, stepping closer to the railing. The warm breeze gently collecting your hair from over your shoulder.

Namjoon watches you, undeniable admiration written across his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but his phone beeps, cutting him off.

“Ah. I need to get ready. I have a meeting in half an hour.” He said, glancing down at the screen.

You turned back at him, a little pout on your lips, “Right, of course.”

He sighs, giving you an apologetic smile. “I’ll wrap it up as quickly as I can, then we can maybe go enjoy the city a bit.”

You nodded, but gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry love. I need to check in with the Dean of medicine either way. So, I’ll be stuck in a zoom meeting for the next few hours too.” You check your watch “And then the conference starts, and I want to make sure I snatch a goodie bag” you grin up at him, making him chuckle as he picks out his clothes from his suitcase.

“My little busy bee,” he winks your way before walking to the bathroom.

You smile at the affectionate nickname, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. As he closed the door, you took a moment to gather your thoughts, preparing for your own meetings. You settled at the small desk in the room, pulling out your laptop and opening all the necessary documents, ready to dive into work.

Namjoon walks out a few minutes later, wearing a tailored suit that made him look like he stepped right out of a billboard. The sharp lines accentuated his frame, and the soft fabric seemed to highlight the subtle tan he was sporting, giving him a warm, inviting glow.

“Oh wow,” you say, momentarily speechless as you took him in, “You look incredible.”

He grinned, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanour. “Thanks! Just wanted to make a good impression.”

“You definitely will,” you completely forgot about your work, staring at him unabashed. He adjusted his collar, and you noticed the way he carried himself with confidence, ready to take on the day.  “Make sure no one falls in love with you.”

He laughs, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll make sure to mention that I’m reserved.”

“Good!” you said, feeling a playful spark in the air. “You’d better.”

“Okay, I’ll be out for a while. Text me if you need anything.” he said, moving toward the door.

“Good luck with your meeting!” you called after him, watching as he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him

You took a deep breath, letting the moment linger, before forcing yourself to dive back into your task. You made sure to schedule and plan everything in advance so you could take this time off. You checked and double checked every detail, ensuring there were no loose ends.

You went through your notes, confirming appointments and reviewing the materials.

Yet, when the Dean logged on, everything seemed to fall apart. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a logistics misunderstanding.” He said, his voice tinged with frustration. “The materials you sent over didn’t reach the hospital committee in time, and now we’re facing delays for the budgeting conference too.”

Your heart sank as you listened, a wave of anxiety washing over you. “What does that mean for my presentation?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“The committee is postponing the schedule. And now we’ll have to resubmit everything. Your slot might be pushed back or even cancelled.” He explained, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the situation either. “That means that the budget meeting also gets postponed, and you know just how these jackals like to cut the budget when we delay by even a day.”

You felt your stomach drop. All the careful planning and scheduling, and now the opportunity was slipping through your fingers. “But I’ve prepared so much for this,” you protest your voice cracking softly.

“I understand.” He replied, his tone monotone. “We’ll do our best to rectify this. But it may take some time. I’ll keep you updated.” The dean rubbed his temples, clearly irritated.

As the meeting wrapped up, you closed your laptop with a heavy heart. You lean back in your chair, frustration boiling beneath the surface. But you pushed on, reminding yourself that you were in Singapore, and there were still opportunities ahead.

Future-you will simply have to pick up the pace when you return to the office.

When you glance at the clock again, panic sets in- you were running late for the conference. There wasn’t time to change into your planned outfit, so you quickly refreshed yourself, tossing your hair up in a ponytail and opting for a comfortable yet presentable look. You grabbed your bag and dashed out the door, determined not to let anything else derail your plans.

As you hurried down the stairs, the bustling streets greeted you with their vibrant energy. You hailed a taxi, but of course, the traffic seemed to intensify just when you were in a rush. Cars barely crawled along, and your heart raced as you checked the time repeatedly, feeling the minutes slip away.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself, willing the driver to find an alternative route. The sight of the city blurred past you, but your focus remained fixed on the conference.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you arrived at the conference venue. You paid the driver and hurried out, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. The grand entrance loomed before you, and as you stepped inside, the bustling atmosphere enveloped you.

You could see attendees mingling.  Doctors, residents and nurses walking around, exchanging ideas and business cards, and you felt a surge of determination. You might have faced a few setbacks, but you were here now, and you intended on making the most of it.

But when you arrived at your scheduled room, your heart sank. The meeting was more than halfway done, and the remainder of the presentation making very little sense to you, seeing as you completely missed the beginning. You tried to catch snippets of information, but it all felt disjointed, and the speakers were already moving on to complex concepts you struggled to grasp.

Frustration bubbled up again as you glanced around the room, hoping to find a familiar face or at least some insight into what you had missed.

Then you remembered the goodie bags you had heard about—swag filled with useful materials and promotional items. You felt a twinge of disappointment as you approached the table at the back, only to find it empty.

“Sorry, we ran out,” the staff member said apologetically.

Great. Just great.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the remaining presentations, even if they felt like a blur. You tried to jot down key points, hoping to salvage something useful from the experience.  But then you saw him walk on stage.

“Hello everybody, I am Doctor Seong-Min and I’m here today to talk to you about-”

But nothing registers. The sight of your ex triggers a wave of emotions you thought you buried long ago. The memory of the betrayal and heartbreak flood back, eclipsing everything else around you.

You struggled to concentrate as he spoke, his voice smooth and confident, like always, captivating the audience. But all you could think about was the bitterness you felt when you found out about his wife, the lies he told, and the way he casually moved on with his life while you were left picking up the pieces.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the hurt that never fully faded. You worked so hard to move on. To establish yourself in your career, only to find yourself face-to-face with the man who caused you so much pain.

And then you caught sight of her- the beautiful trophy wife, her belly big and round as she looked up at her husband with uttermost admiration. The image twisted like a knife in your gut, and you felt like you might puke right there.

You glanced around the room, searching for a distraction, but nothing could pull your focus from the scene unfolding in front of you. You could hear Doctor Seong-Min speaking about his research, but the words felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

The applause that followed his presentation felt like a weight pressing down on you, suffocating and heavy. You fought to keep your composure, knowing you had to push through this moment. You wouldn’t let him have that power over you anymore.

But then the dick has the audacity to walk over to you, disgusting smirk on his lips as he approached with his wife.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, feigning surprise. The arrogance in his voice made your skin crawl. His wife stood beside him, radiant and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the air. You felt your stomach flip as they neared.

“Hello,” you managed, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack your face.

Seong-Min leaned in slightly, the confidence radiating off him. “Enjoying the conference? We’ve been hard at work on this project,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the crowd.

You glanced at his wife, who was looking up at him with adoration, completely oblivious to the tension. “I’m sure it’s great,” you replied coolly, your heart racing.

“Still in the medical field, I see?” he asked, a condescending edge to his voice.

You could feel your frustration boiling beneath the surface, old wounds reopening. “Yes, and making strides.” you said, your tone sharper than intended.

His wife shifted slightly, glancing between you and her husband, confusion written on her face as she gently stroked her bump. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. You shook it, forcing politeness.

“Likewise.” you managed, though the word tasted bitter on your tongue.

Seong-Min flashed that infuriating smirk again. “We should catch up sometimes.” he said, as if you shared some fond memories rather than a history of betrayal. Like the poor woman he cheated on wasn’t standing right there.

“Not interested.” you replied, a bit too quickly.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the conference.” he said, his tone dismissive as he turned away with his wife, who seemed oblivious to the tension.

You felt like the last of your resolve melted away.

 It wasn’t fair.

Why does he get to have what you want? Why does he get to enjoy a loving relationship and a baby while you struggle with heartbreak and disappointment? The unfairness stung like a sharp wound, twisting in your chest.

You watched them walk away, his arm wrapped around her waist, the image of happiness that felt like a cruel joke. It brought back memories of the plans that you once had, the dreams you built, all shattered when you found that wedding band hidden in his desk.

You clenched your fists, grounding yourself in the present. This wasn’t who you were anymore; you moved on.

Or, at least, you thought you had.

Nothing from the conference sticks to you afterwards. A big dark cloud overshadowing the rest of the day, until you reach the hotel room.

You weren’t one to give into your emotions, but now, you needed something, anything to distract you from the building rage and emotion that stirred in your chest. You grabbed one of the bottles of Hennessy from the bar and poured yourself a generous glass. The rich amber liquid shimmering in the light, and you hoped it would help dull the ache in your chest. You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, and you leaned against the cool counter.

As you stood there, you couldn’t shake the frustration that lived beneath the surface of your composed image. You hated feeling like this- caught between anger and sadness. You took another sip, letting the burn wash away any remnants of your earlier encounter.

Slowly, you let yourself slide to the floor, the tears you fought against all day finally breaking free, cascading down your cheeks in hot, unrestrained waves. You felt like a child again, overwhelmed by emotions that were too big to contain. The frustration, the hurt, the unfairness, the longing, all spilled out in chocked sobs.

Each little cry pulled at the heaviness that settled over your chest. You wrapped your arms around your knees, finding solace in the smallness of your position, trying to make sense of everything that unfolded these past few weeks.

Just then, you heard Namjoon’s footsteps approaching. His concern was palpable as he knelt beside you, his presence grounding as he pulled you in his arms. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with warmth that made it harder to hold back your tears.

You turned your gaze away, the world around you blurring through your tears. He didn’t push you to explain, he simply sat there with you, offering you the safe space you needed to be vulnerable.

Slowly, the intensity if your emotions began to ease. You leaned your head against his shoulder, grateful and a bit frustrated that he was there. Grateful for his unwavering presence, frustrated with yourself for letting your feelings spill over.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you admitted quietly.

Namjoon wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” he reassured, his voice steady and soothing.

“It’s not fair.” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Why does he get to have everything I wanted? It’s not fair.”

Namjoon quickly understood what you were talking about, tightening his grip around you. “I know it hurts. It’s fucked up to see someone who hurt you move on so easily while you’re left grappling with everything.”

“His wife is pregnant, Namjoon!” you start crying again, the weight of the reality crashing down on you. “It just feels like I’m stuck, and he’s living this perfect life.”

He tiled your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not stuck. You’re on your own path, and it’s okay to take the time you need to heal. You deserve happiness too.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell, your bottom lip quivering as your throat tightened once more. You wanted to believe him, but the twinge of comparison felt so heavy. “It just hurts so much. I thought I was over this”

Namjoon shook his head, brushing a stray tear with his thumb. “Healing isn’t linear. It’s okay to have a few setbacks. I’m right here for you.”  

The warmth of his presence began to ease the ache in your chest. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment. “Thank you,” you whispered, the sincerity of your gratitude palpable.

“Always,” he replied softly, holding you tighter. “Now come on, let me take care of you tonight.”

You sniffle, whipping your nose with the back of your hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. Just let me help,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle.

You hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. “Okay.” you finally agreed, feeling relief and vulnerability wash over you.

“Good,” he smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s order some food, and we can watch a movie, something to make you laugh while I draw you a bath.” He helps you up, a small smile managing to form on your lips when you let yourself lean into his warmth.

“Sounds perfect.”

As he set up the movie, you felt the burden on your shoulders start to lift. There was something comforting about seeing him move around the room with such confidence. He ordered room service, even adding a bottle of wine to the mix, which you gladly shared with him over dinner.

Once the bath was ready, he returned to you with a warm smile. “Everything’s ready.”

You look up at him, a tiny smile playing on your lips. “You really don’t have to do all this,” you said, but he just shrugged it off.

“Let me pamper you a little.”

With a laugh, you let him take your hand, “Alright. I accept.”

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you give a small gasp of surprise. “What are you doing?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Carrying you to the bath. It’s part of the pampering,” he said, his tone playful.

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling both giddy and relaxed as he walked you to the bathroom. The soft glow of candles flickered around the tub, the warm water inviting you in.

“Okay, okay, you can put me down now.” you said, and he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment longer.

He stepped back, watching you with a soft smile as you took in the scene. “Enjoy, and I’ll be right here.” he promised, before stepping out to give you some privacy.

As you sank into the warm water, the soothing heat enveloped you, dissolving any lingering stress from earlier. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth seep into your muscles, feeling the tightness begin to fade. After a while, you hear the door open.

“Can I come in?”

You chuckle at the absurdity of his question, “Yes,” you smile when you see him peeking his head around the door.

“How’s the bath?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

“Perfect,” you smile at him “You should join me.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick to being your attendant for now.”

You laugh, splashing a little water in his direction. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I did bring you your wine glass. I figured you might want something to enjoy while you soak.” He said, setting it down on the edge of the tub.

“That’s perfect, thank you!” You reach for the glass, taking a long sip, savouring the flavours as they wash over your tongue.

Namjoon sat on the edge of the tub, his expression turning earnest “You know, I’m really glad we’re here together,” he said, watching you. “You deserve this time to unwind.”

You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread in your chest, “I didn’t think I needed it until today.” You admitted. “But this is really nice. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad I could be here for you. You’ve been carrying so much,” his look is so soft as he watches you “It’s okay to take a break.”

You took another sip of wine, letting the warmth of his words settle in your belly.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t go out.” You place your hand on his thigh, apologizing as you look up to meet his eyes.

“It’s really no problem.” He leans closer, his voice lowering “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

With a smile, you take another sip of your glass, feeing a sense of comfort envelop you, “For now, this is perfect. Just being here with you.”

You both settled into a comfortable silence, the warm water wrapping around you and melting away the tension in your muscles. However, after some time, the water began to cool. You took one last sip of your wine, savouring it, before setting the glass down on the edge of the tub.

“Joon,” you said, glancing over at him, “I think I’m ready to get out now.”

“Need help?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think I can manage, but could you hand me a towel?”

“Sure thing.” He stood up, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and handing it to you. “Here you go.”

You took the towel, feeling its softness against your skin. As you carefully stood up, the cool air brushed over you, sending a little shiver down your spine. You wrapped the towel around yourself, feeling a mix of warmth and comfort.

“Thanks, love.” You said, stepping out of the tub and onto the plush rug.

He watched you with a soft smile, “Any time, baby.” He carefully reaches out for you, pulling you into his arms, and you melt into him, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a blanket.

You move your hands down his back, pulling back to meet his gaze, a smile creeping on your face. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s make the rest of the evening just as cozy.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he easily scooped you up, and carried you to the bed with effortless grace. You laughed in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he settles you down on the pillows.

“See? Cozy already.” He said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You giggle, pulling him closer until your lips slot together, his tongue quickly working your mouth open, tasting the lingering sweetness from the wine on your lips.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over your skin as you tangle your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and as you wrapped your legs around him, you sensed his heart racing in perfect harmony with yours. He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake, his hands exploring your body with gentle reverence.

With each touch, every lingering kiss against your skin, you feel yourself growing more aroused, your breath hitching in your throat as the heat between you quickly intensified.

You tugged at his shirt, fumbling to unbutton it, but Namjoon stopped you, instead gathering your hands in his and pinning them above your head.

“Take it easy,” He whispered against your jaw, kissing it softly, “We have all the time in the world.” His lips met yours again, and you could feel his harness press against you, as if testing you. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his but he held you pinned to the bed until you huffed and gave up, pleading him with your eyes.

“Keep your hands there for me.”

Only when he saw you obey did Namjoon’s hands begin to roam your body again, pulling away your towel and throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips and the swell of your breasts. His fingers dancing along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake and eliciting soft gasps from your lips.

You moaned when he took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before giving it a gentle bite, while squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. The sensation made you jolt, and you heard him chuckle against your skin, urging you to push further into his touch.

As his mouth worshipped your breasts, his hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you slick with desire. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, a rush of need flooding your senses as he explored your wetness slowly.

“That’s my good girl.” He murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he trailed a finger along your folds. You shivered at the sensation, gasping as he flicked your clit.

“Namjoon…”

Without warning, he slipped a finger inside, then another, curling them in a way that made your stomach flutter with delight. He applied just the right amount of pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a maddening rhythm that had you squirming with pleasure.

Once again, his is mouth found your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his tongue swirled around the hard peak. You moan, your fingers clenching the sheets as he continued to explore your body with languid ease.

Suddenly, he struck that sweet spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. A long, drawn-out moan escaped your lips, a clear sign that he had found the place that sends waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Ah, there it is,” Namjoon said with a satisfied smirk, his gaze fixed on you as you writhe beneath him, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. His fingers hit that spot again, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through you, building you higher and higher until you feel like you're teetering on the edge.

Your release hovers just out of reach, intensifying with every pulse of his hand, each scissor of his fingers within you. He maintains a steady rhythm, each move precise, the slick sound mingling with your soft, breathless pleas.

When his thumb circles your clit, the final surge tips you over the edge. Your body arches, surrendering fully as ecstasy crashes over you in waves, leaving you weak and trembling.

Namjoon holds you close as he moves up, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “That’s it baby, cum on my fingers.” His hand slows, coaxing every last tremor from you until, with a soft gasp, you weakly push him away, spent and breathless in his embrace.  

A soft moan leaves your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you watch him draw his fingers from you and bring them to his mouth. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering as he slips his fingers past his lips, his tongue cleaning them completely, savouring the taste of you with a hum of satisfaction. The sight alone sends a fresh shiver down your spine, every nerve still tingling.

He was still fully dressed, looking so fucking handsome in his suit sans the overcoat. And there you were, flushed, completely bare and fucked out just from his fingers.

But then he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, his mouth then trailing down your neck and collarbones, leaving a new path of warmth across your skin. He moves lower, pressing kisses along your chest until he settles on his knees besides the bed, looking up at you with an intensity that steals your breath away.

That image of him, gaze smouldering and devoted, is one that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

 With a gentle pull, he drags you closer to the edge of the bed, your core exposed to him. His hands glide up your legs, spreading them further apart as he goes, his eyes locked on yours as he leans forward, his beath hot against your skin.

You quickly sit up on your elbows, a hand reaching out as you speak, “You don’t have to.”

“Will you just relax woman?” Namjoon chuckles, gently pressing down on your belly in order to make you lie back down. “I want to.”

Before you could respond, he leans in, nipping at your thigh with a mischievous grin, then quickly soothes the bite with a warm flick of his tongue. The mix of pleasure and unexpected sweetness has you melting back into the mattress.

“You just enjoy.” he murmured, his fingers gently parting you folds “And let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you one more time, his eyes dark with desire and need. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to your clit, his lips soft and warm as they press against your sensitive skin. You let out a loud moan, feeling the pleasure shoot straight to your core, amplifying the lingering shockwave of your last climax, making every touch feel unbearably intense. His lips and tongue dance against your folds, gently parting you with his fingers as he drags a slow, thick line from your entrance to your clit.

“Namjoon, please.” You cry, your voice breathless, not even sure what you’re asking for. But he knows exactly what you need.

He responds with a gentle, rhythmic suction, mixed with teasing nips that made you gasp, his tongue darting in and out of your folds, exploring until you’re dizzy with pleasure. You can feel your body tensing up again, and when you make a move to close your legs, his arms hook around your thighs, keeping you spread and vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

Namjoon plunges his tongue deep inside you, his lips sealing around your entrance as he drinks you in, savouring every drop. He laps at your wetness, drawing you into further his mouth, his movements slow and indulgent, as through he wants to taste every single part of you.

The pleasure is too intense, it’s overwhelming, leaving you helpless as you mewl, thrash around and buck against his mouth. Your orgasm building deep within. But he doesn’t let up; if anything, his efforts double, his mouth and tongue moving with relentless intent, devouring you completely. Your hands tangle in his hair, your earlier protests forgotten as you lose yourself in the sensations he’s pulling from you.

“God, Namjoon, baby, you feel so good,” you breathe, your mind barely processing the confessions that tumble from your lips. “God, your mouth is divine, baby.”

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You feel him moan and groan against your core and your orgasm crashes through you. You cry out his name, feeling every single nerve in your body ignite in surges of bliss. His arms stay wrapped firmly around you, holding you steady as he shows no signs of stopping his abuse of your poor sensitive clit, drinking your release, drawing out every last tremor as you tremble, weak and utterly spent in his arms.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are glazed over with pleasure, his chin glistening with the evidence of your climax. You bite back a moan as he runs his tongue over his lips, savouring every last drop.

“You’re like heaven baby,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the blend of sensation only heightening your arousal further as his tongue moves against yours.

“Joonie, just fuck me.” You mumble in between kisses, your voice edged with desperation, aching for him to fill you up and ease the ache that he had been building inside of you. But he remains maddeningly patient, his hands moving casually over your skin, teasing and touching every inch of skin as though committing each detail to memory.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally breaks away and stands, leaving you longing for his warmth. His eyes never leave yours as he starts to undress, each movement slow and deliberate, drawing out the anticipation. His fingers work through each button of his shirt with practiced ease, revealing his skin inch by inch, his expression heavy with intent. When his shirt slides off, your eyes trace over the lean muscles of his chest and the sculpted lines of his torso, drinking in the sight of him.

You urgently motion for him to continue, but he only smirks, clearly savouring your impatience. You huff in frustration and sink back onto the mattress. Despite the growing ache within you, you’re utterly mesmerized by the way he moves, completely caught up in every motion as he lets your anticipation build with each lingering moment, before he finally reaches for his belt.

With a quiet clink, he unfastens it, his eyes watching your reaction as he lets it slide free with maddening slowness. Your breath catches, heart pounding as he unzips his pants, pushing them down just enough to reveal the hard lines of his hips. He steps out of his clothing, completely bare now, standing before you with an air of confident vulnerability that leaves you spellbound.

For a moment, he pauses, letting you drink in every detail —the muscles of his chest, the strength in his frame, his ridable thighs and his hard cock pressed against his stomach, the tip glistening with precum.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The challenge in his tone ignites a thrill within you, and you nod, your mouth suddenly dry with desire.

Slowly, he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours and he climbs on top of you, his body warm and solid as he positions himself between your legs.

“I can be on top.” You declare, suddenly finding your voice, grabbing his shoulders and trying to pull him down. But once again, Namjoon stops you.

“I’ve got this, you relax.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he eases you from your tensed position, allowing him to mould you as he pleases. His hands find your ass, squeezing it tightly as he positions you exactly how he wants.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he presses his erection against your aching pussy, the head of his cock catching against your clit, collecting your wetness. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer still, craving the connection between you.

Slowly, he enters you, filling you up in a way that takes your breath away. “Ah baby, so tight for me.” He moans against your neck, his voice thick with desire as he stretches you, despite all the foreplay. Namjoon pauses once he’s fully inside, relishing in the sensation until you begin to claw at his skin, urging him to move.

“God Namjoon, please, move. Please.” You beg, desperation flooding your voice and easing any shame you might have ever felt when it came to begging a man in bed. Yet here you were, the need in your tone was unmistakable, breaking you softly as you urged him to take action. “Please, my love.”

And obediently, Namjoon begins to move, pulling out and thrusting back into you with a steady rhythm. But with each movement, you can sense a subtle adjustment in his hips, as if he's searching for something deeper. You give him a confused look, ready to beg again, when suddenly he hits your g-spot, making you scream in pleasure.

“There we go,” he looks so proud of himself as he locks in, his hips thrusting against yours with expert precision now, in a rhythm that has you spiralling into ecstasy.

Yet, something feels different — like there’s something more here than just another steamy ‘baby-making’ session.

There is no urgency in his movements, no hurried pace. This feels more like lovemaking, like a slow and sensual dance that allows him to explore every inch of you as you surrender yourself completely to him. His lips and hands tease you constantly, leaving trails of electricity pulsing through your body as his hips maintain a steady rhythm. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as he worships you, revelling in the pleasure he gives you with each stroke of his cock.

As the tension builds within you, your breath hitches, and you feel yourself getting closer, his moans against your skin igniting the fire that threatens to consume you whole.

“Namjoon, I’m close.” You barely manage to get the words out, your voice trembling, as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity building within.

“Come for me, babygirl. Let go,” He whisperers in your ear, “I’ve got you.” And you cry out, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly, your nails dragging down his back as you urge him on.

In response, he thrusts harder, faster, driving you to the brink of pleasure until, with a final push, he sends you over the edge. You scream out as your orgasm washes over you, your body shaking with the force of your release. Namjoon follows soon after, his body tensing, then shuddering as he empties himself inside of you, filling you to the brim. He gives a few final, slow trusts, the wet, slick sounds echoing softly around you.

He collapses on top of you, skin warm and damp, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both savour the lingering warmth of your lovemaking, riding the waves of pleasure as you come down from the high together.

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

“What the fuck are you reading?” Yoongi’s eyes are wide with shock as he looks over at Namjoon, who is sitting across from him at the conference table.

“Uhm-” Namjoon glances at the cover of the book, quickly realizing his mistake “What to expect when you’re expecting” he mumbles, his face turning a deep shade of red.

“Should I even ask?”

“It would be easier for the both of us if you don’t.” Namjoon replies, avoiding eye contact, his embarrassment palpable.  

Yoongi smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Now I’m definitely curious. Are congratulations in order?”

Namjoon lets out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s not what you think.”

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying Namjoon’s discomfort. “Oh really? So, you’re just doing some light reading on pregnancy for fun?”

“More like… research,” Namjoon stammers, his cheeks still flushed. “For a friend. Just a friend.”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye. “So, I get it that this weird plan of yours worked?”

“She’s not expecting yet,” Namjoon insists, a bit too defensively, before confusion strikes him. “At least, I think. I tend to get lost when it comes to the logistics.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He lets the silence stretch, watching as Namjoon grows increasingly uncomfortable. Despite knowing he should stop talking, there’s something about Yoongi’s gaze that makes him continue.

“It’s complicated, okay? She has everything figured out, and I thought I should probably read up on it instead of sounding completely clueless.”

“Sounds like you’re in deeper than you think.” Yoongi laughs, his smirk widening. “Next thing you know, you’ll be attending prenatal classes with her.”

“Not a chance!” Namjoon shoots back, his tone half-serious and half-joking. “I just wanted to be a good friend. I didn’t sign up for this!”

Yoongi leans back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Come on, admit it. You’re secretly excited about it.”

“Maybe I am!” Namjoon bursts out, then quickly lowers his voice, glancing around the conference room as if expecting someone to overhear. “But it’s not about me. It’s about her.”

“Didn’t she say she wants to be a single parent?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Namjoon nods, his expression turning serious for a moment.

“I’m not going to interfere.” Namjoon says, shoving the book at the bottom of his backpack. “I just want to help.”

“You really like ‘helping’ her.” The teasing edge in Yoongi’s voice makes it clear this won’t end well for Namjoon, yet he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

“Don’t phrase it like that.” Namjoon’s face turns an even deeper shade of red.

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying the moment “Come on, it’s just us here. You can admit it. You’re totally invested.”

Namjoon shakes his head, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I’m just trying to be supportive, okay? She’s going through a lot, and I need to be there for her.”

“Supportive or not, sounds like there are more emotions involved than the ‘plan’ initially asked for.”

Namjoon groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please drop this?”

“Relax, your secret’s safe with me.” Yoongi says, finally easing up a bit. “But you owe me a favour for this.”

“What kind of favour?”

“Just remember who kept your secret, and maybe take me to lunch next week?”

Namjoon shakes his head, chuckling. “Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal. But no more pregnancy talks.”

“Deal.” Yoongi nods, still grinning. “But maybe don’t bring any more of those books to work. It’s not a good look.”

“Good idea.” Namjoon says, leaning back in his chair as the meeting starts to take shape.

As the discussions unfold, Namjoon finds himself glancing at the clock, his mind wandering to thoughts of you and the city exploring he’s been dreaming about. The day drags on with endless presentations and updates, and he can’t shake the desire to escape the conference room.

Finally, as the last agenda item wraps up, he feels a wave of relief wash over him, the long day is finally over. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head and quickly shoots you a text message.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Hey love. I’m done for the day. How about we grab dinner and check out the Gardens by the Bay? We can catch the skyline at night too! Baby-momma 💕:  Sounds wonderful! Can’t wait to see the skyline!

Namjoon smiles at your reply, feeling a rush of excitement.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Great. I’ll meet you at the hotel in 20. Wear something red for me 😏 Baby-momma 💕:  See you then! 🥰

He quickly gathers his things and heads out, a bounce in his step as he thinks about the evening ahead. The drive is quiet, but his mind races with possibilities. When he arrives at the hotel, he spots you waiting for him by the entrance, looking absolutely radiant in a black dress that perfectly accentuates your waist. The square neckline draws his gaze to the little mark he left just above your chest, making him smile wider.

“Hey there,” he says, a smile breaking across his face as he approaches, “You look amazing, even if it’s not red.”

You twirl playfully, your dress flowing around you. “I hope this is good enough.” you beam, your smile quickly turning into a teasing one as you take his hand and guide it to the strap of your dress. You lift it just enough to reveal a glimpse of red lace underneath. “The red is for later.”

Namjoon’s breath catches, his eyes widening with surprise and delight. “Well, now I’m even more excited for tonight.” he replies, eyes still glued to your chest.

You pull him closer, the energy between you sparking with anticipation. “Lead the way, baby.” you say, your voice playful and oh-so inviting.

He chuckles, feeling a rush of confidence as he guides you towards the exit. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure.” He teases, glancing down at your hand still intertwined with his.

The evening air is warm as you step outside, the city lights beginning to flickering to life around you.

You stop for dinner at the most charming little noodle shop, a hidden gem that Namjoon found online. And just like the reviews promised, the food was incredible.

After dinner, you head to the Gardens by the Bay, where the towering structures are beautifully illuminated against the night sky. As you stroll through the gardens, the sweet scent of flowers fills the air, and the sounds of the city fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

Namjoon leads you to a quiet spot overlooking the skyline. The city sprawls out before you, all the light shimmering like stars in the night sky.

“Wow.” you whisper, taking in the breathtaking view.

Namjoon leans closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It’s like a painting, isn’t it?” his arms wrap protectively around your waist, holding you close to his chest.

You nod, leaning into him, feeling safe and content as you stand together, soaking in the beauty of the moment. The skyline reflects in your eyes, but it’s the way he holds you close that makes everything feel so much more vibrant.

After a while, you feel his lips brush against your neck, softly kissing his way up to your ear. “Want to head back? I think I could use dessert after this.” He murmurs.

You giggle, nodding slowly and leaning into his touch. “Sounds good. I saw this little pastry shop near the hotel.”

“Not quite what I was suggesting.” he smirks against your skin and you feel a flush rising in your cheeks.

“Oh…” you reply, biting your lip to stifle a grin. “What did you have in mind?”

“Didn’t I tell you? You taste like heaven.”

Your heart races at his words, and you can’t help but smile back at him. “That sounds tempting.”

“Good.” He kisses your neck once more, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze as you begin to walk back towards the hotel.

As you stroll, the city lights twinkle above, creating a magical backdrop. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter punctuating your words. Every shared glance feels charged with anticipation, heightening your senses and making the moment feel even more special.

When you finally reach the hotel, Namjoon keeps his word. Fucking you good and hard into the mattress, over the couch and pressed up against the window, overlooking the city as you come completely undone around his cock.

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

“Okay, since when does making a baby require you travel to Singapore?” Sumi looks at you, utterly bewildered.

The little coffee shop was cozy, its warm, pink ambiance wrapping around you like a comforting hug, chasing away the chill of a long workday. Aera suggested the place, and now, the three of you are huddled together at a small table, indulging in some much-needed girl talk.

You stare at the picturesque slice of sponge cake on your plate, next to the steaming cup of coffee you’ve been craving all day.  

“I was sad, and he just did a nice thing for me.” you mumble between spoonfuls of cake.

“Wow. When I’m sad Jungkook just tells me to cheer up!” Aera replies, her eyes wide with disbelief, mirroring Sumi’s expression.  

You chuckle a little, completely absorbed by the dessert.

“Seriously! How is that even fair?” Sumi adds, shaking her head. “You’ve got yourself a good one over there.”

You chuckle, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth at their reactions. “It wasn’t like that. We just had a moment, you know?”

“Sure, a moment that requires international travel?” Aera teases, nudging you playfully.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling “It’s not like that! He just helped me unwind.”

Sumi laughs, shaking her head. “This is a whole different kind of ‘helping’ you’ve got going on.”

You take a sip from your coffee, feeling flustered under their relentless stares. “Can we just enjoy our cakes without analyzing my life choices?”

“Never! This is so much better than cake!” Aera declares dramatically, making you all laugh. “Spill the tea, babe.”

“I would, but there’s no tea to spill.”

“You’re a lying liar.” Sumi smirks, “I think I speak for everyone at the table when I say, Namjoon was basically undressing you with his eyes the last time we were at Seokjin’s.”

You feel your cheeks heat up remembering that night- how intense his gaze felt, the way he pulled you into the spare bedroom and kissed you until you were breathless, leaving you both flustered and frustrated.

 “What? No! He wasn’t.” you protest, though your voice lacks any conviction.

Aera leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that chemistry!”

You did feel it- The same way you felt him all the way back to your apartment.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to deflect, “He was just being friendly!”

“Friendly? Please!” Sumi rolls her eyes. “He’s totally smitten.”

“I really don’t see it.” You confess, taking a cautious sip of your coffee to buy some time.

Aera raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “Really? You think he spends that much time with you just because he’s being nice?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve always been close.” you reply, trying to sound more convincing that you feel. “It’s not like he’s making any moves.”

“My dude! You’ve been sleeping together for what? Three months? How is that not a move?” Sumi argues, quickly realizing her slip up.

“You’ve been what?!” Aera’s eyes blow wide, her mouth dropping open in shock.

Your face burns as you scramble for words. “Wait, wait, wait! It’s not like that!” you stammer, panic rising in your chest. “We’re not— I mean, we are. But it’s complicated!”

Sumi smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Oh, it sounds pretty straightforward to me! You’ve been sharing a bed for months and you didn’t think to tell me?” Aera’s expression shifts through a whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s not something I just bring up!” you protest, trying to collect your thoughts. “He’s just helping me get pregnant. We’ve been navigating this… situation, and it just didn’t feel right to tell anyone.”

“I know because I came up with the idea!” Sumi beams, overly proud of herself.

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity piqued. “So, you really are sleeping with him? Like, romantically?”

“Only recently!” you admit, your heart racing. “And it’s still really new and confusing.”

“Confusing or not, this sounds like a plot twist waiting to happen.” Sumi laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Aera’s eyes widen even further, and Sumi bursts into laughter. “Girl, you’re in deeper than you realize!”

“Can you keep your voice down?” you say, glancing around the cozy shop to make sure no one’s listening. “It’s not that simple!”

“But it sounds like it is!” Aera is shocked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, what’s it like? I mean, are you two a thing now?”

You fidget with your cup. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just helping me get pregnant.”

Sumi raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? You think he’d go to all this trouble if he didn’t have feelings for you?”

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. “I mean, he’s just being nice. He wants to help me, that’s all.”

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity growing. “But you like him, right? I mean, there has to be something more than just… helping.”

You feel your cheeks warm. “Of course I like him! But that doesn’t mean he feels the same way.”

“You need to tell him!” Aera urges, her excitement bubbling over. “You can’t just keep pretending it’s all casual.”

At that, you feel the bubble burst and reality crashes in. The consequences of your actions suddenly feel all too real.

How could you even bring it up with him?

Relationships always have a way of complicating things. Even if by some miracle, you two become a couple, it could easily spiral out of control. The thought of him potentially leaving your life is a risk you can’t bear. 

After all, if this is a number’s game, 50% of marriages end in divorce. And the odds are far worse for dating. 

“No. I’m fine as is.” you glance down at your coffee, stirring it absentmindedly. “This is just about the baby and nothing more.”

Sumi furrows her brow, unconvinced. “But what if it’s more for him? You could miss out on something special.”

“It’s safer this way.” You insist, though doubt creeps in your voice “I don’t want to complicate things.”

“Complications are already there.” Aera points out gently, “You’re both invested. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of their words settling heavily on your chest. “I want the baby. That’s my only focus right now.”

Sumi’s expression softens. “But what if you could have both? A baby and a relationship? Isn’t that worth exploring?”

The idea lingers, tempting yet terrifying. You want to believe that could happen, but the fear of risking everything holds you back. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Sumi leans in, her voice gentle but firm. “But what if there’s more to gain than just what you might lose? You both care about each other—why not see where that can take you?”

You chew your lip, caught between the fear of the unknown and the hope for something deeper. “I don’t want to push him away. If I tell him how I really feel, what if he doesn’t feel the same? It could ruin everything.”

Aera nods, understanding but not letting you off the hook. “But keeping it bottled up could ruin things too. You’re both navigating this together, right? Just talk to him.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I planned any of this!” you sigh, frustration creeping in. “I just wanted a baby. This was supposed to be a straightforward arrangement!”

“And sometimes the best things come from the unexpected,” Sumi counters, using her favourite line. “Look at how much you’ve already shared. Maybe it’s time to be honest about your feelings?”

You sit back in your chair, the weight of their words sinking in. What if this really could be something more? But then the fear rushes back in—what if it all falls apart?

“No. We have this arrangement, and it works.” You state firmly. “That’s where this conversation ends.”

Aera opens her mouth to respond, but Sumi places a calming hand on her arm. “Okay, we’ll drop it. We just want what’s best for you.” she says gently, her eyes still filled with concern.

“Yeah, I get it.” you reply, appreciating their support even as you feel the tension in the air. “I really do. But right now, I need to focus on the baby and what that means for me.”

Aera leans back, her expression softening. “Just promise us you’ll think about it. You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

“The plan makes me happy. Namjoon just isn’t part of it.”

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

The two lines stare innocently at you. The test waits patiently for you on your desk, and each time you walk by a new flutter of emotions washes over you.

You were pregnant. You had to be- You took five tests. They all came back positive.

You blink again at the small plastic device, feeling the reality of the situation settle in. Five tests, all confirming what you’ve been hoping and working for.

What now?

Sumi 🏥: Welcome to club knocked-up.

The phone buzzes, the message arriving alongside your blood work results. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you read Sumi’s message. Her humour cuts through the tension, and for a moment, you feel like you could float. Club knocked-up. It feels surreal, like stepping into a world you’ve only heard about from others.

You typed back quickly, your fingers dancing over the screen.

Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you, Sumi! Can’t believe this is happening. 

The blood work is another confirmation. Your mind races with questions: What was the next step? How will you tell the others?

Sumi🏥: You’ve got this! We need to meet up and celebrate! Idiot 🌺💫: Yes! I’ll add it to my to-do list!! Sumi🏥: 🙄 🙄 🙄 Sumi🏥: I also pencilled in an appointment with Dr. Mi-Ja. Best Dr I know. (Even if she’s a stuck-up bitch at the watercooler). Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you. Love you 💕 Sumi🏥: Right. Sure. Just tell me if u want me to add Namjoon as a guest or nah. Idiot 🌺💫: Nah.

Three letters and a punctuation mark. That's all it took to tie up your resolve with a pretty bow of logic. He had done enough; you didn’t need to bring him into this any further. From now on, it would be just you.

The appointment comes as a welcomed relief. Dr. Mi-ja exuded kindness and experience, her calming presence putting you at ease. She laid out the next steps and the best options available, cementing that sense of control you’ve been longing for in this new chapter of your life.

The next few weeks rolled on by, the initial shock of the pregnancy transforming into an all-consuming obsession. Your agenda and calendar became constant companions, filled with notes and reminders. You dove headfirst into planning-diaper storage solutions, the perfect formula temperature, baby-proofing the rooms- each detail meticulously organized and perfectly planned. 

 But, as it turns out, you could factor in morning sickness as a part of the package, but you can’t really plan for it… some days you are perfectly fine, and others, you were completely sidelined, battling nausea while trying to tackle your growing to-do’s.

One minute you’re dreaming about baby names, and the next, you’re sprinting for the bathroom, feeling like your world is spinning.

Ginger tea and saltines became a new staple in your home. A makeshift remedy for the relentless waves of nausea. The mere scent of coffee knotted your stomach, an ironic twist for someone who once had more coffee than blood running through their veins.

But despite the discomfort, you kept life moving forward. Now more grateful than ever that you work in a hospital and have an arsenal of doctors on quick-dial for any inquiries you might meet along the way.

Still, Sumi was your constant support, always checking in and making sure you had everything you needed. Even when you insisted you were just fine, with your head in the toilet. “You can’t fool me.” she’d tease over the phone, her laughter lightening the mood just a smidge.

You only hope you manage to keep the contents of your stomach intact when Namjoon comes over with dinner. It was Sunday, and you hadn’t seen him since you got the results. The thought of facing him stirring a cocktail of nerves and excitement inside you. What would you say? What would he say?  Would it be awkward?

As you tidied up your space, the familiar sound of a mommy-to-be audiobook filled the background, almost pulling you out of your deep thoughts. You move on to set the table, choosing instead to focus on the details: napkins folded neatly, an empty vase in the middle-since the smell of flowers made you sick-, plates arranged just-so, and a cushy ambiance created by the setting sun peeking through the sheer curtains.

You didn’t plan the sun. But it added a beautiful touch to the atmosphere, casting a golden hue over everything.

The sound of the key in the lock sends your heart racing. You take a big breath, steeling yourself as Namjoon enters, a big smile on his face and a bag of take-out in his hands.

“Hey! I missed you!” he said, stepping inside and wrapping you in a tight embrace, his lips sweetly meeting yours for a quick kiss.

The warm scent of bulgogi drifted through the air, making your stomach rumble-despite your best efforts to quell the impending nausea.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he murmurs in your hair, making your stomach twist again, only this time with guilt. His warmth surrounds you, but the reality of your situation gnawed at the edges of your mind.

He doesn’t know, so he’s still acting like he has some kind responsibility towards you.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you reply, pulling back to look up at him. His smile is genuine, deepening the dimples on his cheeks, only stressing your fluttering nerves further and bringing a fresh wave of discomfort over you.

He holds up the take-out bag with a grin. “I brought Bulgogi and all the fixings. Figured we could have a little feast.”

“Great.” you said, trying to match his enthusiasm, but your voice falls flat.  Much like your actions, because you feel more like a robot as you lead him to the table, quickly taking a seat and pouring yourself a tall glass of water.

As Namjoon begins to unpack the food, the rich aroma wafted towards you, and before you could even react, a wave of nausea hits you. You jump up and dash to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Once inside, you leaned over the toilet, feeling the contents of your stomach spill out. Each heave bringing a mix of frustration and embarrassment. You didn’t even notice the sound of the door creaking open, too caught up in your misery to register it.

“Oh shit,” Namjoon says softly, his voice filled with concern. You feel his hands collect your hair away from your face, gently rubbing your back.

You’re too embarrassed to look at him. But his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. He doesn’t say anything. Just stays there with you, holding your hair back and massaging your back until you’re done.

Once you feel comfortable standing up, he brings you a wet washcloth and a glass of water. You sit on the edge of the bathtub, grateful for the small gestures of care amidst the tension that hangs between you.

A heavy silence settles, broken only by the sound of running water from the sink. You know Namjoon isn't oblivious; he's pieced together the clues—the missed calls, the unread messages—and now the truth hangs in the air like an unspoken accusation.

He doesn’t rush to speak, instead, taking his time to look at you, weighing his next words carefully.

“Congratulations.”

You give a small nod, not quite feeling like celebrating right now.

“How long have you known?” His voice is raw with hurt as he breaks the silence, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You draw in a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “A few weeks now.”

He blinks, the realization settling in. “A few weeks?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and pain. “When did you plan on telling me?”

“I-I don’t know.”

The weight of those words hung thick between you, like a dense fog, blurring the outlines of what was sure to be a life-altering conversation. You could see the cogs turning in Namjoon’s mind, processing the truth that lay before him.

“You plan for everything-” There is a mix of emotions that crosses his face in that split second, somehow, heartache being the most evident of them all “Is this why you’ve been ignoring me?”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The weight of your decision feels heavier than before, almost like it could crush your chest under the pressure.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to involve you any more than necessary.”

Namjoon’s laugh is bitter, devoid of any humour, “Is that what you think I am? Just a means to an end? Someone to use and then discard when you no longer have need for me?”

You flinch at the accusation, the pain in his words cutting deeper than you could have ever imagined. “No, that’s not it at all!” You insist, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulls away from your grasp.

“Then what is it?” He demands. “Because from where I’m standing it looks like you used me. You used my trust, my emotions, and then you tossed me aside like a piece of trash when you got what you wanted.”

You shake your head, tears filling your eyes “Namjoon, we had an agreement.”

“Yes. We also set up rules- rules, mind you- that we willingly broke with the first opportunity that showed up.”

The tension crackles in the air, and you feel your heart race as he takes a step back, putting distance between you. His words sting, but they cut close to the truth. You know he’s right; the lines blurred the moment you started sharing a bed.

You had anticipated every scenario, but this—seeing the hurt in Namjoon’s eyes, the disappointment etched across his face—was something you hadn’t prepared for

“Namjoon, please…” you plead, searching for the right words. “This wasn’t what I intended. I wanted a baby, yes, but I never meant for things to get complicated like this.”

He looks at you, his expression softening just a fraction, but the hurt is still there. You’ve never seen him like this- grasping at his emotions, struggling to keep them contained. He falls silent, looking away from you, and you sense the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re cruel,” he says your name, the pain evident in his voice, as if the word itself is a wound. The rawness of his voice stabs at your heart, each word a reminder of the walls you’ve singlehandedly build between you.

You look away, letting your tears spill, no words fit for the damages you’ve caused.

 “What about my feelings? My part in this? Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I’d want to be involved in this kid’s life too? In your life?” Namjoon continues, his voice slightly rising with a mix of frustration and pain. Each word causing you to sob further, and you can’t help but flinch at the reality of what you’ve done.

“I didn’t think-” you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly! You don’t think,” he interrupts, his hands balling into fists by his side “You just plan.” He lets out a frustrated breath, “I actually thought you loved me back. God. I’m such an idiot.” He turns away, his back facing you, as if the distance between you somehow lessens the weight of the moment.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable, filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Namjoon, please,” you call out, your voice cracking. “Don’t go.”

He takes a slow, deliberate breath before responding, his voice low and strained. “What else can I do? You’ve already made your choice.”

Your heart aches at the hurt in his expression. “I was scared, Namjoon. Scared of how you’d react, scared of what this all meant.”

“Scared?” He scoffs, the bitterness returning to his voice. “Scared of what? Of being a family? Of letting me in?” He shakes his head, as if he can’t comprehend the distance you’ve created.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling the tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to get complicated like this. I wanted to share this with you, I really did.”

He takes a step back, the distance between you growing again. “You wanted a baby, not me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what hurts the most.”

“Namjoon…” you say, your voice breaking.

He turns away, facing the door, the weight of his decision clear in his posture. “I need to go,” he says, his voice heavy with finality.

“Don’t,” you urge, panic rising, “Please, just… let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t.” Namjoon replies, his voice strained. “I can’t do this right now.”

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

You never liked waiting rooms.

There was something about the sterile white walls, the sickly-looking people, the occasional coughing and the wailing baby that made your stomach churn with anxiety.

Normally, you’d use your ‘connections’ to skip the line, asking your colleagues to check you out when they had a moment.  

But this time felt different. Surrounded by a sea of pregnant women, each one rounder and fuller than the next, guilt washed over you for even considering it.

So instead, you settled in next to a woman with a crying baby, constantly refreshing your messaging app, hoping Namjoon would respond to your messages.

You: First ultrasound appointment. I’d be glad if you can make it…

And you forwarded the message from the hospital with all the details about the appointment.

The message was flagged as read since you sent it, two weeks ago. But no response came.

The minutes stretched on, each second amplifying your unease. You glanced around the waiting room, feeling like an outsider among the expecting mothers. Their laughter and chatter felt detached from reality, and you couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

You opened the messaging app again, staring at Namjoon’s contact. Maybe if you focused hard enough, those three little typing dots would appear. A follow-up message might coax a reply, but a small voice warned you against it. You didn’t want to seem desperate, even though you felt that way deep down.

Taking a deep breath, you put your phone down and tried to centre yourself. You could hear the soft coos of the woman besides you as she rocked her baby, and you took a moment to admired her calming demeanour. It was such a stark contrast to your own swirling thoughts, that you found a bit of peace in her tranquillity.

 After a moment, the woman caught your eye. “Is this your first?”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile as you placed a hand over your still flat stomach “Yeah, I’m a nervous wreck.”  

You weren’t quite sure why you felt compelled to open up to this random lady, yet here you were, being more honest with a stranger than you had been with your partner.

She smiled back, her big eyes filled with warmth. “That’s normal. Just take it one step at a time. You’ll be just fine.”

You appreciated her kindness, but at that moment, it did little to ease any of the mounting worries you’ve been collecting since your last conversation with Namjoon. The pain in his eyes was still etched in your memory, surfacing at the most inopportune of times and reminding you of just how easily you could tangle up your own life.  Each thought felt like a thread unravelling, pulling you deeper into a sea of uncertainty- about your future, your relationship, your entire damned plan.

You checked the message again, hoping for something-anything- from Namjoon. Still, nothing changed.

Then, faster than you expected, a nurse called out your name. You barely fumbled to collect all your belongings before heading into her office, your heart feeling more like a speck of sand in your chest. Each of your steps felt heavy, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you harder still.

Dr Mi-ja greeted you with the usual warmth and quickly launched into a series of tests and questions about your well-being— checking vitals, asking about symptoms, energy levels, nausea and anything else that seemed relevant.

“Have you had any cravings or aversions?” she inquired, glancing up from her clipboard.

“Just a strong aversion to hospital waiting rooms,” you joked, forcing a small strained laugh.

She chuckled, her head shaking lightly “That’s a common one. But overall, it seems like you’re doing well. Now, let’s move on to the ultrasound. That’s the exciting part!”

As you followed her to the ultrasound room, a mix of excitement and nervousness boils in you with every step down the hall. This was one of those moments you had dreamed about, meticulously planning every detail for-the outfit you’d wear, how you’d react, all the little other moments that filled your mind. 

Yet, as the moment draws near, a wave of sadness washed over you at the thought that Namjoon wasn’t by your side. Even if he hadn’t been part of the plan initially, you had hoped he would be here to share this significant milestone. His absence felt heavy, casting a bittersweet shadow over the excitement. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the experience ahead, but the longing for his presence lingered in the back of your mind.  

“Is the father coming?” Dr Mi-ja asks, sparing a glance in your direction as you enter the ultrasound room. You paused, hesitant to speak the truth out loud.

“I don’t think he can make it,” you finally admit, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

Dr Mi-ja nodded, her expression understanding. “It’s okay if he can’t be here. What matters is that you’re here, and we’ll take very good care of you.”

You appreciated her kindness, but it did little to ease the pang of discouragement as you accepted this new reality.

As you settled on the examination table, Dr Mi-ja prepared the ultrasound machine. “I’m going to need you to unbutton your shirt.” She said gently. You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before following her instructions. Sitting at the edge of the table, you began unbuttoning your shirt, taking your time as you wrestled with the lingering sadness.

Just then, a loud bang echoed through the room, startling you. Sumi's voice carried through the door, her muffled voice scolding whoever slammed against the door, before the ID swipe beeped, signalling the door had unlocked. In walks a slightly pissed Sumi, closely followed by a very flustered Namjoon.

“Sorry we’re late! Someone wasn’t aware you had to fill out forms at the hospital,” She shot a glare at Namjoon, before addressing you, as if you had somehow contributed to that chaos.

“This is a private meeting.” Dr Mi-ja began, preparing to escort them out. But you stopped her.

“No. This is the father.” As you introduced Namjoon, a new wave of emotions crashes over you. But Namjoon stepped forward confidently, his eyes reflecting relief and apprehension.

“Sorry for the mix-up.” he said, glancing at Sumi, who looked taken aback but quickly masked her surprise with a supportive smile.

Dr Mi-ja softened her stance, clearly sensing the significance of the moment. “Alright then. Let’s proceed without further interruptions, preferably.” She shot a pointed look Sumi, but her demeanour shifted to one of professionalism as she gestured to the both of you to take a seat.

You caught Sumi roll her eyes, muttering a “Bitch” under her breath before she exited the room with a soft click of the door behind her. 

As you settle back onto the examination table, your gaze met Namjoon’s. There is no shock or hesitation in his eyes- just a steady presence that made you feel a little more grounded, even as the situation felt heavier with him there. He offered you a reassuring smile, and for the first time in weeks, the clouds that loomed in your brain began to shift, even if just slightly.

“Now, let’s see how your little one is doing,” Dr Mi-ja said, smiling at both of you.

Namjoon’s hand found yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his grip anchoring you before the anticipation and nerves got a chance to settle.

Dr Mi-ja applied the cool gel to your abdomen, the sensation catching you off guard. “Are you ready?” she asked, glancing at you with an encouraging smile.

You nod, your heart racing.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” she said, positioning the wand with careful precision.

As the screen flickered to life, your breath caught in your throat.

There it was—a tiny blob pulsing rhythmically, the heartbeat a steady echo that filled the room. It was surreal, overwhelming, and suddenly everything else outside this tiny moment faded away.

“There’s your baby,” Dr Mi-ja said, her voice warm with enthusiasm. “And that heartbeat is strong.”

You looked over at Namjoon, who was completely absorbed in the image on the screen, his eyes shimmering with wonder.

The doctor continued, tracing the contours of the tiny form. “Everything looks good so far. The heartbeat is strong, and the measurements are right on track. You’re about ten weeks along, correct?”

Your heart swelled with a mix of joy and relief. “Yes, that’s right.”

Namjoon’s fingers tightened around yours, a silent promise as he gazed at the screen, his expression softening even further.

“Everything looks normal,” Dr Mi-ja confirmed. “Your next appointment in a few weeks to monitor progress.”

A sense of reassurance washes over you. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steadying now, as you absorbed the information.

As the ultrasound session wrapped up, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Namjoon while Dr Mi-ja cleaned up and provided her parting advice- encouraging you to reach out with any concerns, telling you about the parenting classes- and the handover of a written confirmation for your next appointment.

You buttoned your shirt back up, catching Namjoon’s thoughtful gaze, his head bowed respectfully, offering you a semblance of privacy, despite having seen every inch of your skin already. In his presence, your heart ached anew.

It was always in these quiet moments that the weight of everything settled more clearly upon your shoulders—times when you couldn’t retreat into your agenda or your planner. In his presence, you were compelled to confront your emotions, even without a single word being exchanged between you.

As you stepped into the hospital parking lot, your uncertainty clung to you like a shadow, whispering doubts in your ear. You knew you needed to speak, to give a voice to the turmoil that twisted in your heart before he disappeared again. You needed to apologize, and even if he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive you, you longed for even a crumb of closure.

But just as you prepared to part ways, Namjoon glanced over at you; his eyes filled with a depth that kept you rooted in your place, making it even harder to find your voice.

“Let’s grab lunch and talk,” he suggested, his voice steady.

And you could only give a shy nod in response.

You never imagined the first meaningful conversation with Namjoon would take place at a sandwich shop near his apartment. The inviting little deli was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and savoury fillings. As you settled at a corner table, the weight of the morning’s events unwrapped around you, mingling with the scent of sandwiches and freshly brewed coffee.

Namjoon ordered a turkey club while you opted for a BLT, and a long, uneasy silence settled between you. The hum of conversation around you felt distant, your mind still trying to conjure just what you were about to say to him.

“You look good,” he said, breaking the silence, his eyes warm and sincere as they met yours across the small table. A rush of warmth flooded through you at his compliment, a small comfort amidst the tension.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him despite the earnestness reflected in his gaze.

And the silence wrapped around you once more.

The sandwiches arrived, yet neither one of you made a move to eat, the plates sitting untouched between you, like a barrier that mirrored the distance you felt.

“I didn’t think you’d come today,” you ventured, daring to meet his gaze, memories of your last conversation flicking through your mind.

“I almost didn’t.” Namjoon admitted. “But I figured you might appreciate some support.” He offered a warm smile, adding “Not that you need it.”

His last comment drew an unsatisfied laugh from your lips, helping to ease some of the apprehension that had backed up inside you. “I need it more than you know.”

Namjoon leaned back, his expression contemplative. “Seeing the ultrasound… it’s a big deal,” he said gently, a seriousness in his tone that hinted at the weight of what had happened between you. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You deserve to be here.” you admitted, “You’re a part of this as much as I am.”

Namjoon studied you quietly, the warmth in his gaze revealing a combination of gratitude and vulnerability “It means a lot to hear you say that.” He said, glancing around the shop before adding “I really want to be a part of this baby’s life. However we agree to do that.”

His words settle heavily between you, and you could sense the tension beneath the surface.

“I want that too,” you replied, your voice trembling as you fought to maintain steadiness. “I’m sorry I made everything so complicated.”

“It’s okay. I helped,” he said, a hint of self-awareness in his tone. “But the baby shouldn’t have to pay for our mistakes.”

You nodded, the gravity of his words wrapping around you like a shroud and you instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly.

“You’re right.”

Namjoon was careful choosing his next words, concern deeply etched on his face before he finally spoke. “But that might mean letting go of some of your control.”

His words struck you like ice, sending a chill down your spine and igniting a surge of defensiveness within you. You straightened, meeting his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “Control?” You question, vexed. “I’m just trying to ensure everything goes perfectly! Isn’t that what you want? A stable life for our child?"

“I know,” Namjoon replied softly, holding your gaze. “But we both have to be on the same page. It can’t be just your decision alone.”

Tears started to sting your eyes, and you angrily blink them away, choosing instead to look out the window at the busy streets.

“All I’ve ever done has been for this baby. You know that.” You say, jaw set, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

Namjoon says your name softly, drawing your attention back to him “You plan every detail obsessively. It’s like you’re trying to control everything around you. You can’t even enjoy the moment because you’re too busy scheduling the next ten!"

"It’s better than living like you do!” you shot back, your anger bubbling to the surface. “Letting life tremble all over you only to look back and make sense of it! At least I’m trying to prevent a disaster, not understand it! "

“And what about us? Aren’t we a disaster?” he pressed; his voice steady but laced with emotion. “I feel like I’m just a means to an end for you. Like this baby is just another project for you to manage. You don’t even see me anymore.”

Your breath quickened as you leaned forward, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “That’s not true! I care about you- goddamn it, I love you! But I can’t let my guard down. Not when I have so much at stake!”

“But I want to be a part of this!” Namjoon said earnestly, leaning in closer. “I want to be involved, not just the guy you called to help you make the baby. This is supposed to be a journey we take together!”

You ran a hand through your hair, frustration still clawing at your insides. You didn’t even realize you’ve been crying until you felt the warmth on your cheeks.

 “I... I don’t know how to do that Namjoon. I’ve been hurt too many times. It’s just easier to plan than to hope.” A wave of defeat crashed over you with that admission, and in an instant, the floodgates opened, releasing a torrent of unspoken fears and buried tears.  

Namjoon leans back slightly, giving you the space to breathe.

“Planning is fine, but it can’t be everything. We need to figure this out together. We need to create space for our uncertainties.”

Your shoulders sagged, the tension in your body softening. “I just… I’m scared.” You hiccupped in between sobs “What if I let go and it all falls apart? What if I lose you?”

 “We’ll figure it out. Together.”  He reached for your hand, gently squeezing it. “But we can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.”

You finally met his gaze, feeling vulnerability flickering within you like never before. “I don’t want to push you away. I just... don’t know how to trust.”’

“Then let me help you learn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you look down at your clasped hands, tears spilling freely, each drop a silent testament to the weight you’ve carried alone for so long.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy or that we won’t argue,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “But I’ll always fight for us. I just need you to meet me halfway.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, unravelling the layers of your defences, leaving you feeling exposed and fragile. Yet, amidst the vulnerability, a flickering of hope ignited in your chest- a whisper that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something new, something different. That something you’ve been looking for…

Namjoon watched as tears spilled down your cheeks, his heart aching at the sight. He reached across the table, offering you a handful of napkins. “Here,” he said softly, his voice an anchor amidst your chaos.

You took them, dabbing at your eyes and blowing your nose, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. The weight of everything hung between you, thickening the air with each second you stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your lip quivering “I didn’t mean to break down like this.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, his expression as gentle as it always was with you. “You’re allowed to feel, to let it out.”

The warmth of his understanding buoyed you, validating your feelings and bringing you closer to the surface, where you could finally breathe again, where you could be weak and yet know that he would never use that to harm you. Because your hurt, in turn was his own. He understood that your struggles affected him too.

“Joon, I know we’re in the middle of a fight. But do you think you could hold me just a bit?”

Namjoon’s gaze softened at your request, a sliver of surprise giving way to warmth. Without hesitation, he slid his chair closer, wrapping his arms around you and you leaned into him. The familiar scent of him grounding you amidst the storm of emotions as you nuzzled closer.

“I’ve got you.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he tucked you against his side.

In his embrace, the world outside faded- the bustling kitchen, the other patrons- leaving just the two of you, cocooned in a fragile moment of closure.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

He tightened his hold, his breath warm against your hair. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling. We’re in this together, remember?”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. The vulnerability of the moment washed over you like a wave, only this time, it was comforting rather than overwhelming.

“Yes. Together.”

As you sat there, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ears, grounding you. “But did you hear the part where I said ‘I love you’? because I can say it again if you need me to.”  You said after a moment, your voice still soft as you looked up at him.

Namjoon’s eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “I heard you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “And you already know I love your right? Because I can say it again too”

You couldn’t help but smile at his playful response. “I do know,” you replied, feeling warmth blossom in your chest. “But hearing it never hurts.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, the sound soothing your frayed nerves. “Well then, I love you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I love you more than words can say.”

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

“Ah, fuck, fuck, Namjoon, baby, fuck.” You moaned; your fingers twisted in the sheets as he worked his magic in between your legs. Your huge belly was in the way, blocking your view of him, but you could feel the warmth of his body, and the flick of his tongue against your clit.

You had read all the books, knew all the facts about pregnancy and sex. But nothing could have prepared you for this feeling. For the way Namjoon made your body come alive with each pass of his tongue. You completely lost count of how many times you came, your legs trembling and breath coming in sharp, short gasps.

You were so in the moment you didn’t even register the fact that Namjoon was giggling like a little kid against your pussy instead of actually eating it.

“What?” you were completely dazed.

“You can’t cuss like that! The baby might hear you.” Namjoon said as he came up for air, still grinning from ear to ear, dimples evident on his cheeks.

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful demeanour. "Oh, you're so funny. The baby can't hear me, he’s still in the womb."

"But still, I don't want my child to come out into this world thinking his mother has such a dirty mouth," he said, his tone serious but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Well, I'll watch it then," you said, your hand reaching out to playfully mess up his hair. "But for now, I think you have some unfinished business to attend to." You place your foot on his shoulder and push him back down.

Namjoon’s grin widened as he lowered his head between your legs once again, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his tongue and the knowledge that you crated a life with this amazing man.

 As you reach your climax, you let out a loud moan, not caring if the baby can hear you or not. Namjoon continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're left breathless and satisfied.

And then you gasp suddenly, not the pleasure-induced gasps you've been slipping out for the past hour, but like realisation just struck you.

"Namjoon!" you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pinching him to draw his attention. At that Namjoon almost jumps out of his skin, panic settling in.

“What? Is the baby coming? Did I hurt you?"

"No! No! Look!" you quickly grab his hand and place it over your belly, right as your little baby boy decided to kick again. "He's moving!"

Namjoon's face lit up with awe as he felt the baby kick for the first time.

“Little Cosmo is moving!”

You groan, falling back into the pillows, “We are not naming him Cosmo!”

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

Epilogue:

“Joonie! Dae!” you called out, your voice ringing out over the crashing waves “Come over for sun screen!”  

The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting a golden glow over the tropical island. Waves lapped gently against the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that blended perfectly with the distant sounds of waves breaking against the cliffs, and occasional seagull that seemed to laugh at the world below.

You’re secretly glad you listened to Namjoon’s advice to go on this trip in June instead of September as you initially planned. You thought visiting during a quieter time would help you avoid the crowds, but it turns out that’s not a concern at all when your sweet husband can simply rent a private beach for you.

You spread the towel on the warm sand, glancing around at the vibrant scenery- the lush palm trees swaying in the light breeze, and the sparking blue ocean stretching endlessly before you.

A moment later you spotted them- Namjoon, his broad smile bright against the backdrop of the beach, wearing his swimming trunks and looking absolutely delicious, holding Dae in his arms. The little one’s laughter was infectious, bubbling up like the waves crashing nearby. Dae’s tiny limbs waved in the air, delighting in the freedom of the open space.

“Coming!” Namjoon replied, his tone playful. He jogged over, the sun glinting off his skin, showcasing his pretty abs and the carefree spirit of the day.

You watched, your heart swelling with happiness, as he settled down on the towel next to you, carefully placing Dae between you.

“Alright, little man,” you said, taking the sunscreen and squirting a generous amount into your palm “Time to protect this adorable face of yours.”

Dae giggles, showcasing his dimples, squirming in delight as you rubbed the sunscreen on his cheeks. His soft, sun-kisses skin felt warm beneath your fingertips, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly he was growing. Just a few months ago, he was a tiny bundle in your arms, and now he was a full-grown toddler, potty trained and everything.

And just like planned, he was the perfect mix between you and Namjoon. You noticed that the first time he started crawling- how he would stop to investigate his surroundings, cautiously moving around as if he was planning his next best step. But when it came to Namjoon, he felt safe enough to throw caution to the wind. 

Your heart almost stopped the first time you saw your precious little angel climb to the top of the tallest slide in the park, a feat that made you want to rush over and pull him back. But there he was, beaming with confidence, looking back at his father with pure trust in his eyes, before fully leaping off the edge without a hint of hesitation, knowing Namjoon was right there to catch him.

You quickly retrieved Dae’s bucket hat before he managed to squirm off, expertly equipping him, pushing his dark hair out of the way adjusting the hat snugly on his head. “My handsome little man,” you said proudly, earning a delighted squeal from Dae, followed by an enthusiastic “Mommy, go splash!”

“Okay, okay, go splash.” You giggle, letting him dart ahead towards the water. The moment his little feet hit the wet sand, he was off like a rocket, his laughter ringing out as he ran towards the waves.

You followed closely behind, your heart light with joy as you watched him dip his toes into the ocean.

He paused for a moment, eyes wide with wonder, before jumping back as a wave rolled in, soaking his legs. He laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s it baby!”

Namjoon walked over, his arms wrapping against your waist, pulling you into his hard chest, placing a quick kiss on your neck. “You know, I’ve been thinking-”

“That’s not good,” you tease, a smile spreading across your face as your gazes stayed on Dae, who was poking at the sand.

Namjoon chuckled softly, biting your neck playfully. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts again, making sure you listen before continuing “maybe it’s time we give Dae a little sister.”

You turn to him, surprised and delighted. “A sister? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I can just imagine Dae being the best big brother. He’s so loving and protective.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to wait so long for that.” You teased, your heart racing at the thought.

Namjoon’s eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe,” you said, a playful glint in your eyes. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about this too?”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” he replied, leaning in closer, his expression a mix of excitement and surprise. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and the joy of the moment. “I guess we’ll just have to see where life takes us.”

Namjoon’s smile grew wider, and he pulled you in for a quick kiss, but it was quickly interrupted by a little wet, sandy hand pulling at your leg.

“Mommy! Look!”

Dae’s eyes shimmered as he held up his tiny little fist, opening it to reveal a little yellow crab desperately trying to escape.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” you laugh, bending down to get a closer look.

The little creature wiggled its legs, clearly unimpressed with its current situation.

240112 - jimin for harper's bazaar japan

Swooning in my head right now…I can totally hear Namjoon saying that line! Can’t wait to read this fic!!!

And now you’re mine

You know how I always say that Kim Namjoon is so votable that I'd vote for him even though IDK what he's running for? My brain wouldn’t let go of the politician Namjoon…But what if he's a senator that's now vying for the presidential seat? and what if you were his ex-fiance that he was now attempting to get back because he did say he would make you his queen? and what if he is a mastermind and you have no choice but to fall back into him?

Sneakpeak:

“We didn’t break up,” he noted in a calm tone you were starting to hate. It was as though nothing could faze him.

Your mouth hanged agape at his statement and you were fuming. “Okay, now you’re just being annoying. You do know it is illegal to do drugs, right? You should be mindful of that when the presidential campaign is just around the corner, Senator Kim.”

“You broke up with me,” he stated as stood up, his hands rested on your desk as he leaned his face close to yours. “I didn’t accept it, baby girl.”

Love to find new fic recs

tattookoo's monthly recs! | APRIL 2023

hiiii i’m back again with another list of fic recs! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ as i mentioned in my last rec list, i’m rlly not the best at tagging fics in real time bc life gets in the way. so instead, i save the link of the ones i enjoy throughout the month and i compile them all in one place so i can go back and reread. so this is me giving a huge shout out to all the brilliant writers in this list!

please keep in mind that almost all works are for mature audiences only, so minors do not interact with this post or with the fics below. they are not appropriate for anyone under 18.

another quick thing, if anyone is interested in reading my work, please feel free to check out my masterlist!

NAMJOON 

▸ unusual suspects by @explicit-tae (crush!namjoon x reader) 

▸ kiss me more by @jjungkookislife (brother’s best friend!namjoon x reader) 

▸ love by @hamsterclaw (ex husband!namjoon x reader) 

SEOKJIN 

▸ wanna be yours by @jung-nika-hoseok (ceo!seokjin x reader) 

▸ bruised by @sugakookitty (mma fighter!seokjin x reader) 

▸ sit. stay by @daechwitatamic (neighbor!seokjin x reader) 

▸ kyoho by @jeonqkooks (grape!seokjin x reader) 

YOONGI 

▸ under the willow tree by @orchidyoonkook (bad boy!yoongi x reader) 

▸ hunt by @sailoryooons (alpha!yoongi x omega!reader) 

▸ illicit favors by @yoongiofmine (producer!yoongi x author!reader) 

▸ with you, all the way by @cultleaderyoongi (ex boyfriend!yoongi x reader) 

▸ belong [series] by @ahundredtimesover (basketball coach!yoongi x actress!reader) 

▸ red chopsticks by @hobicakess (yandere!yoongi x reader) 

▸ menace by @ncteez (gangster!yoongi x reader) 

HOSEOK 

▸ liar, liar by @eoieopda (fuck buddy!hoseok x reader) 

▸ eternal sunshine by @yoonia (lawyer!hoseok x artist!reader)

▸ needy by @vaguelyvoid (boyfriend!hoseok x reader) 

JIMIN 

▸ glory & gore by @explicit-tae (vampire!jimin x reader) 

▸ wicked obsession by @peachypinkygloss (fuckboy!jimin x reader) 

▸ the seventh: page 1 by @hobipost (coworker!jimin x reader) 

▸ vampire’s garden by @ebonyinktea (college student!jimin x vampire!reader) 

TAEHYUNG 

▸ money is success by @peachypinkygloss (rich kid!taehyung x rich kid!reader)

▸ tear you apart: out of control [part of series] by @bratkook (incubus!taehyung x reader) 

▸ limerence [series] by @axialitae (semi yandere!taehyung x reader) 

▸ don’t scream by @hobimyhope (scream au!taehyung x reader) 

▸ his special secret by @kooktrash (professor!taehyung x student!reader) 

▸ things we don’t say: part 1 [part of series] by @wintaerbaer (best friend!taehyung x reader) 

JUNGKOOK 

▸ two point five pt. 2 by @bratkook (handyman!jungkook x reader) 

▸ incandescent by @jeonjcngkook (boyfriend!jungkook x reader) 

▸ only when you’re lonely by @jjkeverlast (human!jungkook x succubus!reader) 

▸ calling you cool by @kithtaehyung (jungkook x rock star!reader) 

▸ prove it to me by @kookslastbutton (fuckboy!jungkook x reader) 

▸ summer bummer, baby [part of series] by @kooktrash (e2l!jungkook x reader) 

▸ rolling stone by @kooktrash (idol!jungkook x non-idol!reader) 

▸ how you get the girl by @thvhoe (ceo!jungkook x secretary!reader)

▸ spring is when the bunnies come by @ebonyinktea (hybrid!jungkook x reader) 

▸ tuesdays by @axialitae (roommate!jungkook x reader) 

▸ behind pixels [part of series] by @aseaofyoongi (sex worker!jungkook x reader) 

▸ open hours by @inkjeon (tattoo artist!jungkook x reader)

▸ in the end, it’s him and i by @kookstempo (fwb!jungkook x reader) 

lastly, i wanted to extend my gratitude to all the wonderful writers that spend so much time creating content for everyone here. as an author myself, i love receiving feedback and praise for my efforts so i hope this expresses my appreciation to you all from writer to writer ✧˖°

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

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Namjoon is 1000% done with these guys

All stories are so different but oh so good! I”m so happy I found this author!

A Fine Line

It’s time to rebuild your life. You’ve got a new job, a new apartment, and a future that might be bright. The only problem? Your new roommate. Roommates/enemies-to-lovers, non-idol!au, smut/angst/little bit of fluff, 67.7k

Murakami

The handsome stranger who’s started coming to the library where you work might just one day work up the courage to ask you out.

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Namjoon asks you to stay, even though you both know you have to go angst, established relationship, death

Ahhh! So that’s what Smoke Sprite means! I was wondering about that!

in an interview with vogue korea soyoon said smoke sprite “refers to the effect that people disappear when they explode like a bomb in a cartoon”

I really like this story! It’s a very easy and enjoyable to read! Can’t wait for what’s next 😊

Love, Lust & Litigation | Masterlist (JJK, KNJ)

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader x Namjoon

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

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: TBD

Summary: Unfortunately, you have developed a massive crush on your new boss. Even more unfortunately, your equally attractive coworker is also harboring massive crush on your boss. AKA Jungkook and reader both pine for big, sexy brain Namjoon. 

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Chapter 2 - 3.8k

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Chapter 4